During my childhood my family moved house-a lot. I continued my nomadic existance right through to my mid twenties when having children forced me to put down roots. Which is to say, the idea of packing up a household consisting of not only myself, but also my hero and, at that point, two small children, filled me with dred and so through pure terror/laziness we bought our little house in the suburbs. I tell you of my vast number of past abodes so that you know when I say this is the dustiest house I have ever lived in, I've got a good base for comparison.
And this is the dustiest house I have ever lived in.
I'm not talking about a fine layer settling on neglected ornaments here. I'm talking about a quilt of dust as thick as the A-K yellow pages over everything. Now you might think that's to be expected if you haven't dusted in sixteen years but this particularly aggressive dust accumulates within days: certainly less than a week. I've long since surrendered to the inevitablity of the dust. Once every month or so I go into a frenzy then between times I just wipe over the electrical appliances and brush away the spider webs.
As an aside we have particularly diligent spiders here. Once I set up the ironing board, went away to get some water to fill the iron and by the time I got back there was a web string from the ironing board to the window sill. I have a witness. I made my hero come and assure me I wasn't seeing things. It does seem a bit unfair that we should have webs when you consider the size of the huntsmen that make their way in here. But back to the dust...
So yesterday I decided it was time to do some dusting. I wiped and vaccuumed and flittered about with the synthetic feathers (supposedly static to pick dust up not just blow it about). It all looked lovely, and probably will do for a few days.
Then last night I turned on the television. Reception was absolute rubbish-or so I thought. I put up with the flickering for a while then gave up and changed channels. Again with the bad reception. In fact every channel had a shockingly bad picture. And then-POOF! The screen went completley black.
We tried everything in our repetoire (basically unplugging it and plugging it back in) to no avail. Our TV was dead. Dead as a doornail.
I'm not sure what went wrong but I think it was the dust. The machine had probably accustomised itself to operating in a dust rich environment and then I came along and cleaned up. It just couldn't cope.
I'll be much more selective about my dusting in the future, that's for sure.
Showing posts with label moan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moan. Show all posts
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Pop Quiz: Home Economics (aka Domestic Science)
You’re heating something up in the microwave and it accidentally erupts. The appropriate action to take is:
a) clean it up right away
or
b) leave it there to go all hard and deny all knowledge when your mother later finds the microwave covered in caked on crud that now needs to be scrubbed away
Everybody espouses the correct theory but nobody passes the practical.
a) clean it up right away
or
b) leave it there to go all hard and deny all knowledge when your mother later finds the microwave covered in caked on crud that now needs to be scrubbed away
Everybody espouses the correct theory but nobody passes the practical.
Friday, June 04, 2010
Fish and Chips for Tea
In the past my house has not been the focus of poltergeist activity so when a very loud, yet dull, thud reverberated through the place at around half past five last night, accompanied by a chorus of “what was that?” from the girls, my first thought was that the cat had knocked something off a bench. But even as I made my way to the kitchen I knew that was unlikely. As far as I knew, even if he dared to jump up, there was nothing out on the benches for the cat to knock down. Unless, of course, in a burst of nuclear mutant strength he’d pushed the microwave onto the floor (he hadn’t).
At first glance nothing in the kitchen seemed amiss-but there was something not quite right. A few seconds later I realised that I could not see the oven light. The glass was completely opaque. Steam, perhaps? Surely not food, quiche (the contents of the oven at the time) after all, is not known for its explosive qualities.
I turned the oven off and cautiously opened the door. There was a kind of gritty-crunchy sound as black glass scattered broadly across the floor at my feet. The inside of the door had sort of imploded. Naturally boy genius found this fascinating: hot, broken glass nothing was going to keep him away from that. It was no small effort to get him out of the kitchen but eventually I managed with promises of going to the shop to get fish and chips for tea.
The oven still being under warranty I reported the incident to Westinghouse. Apparently, though rare, this is not an unheard of situation. After ascertaining that nobody was hurt they have pledged to repair of replace the broken door by next week.
In the meantime boy genius’s interest in the oven shows no sign of waning. I’ve only had to hear him ask “oven?”, “where’s the oven?” about twenty thousand times in the past twelve hours. He even found the camera and took a picture.
I have long suspected the kitchen is out to get me. The ignomious death of our last oven just eight weeks ago had seemed proof positive. But the behaviour of the new oven has removed any lingering doubt. Unless of course this is the opening overture of a poltergeist haunting.
At first glance nothing in the kitchen seemed amiss-but there was something not quite right. A few seconds later I realised that I could not see the oven light. The glass was completely opaque. Steam, perhaps? Surely not food, quiche (the contents of the oven at the time) after all, is not known for its explosive qualities.
I turned the oven off and cautiously opened the door. There was a kind of gritty-crunchy sound as black glass scattered broadly across the floor at my feet. The inside of the door had sort of imploded. Naturally boy genius found this fascinating: hot, broken glass nothing was going to keep him away from that. It was no small effort to get him out of the kitchen but eventually I managed with promises of going to the shop to get fish and chips for tea.
The oven still being under warranty I reported the incident to Westinghouse. Apparently, though rare, this is not an unheard of situation. After ascertaining that nobody was hurt they have pledged to repair of replace the broken door by next week.
In the meantime boy genius’s interest in the oven shows no sign of waning. I’ve only had to hear him ask “oven?”, “where’s the oven?” about twenty thousand times in the past twelve hours. He even found the camera and took a picture.
I have long suspected the kitchen is out to get me. The ignomious death of our last oven just eight weeks ago had seemed proof positive. But the behaviour of the new oven has removed any lingering doubt. Unless of course this is the opening overture of a poltergeist haunting.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Myki and Me: A Love Story (NOT!)
When the Victorian government decided to spend a couple of million on the public transport system it didn’t opt to replace train tracks that seem to buckle in the heat every summer, neither did it choose to increase services during peak hour, nor to man stations (a radical concept that would create employment, reduce fair evasion and be of service to the public). No, the Victorian government decided to overhaul the one part of the system that seemed to be working quite adequately-the ticketing system.
They decided to introduce Myki.
In theory it’s a great system-in theory.
As the mother of two regular train users there’s been more than one occasion when a monthly ticket has met a soggy end in a uniform pocket long before its expiry date. And I’m no stranger to the words “mum, my ticket’s run out”, usually heard at ten to eight in the morning. So I liked the idea of Myki. A plastic card has a greater chance of surviving the spin cycle and being able to keep track of ticket validity and top up accounts online could be a real time saver. So I duly applied for, received, registered and activated Myki cards for the family.
And that’s when the trouble started.
The week before school went back I found myself at the local railway station and decided to load tickets onto the girls’ cards so they would be ready for use. The first transaction went well. I had no trouble purchasing a ticket for the master of the bleeding obvious. Delighted with how easy the system was to work I went ahead with a second transaction. Part way through the ticket purchasing sequence the screen went black. A few seconds later it started flashing system error/out of service. O-oh!
When I got home I checked the account, no ticket had been credited. I checked my bank balance, payment had been made.
I’m sure there are systems in place for this eventuality, so I call Myki. It takes fifteen minutes for the operator to understand my problem (I paid for a ticket and it wasn’t credited to the card-not rocket science folks). I am assured that the ticket will be credited to the card within twenty-four hours.
It was not.
So I called Myki.
And explained the situation again.
I was told that the system had gone down (I fairly much had figured that one out for myself), offered profuse apologies and told the situation was being investigated and a ticket would be credited to my account within forty-eight hours of my original report. In the mean time would I like to purchase another ticket to ensure the card was valid to travel? As it happened, yes I would. So I purchased a second ticket for the professor of pedantic’s card.
All appeared to work well on the first day of school and although I had received no refund or ticket credit, I gave Myki the benefit of the doubt and let the situation rest for a further two days.
Since it was now five days since my original report and I have heard nothing I call Myki.
And explained the situation again.
The operator tells me that a ticket was credited to my card twenty-four hours after my initial report. I explain to her that I purchased that ticket and my enquiry was in regard to the ticket for which I had been charged but not yet received. Hmm, tricky. I’m referred up the line.
Yes, they understand the problem. Do I have a receipt? No the system shut down after taking my money but before issuing a receipt. Did I pay by cash or card? Card. Then my bank statement will show a debit to Myki without a corresponding credit to the Myki card. Could I forward them a copy of my bank statement? (My second thought was lucky I used my card. My first thought was what? Your system fails and the onus is on me to prove you took my money!! My third thought, if you’re interested, was and if I’d used cash I’d be stuffed at this point.) The situation will be resolved within forty-eight hours of receipt of said evidence.
It was not.
So I called Myki.
And explained the situation again.
Yes, they have my bank statement. And there is a credit on the account. I point out my second purchase and ask if there is a second credit to the account. After much waiting, to-ing and fro-ing, they don’t know. My report is being referred up the line. Somebody will contact me within forty-eight hours.
On Saturday master of the bleeding obvious reports that her card is failing to touch on and has recorded a debit.
So I called Myki.
Who couldn’t help me at all but assured me somebody would look into it by the end of next week. I pointed out that meant I couldn’t use a valid ticket for a quarter of the time I had paid for (and yes, I had a receipt to prove it). Awfully sorry but there’s nothing they can do.
So I wait until this morning and…
I call Myki.
And explained the situation.
Over half an hour of negotiation later they agree to rectify the erroneous negative balance. (Because even in a Myki world 7 days is not 28 days and school buildings do not wonder between transport zones) This should correct the problem. I’ll know for sure in twenty-four hours.
And, no, there has been no further progress on the other situation.
Quite frankly Myki is a total balls-up. The system went down and it is me that is out of pocket, inconvenienced and has the aggravation (and expense-all those phone calls) of sorting it out.
Myki might be haemorrhaging cash but they’re not going to stop the flow by taking money from the little people. They’re going to drive us all to boycott the system.
Electronic ticketing systems have been in place all over the world for years (London’s Oyster card comes to mind). Surely the Victorian government could have installed a system that was tried and proven elsewhere. At the very least they could have asked what problems arose with those systems and anticipated similar issues here-an ounce of prevention, as they say.
In the mean time my advice is to avoid Myki for as long as you can. That way they may have the system sorted before you’re forced to use it. And if you’re game to give it a try don’t use cash-you may need to prove your purchase with a bank statement.
They decided to introduce Myki.
In theory it’s a great system-in theory.
As the mother of two regular train users there’s been more than one occasion when a monthly ticket has met a soggy end in a uniform pocket long before its expiry date. And I’m no stranger to the words “mum, my ticket’s run out”, usually heard at ten to eight in the morning. So I liked the idea of Myki. A plastic card has a greater chance of surviving the spin cycle and being able to keep track of ticket validity and top up accounts online could be a real time saver. So I duly applied for, received, registered and activated Myki cards for the family.
And that’s when the trouble started.
The week before school went back I found myself at the local railway station and decided to load tickets onto the girls’ cards so they would be ready for use. The first transaction went well. I had no trouble purchasing a ticket for the master of the bleeding obvious. Delighted with how easy the system was to work I went ahead with a second transaction. Part way through the ticket purchasing sequence the screen went black. A few seconds later it started flashing system error/out of service. O-oh!
When I got home I checked the account, no ticket had been credited. I checked my bank balance, payment had been made.
I’m sure there are systems in place for this eventuality, so I call Myki. It takes fifteen minutes for the operator to understand my problem (I paid for a ticket and it wasn’t credited to the card-not rocket science folks). I am assured that the ticket will be credited to the card within twenty-four hours.
It was not.
So I called Myki.
And explained the situation again.
I was told that the system had gone down (I fairly much had figured that one out for myself), offered profuse apologies and told the situation was being investigated and a ticket would be credited to my account within forty-eight hours of my original report. In the mean time would I like to purchase another ticket to ensure the card was valid to travel? As it happened, yes I would. So I purchased a second ticket for the professor of pedantic’s card.
All appeared to work well on the first day of school and although I had received no refund or ticket credit, I gave Myki the benefit of the doubt and let the situation rest for a further two days.
Since it was now five days since my original report and I have heard nothing I call Myki.
And explained the situation again.
The operator tells me that a ticket was credited to my card twenty-four hours after my initial report. I explain to her that I purchased that ticket and my enquiry was in regard to the ticket for which I had been charged but not yet received. Hmm, tricky. I’m referred up the line.
Yes, they understand the problem. Do I have a receipt? No the system shut down after taking my money but before issuing a receipt. Did I pay by cash or card? Card. Then my bank statement will show a debit to Myki without a corresponding credit to the Myki card. Could I forward them a copy of my bank statement? (My second thought was lucky I used my card. My first thought was what? Your system fails and the onus is on me to prove you took my money!! My third thought, if you’re interested, was and if I’d used cash I’d be stuffed at this point.) The situation will be resolved within forty-eight hours of receipt of said evidence.
It was not.
So I called Myki.
And explained the situation again.
Yes, they have my bank statement. And there is a credit on the account. I point out my second purchase and ask if there is a second credit to the account. After much waiting, to-ing and fro-ing, they don’t know. My report is being referred up the line. Somebody will contact me within forty-eight hours.
On Saturday master of the bleeding obvious reports that her card is failing to touch on and has recorded a debit.
So I called Myki.
Who couldn’t help me at all but assured me somebody would look into it by the end of next week. I pointed out that meant I couldn’t use a valid ticket for a quarter of the time I had paid for (and yes, I had a receipt to prove it). Awfully sorry but there’s nothing they can do.
So I wait until this morning and…
I call Myki.
And explained the situation.
Over half an hour of negotiation later they agree to rectify the erroneous negative balance. (Because even in a Myki world 7 days is not 28 days and school buildings do not wonder between transport zones) This should correct the problem. I’ll know for sure in twenty-four hours.
And, no, there has been no further progress on the other situation.
Quite frankly Myki is a total balls-up. The system went down and it is me that is out of pocket, inconvenienced and has the aggravation (and expense-all those phone calls) of sorting it out.
Myki might be haemorrhaging cash but they’re not going to stop the flow by taking money from the little people. They’re going to drive us all to boycott the system.
Electronic ticketing systems have been in place all over the world for years (London’s Oyster card comes to mind). Surely the Victorian government could have installed a system that was tried and proven elsewhere. At the very least they could have asked what problems arose with those systems and anticipated similar issues here-an ounce of prevention, as they say.
In the mean time my advice is to avoid Myki for as long as you can. That way they may have the system sorted before you’re forced to use it. And if you’re game to give it a try don’t use cash-you may need to prove your purchase with a bank statement.
Monday, February 01, 2010
Hand all fixed
I'm pleased to say that my hand's feeling better,
I'm suffering nearly no pain.
And, as I am sure, you can tell from this post,
I'm back to typing again.
Here endeth the shockingly bad poetry-Hey I was in pain and didn't want to suffer alone.
I'm suffering nearly no pain.
And, as I am sure, you can tell from this post,
I'm back to typing again.
Here endeth the shockingly bad poetry-Hey I was in pain and didn't want to suffer alone.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Ouch!
Examintation provides no explanation
No swelling or bruising discolouration
Why it hurts so I can't understand
I wish I knew what I have done to my hand
No swelling or bruising discolouration
Why it hurts so I can't understand
I wish I knew what I have done to my hand
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Because
Because I was nauseas I didn’t take my antihistamine.
Because I didn’t take my antihistamine I couldn’t stop sneezing.
Because I couldn’t stop sneezing I threw my back out.
Because I threw my back out it hurt to move.
Because it hurt to move I limited movement.
Because I limited movement my joints started to stiffen up.
Because my joints started to stiffen up I thought I’d get some exercise.
Because I needed exercise I thought I’d go for a run.
Because two weeks ago I could run for half an hour I thought I’d be able to do it okay.
Because I struggled to make it to 20 minutes I gave up and went home.
Because I gave up and went home I felt pathetic and miserable.
Because I felt pathetic and miserable I attempted to cheer myself up by eating comfort food.
Because I was very sorry for myself I ate a lot of comfort food.
Now I feel nauseas and lethargic.
In just two short weeks one piddling little irritant has led to a spiral of crappiness that I just can’t seem to pull out of.
Please feel free to give me a cyber boot in the pants.
Because I really don’t have time for this.
Because I didn’t take my antihistamine I couldn’t stop sneezing.
Because I couldn’t stop sneezing I threw my back out.
Because I threw my back out it hurt to move.
Because it hurt to move I limited movement.
Because I limited movement my joints started to stiffen up.
Because my joints started to stiffen up I thought I’d get some exercise.
Because I needed exercise I thought I’d go for a run.
Because two weeks ago I could run for half an hour I thought I’d be able to do it okay.
Because I struggled to make it to 20 minutes I gave up and went home.
Because I gave up and went home I felt pathetic and miserable.
Because I felt pathetic and miserable I attempted to cheer myself up by eating comfort food.
Because I was very sorry for myself I ate a lot of comfort food.
Now I feel nauseas and lethargic.
In just two short weeks one piddling little irritant has led to a spiral of crappiness that I just can’t seem to pull out of.
Please feel free to give me a cyber boot in the pants.
Because I really don’t have time for this.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Seeking Sympathy
I have cut my thumb.
It hurts-a lot.
It is bleeding-a lot.
Nobody here cares about my pain and suffering.
Does anybody, anywhere?
Show you care-leave a comment.
It hurts-a lot.
It is bleeding-a lot.
Nobody here cares about my pain and suffering.
Does anybody, anywhere?
Show you care-leave a comment.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Pop Culture
I’m getting old.
The evidence is irrefutable.
No, I haven’t found any grey hairs and my laugh lines haven’t reached the point where I need spakfiller and a trowel to smooth out my skin.
It’s worse than that.
Much worse.
I’ve started to pop.
I pop things away. I pop things in. I pop things on. On occasion I even pop things under other things. I wish I could say that was the extent of it, but alas no. I’ve started to pop down to the shops, pop over to visit friends; I’ve even popped out for a minute.
Nobody under forty pops anything or anywhere.
What next?
A blue rinse and an excess of cardigans.
Hmm. It is a cool-ish morning. I might just go pop on a cardigan.
The evidence is irrefutable.
No, I haven’t found any grey hairs and my laugh lines haven’t reached the point where I need spakfiller and a trowel to smooth out my skin.
It’s worse than that.
Much worse.
I’ve started to pop.
I pop things away. I pop things in. I pop things on. On occasion I even pop things under other things. I wish I could say that was the extent of it, but alas no. I’ve started to pop down to the shops, pop over to visit friends; I’ve even popped out for a minute.
Nobody under forty pops anything or anywhere.
What next?
A blue rinse and an excess of cardigans.
Hmm. It is a cool-ish morning. I might just go pop on a cardigan.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
A Vistit to the Dentist
On prominent display in my dentist’s waiting room is a certificate advising that he is a qualified and recognised hypnotist. I spent a brief moment speculating as to what role hypnosis could play in modern dentistry.
Could a person strengthen their teeth through the process of hypnotic suggestion? Probably not.
I was forced to assume hypnosis is offered as an alternative form of pain relief. I can’t be sure since he’s never been silly enough to suggest I try it. When it comes to pain I’m definitely an old fashioned give-me-the-drugs kind of girl.
I scanned on skimming over the expected infection control certificates and various assorted degrees until a small certificate up in the corner caught my eye.
It appears that all members of the practice are proficient in cardio-pulmonary resuscitation.
I’m not sure whether I should be finding that reassuring or not.
I know some people find the dentist to be a bit scary but does the sound of a drill frequently lead to heart attacks?
I pondered this while I sat in drug induced numbness having my jaw pulled about but came up with no definitive answer until it was all over and the receptionist printed out the bill.
Now I understand when and why the heart attacks occur.
On the plus side I have great teeth (or maybe I just think so as a result of post hypnotic suggestion).
Could a person strengthen their teeth through the process of hypnotic suggestion? Probably not.
I was forced to assume hypnosis is offered as an alternative form of pain relief. I can’t be sure since he’s never been silly enough to suggest I try it. When it comes to pain I’m definitely an old fashioned give-me-the-drugs kind of girl.
I scanned on skimming over the expected infection control certificates and various assorted degrees until a small certificate up in the corner caught my eye.
It appears that all members of the practice are proficient in cardio-pulmonary resuscitation.
I’m not sure whether I should be finding that reassuring or not.
I know some people find the dentist to be a bit scary but does the sound of a drill frequently lead to heart attacks?
I pondered this while I sat in drug induced numbness having my jaw pulled about but came up with no definitive answer until it was all over and the receptionist printed out the bill.
Now I understand when and why the heart attacks occur.
On the plus side I have great teeth (or maybe I just think so as a result of post hypnotic suggestion).
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Making a Point
Boy Genius is now sixteen. This means he is old enough to hold his own concession cards and apply for various government assistance schemes.
It’s been a long, hard road but all paperwork finally in order now we simply need to provide one hundred points of identification.
In addition to his birth certificate.
Easy, no?
NO!
Health benefits care as issued by federal government=unacceptable.
Companion card, photo id as issued by government after filling in 27 (approx) pages of forms=unacceptable.
So what is acceptable?
Motor Vehicle Driver’s Licence-did I mention he is sixteen?
Registration Certificate from a national professional registration board (eg, doctors, nurses, dentists)-did I mention he is autistic and has a functional vocabulary of around 50 words?
Firearm Licence, Electoral Enrolment, Marriage Certificate-did I mention that he is SIXTEEN and AUTISTIC?
Finally I managed to pull together sixty points of identification but where to get another forty? I scan the list of acceptable documents and there is only one possibility that I haven’t explored. A Bank Card is worth forty points.
Can you guess what happens next, boys and girls?
That’s right! Boy Genius now has a Visa card.
A Visa card of his very own.
Did I mention that he’s sixteen and autistic?
It’s been a long, hard road but all paperwork finally in order now we simply need to provide one hundred points of identification.
In addition to his birth certificate.
Easy, no?
NO!
Health benefits care as issued by federal government=unacceptable.
Companion card, photo id as issued by government after filling in 27 (approx) pages of forms=unacceptable.
So what is acceptable?
Motor Vehicle Driver’s Licence-did I mention he is sixteen?
Registration Certificate from a national professional registration board (eg, doctors, nurses, dentists)-did I mention he is autistic and has a functional vocabulary of around 50 words?
Firearm Licence, Electoral Enrolment, Marriage Certificate-did I mention that he is SIXTEEN and AUTISTIC?
Finally I managed to pull together sixty points of identification but where to get another forty? I scan the list of acceptable documents and there is only one possibility that I haven’t explored. A Bank Card is worth forty points.
Can you guess what happens next, boys and girls?
That’s right! Boy Genius now has a Visa card.
A Visa card of his very own.
Did I mention that he’s sixteen and autistic?
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
The next stop is...Medicare
Being, as I am, philosophically opposed to private health cover, I am happy to pay for those specialist services boy genius requires that the government doesn’t provide and graciously accept the Medicare rebate they offer.
Collecting this rebate means a visit to the local (though these days there are so few of them they might well be called regional) Medicare office. It’s been quite a while since I made the pilgrimage so this morning I girded my loins (ie, put on comfy shoes and grabbed a book) and hauled myself in to Southland.
As I said, it’s been quite a while, and things have changed since I was there last.
The Medicare office now has the welcoming ambience of a railway station waiting room. Sure a nice railway station with carpet and upholstered seats but a railway station waiting room nonetheless, complete with old newspapers left on seats and a gumball type vending machine. (The trap door of which pierces the entire room with a sharp crash every time it is dropped. This is every few seconds because once a child sees it they can’t help themselves and have to lift that damned flap.)
Instead of the single queue they now have a ticketing system very similar to the one at the deli, you know, where you take a number then wait until you’re called. Every few minutes a mechanical voice (that sounds very much like the woman who announces the stops on the Frankston line-adding to the station atmosphere) calls out a ticket number and a window number. I had to repress the urge to yell BINGO! when my number finally came up.
I suspect the changes are meant to make the system somehow more efficient or the Medicare experience more pleasant, perhaps both. A pointless waist of public funds since a bureaucracy is a bureaucracy and it is not in its nature to run efficiently and with the possible exception of a few retired station masters railway waiting rooms aren’t considered particularly aesthetic.
But I do have an idea that could make the Medicare offices a more pleasant place for everyone, staff and clients alike-
Get rid of that bloody annoying gumball machine.
Collecting this rebate means a visit to the local (though these days there are so few of them they might well be called regional) Medicare office. It’s been quite a while since I made the pilgrimage so this morning I girded my loins (ie, put on comfy shoes and grabbed a book) and hauled myself in to Southland.
As I said, it’s been quite a while, and things have changed since I was there last.
The Medicare office now has the welcoming ambience of a railway station waiting room. Sure a nice railway station with carpet and upholstered seats but a railway station waiting room nonetheless, complete with old newspapers left on seats and a gumball type vending machine. (The trap door of which pierces the entire room with a sharp crash every time it is dropped. This is every few seconds because once a child sees it they can’t help themselves and have to lift that damned flap.)
Instead of the single queue they now have a ticketing system very similar to the one at the deli, you know, where you take a number then wait until you’re called. Every few minutes a mechanical voice (that sounds very much like the woman who announces the stops on the Frankston line-adding to the station atmosphere) calls out a ticket number and a window number. I had to repress the urge to yell BINGO! when my number finally came up.
I suspect the changes are meant to make the system somehow more efficient or the Medicare experience more pleasant, perhaps both. A pointless waist of public funds since a bureaucracy is a bureaucracy and it is not in its nature to run efficiently and with the possible exception of a few retired station masters railway waiting rooms aren’t considered particularly aesthetic.
But I do have an idea that could make the Medicare offices a more pleasant place for everyone, staff and clients alike-
Get rid of that bloody annoying gumball machine.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Cubed Carrots?
I barely dare say it but I think the tag team vomit-a-thon that has been my life this past three weeks might finally be over.
A warning to the squemish, the following could make you sick...
Isn't it amazing how your mind can focus on the smallest of things in order not to think too much about what it is actually dealing with. As I was mopping vomit and emptying buckets and washing towels I was distracted by the presence of cubed carrot.
I have never taken the time to cube a carrot in my life and yet here it was, in all its regurgitated glory, bright orange and beautifully diced. And it's always present. Where does all this cubed carrot come from?
I have a theory. I suggest the appendix, hitherto believed to be purposeless, is actually a carrot processing and storage organ. Any carrot consumed, in any form, during your lifetime, is taken in by the appendix where it is compacted, cubed and stored. Reverse peristalsis triggers the release of this cubed carrot ensuring all vomit contains this essential element.
In case you get the wrong idea, it hasn't been all spew, all the time. It just seemed that way. Particularly when the cat decided to join the general heave fest, coughing up a few early morning hair balls for me to start the day.
There has been lots of Other Stuff going on here as well, which I hope to update you on over the next couple of weeks.
Stay tuned
A warning to the squemish, the following could make you sick...
Isn't it amazing how your mind can focus on the smallest of things in order not to think too much about what it is actually dealing with. As I was mopping vomit and emptying buckets and washing towels I was distracted by the presence of cubed carrot.
I have never taken the time to cube a carrot in my life and yet here it was, in all its regurgitated glory, bright orange and beautifully diced. And it's always present. Where does all this cubed carrot come from?
I have a theory. I suggest the appendix, hitherto believed to be purposeless, is actually a carrot processing and storage organ. Any carrot consumed, in any form, during your lifetime, is taken in by the appendix where it is compacted, cubed and stored. Reverse peristalsis triggers the release of this cubed carrot ensuring all vomit contains this essential element.
In case you get the wrong idea, it hasn't been all spew, all the time. It just seemed that way. Particularly when the cat decided to join the general heave fest, coughing up a few early morning hair balls for me to start the day.
There has been lots of Other Stuff going on here as well, which I hope to update you on over the next couple of weeks.
Stay tuned
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Are we having fun yet?
I suppose that depends on whether or not your definition of fun centres around cleaning up vomit.
And in spite of what everyone here seems to think (to paraphrase: hey, you were a nurse for all those years vomit mopping must be your area of expertise), mine does not.
And in spite of what everyone here seems to think (to paraphrase: hey, you were a nurse for all those years vomit mopping must be your area of expertise), mine does not.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Tired of Reality
Reality TV: Fascinating commentary on society, providing insight into the structure of communities and the esoteric workings of cultural subgroups or complete crap-discuss.
I just don’t get ‘reality tv’.
I can see where tv station management are coming from. In these times of economic accountability it’s all about the bottom line, and reality tv, with its incomprehensible cult following, provides maximum return for minimum outlay. No actors, no script writers, minimal scenery and make-up/wardrobe costs, what’s not to love?
But what’s the attraction for viewers?
Maybe the first wave of reality tv offered something new and different but the longer these shows run the less they have to offer. And don’t even get me started on “Fill-In-The-Blank with the Stars” type programmes. Apart from the fact that the definition of Stars as used in the title of such shows is somewhat liberal, who cares?
Sure I could shrug and say if I don’t like reality tv I don’t have to watch it and leave it at that. But its insidious presence leaks out of its allocated timeslot and into that of the few programmes I can be bothered with.
And it is this that annoys the hell out of me.
What is so compelling about these shows that they must run overtime by up to twenty minutes? From the inane rubbish I’ve been exposed to while waiting for something half-way decent to start, I can’t tell.
Really, if you’re a fan explain it to me, I’d love to understand the attraction.
I just don’t get ‘reality tv’.
I can see where tv station management are coming from. In these times of economic accountability it’s all about the bottom line, and reality tv, with its incomprehensible cult following, provides maximum return for minimum outlay. No actors, no script writers, minimal scenery and make-up/wardrobe costs, what’s not to love?
But what’s the attraction for viewers?
Maybe the first wave of reality tv offered something new and different but the longer these shows run the less they have to offer. And don’t even get me started on “Fill-In-The-Blank with the Stars” type programmes. Apart from the fact that the definition of Stars as used in the title of such shows is somewhat liberal, who cares?
Sure I could shrug and say if I don’t like reality tv I don’t have to watch it and leave it at that. But its insidious presence leaks out of its allocated timeslot and into that of the few programmes I can be bothered with.
And it is this that annoys the hell out of me.
What is so compelling about these shows that they must run overtime by up to twenty minutes? From the inane rubbish I’ve been exposed to while waiting for something half-way decent to start, I can’t tell.
Really, if you’re a fan explain it to me, I’d love to understand the attraction.
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