Morris dancing is definitely alive and well in Australia. You can't walk around the National Folk Festival (held in Canberra over Easter)without being followed by the sinister *chink chink chink* of some Morris man/woman's bells.
I once attended a wedding that featured Morris where one of the sticks broke during a particularly vigourous clash and the large flying piece nearly took the bride's head off.
It's now January 1, 2009 7:11 PM, here in Canberra. I was working all last night, so I made a couple of phone calls at midnight and sent a few greetings emails.
Happy New Year to all at Making Light. Thanks for an entertaining and thought-provoking 2008.
May 2009 bring a world that tries just a little harder to recognise our common humanity and to care about the planet we share.
The early '70s Aussie band, Daddy Cool, had a cover of a '50s boogie song entitled 'Baby Let Me Bang Your Box'.
It was about playing the piano, which was patently clear from the verses, but still gave radio stations pause.
The album it was on, 'Sex, Dope, Rock'n'Roll - Teenage Heaven' was actually banned for a while.
The chorus went:
'Oh baby let me bang your box, baby let me bang your box
Baby let me bang your box, hey baby let me bang your box
Well baby let me play your eighty-eight
I'm gonna bang 'til the whole house rocks.'
I'm not really a fan of the whole trick-or-treat thing because it always seens like a thinly disguised protection racket to me.
Here in the land of Oz, the whole Halloween thing has never taken off to the same extent as in the US, although I did spy a number of small children clutching freshly purchased witches-hair wigs and monster masks while I was shopping yesterday.
They didn't try trick-or-treating my apartment, probably because they'd need a Sherpa guide to make it up the numerous very steep stairs.
OTOH, my office went all out on the Halloween theme because head office (in the US) sent a memo about holding a Halloween decorations contest.
The are a heap of favourite books and DVDs that are like old friends, but other than signed copies, most could easily be replaced if destroyed.
The few things that are irreplacable to me are:
1) My 1906 edition of The Complete Works of Shakespeare, that belonged to my late parents.
2) A kids book called 'The Dragon and the Jadestone', that my father bought for my birthday the year he died. He'd written an inscription in it, wrapped it, and hidden it away, but died three months before my 8th birthday. It was so wonderful to get a gift 'from beyond the grave'.
3) Rinny - a preposterous toy dachshund that my mother made from an old coat when I was 6 months old. I don't know what I called him when I was very small, but he eventually got named after Rin Tin Tin. Rinny was my security blanket, my best friend and confidante, and an ever present help in times of trouble all though my childhood. I took him everywhere and cried all over him more times than I can count. These days, he is very bald in places from years of cuddling, and smells a bit manky (he'd fall apart if washed), but if the place ever catches fire, he's the first thing I'd grab.
This all make me even happier that I live in Australia where registration is compulsory for all citizens over 18.
And being able to register/change address/etc by mail to the Electoral Commission makes it really easy for everyone to be eligible.
I've been creating food that I've never created before. My normal cooking tends to be extremely basic, mainly due to lack of time, but over the last few weeks I've been experimenting with various kinds of pastry. Fillo is scary stuff.
Glad you are home, Teresa. Now REST, dammit!
All this almost makes me wish I was a US citizen, just so I could vote for Obama and against McCain/Palin. Almost. But I'm happy to be an Aussie.
BTW, does anyone else think McCain looks even more doddery and old when he stands next to Palin? Not a good look for a president wannabe. He looks like he's about to fall off the twig any minute. No wonder they keep showing photos of him in his Vietnam War days, where he look young and vigourous.
Yet another sad reminder that democracy is often only a thin veneer over fascism.
I'm glad that here in Australia, people generally do make an effort to get out of the way of emergency vehicles - at least in Melbourne and Canberra, where I've lived for extended enough periods to notice the pattern.
And if you are ever in the land of Oz and need help, our emergency services number is 000.
I always remove the dust jacket when reading. I also remove it
before lending my books to others. It acts as a place marker on the
shelf and a reminder that the book is on loan.
The cover
is really nice and I hope it survives intact to my part of the globe,
but I must admit that I'm more excited about having something new from
Michael Chabon than how pretty the cover is.
It's not so bad here in the land of Oz, but when I was working at Russell Offices (Australia's answer to the Pentagon), the visiting-from-out-of-state parents of one of my friends were nabbed by security for photographing the 'chicken on a stick'* in Blamey Square.
It's a public monument and generally portrayed as a tourist attraction. The damn thing is available on postcards, for crying out loud!
(and on the web):
http://www.lalorfamily.com/04Lloyd/0402William/040201Greg/RussellOffices.jpg
*okay, so it's really called the Australian-American Friendship Memorial and the chicken is an eagle...
CHip #94
Various methods of 'training' dice were always common with the gamers I used to know here in Canberra, regardless of game system.
Smashing one as an example to the others was also talked about (usually as a friend of a friend had done it), so it may be an urban legend.
And one friend was infamous for being able to mentally control dice to roll high or low at will. He certainly did have an uncanny ability to get good rolls, but whether this was coincidence or he really had his mojo working, is open to speculation.
Great. My first ever post here, after long time lurking, and it's about offal...
I grew up on brains and tongue (as well as kidneys and liver). I think it was a carry over from my mother's family (northern English/Scottish/Jewish mix) with 11 kids, so nothing was wasted and offal was cheap. When they migrated to Australia, they kept their eating habits.
Sliced cold boiled tongue was a big substitute for cold ham with salads in the summer at our place.
My mother used to lightly boil brains (after soaking them), then fry them in breadcrumbs. Crispy on the outside and squishy in the middle. After she passed away when I was in my 20s, I never had the nerve to try to cook them.
I've never liked liver (unless it's as pate) and I've managed to avoid sweetbreads and tripe (ewwwww!) my entire life.
| Year | Number of comments posted |
|---|---|
| 2009 | 3 |
| 2008 | 14 |
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