Wednesday, June 30, 2010
quicko: the world cup
Is (or was) a bigger deal here than in the U.S. It wasn't crazy huge (Boston gets considerably more hyped up at Red Sox World Series times), but much more noticeable than I ever remember it having been. The Australian team is called the Socceroos, which I think is cool enough they shouldn't have to do much more than show up. Which is mostly about what they did.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
quicko: political update
So I'm really probably the last person you should ask about politics, but even I can't help hearing a bit of the buzz surrounding the very hasty recent shift of power. A few of the comments I've heard include:
- Kevin Rudd was really stabbed in the back. He was ousted by the very people who put him in power because he lost favor with them. He'd wanted the job for ages, teared up when he gave his official speech and Australians, in their love of the underdog, feel for him. They see cruel ads ripping off his situation (his picture with "dumped recently?" ads for dating services, for example) and are suitably scandalized.
- Australians elect a party, not a person. This is technically true, but in actual practice at the last election, the people elected "Kevin 07."
- The fact that Australia has its first female PM gets mixed reviews. Some say it's a step in the right direction for women; others that it's actually a bit of a step backwards, particularly if she loses the next election, because the people (see previous point) didn't actually elect her. She was forced upon them, and does not actually reflect Australia's choices. If she loses, things'll look even worse for women.
- No one seems to like Tony Abbott, who is the guy fairly likely to go up against Julia Gillard at the next election. At least, no one seems like his personality. Some agree with his politics.
- Australians are on a first-name basis with their politicians. Americans tend to use last names -- Reagan, Bush, Clinton, Obama -- whereas Australians talk about Kevin, Julia and Tony. Occasionally they'll throw in "Howard" with John (the PM before Rudd), but only because John's name is so common.
Monday, June 28, 2010
quicko: clinkers
These are a very famous Australian _______. There is some debate as to whether they are "lollies" (i.e., candy) or not since they contain 60% chocolate and 40% non-chocolate edible entities of a colorful nature. (Despite them having the appearance of less chocolate, they actually have more, as they measure based on density and the not-chocolate part is actually quite airy.) Thus, they might more accurately be termed "sweets" or "confectionery."Also, when you eat them, you are supposed to play the guessing game, wherein you must announced if your color will be green, pink or yellow before you bite into it. If you're right (which I was tonight 100% accuracy on 4 green Clinkers), you win! Yay Kim!!
Sunday, June 27, 2010
quicko: un-slap happy
Australians don't know the phrase "slap-happy"! We totally were tonight but no one understood. It loses something in the translation, too. Silly, slap-happy Australians!
Saturday, June 26, 2010
please call for service
When I first started work as a teacher I thought learning to work the copier would be my greatest challenge. I have a horrible history with copiers, mostly revolving around midnight copying stints in the library the night before a paper was due. I had, you see, a wonderful 5-step plan for writing any and every paper in college. First, I compiled a list of resources I needed (preferably full-text from J-Stor; when it failed, books currently checked in). Second, I scheduled a trip to the library. Step two was always the most traumatic part. I love libraries generally -- cozy nooks full of other-worldly fiction or Bill Bryson tales of faraway places -- but there is something about research libraries that sends me running. I'm pretty sure it's the copiers.
I'd get to the library and painfully plow through the bizarre system my college used. (In four years, I never figured it out. All I can say definitively is that it was not Dewey Decimal, which was what my elementary school used.) Eventually I tended to locate another student in my class and find myself combing shelves in roughly the right neck of the PZ's. I'd gather up any book that looked vaguely related to, say, 17th century English actresses and cart the stash to the coin-operated copier.
About this time, I'd wander down to a different floor of the library, where I could usually find a drowsy librarian to remind me that, actually, we'd been through this before and now you could use a copy card to swipe through the machine and, for just $5, $10 or $25 I could buy my very own. Or, I could dig through my wallet and find the one the I'd bought last time and forgotten about.
Having secured said card, I'd trudge back up to the lonely copier and introduce it to my first book. I'd want something simple, like a copy of a page, but from the introduction onwards things would go from bad to worse. I'd position the book, close the lid and press the magic button. Out would come the top half of two consecutive pages. I'd open the lid, rotate the book 90 degrees and try again. Out would come 75% of the page I wanted, with the missing quarter being the most vital. I'd pull the book up to what I judged to be sufficient enough to cut off the top margin and try again. This time, however, I wouldn't have pulled the lid down with the requisite vigor, and the shadowy margins of the middle of the page would obscure 10% of the side of text. I'd hold it down harder the next time and try again, only to learn that in the process I'd shifted the book and had again lost the bottom quarter of text. I'd realign, push down properly and find that all was present and legible except for the last line of text, at which point I'd give up and copy the line down by hand.
And that would be the first source.
Tears, sweat, blood, $200 and two hours later I'd call campus safety to give me a ride back to my dorm where I'd finish steps 3, 4 and 5 (skimming the sources for relevant quotes, typing the quotes into my computer and writing a paper around these quotes) before turning in it at 9 am.
Some people lose their fortunes gambling. I lost mine adjusting the copier.
So you see, my experiences with copiers revolved painfully around coins, cards and getting the pages to print right. Never did I imagine I'd soon be responsible for repairing a machine I could barely operate.
At my work (which happens to be in a school), there are many, many people who need to print many, many things, usually simultaneously. I understand that this must be a serious strain on our poor copier (it has what I think could be termed a "weak constitution" at the best of times), but I am of the school of thought that copiers are machines and machines are supposed to be above all that getting tired and throwing hissy fits nonsense. Someone evidently forgot to tell ours that.
I've started a log of the copier's More Significant Misdeeds. I'm the only one who updates it, but it makes me feel better. I don't write down the normal stuff -- when it gets a paper jam, or runs out of toner, or gets another paper jam, or forgets a job, or gets a paper jam in a different place, or takes paper from the wrong tray, or doesn't realize the document feeder is closed, or prints blanks because it didn't take the paper, or gets another paper jam -- just the big stuff. Like when you've asked it to print 4 classes' worth of reports and it suddenly got so overloaded it had a silent panic attack and fainted.
We've tried all sorts of methods. My favorite is the Soothing, which consists of me standing next to the copier and massaging it gently while cooing softly about how very much I'd like to throw it out the window. (Copiers, like dogs, only understand your tone of voice. They have no idea if they're actually being insulted.) Occasionally this works and all is soon right with the world, except for 4 reportless classes. Generally it doesn't.
When gentle cooing fails, it is time for the drastic method of Pulling the Plug, which is every bit as dreadful as it sounds. You have to squeeze into the tiny corner between the copier and the table and bend over while half balanced on the table in a maneuver I'm sure they don't usually teach in yoga, but really should. Assuming you manage to achieve this position, you then must hold it for 30 seconds, which is the amount of time Bujae, our resident computer fix-it specialist, says is requisite for the copier to properly feel the consequences of its guilty actions. Bujae also doesn't wear skirts to work while he teaches machines moral lessons.
30 seconds later, you re-plug the machine and straighten up. Then you wait five minutes for the copier to decide whether or not it wants to remember the sixteen jobs you'd sent to it prior to its meltdown. Generally it doesn't, so you send them through again, only to find that, in its renewed zeal for life, it has printed them all twice.
Which has exhausted it so grievously it faints again. Which means it is time to call William. For the third time this week.
William is a short middle aged man who always looks slightly preoccupied. His appearance doesn't exactly invite the utmost confidence and I've never heard him say anything, but he's got the tools and certainly has a better chance of taming the beast than we do. He's got a mustache.
I understand that not everyone is on a first-name basis with their copier fix-it man, but with William, shucks. We're thinking of calling him Billy.
I'd get to the library and painfully plow through the bizarre system my college used. (In four years, I never figured it out. All I can say definitively is that it was not Dewey Decimal, which was what my elementary school used.) Eventually I tended to locate another student in my class and find myself combing shelves in roughly the right neck of the PZ's. I'd gather up any book that looked vaguely related to, say, 17th century English actresses and cart the stash to the coin-operated copier.
About this time, I'd wander down to a different floor of the library, where I could usually find a drowsy librarian to remind me that, actually, we'd been through this before and now you could use a copy card to swipe through the machine and, for just $5, $10 or $25 I could buy my very own. Or, I could dig through my wallet and find the one the I'd bought last time and forgotten about.
Having secured said card, I'd trudge back up to the lonely copier and introduce it to my first book. I'd want something simple, like a copy of a page, but from the introduction onwards things would go from bad to worse. I'd position the book, close the lid and press the magic button. Out would come the top half of two consecutive pages. I'd open the lid, rotate the book 90 degrees and try again. Out would come 75% of the page I wanted, with the missing quarter being the most vital. I'd pull the book up to what I judged to be sufficient enough to cut off the top margin and try again. This time, however, I wouldn't have pulled the lid down with the requisite vigor, and the shadowy margins of the middle of the page would obscure 10% of the side of text. I'd hold it down harder the next time and try again, only to learn that in the process I'd shifted the book and had again lost the bottom quarter of text. I'd realign, push down properly and find that all was present and legible except for the last line of text, at which point I'd give up and copy the line down by hand.
And that would be the first source.
Tears, sweat, blood, $200 and two hours later I'd call campus safety to give me a ride back to my dorm where I'd finish steps 3, 4 and 5 (skimming the sources for relevant quotes, typing the quotes into my computer and writing a paper around these quotes) before turning in it at 9 am.
Some people lose their fortunes gambling. I lost mine adjusting the copier.
So you see, my experiences with copiers revolved painfully around coins, cards and getting the pages to print right. Never did I imagine I'd soon be responsible for repairing a machine I could barely operate.
At my work (which happens to be in a school), there are many, many people who need to print many, many things, usually simultaneously. I understand that this must be a serious strain on our poor copier (it has what I think could be termed a "weak constitution" at the best of times), but I am of the school of thought that copiers are machines and machines are supposed to be above all that getting tired and throwing hissy fits nonsense. Someone evidently forgot to tell ours that.
I've started a log of the copier's More Significant Misdeeds. I'm the only one who updates it, but it makes me feel better. I don't write down the normal stuff -- when it gets a paper jam, or runs out of toner, or gets another paper jam, or forgets a job, or gets a paper jam in a different place, or takes paper from the wrong tray, or doesn't realize the document feeder is closed, or prints blanks because it didn't take the paper, or gets another paper jam -- just the big stuff. Like when you've asked it to print 4 classes' worth of reports and it suddenly got so overloaded it had a silent panic attack and fainted.
We've tried all sorts of methods. My favorite is the Soothing, which consists of me standing next to the copier and massaging it gently while cooing softly about how very much I'd like to throw it out the window. (Copiers, like dogs, only understand your tone of voice. They have no idea if they're actually being insulted.) Occasionally this works and all is soon right with the world, except for 4 reportless classes. Generally it doesn't.
When gentle cooing fails, it is time for the drastic method of Pulling the Plug, which is every bit as dreadful as it sounds. You have to squeeze into the tiny corner between the copier and the table and bend over while half balanced on the table in a maneuver I'm sure they don't usually teach in yoga, but really should. Assuming you manage to achieve this position, you then must hold it for 30 seconds, which is the amount of time Bujae, our resident computer fix-it specialist, says is requisite for the copier to properly feel the consequences of its guilty actions. Bujae also doesn't wear skirts to work while he teaches machines moral lessons.
30 seconds later, you re-plug the machine and straighten up. Then you wait five minutes for the copier to decide whether or not it wants to remember the sixteen jobs you'd sent to it prior to its meltdown. Generally it doesn't, so you send them through again, only to find that, in its renewed zeal for life, it has printed them all twice.
Which has exhausted it so grievously it faints again. Which means it is time to call William. For the third time this week.
William is a short middle aged man who always looks slightly preoccupied. His appearance doesn't exactly invite the utmost confidence and I've never heard him say anything, but he's got the tools and certainly has a better chance of taming the beast than we do. He's got a mustache.
I understand that not everyone is on a first-name basis with their copier fix-it man, but with William, shucks. We're thinking of calling him Billy.
Friday, June 25, 2010
quicko: the cutest baby in the southern hemisphere
Look at our new Bible study baby!! Isn't he adorable?? His name is Ethan and we think we just might keep him!!
And, for a daily quicko, "bub" is "baby" down under -- just like "mum" is "mom." So, you have mums and bubs ... frolicking in a creche (nursery) ... changing nappies (diapers) ... pushing prams (strollers) ... sucking on dummies (pacifiers).
Thursday, June 24, 2010
news flash!!!
This morning started like most Thursday mornings -- entirely too early, and running slightly late. I managed to make it in time for my 8:30 class in one piece, though, and emerged relatively unscathed -- to learn that, in the 90 minutes I'd spent in an academic bubble, Australia had gone and got itself a new Prime Minister.
Who does that!? With no election! Just immediately, a quickie little in-house vote and, voila, welcome to the first female Prime Minister of Australia. Forget the ad campaigns, forget the fundraisers, forget the speeches, forget the debates, forget the banners, forget the articles, forget the rallies, forget the promises -- heck, forget the voters!
Clearly I don't have a very deep understanding of Australian politics, but from what I gather whichever political party is in office can change its leader (i.e., the PM) more or less at will. Thus, the former PM Kevin Rudd's party held a little powwow about 9 this morning and decided that, really, they'd rather Julia Gillard take over. Evidently people tend to prefer her to the leader of the opposition, Tony Abbott, but it doesn't seem like that's saying too much. Why exactly it was so important to oust KRudd so quickly is a bit unclear to me, but clearly it couldn't have waited till after lunch.
Not there was any scandal; Australians just don't like to mess around once they make up their minds evidently. Whenever else you call him, you certainly couldn't have called KRudd a lame duck. Though, gosh, I don't remember any new policies from about 9:15 onward ... perhaps he was going a bit soft.
And so now, yes, Australia has a brand new Prime Minister. Julia Gillard is a woman and has hair dyed an appalling shade of red. I really know very little else about her -- but seeing as I didn't even know her name before 10 this morning, I think I'm making good progress.
And who knows? Maybe now KRudd needs a few more friends -- he can still find me on Facebook if he likes.
Who does that!? With no election! Just immediately, a quickie little in-house vote and, voila, welcome to the first female Prime Minister of Australia. Forget the ad campaigns, forget the fundraisers, forget the speeches, forget the debates, forget the banners, forget the articles, forget the rallies, forget the promises -- heck, forget the voters!
Clearly I don't have a very deep understanding of Australian politics, but from what I gather whichever political party is in office can change its leader (i.e., the PM) more or less at will. Thus, the former PM Kevin Rudd's party held a little powwow about 9 this morning and decided that, really, they'd rather Julia Gillard take over. Evidently people tend to prefer her to the leader of the opposition, Tony Abbott, but it doesn't seem like that's saying too much. Why exactly it was so important to oust KRudd so quickly is a bit unclear to me, but clearly it couldn't have waited till after lunch.
Not there was any scandal; Australians just don't like to mess around once they make up their minds evidently. Whenever else you call him, you certainly couldn't have called KRudd a lame duck. Though, gosh, I don't remember any new policies from about 9:15 onward ... perhaps he was going a bit soft.
And so now, yes, Australia has a brand new Prime Minister. Julia Gillard is a woman and has hair dyed an appalling shade of red. I really know very little else about her -- but seeing as I didn't even know her name before 10 this morning, I think I'm making good progress.
And who knows? Maybe now KRudd needs a few more friends -- he can still find me on Facebook if he likes.
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