Welcome to my blog where fear and phobias rule the day. My own phobias include, clowns, balloons popping, planes, planes crashing, planes filled with clowns crashing, planes filled with clowns holding balloons crashing....you get the general idea. Oh and although I love animals I hate them dressed up in clothes.
Other blogs that are friends of mine
My brother David
Sites I like
It's weird, it's funny, it's sad, it's beautiful, it's my favourite
He's weird; he's funny and another fave
Shameless self promotion type Kate Browne into search, cough up $1.65 and read some of my work
Sunday Life & SMH
Good astrology site us Pisces people are believers (when it suits us that is)
Kate Brownes Pub
These guys defy description
Dean and Nigel
They are painfully cool and they like Duran Duran to boot
Wednesday, October 31, 2001
Picture perfect postcard Sydney day. Lay down in the park under the harbour bridge in the sun under a palm tree at lunch. Watched the little lego men figures of the bridgeclimb people toddle up the bridge in their matching grey overalls in clusters of ten. Lazed in the warm grass with my eyes closed to slits when suddenly I hear a god almighty crack from above and a massive thud next to my head. I am covered in bark and lying, not more than an inch from my head is an enormous coconut thing that has dropped out of the tree.
My friend Jason likes to predict all of our deaths, it keeps him amused. For me he has always insisted that something large would fall from the heavens and wipe me out of existence. The example he uses is a baby grand falling out of a high rise apartment. Could the coconut be a sign? I think I have been warned.
Monday, October 29, 2001
Another thing to hate today.....the beginning of daylight savings. It almost killed me dragging my ass out of bed this morning, it probably didn't help that I inflicted quite a lot of damage on myself and my psyche due to a rather large Saturday night which didn't actually pull up until Sunday dawn. It gets worse when I remember that I was at one stage dancing to S Club Seven with a guy in a very bad wig......errrrrrrr.
However it's good to know I'm not alone in my sufferance. A boy I work with just said "I hate this daylight savings thing, it's making my entire body ache. Even my eyelashes hurt." I couldn't agree more.
Friday, October 26, 2001
Thanks to Erinfor introducing me to the truly wonderful Spanish word "Pava", roughly translated it is to be so trashy it is supernatural. Muchos gracias Erin. I have had my eyes peeled for examples of truly pava things all morning and I must say Sydney is blessed with muchos pava in spades. (or maybe it's all those American tourists hanging around the quay in their white tracksuits and gold jewellery) but after thinking long and hard Kate's pava website nomination for the day is.........
The Liberace Museum of Las Vegas Ahhh Liberace, a man so pava it hurts. Be sure to check out the pictures in the gallery, superb.
Thursday, October 25, 2001
Working with a room filled with five other girls (make that very, very girly girls) can get a girl down somedays. The mere act of putting food into ones body can, or indeed the mere consideration of eating can throw them into a frenzy. Below I would like to share my thoughts with you on the hot topic of the girly office this week. The fad diet....
Let's just start with the fact that Madonna’s put her 5-year-old daughter on a carbohydrate free diet. Apparently poor little Lourdes had hot dogs without the buns at her birthday party.
This news is final confirmation that just like the return of bad 80’s fashion, fur coats and big hair, the fad diet is back with a vengeance.
From “eating right for your blood type” to “cabbage soup” every fad diet has it’s gimmick. The very latest (not to mention celebrity-endorsed) regime is the “high protein-low carbohydrate” diet. And according to Hollywood gossip columns it is THE diet to be on.
In a nutshell, the premise is that it is carbohydrates, not fat that causes weight gain. This means eating heaps of meat, eggs, butter, cream and pretty much everything else your Mum would say is bad for you, and not much in the way of bread, potatoes, pasta and even fruit.
According to nutritionists, anyone following this diet long term can become a candidate for all sorts of health nasties from bad breath and fainting to heart disease and memory loss. Pretty sad really, even sadder is that this is not even a new concept. In the 70’s and 80’s similar diets were everywhere. Anyone remember the Pritikin, the Grapefruit or the Beverly Hills diet? I even remember back in the late 70’s my sister embarking on the mysterious Israeli Soldiers diet. This ever so nutritious concept involved eating apples for three days, then cheese for three days and so on. Just exactly what the connection was between copious amounts of Kraft cheesesticks, fitting into your tightest jeans on a Saturday night and conflict in the Middle East, is a mystery that eludes me to this very day.
But Israelis aside, the low-carbohydrate theme raised its ugly head again in the ultimate yuppie diet of the 80’s, the Scarsdale. Everyone from Bob Hawke to our Kylie were extolling the virtues of half a cold tomato and a spoonful of tuna for lunch.
Only today I meet yet another person who insists on boring me with the details of his low-carb regime. Mid forties with thinning hair and pin striped suit, Kevin hardly looks like your classic diet zealot. “It’s amazing” he crows “I’ve given up bread, potatoes, pasta and the weight is just falling off!”
Leaning forward he says in a conspiratorial manner “you know the very best thing about this diet is that I don’t have to eat all that healthy rubbish. I can eat bacon and eggs every morning, just as long as I don’t have toast!” When I ask how his heart was going to enjoy a diet exclusively based on greasy fry-ups he stumbles momentarily then grins and says “Oh, who cares? I’ve lost so much weight!”. Sad git - he will probably have a heart attack for his 45th birthday.
My cousin has just paid a diet guru over two hundred bucks a session in an attempt to lose weight. Her new routine is extremely complex and time consuming, including daily urine tests plus she has to weigh every single thing she eats, even lettuce leaves. So what happens when she eats out? “I don’t anymore” she replies.
So it seems that the first rule of these “new” diets is that the potential dieter must have a Phd in chemistry to understand instructions so complicated that the best selling volumes they come in are the size of telephone books.
Good ole trashy magazines also help push along the idea by telling us which celebrities follow which diet. A quick flick through them reveals that Portia De Rossi doesn’t like her different foods to “touch” and Jennifer Aniston follows “The Zone” religiously, where her every meal needs to be exactly 30% protein, 40% carbohydrate and 30% fat. By the looks of poor old Jen these days it appears she’s decided the maths on that little equation three times a day is too hard and that just not eating at all is easier.
But really, should we look towards the US for diet advice anyway? As the fattest nation in the world our American friends are hardly leading by example. Afterall, these are people who consider peanut butter a vital food group and are responsible for the manufacture of a lurid pink breakfast product called “Fluffer” (that’s spreadable marshmallow fluff for the uninitiated.)
But before we get too smug Australia, recent reports now show we are now heavyweight rivals to the US for the fattest nation title. Ahh, there’s nothing like progress.
Perhaps so much conflicting information on nutrition bamboozles us punters into believing almost anything. A girl I know says “I’d like to go to the gym but I must lose weight first, or my fat will turn into muscle” as if one go on the exercise bike will turn her into the incredible hulk. Another says she has it on very good authority that rice is “really” bad for you as she scoffs a packet of Twisties.
Even so, our high protein dieters are having the time of their lives. Stuffing their gobs with junk food and waiting for the kilos to drop off. Imagine… fried chicken, just no chips, creamy Caesar salad, no croutons. It sounds like a Homer Simpson dream until you consider the implications of hardened arteries and high cholesterol.
Personally, in the spirit of recycling trends I’m hanging out for the revival of the Jane Fonda style aerobics craze and cries of “feel the burn!” I’ve always wanted an excuse to wear a pink headband and matching legwarmers… again.
Monday, October 15, 2001
Gotta love organising a large scale event. Everyone runs around being all arty farty and "conceptual" and wasting hundreds of hours in meetings arguing over exactly what shade of purple will need to go onto the invitations (it's all about the look and feel apparently) and exactly what kind of "messages" need to be used. "Should we say 'enable' or 'assist' or just plain 'helped' " say they.... yada yada yada.
One day out from the actual event and someone says "oh what about invitations?" dum dum dum daaaaaaaaaaaaaa.(scary music was what that was meant to be). Mouths fall open and people look like they want to run away in the manner of the "not happy Jan" lady from TV. Yes people, the event has been built in exactly the right shade of purple.....but will anyone actually come?
Friday, October 12, 2001
La la la, the weekend is coming and I for one am bloody glad of it. A strange week indeed; from being buzzed by black unmarked anti terrorist (I hope) helicopters on Monday and feeling a little like a character in a James Bond movie (exciting, scary but kinda cool), to picking up the keys to my brand new flat (oooh yeah!! love that Real estate feeling) to most strange tales indeed from my flatmate (lovely but suprising...) methinks the world has gone nuts. But hey, it keeps me entertained and more importantly off the streets (so to speak)
The fabulous cyclone Megan blows into town tonight and I for one will be keen for a drink or twenty to celebrate. Bring it on! More next week kids hopefully something a little less inane.
Monday, October 08, 2001
Banks....I never REALLY understood why people feel so vitriolic about them. Until today.......
I am in the midst of negotiating my first home loan and purchase. To be honest so far the whole bloody thing has kind of gained a momentum of it's own. All of a sudden without much effort (or understanding) on my behalf I have lawyers, mortgage brokers and the like beavering away on my lovely and totally naive behalf........ until now.
Today, with my home ownership looking decidedly iminent for this weeks end I decide to try and talk to the bank who have "kindly" provisioned my loan. "Bring bring....bastard bank how may I help you?" say they. "Erm hi, I have a loan with you guys and just want some advice on what I need to.." "Not our department" say they "putting you though..." "Bring, Bring...bastard bank loan division, how may I help you?" "Errr hello there, I've just been put through. I'm sorting out my home loan and just wanted to..." "No, no" say they "we only handle personal loans" I'll have to put you through. "bring..bring..." I think you can probably guess how the rest of the dialogue goes through a total of FIVE departments.......
I am now hyperventilating and have an overwhelming urge to lie on the floor and burst into tears. So far the bastard bank have left me none the wiser, and more than a little stressed. In fact, so stressed I've deceided it is far too much to cope with today and that I will have to steel myself and try again tomorrow. I've even checked my phobia list and apparently there is no name for this which I find strange due to the immense unpopularity of all bastard banks.
However, on a brighter note I've checked the list and can confirm that there are two phobias that I definately DO NOT suffer from, Elurophobia and Oenophobia. Can you guess what they are?
Tuesday, October 02, 2001
For those with who share my fear of everything check out the phobia list
Can you tell I'm not so keen on work today? Time to try some hyperlinking to the very gifted and lovely Erinwho I send very special thoughts to on the eve of her wisdom tooth holiday.
Slow and painful start to the working week after the long weekend. Suffered from 'wanting to prolong the weekend as much as possible' syndrome which culminated in far too many beers in the back garden with housemates who I conveniently forgot did not have to get up for work this morning. Walked to the station clutching bag, paperwork, juggling change for the ticket machine with my hair still bundled up on top of my head from the shower, my shirt all buttoned up wrong. A woman walked out of a house in front of me carrying a baby. The baby looked, pointed it's chubby little finger at me and laughed. Surely not a good omen for the day......