Mark's Incorrigible

I've lost weight, I can see it in my face. Well, I didn't eat for two days, I just couldn't face it, as I have had an upset stomach. The diarrhea still hasn't stopped. I've pretty much been on a liquid diet, orange juice, chicken broth, beef broth, and since I went to the doctor, I've developed a new addiction to Gatorade.

Still, I'm getting back my slim face again. I can see it when I look in the mirror.

Mark has quite an unhealthy body/fat relationship which he got from his mother. It is quite fat phobic.

When I told Mark he said, "Really? Well, you've got the week off, don't take the antibiotics. You body will naturally clear the infection, anyway, without them and you'll probably gain maximum weight loss as well. It's making a positive out of a negative."

He's given up smoking for nearly twelve months and has put on some weight himself, for the first time in his life. "In fact, I wasn't you to keep some of your pooh on a jar, so I can come down and lick it, I could really do with the loss of five pesky kilos."

I've Been Sick

I've had gastro for three days. Oh, it's not fun, let me tell you. I can't be far from the toilet. Sad, anxious, face.

Not fun? It's exhausting.

I haven't eaten for two days I just haven't felt like it. I feel weak, but the thought of food makes me nauseous. Shane has made me chicken broth and Sam said he'd come over with his grandmother's recipe, some porridge thing with egg and chillies.

The only thing I've wanted was orange juice, not sure why and to be left alone.

I was hoping it would clear up, but it doesn't seem to be getting any better. Everything is beginning to hurt. I'm going to the doctor today.

I felt so weak, I hadn’t eaten for two days, pretty much, so I forced myself to eat muesli, and it wasn’t nice.

I went to see Doc, who gave me the week off.

I took a pooh sample to the pathology clinic in Victoria Parade. Hmm, do you want me to tell you about squatting over an ice cream bucket?
“Done today?” the nice receptionist asked.
“Yes, fresh,” I replied.

I watched Tru Blood for the rest of the day.

I've lost weight, I can see it in my face. Well, I didn't eat for two days, I just couldn't face it and the diarrhea still hasn't stopped. I've pretty much been on a liquid diet, orange juice, chicken broth, beef broth and since I went to the doctor, I've developed a new addiction to Gatorade.
I'm getting back my slim face again.
When I told Mark, who, of course, has quite an unhealthy body/fat relationship which he got from his mother, he said,
"Really? Well, you've got the week off, don't take the antibiotics. You body will naturally clear the infection, anyway, without them and you'll probably gain maximum weight loss as well. It's making a positive out of a negative."
He doesn’t like feeling fat himself, for the first time in his life. "In fact, I want you to keep some of your pooh on a jar, so I can come down and lick it, I could really do with the loss of five pesky kilos."

I ate what was left of the chicken broth. This time the chicken pieces and all, it was nice.

I lit a fire.

Sam called and said come over he’d ordered two pizzas from Dominoes.
“Dominoes?” I questioned.
“It was a special offer.”
You’d have to bring it to me.
No.
I turned him down.

Shane went to yoga and bought me home beef broth afterwards.

Smoking Chimney

I wanted to clean out my chimney, stop it from smoking. The soot builds up in the flu and then the smoke can't clear away as quickly and it wafts into the room. Puff, puff... and the house gets smokey.

Of course, I should get a chimney sweep, or what would they be called today, a chimney maintenance professional, I know that, however...

The easiest way to do this is to stuff the fire place with newspaper and then light it. The super heat of the burning paper sets the soot in the chimney alight, the excess soot is burnt up and the problem is solved.

I discovered this many years ago quite by accident, when the chimney caught alight all on it's own. And I've done it myself once before, or at least, Mark has done it for me. He's the "Solo" man when it comes to such things.

So, I got all of my old bills, the ones I've been meaning to buy a shredder to take care of, you know, to avoid identity theft, you can't be too careful, so they say. The crims go through the tip and find them? Anyway, I stuffed them into the fireplace, in they went, one by one. The fire built up to quite a nice temperature, flames roaring. You can hear when the soot catches it makes quite a whooshing sound, like a jet aeroplane, okay, a small jet aeroplane. Once, I heard the whooshing sound I headed out side to look. The flu coming out of the top of the chimney goes bright red.

What I saw was smoke billowing out as if the house was on fire. Jesus! It was like 9/11. Fuck me! I guess, since I'd always done it at night, I hadn't realised how much smoke was produced.

"Okay, I think that is enough," I said nervously.

Sam and I were out in the back yard as we heard sirens approaching. I turned to him and said, "You don't think they are coming for us, do you?"
He shrugged, then smiled
I looked up at the chimney, the smoke had stopped, there were now just some extraneous particles of soot shooting out. When it catches it burns hot and quickly and then it is done.
The sirens got louder. The sirens got softer. Then they got louder. Then they got softer again. As if they'd seen the fire they were supposed to be attending and then lost it.
My stomach buzzed with nerves, I reckon they were coming for us.

Mary MacKillop

Mother Mary MacKillop died on 8 August 1909 in the Josephite convent in North Sydney.

In 1925, the Mother Superior of the Sisters of St Joseph, the order Mary MacKillop founded, Mother Laurence, began the process to have MacKillop declared a saint and Michael Kelly, Archbishop of Sydney, established a tribunal to carry the process forward. After several years of hearings, close examination of MacKillop's writings and a 23 year delay, the initial phase of investigations was completed in 1973. After further investigations, MacKillop's 'heroic virtue' was declared in 1992. The process for determining this declaration is internal to the church, and conducted by those in senior positions.

That same year, it was considered that MacKillop's intercession to God had been responsible for the recovery of an apparently dying woman in 1961. The decree on the miracle was read in 1993 and MacKillop was beatified in January 1995 by Pope John Paul II. [Who is also in line for sainthood]

In December 2009, the Congregation for the Causes of Saints issued papal decree recognising a second miracle, the complete and permanent cure of an Australian woman of lung and secondary brain cancer.

Her forthcoming canonisation was announced in February this year, and is due to occur this month. She will be Australia's first saint.

Events to mark the Canonisation of Mary Mackillop will take place around Australia tomorrow, including a major celebration at her birthplace, 7 Brunswick Street Fitzroy. A morning Mass at St Patrick's Cathedral, will be followed by a parade from Brunswick Street to the Royal Exhibition Building, where a festival of celebrations will take place, including a live telecast from Rome of the Canonisation by the Pope at St. Peter's Basilica. [No vow of poverty there]

In the week leading up to her canonisation, the federal government announced that it is protecting the use of Mackillop's name for commercial purposes. This will be enacted through legislation, and will block companies from calling themselves names that include Mary MacKillop or Saint MacKillop. It may also block other terms such as Our Mary, depending on the circumstances. [or what the lobby groups can achieve, no doubt] Apparently, the only other individual Australian's name with similar protection is cricket legend, Sir Donald Bradman. [sport and religion, hey?]
For the occasion of the beatification, an official commemorative portrait has been commissioned. [Apparently, the official photo is photoshopped to within an inch of it's life]

There is no doubt that she was a good woman who did good work. Her story is an interesting one - ministering to the poor, often in remote locations, travelling the world, excommunication, pedophilia, to mention just a few facts.

However... what can I say? The catholic church needed a good marketing strategy to help it through the 21st Century, to help with it's much tarnished reputation and what better strategy, not unlike Hollywood honouring it's past stars, than to rummage up a few new saints.

I'd be guessing, but I would think that all the catholic outposts in the world, who don't have saints yet, will be in the process of getting them, or will soon have them.

The first miracle attributed to Mary MacKillop happened in 1961, the second some 30 years later. More than fifty years after she had died. So, she has continued to do her good work for the last hundred years since her death? She was such a good woman, even death hasn't stopped her. Amazing.
Of course, there can never be any, actual, physical proof of this.
It's the perfect marketing strategy, something other advertisers and markets of today must be green with envy over. Now, if only they could get their claims raised to the highest level without a single piece of physical evidence they be happy people, let me tell you.

The site for the new Saint Mary of the Cross Chapel is on the Australian Catholic University's vacant land opposite MacKillop's birthplace at the top end of Brunswick Street in Fitzroy.

The gateway to Fitzroy, arguably the gayest suburb in Melbourne, will now be a catholic chapel.

In the process, the catholic church managed to demolish a lovely, deco building which used to be the gateway to Fitzroy.

Funny how religion continues to impose itself on all of us whether we like it or not. I know which building I would rather.

Spring Rain

Don't you just love the rain? A day off. Coffee brewing on the stove and a sweet muffin fresh from the muffin shop. The misty, hazy hues of the garden under it's blanket of water droplets. The pitter pat of the rain on the tin roof.

Everything is wet, everything is dripping. I so love it when the day is like that. Of course, if I had the Greek Islands surrounding me, I'd feel different.

I head out to the shop with my big umbrella, the wind and the rain is sleeting down. It feels bracing. It makes me feel alive.

I buy smokes and head back.

I might just light a fire and set myself up in front of it and write all day.

 

“Be Careful With That,” He Said

I worked back late, yesterday, getting every thing finished for my deadline. 

Sam headed home. Work, smurk, he said. He emailed me later in the night and said he’d prepared noodles for me. Lovely noodles. Come over.

It was 18.30 and I'd just got home. I’m tired, I thought. I can't be bothered driving over to his place.

Then he said he had Sarah Lee ice cream too.

Well, I thought. Shane was out and I was home on my own and would have to get my own food and Sarah Lee ice cream, hmmmm. So, I said yes and headed over to his place.

God I'm cheap.

He cooked lovely noodles and he put chili on the side. “Be careful with that,” he said. The noodles we great.

We watched Prince of Persia. Jake Gyllenhaal was hot. I've never thought that about him before, I've always though he was a bit wimpy, but not in this movie. And cute. Adorable.

I stayed home today, I pulled a sickie, well, I had a migraine, so not so sick. Since Beck was treated like crap and left, I've had no help from anyone and, I think, it was beginning to take its toll. The corporate world, you are on your own, bud!

Not long into the morning, I needed to take a shit. Suddenly, it felt kind of weird too. Oh, gotta go now, I thought. Yikes. Run, run, run!

You know, I never had "the burning ring of fire" until a few years ago. It was a revelation. Oh, that's what they've been talking about. Now I get it.

Oh! Burning ring of fire. Those chilli’s, my god.

I text Sam and he said not to be a baby.

Not long after, he text me with, OMG! Me too! Those chilli's were fierce, hey?

We're All In A Spin

Be generous, they say. Be nice, be helpful. W Somerset Maugham wrote a book in the later part of his life where he concluded that the meaning to life was goodness. His reasoning was, to shorten a whole book down to one sentence, was that goodness can't be interpreted like, for instance, the truth can be, it is simply the one thing. Goodness is goodness.

Be generous to your fellow man, treat others as you would want to be treated yourself. It's a simple message, one we should remember when we leave the house in the morning. Keys, wallet, a sunny disposition.

I know I'm guilty, grumpy old me leaving the house. Don't speak to me until I've had my coffee, maybe two. People on mobile phones on the tram, other's with iPods sounding, chick, chick, chick, some of the reasons I try to avoid catching public transport.

But, it's also woman in click, click, click high heals walking behind me on Bourke Street. Grrr! I scowl.

I forget.

It's funny how we all forget.

I thought life was meant to be getting easier, with all of this technology? I suspect, it is getting harder.

I don't think it is getting harder because it is, actually, getting harder, I think it is getting harder because that's the excuse we all use to make allowances for everything in our lives and, somehow, along the way, we started to believe our own spin.

I helped two sets of tourists with directions recently, a bi-product of walking to work. And I, literally, helped a little old lady across the road, carried her bags. They were all so grateful, if made me smile and walk away with a spring in my step, thinking, that's the meaning of life, such simple things.

India's Billion Dollar Man

India's richest man, Mukesh Ambani, has moved into his new home — a 27-storey mansion worth $1 billion.

The enormous Mumbai palace has three helipads, a dance studio, a ball room, a 50-seat theatre and an underground car park for 160 cars, according to media reports.

MONEY: Australia's next billionaires?

The 37,000 square metre home is believed to be the world's most expensive and took seven years to build.

Mr Ambani, 53, is a major shareholder at Reliance Industries — an oil, retail and biotechnology conglomerate.

Forbes magazine has ranked Mr Ambani the fourth-richest man in the world and values his net worth at $29 billion.

The tycoon's mother, wife and three children will live with him inside the 173m tall monolith, alongside 600 staff members.

The building has been named Antila, after a mythical island, and has views over Mumbai and the Arabian Sea.

Shiny Varghese, an Indian design magazine editor, said Antilia was "obscenely lavish".

"But we are heading into the sort of culture where money is not a question when setting up a home," Mr Varghese told The Guardian.

But an associate of Mr Ambani told the newspaper there was nothing obscene about Antilia, and that the businessman had simply "built a house to his requirements".

"He can't just walk into a cinema and watch a film like you or me," the unnamed associate said.

"So he has built a house to his requirements like anyone else would. It's a question of convenience and requirements. It's only a family home, just a big one.

"It's just another home that someone is living in. It's no big event."

Fringe

We went to see a play as a part of the Fringe Festival, Sam and I. Of course, we had to take care of the main thought in Sam's head, first. "What are we going to do about dinner?" We ate Thai on the way. That boy's thoughts are never far away from his stomach. But, we eat great food, so I'm not complaining.

It was his first experience of Fringe. He had wide eyes as we descended into an underground car park in Collingwood.

"Where have you bought me?" he said.

"This is great," was my reply.

He gave me that look; his beautiful brown eyes looking sideways at me. His mouth curling into a wry grin.

The play was a one man show about self perception. The actor was cute. He had some nice inflections in his delivery and expressions. It was pretty full on, the actor worked hard.

Afterwards, as we walked home in the fading light, Sam said "Psycho!" as his answer to my question of what he thought of it.

He's funny.

I liked it. I’m not sure that I understood all of it. 

Sam wasn’t convinced. “A lot of yap,” he said.

We walked home discussing it. Isn’t that the main thing? It gets you thinking?

I'm not sure what I thought about it. It was complex. I, rather cruelly, wondered if it was based on Mark W's life. I made sure I mentioned it to Shane, via David as it turned out.

Betoota

Betoota, QLD, population 0.

The town where all the residents moved out.

From

http://www.be2ta.com

FRIENDS OF BETOOTA

--------------------------------------------------------------------

A fun site with affection for a South West Queensland Town

Betoota, population 0, is the "gateway from the east", being just over 700km from Charleville and approximately 167 Km from Birdsville in south western Queensland, Australia.

It is 70 metres above sea level with an annual rainfall of 200ml to 400ml.

In 1885, the Queensland Government decided to set up a customs post at Betoota collecting a toll for stock as they travelled the stock route. This practice continued until Federation in 1901.

Betoota was also once the site of a Cobb & Co. change station.

Except for surrounding cattle stations, Betoota stands alone in the middle of a vast gibber plain.

It was surveyed as a town in 1887 and quickly grew to three hotels, a police station, store and post office. The remaining hotel was built in the late 1880's and was a favourite resting and refuelling spot for visitors until it closed in October 1997.

The town boasts an impressive racetrack, which comes alive the third weekend in September each year as part of the Simpson Desert Racing Carnival and a dry weather airstrip makes it a pleasure for the enthusiast to attend the very successful race and gymkhana meetings.

Have I Told You Lately That I Kind Of Like Him?

That Sam, he's flexible. Big smile. Saturday, he ask me over to pick him up. Usually, he catches public transport and just arrives without any discussion.

"I can't expect the driver always to come collect me, I have just as much responsibility to get myself around, even if I don't have a car.

But, Saturday, he called early. Apparently, he was too toey to sit on a train followed by a tram. He's gorgeous, he gets that look on his face, that hold me, love me, pat me look. On the phone, he gets that husky tone.

Have I told you lately that I kind of like him?

We moved furniture all day Sunday, we did three trips backwards and forwards. 

We were late getting lunch. Sam's very keen on his food.

"OMG! It's 3pm no wonder I am hungry. We need to stop for food."

"Okay."

"Now."

"Would you like a kebab?"

He just looked at me as if I was insane, or stupid, after last night’s Turkish fare, which he hated. Matt's birthday, Sydney Road, Turkish. Sam thought the food was appalling.

“You are seriously asking me if I want a kebab?”

“It’s just that it would be quick.”

"You are serious?"

He sat in the passenger seat and shook his head. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” he repeated. He loves that expression.

We stopped off for great Thai food in Victoria Street, we were just passing by. It was the first trip back for the day. He took me to a place he knew.

The Thai soup that I had could quite possibly have been the best thing I have ever eaten.

“Now do you see what I mean about last night’s food?”

Seriously, Don't Police Have Better Things To Do With Their Time?

A woman allegedly carrying two hundred ecstasy pills was among nearly eighty revellers arrested for drug offences at a recent music festival.

Methylamphetamine, ketamine, cocaine and cannabis were also seized from dozens of people who will now be forced to front court for drug possession.

Do you think any of these people would have been a problem, if the police weren't, actually, there?

More than ten people at the event, were arrested and issued with cannabis cautions. (Ed note - people arrested for smoking a joint, yep, Mr Coppers, that's cleaning up. The twinset brigade in Silvania can sleep well tonight)

Officers also found various drugs on the ground which had been discarded. (Ed note - Throw it to me! Throw it to me!)

During one incident, police tried to search a man who managed to run into the crowd, allegedly elbowing an officer in the face and escaping. The man was later arrested again (Ed note - maybe not so smart.) and is expected to be charged with assaulting police, resisting an officer, offensive conduct, failing to comply with a search, having property suspected of being proceeds of crime, (Ed note - what? A fancy mobile phone? No, he had his luxury beach house in his pocket.) and carrying an offensive implement. (Ed note - what on earth could that be? A dildo, perhaps?)

The woman accused of possessing two hundred ecstasy tablets and a a male allegedly having twenty ecstasy tablets were charged with supplying a prohibited drug. (Ed note - Yep, you got two of the "Mr Big's" there guys, well done!)


Seriously, don't police have better things to do with their time? Why is police manpower wasted on this sort of operation? Wouldn't they be better deployed looking for violent criminals who are going to do harm to members of the public, not a bunch of partying kids who mean no harm to anyone.
It's ridiculous, all of the people attending such dance parties are all willing participants where their drug of choice isn't of the legal alcohol variety and, practically, no offences have been committed here, as people take this stuff willingly to have fun.

Everyone here just wants to get a little high and have a good time and the outcome of the police presence is to spoilt the attendees pleasure, nothing else. The police presence has no other affect, other than the perception that something is being done. The police look like they are doing something, but really they are just waisting every body's time, the future time of the magistrates included, turning people into criminals who aren't criminals at all.

Get a real job Mr Coppers! It is time that recreation drug use was legalised, if for no other reason, but to give the coppers something else to do.

Can You Imagine?

A young US mother and her boyfriend have been jailed after they showed off photos of the woman's toddler son duct taped to a wall.

An18-year-old from Nebraska, held her son to the wall while her 19-year-old boyfriend duct taped the boy's wrists and legs in January.

According to police the couple were "high after a night of partying" and decided to stick the boy to the wall as entertainment.

An affidavit said photos taken on the mother's camera showed the boy was crying while being restrained with the fluorescent green tape.

In one photo the youngster is seen reaching for a child's drinking cup which has been taped to the wall just out of his reach, and in another his arms are taped behind his back.

His mother was sentenced to 10 days in jail to be served over five weekends as well as two years probation.

The boyfriend was sentenced to 36-60 months in prison for intentional child abuse.

The boy has been placed in custody of the state.

It's not often that you can use the word perfection

Tookus Lingus

tookus lingus... what a very cute expression.

The very pleasurable sexual act of licking another person's anus. A fancier word for rimming, a rim job, tossing salad, analingus, or just plain eating arse.

In a recent survey, 71% were for, 28% were against, so I guess that leaves 1% undecided. Not really an issue you can be undecided about, I would have thought. What would that be, in the middle rotating?

So, buy the tookus lingus mugs, t-shirts and magnets, if you are a fan.

It even gets a mention in pop culture.

Miranda: He kind of... licked my butt.

Samantha: Be specific. Do you mean the cheeks, or...?

Miranda: It was more localised than that.

Carrie: Wait a minute. Are we... are we talking tookus lingus?

I don't mind a bit of tookus lingus, but again, I like being the lingus top, not the bottom. Oh, not that I have any great objections to bottoming for lingus, it's just that I just don't feel it. In fact, I feel it more by giving than I ever do receiving. I guess that's just a comment on life though, really, huh?

Beautiful

Citroen DS black rear side quarter

Don't You Love The Internet

Don't you just love the Internet. My phone packed it in, it froze and I had to remove the back to see if removing the battery would fix the problem. But, do you think I could find my manual or work out how to remove the back from the bloody phone. It just wouldn't budge no matter what I did.

I'd already had a bad day with my mum telling me that I never did anything she wanted e.g. let her go home and that I could stop coming to visit her, thank you very much. Nothing I did was good enough. She was a grumpy bitch from the get go.

And I just wasn't in the mood, having been sick all week, I suspect. Normally, I can tell her something funny, or change the setting and she'd chill and everything would fine, but not today. I wasn't 100%, shall we say and I allowed myself to sink into it and get pissy, rather than rise above it and stay cheerful.

Yes, I know, she can't help it, it is the disease and if I was a perfect human being, I'm sure, I'd remember that.

Then when I got home, I decided to type up a few sms', just as a simple, non-thought kind of thing to do, to stop me thinking about madame. And as if by spite, the universe said no and my phone packed it it. (Ponder, maybe there is a god?)

Oh grrr! WHAT? Shit! NO!

And then I couldn't get the back off the phone, no matter what I did and I just knew I was about to force THE BASTARD THING!!!! any minute and then it would be no good anyway all bent out of shape, so I put it down and played 1 or 10 rounds of Freecell... till I got back to it.

So, then I typed into Google "removing the back from my model Nokia phone", and there was the answer. Problem fix. Phone fixed. Yay!

You should have seen the dirt that was inside it. Wow! Er!

Too Cute

I So Don't Want To Go, But He's Having None Of My Nonsense

Sam and I walk to work. I so don't want to go, but he's having none of my nonsense.

"I'm sure I'm not well enough."

"You are just being lazy, move."

I pull sad, sick faces for the entire walk. Initially he laughs, then he looks exasperated. Finally, he says he will photograph the next tragic expression, he knows I hate having my photo taken at the best of times, very clever. It shuts me up, if not because of the perceived threat, because of the thought I have to put into the idea of him doing that.

He's funny, I've missed him. He scampered off Saturday morning and hadn't been sighted since. Oh, who could blame him, I wouldn't want to be around him either, if there was a chance that I could get the flu.

Of course, he turned up last night within half an hour of me smoking my first joint, with Shane and Sebastian. Then he looks suspicious when I say I hadn't had any for 2 weeks. It's true.

I get to work, and the first thing my new boss asks me is how I am? I think okay, here we go, my one shot at heading home again. I tell her I felt alright when I left home, but now I was going hot and cold and I could feel buzzing in my body and my limbs. Sad face.

She said that we think we are all right, but we’re not. We get sick of doing nothing and we are bored and we come back too early. She said she thought I was still sick and that I should go home.

You know, they all think they are just so important and that they couldn’t possibly get sick, today's corporate angst. So, it becomes about them and not about you. Don't give it to me. Go home.

Like taking candy from a baby.

So, I go home.

It’s a lovely day, the sun is shining, the sky is blue.

I buy smoked oysters and mussels at the milk bar and head home. 

I raid the mull bowl from last night and smoke a joint straight up. Then my ears block up and my head feels thick and I have justification for being home.

I brew coffee and brake out the Carrs water Crackers.