quicko: theatre prices

Are absolutely atrocious.  I pretty much can't get over any of the prices here (still.  after 4 years.  you'd think I would.), but lately it's the theatre that's been getting me.  I understand paying a bit for professional theatre, but I generally pay what I'd consider professional prices for the amateur productions and atrocious prices for the professional productions.  The Cincinnati Shakespeare Festival, which is, by the way, amazing, charges in the neighborhood of $25 a show.  This is reasonable.  The Sydney Short and Sweet productions are also $25 a show.  They are great, don't get me wrong, and I loved going and would probably even go back, but $25?  Really?  Shouldn't it be like $10?  Or at the most $10 plus the roll of a die or something?  Draw a card from the deck when you come in and pay its face value perhaps?  It'd be more in keeping with the vibe of it anyway!

Oh well.  Such is life, I guess.  And such is why it's really just best to put on productions of Macbeth in your friend's backyard.  Oh yeah.  Stay tuned on that one!

quicko: index cardsI

After years and years of looking, I have finally found index cards in Australia!!  They can be purchased for $5.50 a pack from Humphrey's Newsagency on the Manly Corso.  It's about time!

As a side note that might possibly be more important than the actual note, I've been meaning to blog about newsagencies.  They are omnipresent in Australia and just considered very, very normal stores -- along the lines of importance of a post office.  I don't think we really have an equivalent.  Basically they're like convenience stores and offer, say, candy but mainly stock magazines, newspapers, a smattering of cards, bus tickets, gum and various pieces of stationery.

quicko: no food afternoons

Heaven forbid you try to find food before dinner in Australia.  Today I went to Manly, hoping to get a late lunch at Ground Zero.  Unfortunately, it had just closed.  Granted, it was a very late lunch -- nigh on to 5 pm -- but all I really wanted was a BLT and I couldn't get one for love or for money anywhere in Manly.  Well, I suppose I could have if you count $15 as money, but I find that egregious for a BLT and refuse to pay.  But between the two cafes I really wanted to go being closed for food, the open ones being atrociously priced (and also not even having BLTs), I finally had to settle on a chicken sandwich (consummately not bacon) for $11.  Still pricey, but I was starving.  I hadn't eaten since 7 am, and last time I tried that and missed lunch I made it to 8 pm without getting food, at which point I gave up and waited till breakfast the next day.  This time I seized the day and went for Ben and Jerry's while I was at it.  Nothing like chocolate brownie ice cream on the beach to make you forget your BLT woes.

quicko: it's that time again ...

... Halloween!!  It's nearly upon us!  Australians are still rather bamboozled by the whole concept (you mean you don't have to be a mummy or witch or vampire?), but tonight the concern I'd particularly like to address is that, when they do decide to go in for a Halloween costume, they go in whole hog with the idea of rushing to the nearest costume shop and buying a costume.  This floors me.  Halloween costumes are meant to be made, not bought.  They're meant to be constructed, not put on the card.  You're allowed, of course, to buy parts, but the whole thing is a rather preposterous idea.  This year it turns out I'm actually spending way more than my typical Halloween budget, but this is a fluke, not the rule.  The fluke has occurred for two reasons:  first, the costume is getting more and more elaborate and requiring more and more accouterments, and, two, Australian "dollar stores" do not stock items one dollars; hence, the many various pieces I've bought at "Hot Dollar" range from $3 ($3! as a minimum!) to $15, which, really, I don't know how many more times I can say it, is preposterous -- preposterous!! -- for a "dollar store."  It's absolutely the same junk you get in America -- the stuff everyone uses to create Halloween costumes -- at, what's the opposite of a fraction? of the price.  Still works out cheaper than renting (renting! of all things!) a costume, though.  More of a trick than a treat, eh?

quicko: cards in plastic

Oftentimes when you buy greeting cards here -- particularly good ones -- they come all wrapped up in plastic.  In case they get cold, perhaps?

quicko: nice strangers

Twice recently I have had remarkable, uncharacteristically lovely experiences.

First, a couple days ago when I was en route to a late evening event at the Writers' Festival by bus I stopped on my way out to ask the driver directions. 

"I'm going that way," he said.  "I can take you.  I have to turn the lights out, but you're welcome to come along."

I was amazed:  a free ride (Well, I get a My Multi.  I had certainly paid for it!) from a nice bus driver!

Secondly, today I had finished a rapid dinner of takeaway sushi on a solitary bench at Wynyard only to decide I was ridiculously thirsty.  Seeing as there aren't any water fountains in Australia (hyperbole, people, hyperbole!), I naturally determined hot chocolate was my next best course.  I found a little shop that was still open and asked if they were still doing hot drinks.  The woman working there needed a repetition of the question about three times until she finally understood, but when she did she explained they were only doing hot chocolate and chai.  That wasn't a problem in the least for me, but the cash situation was.  The small hot chocolate was advertised at $2.50.

"How much do you have?" she asked.

"$2.10," I said.

"It okay," she said.  "I make you."

And she did.  I was blown away.

And there you have it:  two kind strangers -- in the space of not even a week!

quicko: outrageous prices

I just have to announce this:  I went to Coles tonight.  To purchase essentials.  Like light bulbs.  And cranberry sauce.  And toiletries.  Really essential toiletries.  And the light bulbs, incidentally, were pretty essential too.  I mean, the light bulb in my bathroom burned out just after the new year and I've been showering in darkness ever since.  So I suppose you could argue the light bulbs weren't really essential, but I like to think I'm entitled to purchase one or two without feeling guilty.

Anyway, the trip cost me seventy-one dollars.  Seventy-one dollars!  That is insane!  It didn't use to bug me quite as much when the Australian dollar wasn't so high, but these days that's the same as seventy-one American dollars, roughly.  And that is just crazy!  I have no money left!  And all because I wanted to be able to wash my hair.

review: sparrow

Sparrow is my new also-favorite cafe in Crow's Nest (which, incidentally, cannot punctuate its own name correctly).  Let me explain why.

First, they have $2 little freshly baked cupcakes.  Bearing in mind that nothing in Australia costs less than $3, I found this a bit of a novelty.

Second, they have a very wide selection of amazingly delectable-looking desserts.  They also have a good range of beverages and cold smoothie-type drinks.

Third, the furniture is comfy.

Finally, there was a very nice man working there who offered good advice regarding the desserts.

Turns out the white chocolate cheesecake is alright.

update: the $3 rule in further action

Stickers.  Cute little packet of paw prints, cute little packet of stars.  For cute little students.  Aww.  For cute little price of SIX BUCKS?!

(Yes, for those of you counting, that was exactly $3 per packet.  I'm telling you, this $3 thing isn't a joke.)

at the corner store

So I made an embarrassingly stupid mistake tonight. I covered it quite well, though.

It all came about at the corner store. Now, we have corner stores in America, too, or at least I know definitively that there is one in northern Ohio. I've been to it on several occasions and know it is a corner store because it is three doors down from my grandma's house, and everyone calls it "the corner store." I think I used to figure that most grandmas had one.

Here, though, there are a lot more corner stores. When I first arrived, I found one an easy five minute walk away and was amazed to learn that it actually was the far away one. Having grown up in suburbia where the Kroger was an easy five minute drive away and convenience stores are not convenience stores but gas stations that happen to sell a wee bit more than gas, I was blown away by being able to walk to buy milk for my morning cereal if I needed to. (On Saturdays, of course. Weekdays remain a completely different story.)

I'd been warned early on that the corner store, being so convenient, did charge convenience store prices, but as I couldn't find a container of milk for less than $4.90 anywhere I looked, I figured I already so much skin off my nose I wouldn't really notice the extra dollar or two or ten.

Now the hours at my corner store end at 8 pm. (No, I don't know when it opens. Why would I?) So it was 7:30 and I was on my third straight day of being sick and only just beginning to think that the next day I could go slightly stir crazy (two days usually being sufficent to drive me to distraction gives an indication of the severity of my condition) and that my only edible options included toast, the okay-but-not-as-good brand of cereal, pasta (required a bit more preparation than I felt inclined to give), pasta sauce (tasty, but insufficent as an actual meal), the orange juice that stung my raw little insides, tea and toothpaste. I decided to visit the corner store.

It is my general modus operandi to make a thorough sweep of the corner store whenever I go, just in case they've acquired something new and delicious, like chocolate peppermints. (This has really happened. It was quite wonderful.)

Not finding anything terribly new or intriguing, on my second sweep I gathered up the necessities (the good brand of cereal, Milo and an ice cream bar), as well as the apple to counteract the ice cream bar and keep my balanced diet in tact. I also noticed that they had movies for sale.

Now movies for sale were an intriguing option, particularly in light of the impending stir craziness. I'd noticed them once before, but having been less than amazingly impressed by the selection (they were clearly a second-cousin side item at the corner store), had never purchased one. The situation at hand, though, led me peruse them, despite having fulls hands and needing to blow my nose.

I was thrilled by what I discovered: Mamma Mia! Out on DVD! And only $5! Now, I realize that there are many of you who would not purchase Mamma Mia if someone paid you $5 to, but I happen to enjoy beautifully colored musicals set in Greece, and really there are not so many of them. I would also submit that you are not about to face day four of Kleenex and social isolation, and perhaps would think differently if you were.

Not only was there Mamma Mia, though, there were at least three other relatively recently released romantic comedies. Being a Responsible Consumer, though, I decided that buying two movies in one night was quite enough, so settled on one other I hadn't seen, but thought I'd probably have to pay $5 to rent, let alone purchase.

Quite pleased with myself, I marched to the counter, deposited my items and seized the opportunity to blow my nose. The man, whose name I don't know, but which I should, seeing as I see him often enough what with him being my primary cereal provider and all, rang up my necessities and then asked me to fill in a form with my name, address and phone number.

I think I may be commended for realizing immediately what the form was, and responding, I am convinced, exceedingly appropriately. First, I told the man behind me to go ahead as I'd be a minute or two. Second, I decided that actually I didn't really need Mamma Mia after all. Third, I asked how long exactly I got the movies for, just as a point of note. And upon hearing the answer of only one night, I hemmed a bit, because, oh dear, I really wasn't planning on watching the movie tonight and maybe I'd have to come back for it tomorrow. Which really was possibly true, and, might I point out just for the record, was it not brilliant to hand back Mamma Mia before asking the length of rental time? Yes, I thought so, too.

quicko: tight*** tuesday

I'll tell you what it means, and let you guess what the *** stands for, deal?

Tight*** Tuesday is the cheapie entertainment night -- you can see movies for more like $9 than more like $16, get special deals at pubs and generally revel in the glory of being a tight***.

Figured it out?

quicko: prices

Gosh, it's expensive! I've lived in Boston and London, and I still can't get over the fact that I paid $8.20 for milk and a candy bar. Or $20.25 for a box of cereal, a jug of milk and a Viennetta. Or $60 when the sandals are on sale. Or $35 for the cheap skirt. And don't even think about getting a book new for under $22 or used for under $7. Of course you can't buy a car ... so just fork over $45 for the cab ride home.

little cupcake

(originally from 27 July 2008)

It was perhaps a mark of living in a city for too long that I didn’t find $3.50 exorbitant for a cupcake.

Every morning my bus flies past a bakery with prim lines of intricately frosted cupcakes and every morning I think how wonderful one would be. One morning I went in and requested a little cupcake with green frosting. The girl told me it was peppermint, and I forked over the dough without a second thought, which was how Little Cupcake and I found ourselves standing at a bus stop one Friday morning.

Little cupcakes aren’t supposed to ride city buses because they are Food, but Little Cupcake came equipped for such nuisances of societal life with a lovely white paper bag, highly convenient for concealing its Foodness. Most food doesn’t fit – much less conceal itself – in a white paper bag (pineapples spring to mind, as do ice cream, sloppy joes or even, good heavens, soup), but Little Cupcake fit very nicely and discreetly.

We hopped gingerly on the bus, Little Cupcake and I, and carefully made our way to the back. We took two seats together and rode daintily down George Street, alighting at World Square to the unforeseen distress of Rain! Was ever a little cupcake so put upon as this? For while bus journeys are a force to be reckoned with, rain is much more serious. Rain can melt frosting.

We did what any reasonable duo would do. We sought shelter and reconsidered: yes, it was raining, but there was still the lovely White Paper Bag of Protection and our walk wasn’t particularly far. Besides, it would be much nicer for Little Cupcake to be nibbled nicely in the warmth than scarfed down in the dampness of World Square’s concrete open-air shopping center. Some places are simply not conducive to the well-eating of Little Cupcakes.

I peeked to check on its frosting. The problem, of course, is that even a lovely White Paper Bag of Protection can offend a little cupcake’s icing, particularly when it is peppermint green. I was most distressed that Little Cupcake’s icing would hit side, much as I constantly fear a thoughtlessly placed lid will disturb the whipped cream on my hot chocolate. Fortunately, except where the fold of the bag poked into it, Little Cupcake was an amazingly well-balanced cupcake, if not in the altogether dietary sense. I was much impressed.

We forged through the rain together and all went remarkably well in spite of the rain, except for the Elizabeth Street traffic signal, which had evidently not been preset with the crossing of Little Cupcakes in mind, but which eventually deigned to allow us to pass.

And then there was but one barrier between us.

There is a well-known concept in the world today, one that I approve of and like and generally publicly support, though one that doesn’t often come naturally to me. There are, however, times and places when Sharing is simply not meant to happen.

Anyone with any sense recognizes these times. Little Cupcake and I had just arrived at work and summoned the lift, finished our wait as it finished its five-floor descent and very nearly stepped blissfully in when one of my friends joined us. It was Friday, but she didn’t ask about our weekend plans.

"What’ve you got in the little bag?" she asked.

Caught off guard, I confessed.

"What kind?"

I hesitated. It isn’t polite to discuss such details in front of little cupcakes, but I didn’t expect her to understand this. "Chocolate with peppermint frosting."

"The best. You can’t beat choco with mint."

We nodded solemnly together. Suddenly she pressed level four. Five minutes later she emerged next to me with a warm chocolate croissant.

"Calories don’t count on Fridays," she said.

The time had almost come. I carefully extracted Little Cupcake from its haven of white, then paused to fold up White Paper Bag of Protection. It had served us well, and I’d grown rather fond of it.

Usually cupcakes are fully disrobed for proper gulping, but Little Cupcake did not invite such immodesty, and certainly not gulping. We compromised at removing half the wrapper and one of us went in for the icing.

It was the sort of icing that should probably have been gracefully ingested, but grace does not always align itself with reality. In the end, there was little left of Little Cupcake, save its delicate outer garment, which in normal circumstances would have been harvested for every possible trace of chocolate before being spit out in a little heap of saliva-ridden wrap, but Little Cupcake was not a normal cupcake. Though I daresay it would have been more fitting to burn the wrapper and scatter the ashes at sea, this would prove difficult to explain to others. At least the trash can had not yet been much used this morning.

It is very hard to proceed forward in life from a Friday morning spent with a little cupcake, but I was forced to forge ahead and sought a consolation prize in the form of a cup of tea. Which was when I suddenly wondered where my last five-dollar bill had gone.