I went to the ballet last night. Yes! I am cultured! I have wanted to go to the ballet ever since I came to Melbourne, but the ballet only … dances? for about a week and a half before disappearing into the mist. Gracefully. And that timeframe is WAY too short for my indecisive self:
Day 2 of Ballet Season: Find out about the ballet. Oooh! The ballet. I’d like to go.
Day 5: Remember the ballet. Ask Mr. T if he’d like to go. His response? “HELL no.”
Day 8: Remember the ballet again. Email a friend to ask if she’d like to go. She would, but has no money.
Day 9: Remember the ballet again. Text-message another friend to ask if she’d like to go. She would, but will be interstate.
Day 13: Remember the ballet again. The season is over.
Is it any wonder I am uncultured? Surrounded! By heathens! So this time, when I found out The Sleeping Beauty was … being danced?, I managed to rouse myself and perform all the above steps in about 40 minutes. Hell. Nobody would go to the ballet with me. Damn them all. So I bloody well went on my own.
As my first ballet, I thought it was pretty good. The costumes were wonderful, the set design was lovely and there were a lot more male dancers than I thought there would be. However, and this is going to sound odd … there was a lot more dancing than I expected. As in, the storyline would call for a royal ball. The cast would dance. Then the princess would appear, and dance a solo. Then the prince would appear, and dance a solo. Then the princess would dance another solo. Then the prince. Then the princess. Then the prince. Then the princess. Then the entire cast, including the prince and princess. Then the princess would dance another solo. Then the prince. Then … you get the picture. To my uncultured self, it was like a dance-off. I will display a dazzling array of pirouettes and leaps! Then I will stand to the side, while you leap around the stage yourself! In lederhosen! Then you will return to your corner, and I will dance again! I guess this means I am more used to plays and (cough) musicals, where the storyline is given greater importance. I will know next time that when you go to the ballet, there will be dancing. A great deal of dancing. But I still don’t know who won the dance-offs.
So I did this survey telling me where I should live in America and apparently? Portland, Oregon. I am going to display my boundless ignorance regarding US geography here and inform you I thought Oregon was somewhere near the middle. You all know this already, I’m sure, but in actual fact it’s just above California. So I fail to see how I’m supposed to live there when I can’t even figure out where it is. And they haven’t told me how to get my plane tickets. … wait,they don’t actually send you the plane tickets? But I gave them a fake email address and everything!
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Things To Do with Dog Hair, Idea # 7485
He needs his roots done.
Went to the Melbourne Royal Show again, to show the Brown Dog and buy some showbags. It was a beautiful day. The Brown Dog came second (Runner Up Best of Breed) which is good. The showing thing was over by 11am, which is better. The showbags were ridiculously expensive, which was bad. The fairy floss was being sold in paper cones (good), little plastic bags (good), or buckets (just fucking insane). BUCKETS, people. Nobody needs a bucket of fairy floss. I only saw one person carrying a bucket, a girl of about 9, and the bucket was empty. EMPTY. I have no words.
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We sat down with dinner (nachos) tonight and started watching Newlyweds, which is sort of like our Moral Superiority Fix of the Week, and all was well until the ads came on. Then Mr. T began fast-forwarding the ads. “How? How are you doing this? How is this possible?” I yelped. He merely smiled in a superior manner. “Stop it! STOP IT!” I whined. “You’re breaking time! BREAKING TIIIIIIIIIME!”
….oh, he’d recorded it on the DVR, and we were watching about 10 minutes behind the actual program. I’m sure you all knew that. I did not.
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Mr. T and I, for unknown reasons, were discussing something the other night and I said, “Yip yip yip yip yip,” and Mr. T followed up with “RA-dio, RA-dio, yip yip yip yip yip…” If this means something to you, then you will like this page; and you will even consider downloading Real Player to be able to view this video.
Lying Supine on the Floor next to Gas Heater, with Laptop.
Pets Currently Within Approximately 30cm of Me:
One (1) Black Dog, lying under my legs
One (1) Cat, scrunched up uncomfortably next to my shoulder.
Windows Currently Open on Laptop:
WordPad, in which I am writing this Gem of Prose
Firefox: I am a Japanese school teacher, eBay, mimi smartypants
Thunderbird: Inbox tracking no less than Seven separate email addresses. Scratch that; Nine. God that’s sad.
White crocheted hat from pepperberry, with a piece of cake as tassel. You have Hat Envy, admit it. Also, it is damn cold here at the moment. Hence the hat. And the heater. And the dog.
TV Program Currently Ignoring:
I’m unsure what this is, but I think it’s Law and Order or one of the spinoffs. I think I heard the DUNK-DUNK sound which signals scene changes.
Currently Having Flashbacks To:
Being hit on the head with the ironing board whilst sitting on the floor eating dinner, causing said dinner to upturn onto the floor and me to stare stupidly at dinner. Also, attempting to push ironing board off self without really understanding what the hell had happened. (Answer: ironing board was folded up and leaning flat against the wall; Dog who shall Not be Named brushed past it, causing it to tilt and fall in a Silent yet Deadly Manner, with unerring accuracy, straight towards my Skull.)
Mr. T and I were looking at electrical kitchen gadgets yesterday, as our mixer has died a crackly, fiery death. Now usually I scorn specific gadgets as complete money wasters, not useful for anyone who can cook (“Omelette maker? It’s called a pan.” “Fairy floss maker? ARE THEY INSANE? Can you not shove sugar down your child’s throat without the purchase of a fairy floss maker?” “Hot dog maker? HOT DOG MAKER? Do these people not have a POT and a STOVE?” … I’m sure you get the idea. And man, how often do I use rhetorical questions?) and this outing was no exception. However. I was looking around, and completely randomly, found a waffle maker. Which makes waffles in the shape of PENGUINS.
Me: “Penguins! Penguin waffles!”
Mr. T: “What? Oh. Yeah.”
Me: “You don’t understand. This will be mine.”
Mr. T: “What? Why? You don’t even EAT breakfast.”
Me: “I totally would if it were shaped like a PENGUIN!”
Mr. T: “Yeah, whatever. Now go look at mixers. Which is why we are in this store, which is slowly sucking my will to live.”
Me: “OK. Just let me get this penguin-maker.”
Mr. T: “What? NO. You will never make a waffle if you buy that. It will live in the cupboard forever.”
Me: “As God as my witness, I’ll never go hungry again! There will be penguins on every plate!”
Mr. T: “That is a complete waste of money. Walk away from the waffle thing.”
Me: “Penguins! Penguins! Penguins!”
Mr. T: “You are NOT. BUYING. THAT.”
Mmmm. Penguins go well with ice cream. Must be because of their Antarctic upbringing.
Carl Sagan: The Demon Haunted World – Science as a Candle in the Dark. I lent this to some alien-loving friend about 10 years ago and never got it back, so finally bought another copy. This book sums up everything you need to know about my views on pseudo-science.
Nature’s Best 3: The Best of NZ Music
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Apropos of nothing, I have started ululating like Johnny Depp does when he calls the Oompa Loompas. Bliddleliddleliddle! This scares people.
A Peanut Butter KitKat. Interesting.
The flashing ‘safety’ lights we’ve put on the dogs’ collars, so that when they run around in the dark, it looks like little miniature ravers are dancing madly all over the football oval.
Are there people who seriously have not heard of Split Enz? Or Crowded House? No, seriously.