Sunday, January 27, 2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
During the Myer stock-take sales, I walked past a Kambrook Doughnut Factory - basically, a jaffle iron but in the shape of six tiny doughnuts. Make a circle with your index finger and your thumb. That's how tiny each of these doughnut moulds is.
So I couldn't justify it to myself at the time, but for weeks, I have been secretly coveting it. It stems from the same place within me that gets gleeful when I think of cupcakes and sprinkles.
Last night, we had our first book club (Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad - I'd heard that the series Lost was heavily influenced by it, and I can see why, but it was a hard slog, despite being very skinny. I digress). Anyway, instead of bringing a cake, I went out and bought a doughnut factory after a day-long inward struggle, and turned up with a bowl of batter and some cinnamon sugar, happy and relieved to be free of the burden of lusting after a kitchen appliance.
Tiny little hot cinnamon doughnuts ensued in three-minute batches.
Today, I was walking down Flinders Street between Swanston and Elizabeth, and passed an Indian restaurant with pictures of vada (deep-fried blobs of lentil puree) in the window. "Ah," I thought. "Those things are shaped like doughnuts."
Then I had a remarkable thought. I don't just have to put doughnut batter in my doughnut machine.
Wehell! I just about skipped home. The possibilities! Doughnut-shaped vada! Doughnut-shaped potato cakes! Doughnut-shaped risotto balls!
ANYTHING MOOSHY AND COOKABLE CAN BE DOUGHNUTTED!
I could have a five-course doughnut FEAST!
Monday, January 21, 2008
The funny thing is, I can remember random phrases, without having much of a clue what they mean anymore. I thought it was supposed to be the other way round - that you forget the words to express what you want to say, not that you remember the words and forget the meaning.
A few days ago, I woke up with je ne sais quoi in my head. I spent the rest of the day murmuring it to myself in quiet moments at work.
KWUH KWUH KWUH!
I remembered enough to vaguely figure it out before resorting to Babel Fish.
Another time, the words je suis en enfant du monde got stuck in my head, in a rather hysterical female voice similar to Lisa Simpson exhorting "I AM THE LIZARD QUEEN!"
Did they even teach us that at school?
"I AM A CHILD OF THE WORLD! (MWUH HUH HUH!)"
I wonder what English phrases ESL people get stuck in their heads.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
I have never been present at a birth, but my good friend has done it more than once, and has described it as follows:
“Lots of excruciating pain and uncontrollable bodily ejections. Poop. Projectile vomit. Uterine fluid, blood, sweat, gas, slime, that sort of thing, followed by something the size of a watermelon coming out of a lemon-sized hole. All the while, a bunch of people are staring intently at your crotch.”
Honestly, what kind of woman would want her father prodding around at the business end of all this?
Nicole’s little sister Antonia apparently, whose fourth child was delivered by her Dad, and whose precedent Nic wishes to follow.
Knowing what you now know, doesn’t this photo make you feel a little bit icky?
- M: My sister's three year-old has learned how to swear already.
- Me: What can she say?
- M: She gets it all out of context though. The other day, my sister told her off for something, and she just glared at her Mum and yelled, "FUCK IT OUT!"
- Me: Fuck it out?
- M: Fuck it out. So my sister was shocked, and explained to her about rude words and not using them. Anyway, this little toddler just averted her eyes, and muttered it again under her breath. Fuck. It. Out.
- Me: Wow. I have to say, it's kind of catchy. Like, pretend to say it after banging your elbow really hard. It really nails the sentiment.
I've come to realise, however, how completely dependent I've become on Google's define: function.
Just in the past couple of months:
- Quietening (moment of doubt - is it quieting or quietening?)
- Polak (trying to figure out if I could make a homophone out of poleaxe and Polaks, before having an unsettling suspicion that the work Polak might be a derogatory term. Had a similar moment of PC quandary when I went to write the heading “Live like a Sheikh” on a press release, and then wondered uneasily what a Sheikh was, exactly.)
There are basically three reasons I don't smoke. The first two relate to health concerns and lack of enjoyment. The third is because I'm simply too uncoordinated to pull it off.
In drunken teenage moments, I would always be the kid trying to light the filter end. Once I got the hang of which bit to put in my mouth, I would inevitably end up with the screwed up face and watery eyes of someone trying very hard to preserve their dignity by not spluttering.
My main issue, though, was timing. I could never, ever get the rhythm of it right. I would either end up leaving the ash to accumulate so long that it would drop off and singe its way through my clothes, or I would overcompensate by tapping the ash off so frequently that the cigarette would end up extinguishing. My frenetic flicking became a bit of a running joke.
The people who really amazed me though, were the people who would light up at the packed front sections of music festivals. I would stare at them incredulously, thinking "DOESN'T IT WORRY YOU THAT YOU ARE TIGHTLY PRESSED ON ALL SIDES BY JOSTLING PEOPLE, HOLDING A LITTLE OBJECT THAT COULD TOTALLY WRECK SOMEONE'S DAY BY BURNING THEM OR RUINING THEIR TSHIRT?!"
Nonetheless, while I would never take it up, I remain a little envious of people who can do do the inhale-exhale-flick-hold routine with effortless nonchalance. Such skill.
Does smoking come naturally to most people? Are there smokers out there as uncoordinated as me, who have simply overcome its difficulties through practice and sheer determination?