Thursday, March 30, 2006

Jack and Jill went up the hill...

and met George, who appears to be in free fall (in the polls perhaps ?)

you can even move him if he gets stuck...

tee hee

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Top ten

Righto - here are my fave writers, in no particular order

Jeanette Winterson
Kerry Greenwood
Angela Carter
Geraldine Brooks
Milan Kundera
Siri Hustvedt
Julian Barnes
Rohinton Mistry
Alice Munro
Carol Shields

Anyone else I should have included Tea and Seb ?

Friday, March 17, 2006

Well, would you buy it ? I mean, really

Righto, mummified has been out trawling the aisles of various stores this week (well, its kinda hard to avoid when you are in charge of the weekly grocery shop). She has also been out and about at the local liquor store, pharmacist (drug store) and pet outlet.

God mummified, this is the dullest, most dreary post you've ever written - do get to the point....


Yes well, my point is that I saw some truly stupid products and wanted to have a good moan about them to you.

OK - automated pet feeder bowl. yes, I understand the concept and that they are practical but this one had a voice recording option. You could leave a message something like " Hey Rover, yeah, sure you look cute and I used to spend lots of time with you - playing, giving you a back rub, that kinda thing - but now I am bored and have decided to leave you for a while. But I know you will be deeply reassured by this trite voice recording and won't feel abandoned in the least. Now eat your dinner ! "

Hummer eau de toilette. Listen, the only Hummer I know anything about are those big army vehicles that Arnie and various rappers feel the need to cruise around town in. "Mmm, Hummer for men - when you are looking for the kind of guy who'd run you down and not even notice your squashed remains".

Last one - citrus flavoured champagne. When you are sooooooo drunk that you don't care what it tastes like anyway.

There was a BBC series a while back called grumpy old men, then grumpy old women. I could star in "grumpy mummies - they're sleep deprived and don't suffer fools gladly - or citrus champagne - be afraid, be very afraid...."

mummified - this should be rectified

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Gratefully alive - not the grateful dead - that's a band

Cynics beware, this is going to be a very positive post. I may even come over all "Oprah" on you. And this is no bad thing.

In the last 2 days I have had friends/colleagues experience the following -
a beloved parent having a serious stroke,
a 20 year marriage breaking up and limited access to his son who he adores
a friend whose partner has breast cancer that has spread and now reached her brain and there ain't no drugs for that as yet.

So, this is a "BE HAPPY" post.

So you feel grumpy that there is no more instant coffee when you get to work - BE HAPPY - it was lousy anyway so go out and get a real one !
So your job isn't what you'd like it to be - chill out or do something about it - whining and whinging is not the way to go.
So you are not dating Paris Hilton (this for SC especially) well, you'll just have to date someone who doesn't use the words "so hot" in every sentence. Quel dommage !

I hope I don't sound too self righteous but there is much that we do have, and we so rarely recognise it. I have a colleague who was head girl of her school ( a few years ago now) and, when I was feeling a bit low, she shared with me a speech she wrote when she went back to speech night (like graduation for high school) and addressed her old alma mater.

She talked about constantly seeking out new challenges in all aspects of your life and appreciating everyone you meet - that we all have something worthwhile to contribute (OK, OK maybe not those folk dealing hard drugs to minors ). And, in the very short time I have been blogging, it has opened my eyes to a whole new world of other people's perspectives and also, how kind and encouraging complete strangers can be.

May you recognise the wonderful things you have and appreciate them, because you cannot count on them always being there.

With warmest thoughts to those folk who are managing their way through tough times.

mummified - be satisfied

Saturday, March 11, 2006

Croup is cra*

Have you ever smelt fear ? I have and, frankly, I think it could do with deodorizing. Big time.
Being Australian, there is a swear word in the title and I hope I will not offend any of my gentle readers.

However, we Aussies can be a little , ahem, direct when alarmed and fear does it to me every time.

My little guy has had croup for two weeks. Croup is a filthy, explosive cough that sounds like said indiviual is attempting to regurgitate his internal organs through his mouth. That I can live with. I don't like that it causes him pain - thank you to big pharma for Baby Panadol (like aspirin) - it can be eased. What I HATE is that sometimes he coughs so hard he can't get his breath.

Don't worry, I am writing this after the crisis has passed. Believe me, I would not be anywhere near this computer if he was still ill. After two lots of steroids - cortisone he is back to his happy, cheeky self and the cough has subsided. But it gives me pause. I tend to assume that in our technologically forward society that nothing can ever really harm my beloved (the little one, not the big guy). But I'm wrong.

I'll end here. Now that he is well, he is back trying to turn off the computer when mummy isn't giving him enough attention....

mummified - relieved but tired

Charlie boy

Today we will be talking about Charles. No, not the hapless British royal whose diaries look like being splashed across the tabloids but a less recent bloke (bloke = chap= man in australian colloquial). Charles Rennie Mackintosh - a little bit country, a little bit rock and roll (sorry, I think that was a flashback to the Donny and Marie Osmond show in the 70's. They happen sometimes.)

No, I mean, Charles Rennie MacKintosh, Glasweigan, Architect and art nouveau legend. Yesterday, self, hubbie and toddler caught the express to Bendigo - a former goldfields/ Victorian architecture stronghold about 2 hours from Melbourne.

The Bendigo Art Gallery had been PR chest beating for some time that they had this exhibition and since I am a sucker for the decorative arts - particularly when infused with orientalism - we went.

Well, the pix I had seen in the advance PR were of a particularly fetching writing desk - ebonised mahogany, mother of pearl etc. In fact, I was just short of slavering at the prospect of a vast wodge of such goodies in an arty kind of a way.

What they had was good. I like a bit of arts and crafts as much as the next sheila. However, I think it was the bit, bit that made me cross.

I know that minimalism has its fans but a few brass mirrors, a candle stick, 4 chairs, some video footage and a desk does not an entire exhibition make. I love my country but honestly, sometimes the things we get out here are limited, to say the least.

That said, you have to admire the Glasgow Style. Severe, reductionist furniture that still looks modern - 100 plus years later. The seductive curves and exagerated proportions of art nouveau's paeon to mother nature. Did you know that his most fervent supporter was a lady entrepeneur who had him design a number of tea rooms for her ? No, neither did I.

No smarty pants ending to this post. Google him if you want to know more.
I'll be seeing you.....

mummified is artified

Friday, March 03, 2006

Necessity is the mummy of reinvention

Chatting to my neighbour this morning, I was horrified to realise that I have become a cliche.
I mean, I had always had a tendency to lean towards bad puns but cliche-dom.... this was a new low.

For I have become the submerged mummy. Yes, I realise it sounds like a bad sequel with Brendan Fraser as the lead and lots of special effects. In fact, it is far worse. Mundane even.

I used to be mummified, corporate chick about town - off to Sweden, London, France for work, must check my mobile, go, go go. Career defined identity. And I never expected it to change.

Now there are aspects of that life that I am happy to relinquish, the jet lag, dealing with some corporate crisis after hours, the sheer gut wrenching graft I used to put in day after day.

But I spent so long being that person that I am not entirely sure who I am now. Therefore, I seem to be going through some sort of frankstein type consciousness raising. Which, frankly, is quite unnerving.

I shall doubtless emerge, at some future point, butterfly-like into a new form. However, right now I feel like a lumpy caterpillar. Does anyone have a leaf ?

Schlock, horror - the games are coming to town

Yes well, you'd be cranky too if your town was about to be swamped by the Commonwealth Games and all attendant acolytes (aka athletes).

It is bad enough living in a country where being able to spell antidisestablishment is regarded as appalling and utter dingbat fruitwits (being a mummified mummy my vocab has been dry cleaned recently so as not to traumatise the toddler) are regarded as role models. I loathe sport, I really do.

Sorry SC, I realise the pic you use on your blog is of a rugger chap. But at least you had the good sense to behead him. Very Henry Vlll.

And I am not being a raving anti-monarchist. No disrespect is meant to Her Maj.

I simply don't see the point. I am prepared to be flexible and even emotional about the Olympic Games which is a far better representation of the global village (and in some less salubrious cases, the innovative uses of horse steroids). The Commonwealth Games just seem so second rate.

I really can't see the point of beating your chest and making He-Man like noises when we beat Canada at say, swimming. Or when they beat us at, say, curling (truly hilarious stuff). I mean, I am as competitive as the next chick - actually probably more - but world class does actually mean, world class not - oooh, we beat the Tongans.

No doubt I will be regarded as anti-Australian for not salivating at the prospect of the Games hitting our shores in about a week/fortnight ?? But, hey, I was the only kid with a reserved cushion in the school library at lunchtime so I reckon I will cope.