Dizzy Lamb Park

Like me, many kids who grew up in Perth would find in the darkest recesses of the closets, along with boxes of mismatched lego and Care Bears, a small plush lamb with crazy looking eyes. For the girls, a red ribbon would be perched between it's lamb ears and the boys would have a more manly version sans ribbon. Mine was uninventively called Lamby and contained, within it's furry body, fond memories of a theme park called Dizzy Lamb Park. Legend tells us that the original owners father couldn't pronounce Disneyland correctly, instead saying Dizzy Lamb. So when the time came for the family to open their own mini Australian version of Disneyland, on a sprawling property in the upper stretches of Waneroo Road, the first name that popped into their heads was, of course, Dizzy Lamb Park.

I was very young, say 4 or 5 when I last visited the park, so the extent of my memories of the place is quite limited. So I was surprised when, 21 years later, driving around the perimeter of the now run down park, I found myself recognising things and getting childishly excited. The Statue of Liberty still rose out of the murky looking lake, teeming with giant fish. The old stone benches still sat, now surrounded by bush and the castle turrets peeked over the tops of the trees. A ghostly go-kart track girt by old Streets Cornetto advertising signs graced a large corner of the park and creepy looking play equipment creaked rustily in the wind.

Although it hasn't been running as a theme park for many years now, it has now been taken over by paintballing and laser skirmish company who use the left over castle and theme park infrastructure as a unique paintballing arena. They were kind enough to let us walk around and take some shots of what was left over from the memories stored within my stuffed plush lamb.

Remember this place and want to check it out? Why not go paintballing! Check out their website here. www.castleinvasion.com.au

The Mysterious Mansion

Turn off the highway , avoid the potholes as the road gets narrower and the trees more sparse and just before you hit the dirt corridor that abruptly ends the road you will find The Mysterious Mansion. A house so out of place in it's setting and unknown to even those long time local residents. A sprawling mansion, sans light fixtures and window frames, stands solidly, it's bright coloured walls clashing with the dry grass. Abandoned. Burnt. Each room revealing more, yet adding to the intrigue.

Why did the people living here have to leave?

How long ago was it?

And more importantly, how on earth did those who roamed it's empty bowels with spray cans in their hands ever manage to get the hot water system off the roof?? :)

Even though I am yet to solve the puzzle, I am happy to roam and discover some of the amazing graffiti art that graces it's walls.

Check out the rest of the series HERE

Abandoned Ascot.

I remember when I was a child the coming of Summer meant one thing. Water playgrounds. Slides combined with water. What more could a child want? Oh yeah, icecreams. They had those too. And mini golf.

Alas, when the water gets taken out of a water playground it doesn't just become a playground, it becomes a creepy overgrown patch strewn with old plastic floaties and beer bottles. Not good for the kiddies, but great for those exploring with cameras.

Passion - Assignment 4

Today I took a major step towards my passion. The last few days have been a manic see-saw ride, the logical and responsible side of me hollering things like "financial security" and "stick to what you know", the other side of me, desperate to work towards a future that i don't abhor, whispering comforting notions like that a life lived through my passions would leave me far more fulfilled than one lived purely for financial gain.

So today I quit my job that I hate and am hoping to move into a job that is more closely related to the things I love most. Writing and photography. Working full time in a job that doesn't delight or challenge you is a tiring experience. Every day I spent there, I wrote less and took less photos. I was tired. I was grumpy. And I was surrounded by other tired, grumpy people. I feel my time at uni has enabled me to explore further the things I love and given me the courage to follow my dreams.

So today was my follow your passion day. I read, alot. I wrote. I went through a bundle of photos I had taken over the weekend and edited them. I felt inspired. This is how I want to spend my days......






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Wounds to the Face - NOW SHOWING AT MURDOCH!

I am a fan of story telling in all it’s formats. Books, film, theatre, even music and art. The ability to lose one’s self in someone else's story has always delighted me. I remember when I was 10, reading Tomorrow When The War Began for the first time and after many hours fascinated by the unfolding saga I took a break to make myself a sandwich. As I rummaged through the cupboards trying to find the peanut butter, I began to rush and worry that I would miss the next part of the story. I had created such a visual world in my head, each of the characters sketched with such clarity in my mind that I could recall their faces as easily as my own, that for a brief moment I had forgotten that this story was unravelling in a book, but instead thought I was watching it on TV. My rushing, I realised, was my attempt at getting the sandwich made before the ad break was over and the story began again. Although it was only for a moment, and I subsequently stopped slapping the peanut butter on the bread with such wild abandon, that has always stuck with me. That ability to put your personal reality aside for a moment and steep yourself in someone else reality is a deeply exciting and rewarding experience. Whether we do it purely for entertainment and relaxation, or to discover and explore aspects of humanity that we don’t have personal experience of, everyone loves to indulge. So when the opportunity to see Wounds to the Face, an intriguing performance being put on by students at Murdoch University came up, I jumped at the chance.

I knew nothing about what the performance was about, my cursory research not enlightening me much, so upon arriving at the Nexus Theatre I was a clean slate, no pre conceived ideas dirtying my mind. The posters didn’t illuminate me much, but served only to intrigue me further. AH HA! They have programs! Surely that will tell me everything I need! Alas, apart from showing me the faces of the many students involved in the performance, it still didn’t give me much of an idea what I was in for, but the accordion music that jolted out of the speakers made me smile (I have always had a strange attraction to accordions) and for me that was enough to know I was in for a treat.

Upon entering we were met with an assortment of characters littering the stage, some even roaming the aisles where we sat. All in their own worlds, they mostly ignored eachother, some muttering to themselves, other merely staring. The assortment of characters was compelling, the whispers of the crowd as we settled down could be heard, trying to figure out the connection all these figures had to each other. We laughed as scantily clad ladies winked at us and showed us a little leg. The lady next to me jumped slightly as a small woman at the back screamed loudly whilst grasping a small mirror. In the centre a man stood, unmoving, his face covered completely in bandages. As the crowd settled in and the whispers subsided all but one of the characters left the stage and the story telling began, the lone figure, her back to the audience, face reflected three fold in the mirrors in front of her started our journey.

For the next hour and a half we were treated to an absorbing insight into the relationships that we have with our faces. Something that most of us wouldn’t think about, but when faced with it, it’s fascinating. The story was wound together through many small interactions between the characters, each raising new questions. Would I still be me if I had a different face? Is changing our appearance through surgery the right thing to do? Why do we place so much of who we are into our appearance? I am sure each person in the audience grasped slightly different meanings of the performance, but I think that’s where it’s really successful. Along with the beautifully rhythmical script and impeccable performances the play was open for interpretation, every person was able to leave having felt they explored a different reality from their own.

The play is still running at the Nexus Theatre on the South Street campus of Murdoch University until the 7th November and I highly recommend it to others to check out. If you are interested in going and supporting some of your fellow uni students check out the following link Wounds to the Face

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10 things I like about Murdoch...

...in no particular order, several being based around food.

1. Quendas.
How can your university experience not be enriched by the addition of small furry animals? On many an occasion whilst strolling the campus, iPod blocking out the warning signs that little beasties may be nearby, I have been startled by one of these fuzzy critters as they dart from underneath the scrub, my garbled girlish scream heard clearly over Billy Joel's voice singing directly into my ears. Having said that, the Quendas are just as inclined to bring screams of delight from passersby, as their cuteness, like that of a puppy, can cause even the most macho man to point and go "awwwwww!"

2. The tutors are young and cool.
These cool sneaker-wearing hipsters, often only a year or two older than I am, remind me that once I turn 30 I don't suddenly morph into a 1950's housewife with a pipe-smoking husband and 2.5 kids in tow. Most of my tutors haven't been cocooned in the academic world for most of their lives, the reality of actually working in the industry in which they teach blurred in a haze of essay marking and plaid jackets. Instead their practical experience and relate-ability bridges the gap between student and tutor, making for a far more enjoyable experience and the occasional high five.

3. Bubble O Bills
Many of my childhood summers were spent nomming on Bubble O Bill ice-creams, carefully eating each flavour of his cowboy face separately until I reached his bubble gum nose, emblazoned with a corny cowboy saying. And as I get older, the sentimentality I have towards things of my past grows and I find my house filled with Star Wars Pez dispensers, Lego and many a corny 80's movie. So when I discovered that the Ref stocked Bubble O Bills, an ice-cream I believed to exist only in my past, I rejoiced. And although his nose no longer contains witty quips, the enjoyment I get from sitting in Bush Court gobbling down half a dozen Bubble O Bills takes me back to my barefoot childhood and I smile.

4. Everything is online.
I am lazy. I know it. In fact, sometimes i almost have demented pride in the fact. My dream job would either be something where I get to read fantasy books all day or write about my achingly boring life in a blog. Well, anything I got to lie down whilst doing really. My motto is "why do something that a machine can do for you?". I mean, that's why non-lazy people studied mechanical engineering, to make my life easier. Since the invention of the internet I can now do almost everything online thus satisfying my hunger for nanna naps . I shop online, watch TV online, do research online, manage my finances online, even socialise online! Who needs to go and meet their friends down at the coffee shop when you can simply poke them on Facebook from the comfort of your own couch. No pants required! So the fact that almost all of my uni work is online delights me. Lectures are recorded and put on the web, along with unit outlines and assignments. I can sign up for everything online and get all my marks online. Wonderful!

5. It's not a fashion show.
Although I don't condone leaving the house and turning up to your lectures in your pyjamas, I can't stand when people dress up for uni how I dress for a wedding. Stilettos on campus are only good for one things and that's aerating the lawn. I've worked at and attended other universities where the girls compete for shortest dress, highest hair and most makeup, so I love it when I rock up to my classes wearing jeans, vans, and a Star Trek tshirt and I don't feel out of place.

6. Flexibility.
I change my mind. Alot. In the 10 years since leaving high school I have worked in at least half a dozen different professions and studied everything from Accounting to Buddhist meditation. Whether it's just my restless nature, or am I yet to find that niche where I not only love what I do but am also good at it, I need to be able to change my mind. Since beginning at Murdoch I have changed my major twice and my entire degree once. No one yelled at me. It wasn't hard. In fact I was able to change my degree in a matter of a few clicks. Life is about enjoying what you do, so I will keep tweaking my degree until it suits me perfectly.

7. Not only does my academic knowledge increase.....so does my geekines!
Many people have the idea that university is a little dry. Long essays, even longer books and monotone lectures, cramming our heads with academia, transforming us into critical thinkers able to debate philosophy and the meaning of life with anyone willing to listen. Initially I was worried that all my geekish pursuits would have to remain on the outskirts of life, scared away by university life. That was until one morning in my first semester. I sat in the front row, on my own, laptop open and ready to capture the wisdom of the ages. Yes, it was a media unit, but I still had visions of learning about the origins of media and the cultural effects it has had on our society. The lights dimmed, the words Red Vs Blue flickered to life on the screen in front of me and the next 3 and a half minutes were filled with outrageous laughter and even a snort or two. Instead of a powerpoint presentation we were treated to an episode of the internet sensation, an animated comedy show based around the video game Halo, Red Vs Blue. This lecture led me to buy the entire 5 seasons of the show and subsequently my geek points have increased exponentially.

8. The mini kebabs are cheap and well.....mini!
As a student anything cheap is a cause for celebration. I have a terrible habit of exclaiming to anyone I pass in the street the latest bargain I managed to grab. Mention that you like my shoes? I'll heartily reply that I got them on sale. 70% off! Ask me where I got my bag from and I'll tell you that I made it myself out of old pillowcases and second hand thread. In one of my cheap moments the other day, when standing at a greasy hamburger joint, fingers grabbing hopelessly at the few coins floating in the bottom of my handbag, I discovered something else. Mini stuff is great! Not only could my measly coins afford a modest cheeseburger over a full sized, jam-packed, Humungo burger, but I didn't waste anything! Each processed morsel ended up in my belly, somewhat nourishing me enough to make it to my next meal, unlike when I eat the full sized version and half of it ends up in the bin. So the mini kebabs from the Ref are awesome! No waste and cheap enough to buy with your change.

9. Thursday's - Stall Day.
What more could I want than the opportunity to combine my studies with shopping? Wandering onto Bush Court on a Thursday you will be met with a variety of stalls hawking their wares, everything from books and DVD's to jewelry and batteries. My favourite Thursday purchase would have to be a fake old-school fob watch with a deer on the front. I spent the remainder of the day pretending I was a rich gentleman from the late 19th century.

10. They let me blog!
Every narcissist loves the glow of others caring about what they say. In the age of the interwebs everyone has the opportunity to publish their thoughts, sending their often non-sensical ideas out there into cyber space in the hope that someone else stumbles across their words and actually reads them. But with the over population of the blog sphere, many people's ruminations go unread, slowly rotting away in the blackness of space. So being given the opportunity to not only write about my day to day happenings, but being promised a following as well, knowing my words will be read by at least 4 people leaves me shining with the narcissists' glow. Thanks Murdoch!

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Real Life Skills - proudly taught by your local university

As well as providing us with wisdom and knowledge pertaining to the academic world, university also equips us with practical real life skills. Like the art of getting extensions and how to nap in meetings without making too much noise. But it also teaches us how to survive on very little money. Whether you are funding your university experience from your own pockets or maybe your parents, I can assure you that you will at some point in your degree find yourself eating Mi Goreng noodles and and plenty of baked beans. Now even though I am back at work for a semester, I found that these skills carry wonderfully into the real world. The more noodles I eat, the more holidays I can save for (or in reality, the more debts I can pay off)! But it doesn’t end there, university thrifts can find themselves 3 course meals, each course costing less than 90 cents!

French Onion Soup from a sachet - 86c
Mi Goreng Noodles - 49c
Anchor Toffee Apple flavoured Jelly - 90c

“What more could you want?”, I though as I tucked into my bowl of jelly. Mmm hmm. So although my tummy sometimes craves the culinary largesse bestowed upon the rich, if I ever find myself trapped on an island with only jelly to live off, I know who will be surviving.....ME!

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How did I figure out what I wanted to study?

Around exam time there are literally thousands of pieces of advice that are swirling around . Blu-tacked to a post outside the library. Jumping out from various websites. Spouting out of parents mouths. Even I indulged in my own advice giving in a previous blog post. My secret to a successful exam....check it out here

Some, like my own, are based around silly ritualistic luck games that we are all too scared of breaking....just in case. Others are based on sound realistic tips that can really help you succeed. One that has always followed my through both my high school and university life is part of the latter group.

“Always read the question carefully and answer the question THEY are asking, not the one YOU hoped they would”

It’s far too easy, surrounded by the stressful domain of the exam room, to just write what ever you feel like, or simply just write down everything you know, rather than answer the actual question in front of you.

So you would think ,when approaching this blog assignment two question, that I would do exactly that.........but instead I ignored this top-notch advice did the opposite. When there’s no marks involved, I think there can be a little room for creative movement. :) So instead my banner (check out the original photo here) has a reference. Something that you become very familiar with deciphering in the first few months of university. But since not everyone will have access to a Calvin and Hobbes comic book, here is the panel that is being referred to.


So my advice to people considering their study options is to realise that study is not always fun. Study can be hard work, our brain often yelling at us that it’s full. We see sunshine outside and suddenly Michel Fouccault, or the origins of molecules, isn’t so interesting. There are so many things in life tearing our attention away from what is actually a lot of hard work. Very rewarding hard work don’t get me wrong, but some days it’s just hard. One look at Facebook during exam week reflects that, with every students status’s swearing that the overload of knowledge being stuffed into heir brains is causing tumours. So if we are going to put ourselves through at least 3 years of learning, secretly hoping, just like Calvin, that occasionally our homework will do itself, we should study something we love. I have ranted in the past about how important it is to study what you love, because only then will we truly succeed.

I only realised the importance of this after a failed attempt at a uni degree back in 2000. I wandered onto my first university campus, my Sony Discman bulging out of the pocket of my cargo shorts, threatening to pull them down with each step, as I went to sign up for my first degree. In these days, before everything was done online, you had to actually wait for your acceptance letter to come in the mail and then make the trip over to the campus to accept and choose your units, then you had to hang around while the lecturers posted sign up sheets on the doors of the lecture halls. As I entered some room that had been transformed into the enrollment room a pile of forms was thrust in my face , each one demanding the same information as the last. Name. Date of Birth. TER. A blur of forms later I was handed my enrollment card. As I looked at it, I was momentarily confused. Next to my name was "Bachelor of Business/Bachelor of Science" and as I had little interest in both science and business, I couldn't figure out why it would be right there on my form. But then I remembered. I had enrolled in that degree for every other reason than that it would interest me.

"It will get you a good job", says Mum.

"Arts students are all hippies who go on to make a living off pot smoking and abstract paintings made with macaroni", says Dad.

"If you don't go to uni and get a good sensible degree you will never succeed in life", says the misguided Guidance Counsellor.

So that was how I found myself with a Billabong bag full of Advanced Calculus and Accounting books and a penchant for sleeping in lectures. I hated uni. I hated my Mathematics for Computer Sciences Lecturer who spoke too fast. I hated my Accounting tutor who made jokes that nobody laughed at. I hated that I was forced to study something that made me want to vomit. I hated that I was the only girl in one of my units and therefore was regarded as some kind of alien. So after one semester I left.

So fast forwarding past 7 years of travel, playing computer games and regularly changing jobs I found myself again ready to enrol in uni. This time as I sat in front of my computer enrolling in units I was excited. I eagerly read the description of each unit, bought my books early and even started reading them. I went to lectures and didn't sleep. I researched more than was necessary. I read more than was necessary. I contributed to discussions and passed my exams with flying colours.

The difference? This time I was studying something I loved. Something that I found interesting and inspiring. And although I still found myself often being the only girl, the strange staring no longer bothered me.

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Being a Murdoch blogger gets you places. Like into The Web.

The irony was not lost on me as I sat, iPhone in hand, checking my latest Facebook status updates whilst waiting for a play exploring the dangers of cyberspace to start......

I was not born in an age of technology, I am just slightly too old for that. I remember getting our first family computer when I was 14, the only things it was good for were word processing and playing the occasional game of “Where in the World is Carmen Santiago?”. My first mobile phone didn’t come until I was almost 18 when my parents realised that their youngest child was driving around in a 30 year old car, just begging to break down in the middle of the night. On a road with no lights. Opposite a creepy pine plantation. And then, of course, it was the size of a graphics calculator but far less useful. $10 credit lasted me months and a 6 word text message took at least 5 minutes to type. I enjoy the fact that my childhood was free from technology, but those who know me now would laugh at that statement. I am a bit of a technology junkie. I have two computers, an iMac and an iBook. I have 3 iPods, an iPhone and a nice new snazzy DSLR camera. I daily wander the virtual halls of Facebook, Flickr, Twitter and Blogger, leaving a wave of updates in my path. A smattering of photos. A couple of jokes. A few opinions here. Some more speculations over there. The internet is a place I share with friends and even strangers. A place I can express myself and have a little fun in the process. So when I got an email from someone who had read my blog, offering me free tickets to a play about the internet I jumped at the chance. All they asked in return was my opinion! And that’s something I definitely know how to give.

......so back to the play. As I found my way to my seat, I took in the scene in front of me. The corrugated iron set that dominated the stage contrasted strikingly with the boy band tunes that bounced off the walls. I half expected boys wearing cross colours to jump from behind the iron and begin dancing, but as I heard the word ‘digital’ jump out of the lyrics, I thought more about it, I realised that it was perfect. I picked up my iPhone and opened the Shazam app (for those who haven’t heard of Shazam it is an application that will listen to a song that is playing and then find out the name and artist who sings it. Very handy for those nasty family debates over the dinner table!), and set it into action to find out who played this catchy ditty. AH HA! I was right. It was NSYNC grooving to a track they called “Digital Get Down”. The modern song and the old fashioned set let us know, before the play even started that this was a play of contrast. A rural setting but a very modern theme. The online world, being as pervasive as it is, reaches and effects even the most distant of places, as it’s arms stretch into most houses within our country. I quickly tweeted my musical discovery from my phone before a stern voice over the speaker appealed for everyone to switch them off. The lights went down and it began........

The shock generated from the bombshell beginning was lightened by a comedic and entertaining monologue settling us all into the motion of the story. As I don’t want to give away the whole story line here, I will just give a glimpse into what this amazing play has to offer. The two main characters are opposites but both endearing in their own ways. Travis, theatrical and insightful by nature and Fred, awkward but lovable. Through these two characters we are invited to join in on an exploration of the effects and even dangers of the relationships that we develop online. By using Fred, a young person unfamiliar with the online world, they expose the dirty underside of the world dominated by :) and LOL.

The familiar MSN text sound effects and “text speak” caused the younger portion of the audience to laugh, whilst bringing about quizzical looks from the older generation. My fellow audience members gasped, laughed and sighed along with me. The virtual cyberspace theme didn’t disguise the very real life story, full of palpable emotions and real life effects as we meandered through the lives of the characters, the mystery deepening until the last moments when all is revealed.

The superb writing shines through each actors insightful performances and it’s an absolute delight to watch.

As someone who spends alot of time online it revealed to me the importance of distinguishing reality from the online world. It is here, that I am glad that I grew up without Facebook or Myspace, as to me the online world is a place of fun, somewhere to go to be entertained, but The Web showed me there is a sinister side to this, as some find the internet a place to manipulate others in a world of anonymity.

My favourite line of the play was “ A woman who blogs about sex with garden gnomes has secrets?”, and although I don’t blogs about gnomes, I do have my secrets and I intend to keep some aspects of my life completely offline.

If you would like to check out The Web you can find out more info at www.bsstc.com.au or check out the Facebook page for The Web

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My Future Career Checklist

As my semester break from uni lingers and I am surrounded by the reality of employment for at least 39 hours a week, I begin to ponder what I will look for in my post uni career. As with many uni students, particularly those who have returned to study after being in the workforce for several years, I have gone to uni to ensure I will never spend my days asking overweight people “Do you want fries with that?” But apart from my future career being one that doesn’t involve Happy Meals, there are a few other criteria that I have.

1. My future employer must have carnivals.
Now many of you may believe this to be the strangest of criteria to hold against someone who is offering you a job, and even more strange that I have made it number one in the list, but having experienced my first ever work carnival today, I can confidently say that job involving fairy floss, even if it’s only once a year is a must.

The day started as it always does, the whirring of my computer mixed fiendishly with the sound of phones ringing, making me sigh maybe just a little too loudly, employee X sending me a weary glance, either sympathising with me, or just wishing I would shut the hell up, I’m not quite sure. I was working a late shift and therefore left with the worst desk in the office, the one right next to the managers office. The token wobbly office chair made me feel like I was sitting on a slant, it’s bung wheel making it impossible for me to get close enough to the keyboard. I made a last attempt to pull myself closer in, and the chair shot off at a comical angle, my hands flailing wildly in an attempt to keep myself from imminent disaster but instead causing me to simultaneously humiliate myself and mess up the pile of paperwork I had just neatly stacked.

As Gloom began to leach into my brain, it’s whispery tendrils grabbing hold of motor functions, my teeth began to clench and my hands curled into fists. But moments before Gloom possessed me completely I heard a noise. A noise out of place in a hospital. Was that music? Did I hear laughing? Did someone say clown? As the noises grew louder, Gloom retreated, melting like the Wicked Witch of the West at the end of Wizard of Oz.

“You’re the Voice, try and understand it”

Oh God, I was right, there was music wafting down the corridors, along with the potent smell of cooking sausages. Yes, I will admit it was John Farnham, but when you spend all day cut off from anything musical , even the melodies of ol Johnnie Farnham is a cause for celebration. I stood up and crossed to the window not sure what would assail my eyes when I looked out....but it was good. There was sunshine, fairy floss, and yes even a clown. Today, apparently, was Carnival day. A day when the Catholic Church gives back to it’s hospital employees in the form of sugary treats and and oversized stuffed animals. My childish enthusiasm kicked in as I raced out to collect my goodies. I ate, I laughed, I ate a little more and then I tried to win a giant turtle to give to my boyfriend. Although I didn’t win the turtle, the Catholic Church didn’t want me to return to my desk empty handed. Oh no, the Catholic Church instead made sure that everyone was a winner and I was presented with a Bertie Beatle showbag, just like the ones from the Royal Show.

As a clutched my chocolate filed prize to my chest I realised that the only criteria that I would have for a future employer, is that they must have Carnivals.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=99P7TTvpO1g

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I'm disturbed when I find myself involved in conversations based around thermal underwear.

The life of a mature aged student isn’t always straightforward. Granted, the life of ANY student doesn’t always run on a straight path, but there are unique challenges faced by those of us who were born before technology was king and obesity was the main trial encountered by children. The largest problem I faced as a child was stubbing my toe whilst running barefoot on the concrete patio at my grandmother’s house. Alas, I digress.

Along with financial independence comes many responsibilities. Mature aged students have careers, families, mortgages, mountains of bills and the pressure of finishing assignments while their attention is being pulling in at least 17 other directions. Whilst I may not have a family, I do have all those other pressures to deal with along with several plants that demand watering almost everyday. It can be hard. So this semester my pencils have been zipped tightly into their pencil case and my brain has been put on the shelf until I can earn a bit of money to get me through another semester.

Working full time when your heart desires to be plodding it’s way to the end of your degree is always difficult. Working full time in a job that oozes tedium is torture. I sit and type the same codes into the computer for 8 hours a day and I swear if I have to type 29 / 10 once more I will stand up and scream, frightening everyone around me. I constantly finding myself involved in mundane conversations about thermal underwear or why the company won’t pay for better quality pens.

Today was no exception.

I sat, blank expression clouding my usually animated features, tempted to laugh at the extent of my displeasure but too tightly wound up in it to dare. I was on hold to Medibank and I found myself tapping my foot melodically to the hold music. It was surprisingly catchy after the short repetitive ditty played several times over, grabbing hold of you with it’s silvery notes. As my body began to sway gently, I envisioned jumping up and frolicking down the corridor between the desks, humming out my own version of the beats while my wireless headset continued to fire musical inspiration into my right ear. I would clap my hands. Click my fingers. Shake my hips. And kick my legs around a bit, reminiscent of Elaine from Seinfeld. I dared to smile as I imagined the reaction of my fellow employees. Their robotic heads turning to face my antics, not knowing really how to process my outburst, so they simply turn back to their computers to once again enter in the same codes they have been for countless hours over the past decade.

I began to wonder where this hold music came from. Is there some music composer out there who brags to people at dinner parties that his/her music is being used as the hold music that is simultaneously tormenting and delighting health care professionals all around the country? Or did some branch of Medibank coerce one of their employees, who mentioned in passing one day that he owned a Mac, to jump onto Garage Band and dump a bunch of pre-made loops on top of each other to create the humdrum that was now assaulting my ears? I think of suggesting to management that I compose my own number to be sung each morning like some demented camp song. “To boost morale!” I will tell them. I will be shot down, along with my ideas for a free soft-serve machine for the office and no-pants Fridays.

As each loop of music stops and then only moments later starts again, I decide to count how long each loop is. Did they only have to pay for 23 seconds of music in the knowledge that they would simply repeat it over and over again? Cheap skates. One. Two. Three. Four. Before I even reached five I was interrupted by Doreen enquiring about how she could help me this fine morning. Typical. Now I will just have to wait till next time to find out.

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I went to Maylands

The wind blew my skirt sideways scandalously exposing my calves, as I bobbed rhythmically through Maylands, encouraged by the dangerously debonair sounds of Sinatra. 'Twas windy, 'twas cold and I developed a unnatural attraction to a bridge. We approached eachother liking courting teenagers of the 1930's. We were shy, reserved, he gave me a flower. I flirted and batted my eyelids a little until he laughed. He opened up to me and allowed me to capture the small beauties of his details. As the wind picked up even more I knew we had to part. But I left with a wink and a promise to return.

Check it out

Now that I am back working full time my days are filled with flourescent lights, headsets and churlish middle aged women. I don't enjoy my job, and plan to find something else as soon as my debts are paid off so I must find ways of dealing with the monotony of the long stretches of boredom. Hence on my lunchbreak, I escaped behind my beloved 450D, iPod whispering sweet notes in my ears as I walked around Subiaco.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/kacy4/3886621018/

Late night with a 450D, a tripod and some weird metallic sounding stairs.

The first time I walked up my staircase I noticed, as I was yelling something to Bradley in the other room, that halfway up you are privy to a gateway into another realm. A universe where everything is made of metal and jelly beans are good for you. A place where geekiness is celebrated and Landcruisers driven by city folk are not. But alas, we are only given a glimpse into this magical world, a taste of the wonder that lies many light years beyond Pluto, the poor star that lost it's planetary status. All we get on that 7th stair is an opportunity to hear what we would sound like if our body's were made of titanium. Each shiny word slivering out and clanging against our ears in an alien fashion. At first my new glossy metallic voice freaked me out, but now, each time I hear those burnished syllables I smile and think of jelly beans.

www.flickr.com/photos/kacy4/sets/72157622051635053/

Dr Trapped in Plastic

As my birthday surprises continue, I found myself with a carton of Dr Pepper, my all time favourite soft drink, straining against it's plastic prison, just screaming to be released.

Alas, as they contain more caffeine than my dreadfully caffeine sensitive body can handle at night time, they shall have to wait patiently to fulfill their destiny until the sun rises again.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/kacy4/3855183727/

Today's 365

You know someone is rubbing off on you when you find yourself taking photos of yourself in various articles of their clothing.

Playing around with studio lights and geeky paraphernalia

http://www.flickr.com/photos/kacy4/sets/72157622094556290/

365 over a possible 10 years

I started a self portrait project inspired by those I found on Flickr, where you take a photo of yourself every day for a year. Alas I have been going now for almost 2 years and still have only 161 photos. But I try.

Today's shot



http://www.flickr.com/photos/kacy4/sets/72157601537478406/

What kind of issues can one have with bubblegum?

Is it the taste?
No I love the taste of Hubba Bubba, especially the sweet, sweet strawberry!

Is it the artificial flavours?
Nah, it's not like I eat truckloads and that it would make a difference my health!

So then is it the whole concept of chewing gum, like a cow chews it cud?
Nope, a bit of chewing never killed anyone (I didn't research that, so don't quote me on that) and plus it is supposed to be good for digestive health.

So what is it then, that prevents me from enjoying the odd Hubba Bubba experience?
When I eat Hubba Bubba, I do just that....I eat it, not chew it. Merely seconds after the initial chews, I swallow it. It's not a choice, it's a given. I have no control over my Hubba Bubba chewing. I think the longest I have ever lasted was 70 seconds, and that was only because I made a great effort. Usually it's only 20 seconds. As soon as that opening burst of flavour begins to dissipate, it's down the hatch for the pink piece of goo. And then I have to have another piece, which also has a life of 20 seconds, and so it continues for the remainder of the packet, consumed within minutes.

I know what you are thinking. "Bubble gum stays in your throat/stomach/any part of the digestive system for 7 years!" I also had heard this from many people in my life over the years. My Dad, my school friends, the butcher, and the lollipop man outside my school, just to mention a few. Worried by their revelations but unwilling to cease my relationship with bubble gum, I set off to do some research.

After many years, several thousand dollars and a trip to India to ride on an elephant I discovered this to be a myth. No matter how many packets of Hubba Bubba I ate, I would continue to digest as normal. I was relieved, happy to be able to resume my liaison with bubble gum.

But after the first packet, I began to think, “Well what’s the point? One minute of chewing for a burst of artificial flavour. Was it worth it? Were there far more satisfying flavours out there waiting for me to try? Was there any point in eating bubble gum when you didn’t actually ever get to the bubble blowing stage? Wouldn’t it be better to just eat strawberry flavoured lollies?”

And so it ended.
Hubba Bubba was put aside in favour of those pink fluffy cloud lollies……gosh how I love them.

Celebrity Endorsements

I have begun to notice that everything I buy, whether it be clothes, toothpaste, a car or toilet paper has some celebrity’s tick of approval. Retired basketball stars advertise carpet. Britney promotes Pepsi and gets herself into legal celebrity strife when spotted drinking Coke. MacGyver extols the virtues of MasterCard, all which is based purely on monetary remuneration rather than on the actual merits of the product. Do I really believe that Jackie Chan drinks Mountain Dew or that Justin Timberlake eats and enjoys McDonalds?

Even fictional characters have gotten in on the act. The Simpson’s swear by CC Lemon – a Japanese soft drink. Bugs Bunny really digs Nike shoes and USA War Bonds. And Kermit the frog, since he has the need to drive places all the time, wouldn’t go anywhere if it wasn’t in a Ford or BMW. What makes advertising executives think that I would allow the opinion of a Muppet to influence my car buying decision?

Even if they did actually believe in their products and wished to share their wonderment and awe with the rest of humanity. Even if Big Kev really did rejoice whilst using Shower Power in his spa bath, what possesses us to believe the recommendation of random famous people? Do Britney and Kate Moss have such great track records that I would want to believe what they say?

Some prominent individuals in the circle of household names have serious drug problems, anger issues or are inflicted with an addiction to one thing or another. Some celebrities get married eight times in the space of 3 and a half days. That should tell me that they may not be the greatest judge of character. And if they aren’t any good at picking their future partner, what makes us think that they would be any better at choosing a car or a skin care product? When I choose my household cleaning chemical should I trust the guidance of someone who is familiar with chemicals of the pill popping kind? I don’t wish to disparage those people who have achieved stardom, but wish to stress to people the fact that surely there is someone better than Tara Reid to plug the newest Kenwood Chef Mixmaster.

So who should the advertising companies use instead of the rich and famous? People who know their onions, I think. Someone I can trust to really know what they are talking about. Someone that I would bump into down at my local Chinese restaurant. I’d like to see my Nan advertising pasta sauce. A greasy mullet-possessing mechanic advertising my car. Somebody my size advertising my clothes. My friends Bernie and Andy advertising the latest movie. A highly-strung teenager advertising caffeinated soft drinks. A geeky IT guy advertising my iPod docking station.

I want no more good looking, rich, famous or skinny people with fake teeth trying to sell me stuff. If you were on a billboard I would smile and probably purchase whatever it was you were peddling. That’s because you are like me. I can relate to you. You are just like my brother, my mother, my aunty or my best friend. You have probably never been married more than 3 times and have probably even used Shower Power or Easy Off Bam. Even if you were selling tuna, I, as a vegetarian, in all probability would still acquire my fair share of “Chicken of the Sea”…but if Jessica Simpson were the spokesperson, it would be a completely different story.

I forgot my own mobile number today!

I have had my mobile phone number for the past 3478 days and about 3475 days ago I had my number memorised. So great is my freakingly good memory that even whilst drunk or recovering from the dramatic effects of a general anesthetic my mobile number slips off my tongue as if I had been born with it as an inbuilt piece of genetic information.

So to my great surprise and sickening shock, today whilst leaving a message on somebody's message bank, I had a mental blank and for the life of me could not remember this blasted number. I ended up leaving what I thought was my number all the while knowing in my heart of hearts that, that number was not mine.

To further disturb my otherwise cruisy day, involving not much more than sleep, food, Timezone and Ricky Gervais, I discovered that due to my decade of perfect remembrance of my number that I had no record anywhere of what my number actually is. It wasn't in my phone, it wasn't in my computer address book, it wasn't written on a tiny scrap of paper that was shoved at the back of a drawer along with my primary school graduation photo and half used tubes of hand cream. No, my trust in my memory to serve me to my death, was absolute and to write down my number anywhere was simply an insult to it.

I decided that my only option was to message a friend, admit to having a less than perfect memory and get my number off her. But before I did that I decided that I must record this monumental occasion on facebook. As I logged in and went to my profile, I was suddenly faced with my phone number. Plain as day it sat there on my profile and I realised that my sub conscious must have realised that somehow that I wasn't perfect and that there was a chance that one day I would forget my number. I guess my trust in my memory wasn't as absolute as I first suggested.

I took note of my number. I had given the wrong one to the person who I had called earlier. I am a failure.

South Street Vet

I was driving along South Street yesterday, and whilst concentrating dilligently on the road ahead I saw a sign. Not the spiritual awakening kind of sign, but a billboard for South Street Vet. I don't know what caught my attention, maybe my subconscious was looking for things to include in my blog, or maybe I just wasn't concentrating as dillegently on the road as I first suggested.

The sign had the simple words 'South St Vet' on it. No surprises there considering it was the South St Vet. But now, what kind of picture would you expect to be on said sign? A dog, cat, rabbit, maybe even something as exotic as a ferret or guinea pig, some kind of animal that you would normally see frequenting the local vet.

But the South St Vet decided to use as their mascot and billboard hero, a dolphin! Yes, a dolphin! I didn't know that many people owned dolphins! Or that they even made cages big enough to secure the family 'mammal of the sea'. Even if I owned a dolphin and poor Flicka got sick, would I take him to the local vet clinic? Would South St Vet have the facilities to treat my poor ailing aquatic creature?? I just hope that one day someone doesn't take their dolphin to South St Vet, only to find out that they don't actually treat dolphins, or any other sea life for that matter, and find themselves swiftly running out of options.

"We used a dolphin on our sign because they are cute and his tail curled nicely around the lettering" I can hear the manager saying whilst little Timmy is heard crying in the background "Don't die Flicka, you complete me!"

It's a law suit and many broken kiddy hearts waiting to happen.

I think I might open my own vet, "Kacy's Kreatures" and on my sign will be beaver, as I have heard that beavers are increasing in population in Fremantle pet owning society. Or maybe a goat. I haven't decided.

Gym? What's a gym? ......... Oh, a gym!

(Yes, to all you Simpson's fans out there, I realise that without hearing it, that title makes no sense and for those who have no idea why the title is, in fact hilarious, please check out this video. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R4i8SpNgzA4)


It all became clear one unseasonably rainy summer afternoon. Dressed in my usual summer attire of shorts and a singlet, I lounged sluggardly, being efficient only in my tactics to avoid my uni readings. Yes, it was only Week One, hardly enough time to manage to fall behind but I knew the minute I pushed aside “America Since 1900” in favour of something a little lighter and more fantasy based, that I would end up in Week 14 with only a knowledge of Elven High Magic practices and nothing else in the slightest that would be helpful come exams. Visions of essays containing intriguing propositions such as “Although the United States was, until the turn of the 20th Century, mainly a rural nation, it was not seen in any of the scenes in Lord Of The Rings. Rather the location of Middle Earth was deemed to be far more appropriate to support the ‘hero’s journey’.” Although I am sure that it would be found to be highly amusing by both lecturers and the guy’s who run the “Stupid Essays Written By Unfocussed Students” website, I knew that it would not give me the HD that I sought.

Alas, I digress. This one afternoon, wind whipping violently against my windows, thoughts akin to those above yet to surface in my mind, I lay downstairs on the couch watching a DVD. Red Vs Blue to be exact, as ever since a part of it got played in one of my lectures last year, I have quite easily been able to convince my wayward mind, that not only is watching it helpful to my education, but that it is sure to make me more attractive to the opposite sex as well. As the wind picked up and the sky became muddied by cloud, the temperature began to drop. Indiscernible at first but as Church revealed that Tex was not only female, but also his former girlfriend, I found myself in the foetal position, muscles twitching in an attempt to keep me warm. As I live in a house that not only contains blankets of varying sizes but also electric heating devices, a plethora of solutions to my chilling problem presented themselves. It was when I decided to take none of these choices but instead remain cold, shivering on the couch, lest I have to actually get up and walk up a flight of stairs, that I knew I had a problem.

I was unfit.

So unfit that not only did I choose to freeze as opposed to getting off the couch and doing something about it, but walking up the gentle incline from the car park to the Hill Lecture Theatre, left me puffing and red in the face. I had many excuses for my lackadaisical nature. “I am too intelligent to concern myself with the worries of the physical realm. I shall overcome all obstacles using my superior power of mind alone,” was a common one. “I’m too poor to have a gym membership and fresh air is bad for my constitution,” was another. But the signs for the Murdoch University Gym not only showed pictures of happy skinny people, visually promising me that if I join I would be popular and have straight teeth, but also showed a price that I could afford. So I joined.

To be continued.....(once I finish those readings that I still haven’t done from Week One)

I'm still here, I'm still alive, I'm still writing. Welcome to Second Year.

So I passed first year. I wasn't turned off by the lengthy essays or the expensive food in the ref. I felt somewhat more knowledgeable when I enrolled in units that didn't begin with "Introduction to...". I saw people who looked more lost than I did. I knew then that second year had begun and with it comes a whole new year of posts from me.

Will I pass?

Will I make new friends?

Will I learn anything at all besides the price of Bubble O Bills?

To be cliched, only time will tell.

Pearl of Advice No. 1 - Study something you are actually interested in.

**DODLEDOTDOODLEDORT (time travelling noises)**


The year is 2000. We had just conquered Y2K with little more than a few bumps and bruises brought on by hiding under a makeshift shelter (a tarp thrown carefully over the Hills Hoist) to protect ourselves from planes that were sure to fall out of the sky on the stroke of midnight. We were yet to experience the devestation of the SARS outbreak in 2003 and we were still a year away from discovering the wonders of the iPod.

I wandered onto my first university campus, my Sony Discman bulging out of the pocket of my cargo shorts, threatening to pull them down with each step, as I went to sign up for my first degree. In these days, before everything was done online, you had to actually wait for your acceptance letter to come in the mail and then make the trip over to the campus to accept and choose your units, then you had to hang around while the lecturers posted sign up sheets on the doors of the lecture halls. As I entered some room that had been transformed into the enrollment room a pile of forms was thrust in my face , each one demanding the same information as the last. Name. Date of Birth. TER. A blur of forms later I was handed my enrollment card. As I looked at it, I was momentarily confused. Next to my name was "Bachelor of Business/Bachelor of Science" and as I had little interest in both science and business, I couldn't figure out why it would be right there on my form. But then I remembered. I had enrolled in that degree for every other reason than that it would interest me.

"It will get you a good job", says Mum.

"Arts students are all hippies who go on to make a living off pot smoking and abstact paintings made with macaroni", says Dad.

"If you don't go to uni and get a good sensible degree you will never succeed in life", says the misguided Guidance Counsellor.

So that was how I found myself with a Billabong bag full of Advanced Calculus and Accounting books and a penchant for sleeping in lectures. I hated uni. I hated my Mathematics for Computer Sciences Lecturer who spoke too fast. I hated my Accounting tutor who made jokes that nobody laughed at. I hated that I was forced to study something that made me want to vomit. I hated that I was the only girl in one of my units and therefore was regarded as some kind of alien. So after one semester I left.


**DODLEDOTDOODLEDORT (time travelling noises)**

So fast forwarding past 7 years of travel, playing computer games and regularly changing jobs I found myself again ready to enrol in uni. This time as I sat in front of my computer enrolling in units I was excited. I eagerly read the description of each unit, bought my books early and even started reading them. I went to lectures and didn't sleep. I researched more than was neccessary. I read more than was neccessary. I contributed to discussions and passed my exams with flying colours.

The difference? This time I was studying something I loved. Something that I found interesting and inspiring. And although I still found myself often being the only girl, the strange staring no longer bothered me.

Pearl of Advice No. 1
Study something that won't make you want to vomit because in the end, regardless of the pressures you have to study something else, if you love what you study, your uni life will not only be much easier, it will also be enjoyable.