by Catriona Mills

Yet Another Advertisement Showing Max Walker in a Less-Than-Shining Light

Posted 14 May 2008 in by Catriona

I’m really not sure what APIA thinks its new advertising strategy is doing; following the scamming-the-Third-World, blood-diamond advertisement, we now have one about dangeorusly rear-ending innocent drivers because you’re not paying attention to the road.

“These days, I’d probably just walk the two blocks home.”

What does that line mean? Is he just priding himself on his physical fitness? Or is it an exchanging-insurance-details-is-for-suckers reference?

I can’t tell—but I’m veering towards the latter, given the horrors of the previous advertisement.

Insanely Creepy Song Lyrics

Posted 14 May 2008 in by Catriona

(Technically, this qualifies as reading, since this is about the lyrics. Plus, I haven’t posted anything about reading in ages, and this is, after all, called Circulating Library.)

I’m constantly amazed by the frequency with which people play “Every Breath You Take” at weddings despite the fact that it is, frankly, an insanely creepy song.

Apparently—and I’m quoting from the Wikipedia page here, so take that as you will—the song was written during the collapse of Sting’s first marriage, and in his words “It sounds like a comforting love song. I didn’t realise at the time how sinister it is. I think I was thinking of Big Brother, surveillance and control. These were the Reagan, Star Wars years.”

If even Sting thinks it sounds sinister, who am I (Leavisite or not) to argue with that?

(Also, it’s clearly creepy.)

But I was listening to my Bon Jovi album tonight (yes, it’s a best-of compilation. Shush.) and I came across a song.

I don’t know the title, because the album cover was lost many years ago in an evening of drunken CD playing, and I can’t remember most of the song titles any more. I suspect it’s called “I’ll Be There For You,” but I can’t be bothered looking it up.

Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that it included the line “When you breathe, I want to be the air for you.”

Is it just me, or is that also ridiculously creepy?

My general response to that would be something along the lines of “Wow. That’s . . . wow. No, no, honey—I mean that in a good way. I . . . wow. No—stay over there. I find that remaining on opposite sides of the room at all times is actually good for a relationship.”

Perhaps I’m over-sensitive, but these don’t strike me as love songs.

Maybe my standards are skewed.

Dear Bus Driver

Posted 14 May 2008 in by Catriona

I don’t have the same number of complaints as Nick does about Brisbane public transport—I generally find the bus drivers efficient and courteous. But then, my daily trips are much shorter than Nick’s.

I did, however, come up with this imaginary epistle after this morning’s bus trip to the university.

Dear Bus Driver,

I realise, of course, that there’s a reason for the bus being quite late. That reason is readily apparent from the vast number of people standing in the aisle, desperately trying to cling to whatever support they can grab.

What I’m wondering is why you continued to stop at bus stops—not only mine, but at least two more on the route to the university.

By the time you stopped at my stop, people were crammed nearly up to the front windscreen. I only managed to find a space when a lovely elderly gentleman—who was 80 if he was a day, and should not have had to stand—was kind enough to share the pole with which he was supporting himself.

I realise I had the option not to get on the bus and, in fact, nearly waited for the next one, but Wednesdays are not days when I have a great deal of spare time, and I felt compelled to get to work as early as possible.

By the time we arrived at the university, of course, people were actually bouncing off the windshield, because you had continued to stop at the bus stops. Those of use who were buttressed further back in the aisle were becoming far too acquainted not only with the bus’s various safety features but also with one another.

I do think it is very kind of you to attempt to convey as many of us as possible. But honestly? I would rather the bus sailed by than that you lured me into thinking it had room for me; by the time I have my foot on the step, it’s too late to turn back.

Buses in Sydney are restricted in the number of standing passengers that they can carry, and have been since I was in high school. I hate to think what might have happened to my nice, elderly aisle-neighbour had we had to stop suddenly.

Perhaps some such restriction would work here, too?

Sincerely,

Your Slightly Bruised Passenger.

Strange Conversations: Part Fourteen

Posted 13 May 2008 in by Catriona

It’s been a night of strange conversations.

When I got a little worked up, and Nick suggested that listening to Rage Against the Machine probably wasn’t helping my mood, I switched to “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” Nick was standing right in front of me at this point, but the following conversation still ensued.

NICK: Jesus!
ME: What?
NICK: Oh, it’s coming out of your computer. I thought it was coming from behind me!
ME: You thought Paul Robeson was behind you?

A strange night, but not that strange.

Birthday Flowers

Posted 13 May 2008 in by Catriona

Since I’ve been downloading images from the camera—and a blog is essentially an exercise in solipsism—I thought I may as well upload some images of flower arrangements from my 30th birthday.

I’m actually not really keen on being given flowers; Nick very rarely does so, although he occasionally bought a pretty bunch when we had a service station next door to us, largely to save them from the petrol fumes.

But flowers make me anxious, because I struggle to keep them alive and each day they get a little more ragged and I get more distressed about my botanical skills.

I think my family knows this, because they rarely send me flowers.

But they clearly felt that a 30th birthday was an occasion, because two bunches arrived.

I’d forgotten about these photos, which were taken 18 months ago, so it’s wonderful to see the arrangements in all their glory.

The first bunch is from my parents.

(Conveniently, this picture also shows my swan-shaped lamp, which I love quite beyond reason. I saw it first on a ridiculously expensive antiques website, and we decided it wasn’t worth the money. When I saw it again—at a much lower price, I might add—on ebay.com six months later, my heart leapt in my chest and I insisted on buying it. I love it every time I look at it.)

These arrived quite early in the day, when I was tidying and decorating the house with the help of my marvellous best friend—who had arrived from Sydney that morning with her less-than-four-months-old younger son in tow, and then not only spent the entire day helping me decorate and cook, but also spent the entire evening running around after people while I drank. Her son, my equally accommodating nephew, spent the night sleeping.

Nick must have been apprised of the imminent arrival of some flowers, because he answered the door and called me to the living room. When I insisted I was busy, he said, “No, you really have to collect this yourself.”

Turned out he was as surprised as anyone, because he’d been expecting this bunch, from my sister and sister-in-law:

(Alas, no swan lamp, but pretty funky curtains.)

It’s strange how not downloading photographs from your digital camera for 18 months can bring on such such a saccharine outpouring of nostalgia, isn’t it?

Blame it on my happy childhood; a happy childhood makes nostalgia a wonderful place to visit.

Strange Conversations: Part Thirteen

Posted 13 May 2008 in by Catriona

Tonight’s bizarre conversations.

This one was held while I was looking for the nail clippers on the kitchen windowsill.

NICK: Oh, what have you found?
ME: The nail clippers.
NICK: Oh . . . wow.
ME: Well, you were the one who suggested it was an exciting find! I was just looking for the clippers.
NICK: I like to bring a sense of wonder to life.

And later, while Nick was doing the washing up:

ME: I’m going to give my Mam a ring. Will you pour me a glass of wine?
NICK: I’ll try, but I’m very busy and important.
ME: Pour me a glass of wine, or I’ll give you busy and important.
NICK: Oooh.
ME: That wasn’t a euphemism! Well, it was, but not in the way you think.

We’re really a very happy couple. Honestly.

Tunnels

Posted 12 May 2008 in by Catriona

I’m always suspicious when a book is touted as “the new Harry Potter“, and it’s not because I didn’t enjoy the Harry Potter series. I did—immensely. But “the new Harry Potter“ as s shorthand description of a new novel doesn’t always seem applicable.

Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight, for example, is occasionally mentioned as a “new Harry Potter“ and, despite seeing its popularity among my late-teen students, I don’t see the analogy—except in that it’s sold a lot of copies and is being made into an expensive-looking film. That, to me, is not what makes a new Harry Potter.

I’ve probably bored a lot of people with this story before now, but I did come into the Harry Potter series reasonably early—reasonably early, that is, compared to many of the six million people who bought Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I read the first two just before the third book came out in hardback.

But that’s not the main point of this anecdote.

At the time, I was teaching in a coaching college; among my classes was a Year 4 group, who met on a Thursday night at about 7 p.m. While not reluctant or in any way illiterate, they were not keen readers. They’d been reading Hating Alison Ashley and, frankly, hating it. In consultation with my boss, I suggested Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, fresh off my own reading of it.

At first, the students were very reluctant. They all bought the book and brought it into class. But they sat there while I read the first chapter out loud and moaned, “Miss, this is boooring. Do we haaave to read this, Miss?”

I wasn’t particularly sanguine about the outcome.

Until I came in the next week. And they were all sitting there, with the book lined up in front of them. Most of them had little piles of books one and two and the hardback of volume three. And they mobbed me when I came in; “Miss, I sat up all night reading this! Miss, I’ve read it twice already! Miss, I’ve read all three books! Miss, I had a dream that Voldemort came after me because I didn’t do my homework!”

The last one was a little disturbing.

But I’ve never seen anything like this in all my years of coaching classes of students ranging from Year 3s to graduate students. By the time I left that job several years later, those students were ploughing happily through the many hundreds of pages of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

I’m always suspicious, then, that “the new Harry Potters“ that are frequently vaunted refer only to the books sales, franchising, and movie deals, which to me is only part of what made Rowling’s novels a phenomenon.

But, and this immensely lengthy preamble has been building to this point, I still bought a copy of Roderick Gordon and Brian Williams’s Tunnels, despite the fact that it’s occasionally touted as “the new Harry Potter“.

Of course, according to the Wikipedia page, it’s attracted this accolade simply because Barry Cunningham, the man who signed the novel to the “plucky new children’s book publishing company” Chicken House, was the man who signed J. K. Rowling up to Bloomsbury—which seems a more tenuous connection than usual.

Of course, I haven’t read Tunnels yet; I only know that it’s the story of a fourteen-year-old boy who shares a passion for digging with his father and, when the latter mysteriously disappears down an unknown tunnel, unearths a terrifying secret deep underground.

Sounds great, frankly. I’m looking forward to it, even if it doesn’t generate the same general enthusiasm for literacy that marked my experience of the Harry Potter phenomenon.

But I’m not sure how those Year 4s of mine would have responded to it.

And I really hope it doesn’t have a borderline psychotic vampire anywhere in it.

Struggles with Cushions

Posted 12 May 2008 in by Catriona

Nick has claimed for many years that we have too many cushions. In fact, when we were watching a season of Coupling and Steve went into a rant about the uselessness of cushions, Nick couldn’t even meet my eyes.

But I love my cushions. Partly, it’s that I don’t like my sofas. One—salvaged from a share house many moons ago—is brutally uncomfortable, especially now that the foam cushions have reached the couldn’t-bounce-back-even-if-they-wanted-to stage of life. The other two sofas came from a family member’s estate and, while we were and are very grateful for them, they’re shallow with low arms, which means you need cushions to sit on them, given the orientation of the living room.

However, I admit I may have gone too far. I’m attached both to the idea that cushions are a convenient way of adding colour and texture to a room and to symmetry in room furnishings. These two notions have led directly to a cornucopia of cushions, all in neat pairs.

But which ones could I possibly get rid of?

The ones in pseudo-Chinese “silk”: one gold and one a beautiful dark green? Nick bought them for me, so they have sentimental value. (That’s my excuse, and I’m sticking to it.)

The ones that look like someone skinned and stuffed a Muppet? Well, two Muppets, pink and blue. Those are pleasingly furry on cold nights.

The big, square ones shaped like fuzzy dice? Those speak for themselves, surely—as do the furry blue stars.

The retro-patterned blue and red ones made out of the material you get when you turn a tracksuit inside out? One would have to have a heart of stone not to want cushions made of that fabric. Is there anything more comforting than the inside of a tracksuit?

No, I can’t cull my cushions, although I may curse them when I have to tidy up my living room or when Nick gets frustrated and throws them all over the back of the sofa.

The best I can do is not to buy any more.

Rethinking Stephenie Meyer's Novels

Posted 11 May 2008 in by Catriona

I mentioned in my post on the first of this saga that I enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would—and I did.

I even lent it to my sister-in-law, because I thought it was very much her cup of tea. I don’t know yet if she enjoyed it.

But I also mentioned that I needed to read the others before I could legitimately judge what I thought. I’ve now read two and three, New Moon and Eclipse—the fourth, called I believe Breaking Dawn, hasn’t been published yet—and I now find I’m more ambivalent than before.

These books have been going through my first-year students—the female ones, anyway—like a dose of salts.

(On that note, giving a lecture on cliches last week seems to have had an adverse effect on my writing: “cup of tea” and “does of salts” in one post? Let’s see how many more tired metaphors and battered similes I can use in this post.)

But my students are reading and loving these books; in fact, when I said that halfway through the third book I started thinking to myself, “You know, this vampire is psychotic!” they were up in arms.

(And there’s another cliche for you.)

But that’s where my thoughts starting shifting; and it retrospectively changed my understanding of the previous books.

It wasn’t so much that at one level Edward thirsted to drink human blood; that’s not actually that psychotic, for a vampire. (It reminds me of a news broadcast that talked about the damage caused in the U. S. by a “rogue cyclone”; really, a cyclone causing massive property damage is a fairly well-adjusted cyclone.) No, I started thinking he was psychotic when he removed the distributor cap from his girlfriend’s car to prevent her visiting her Native American werewolf buddies.

Of course, I didn’t like her werewolf best friend, either—he was just as possessive, in a different way.

But Edward’s behaviour bothered me, more than the idea that he might one day be unable to resist the impulse to have Bella for lunch.

When I was reading Twilight, I said to Nick that there were shades of a domestic violence debate coming through the novel for me; I couldn’t judge whether it was deliberate on the author’s part or something that I was reading in for myself, but it came through the emphasis on the dangers of consorting with vampires. Somewhere in there was the sense that we all, on one level, take that risk; we all, when we enter into a relationship, determine—usually on a subconscious level—that this person will never pose a threat or a danger to us and, horror stories aside, we’re mostly right.

The idea of layering that through a romance with a vampire, inherently more threatening than any human partner, fascinated me; it seemed to give weight and substance to the discussion of a relationship that otherwise seemed to accelerate too quickly, even for a romance between teenagers.

Until he removed the distributor cap.

So now I’m not sure how I feel about these. I know as the books progressed, I became more and more annoyed at the idea that the romance would end in marriage—or, analogous to marriage, being turned into a vampire or both—for an eighteen-year-old protagonist, which is not something with which I find myself in sympathy. We haven’t got to that point, yet, but I suspect we will.

On the other hand, I did read all 1200 pages of the second and third novels and, while I’m not generally someone who puts books down unfinished, that does say something about Meyer’s ability to write page-turners. And she is capturing a broad readership among late teens, arguably a harder task than grabbing the early teen market, given the greater time pressures on 17-20 year olds.

But that’s not, I suspect, enough to make me ignore my growing feeling that this vampire is psychotic and that this might be less a great romance than a damagingly co-dependent, potentially abusive relationship.

Strange Conversations: Part Twelve

Posted 10 May 2008 in by Catriona

ME: Could you fight off a mountain troll?
NICK: I could try.
ME: O . . . kay.
NICK: You can’t ask for more.

Of course, as a feminist, I should be able to fight off my own mountain trolls. But since I can’t even remove a spider from a bathtub, I’m sanguine about my chances with a troll.

Nick Has Never Seen Apocalypse Now

Posted 10 May 2008 in by Catriona

I consider this an oversight of epic proportions. In fact, I suggested devoting a blog post to the movies he’d never seen, but he felt this would be embarrassing. I felt this was an exaggeration, since—as I pointed out—the blog is read exclusively by people who’ve met him, but he still resisted.

But I still think a man with two degrees in Cultural Studies should have seen Apocalypse Now.

Of course, he insists he’s seen The Godfather, both Psycho and Rear Window, and Citizen Kane.

In fact, he thinks he’s seen the latter many times, which I think is unlikely, but he should know best.

On the down side, he’s never seen a Jean Cocteau film, which puts me ahead in the strange, competitive world that is our relationship.

(Although I note, from looking at Amazon.com, that it’s hard to find Jean Cocteau films on DVD, and that they’re immensely expensive. Still, there’s a Criterion edition of Beauty and the Beast, which might be interesting.)

I have a feeling that I should have been able to think of more films that Nick should have seen—to thus embarrass him further—but my inspiration ran out with Cocteau.

Thank Something That I Don't Work in the Service Industry Any More

Posted 10 May 2008 in by Catriona

My family have never done anything special for Mother’s Day, although I believe my sister usually sends flowers these days. Nick’s family do, so we go and buy something pretty and then have a nice family meal.

But every year, the thing I’m most thankful for is that I no longer work as a waitress. Mother’s Day was always the most awful night of the year for waitresses.

The Chinese restaurant I worked at years ago went all out for treats for the customers on special occasions: candied fruit and vegetables for Chinese New Year (I liked the peanuts, which my boss told me would increase fertility. When I expressed a hope that they certainly wouldn’t, she said, “But you won’t have a baby: you’re not married.” Oh . . . yeah, that’s right.); roses for Valentines Day; chocolate eggs for Easter; and buckets and buckets of multi-coloured carnations for Mother’s Day—which arrived in huge bunches, and had to be split into small arrangements and attractively wrapped in cellophane. By the waitresses.

That was the start of it.

Then we’d be booked out for weeks in advance, but would still have to argue with customers about the availability of tables, even though there were only twelve tables in the entire place.

Then there’d be the angry walk-ins, who couldn’t understand why they couldn’t have a table on the busiest night of the year, even though the entire restaurant was packed and they weren’t prepared to wait.

Ah, Mother’s Day—I’m so glad I won’t ever spend another one of you asking, “And what would you like to drink, sir?” and getting patted on the bottom.

Still, I suppose it’s not the worst thing that ever happened in my waitressing years. That would be either the time a man punched out a window because he’d been waiting too long—my fault how, exactly?—or the time a customer hired, without warning us, a stripper for his friend’s 50th birthday.

We had a “no shoes, no shirt—no service” policy.

Maybe we should have made that “no shoes, no shirt, no bra—no service.”

And the friend wasn’t that impressed, either.

Drunken Rambling: Part One

Posted 8 May 2008 in by Catriona

Well, you have to start a new tradition somewhere.

Nick and I have had difficult couple of days, so we decided to hit the tequila.

(Of course, once we made that decision, I’d already had half a bottle of wine, hence the title of this post. Nick is dancing to Hunters and Collectors as I type.)

We’ve just been listening to up-beat music and generally chilling out. (And if my 17-year-old students hadn’t already convinced me I was old, my unironic use of the phrase “chilling out” would be all the evidence I need.)

But Nick was also poring over iTunes, which led to the following conversations:

NICK: Scarlett Johanssen’s new single is being previewed. You know I have to listen to that.
ME: Count me out. Her rack’s not that good.
NICK: It kind of is.

He’s right—but I still couldn’t be bothered.

But later:
NICK: I can’t judge whether that was good or not.
ME (from the back verandah, where I was having a cigarette): What?
NICK: It’s a cover of a Tom Waits song.
ME: What?
NICK: Seriously. It’s a whole album of Tom Waits covers.
ME: Really? Even Tom Waits could barely get away with a whole album of Tom Waits songs.

Live-Blogging Wii Bowling

Posted 6 May 2008 in by Catriona

Game One: Smack talk
During Wii Bowling, Nick comments on the fact that I have better bowling stats than he does:

NICK: Treena . . . pro.
ME: Did you just call me what I think you called me?
NICK: It’s a compliment.
ME: Pardon?
NICK: It’s just means you’re good at the game . . . and they pay you money for it.

That comment cost me a spare.

It also prompted my desire to, as Nick puts it, live-blog our Wii Sports competition. It’s not real live-blogging, but I am typing it as it happens.

Of course, the sensor bar has been moved, which is what I blame for my 50-odd point deficit.

I suppose the plus side to that loss is that I lost my “pro” status, so at least there’ll be no more ambiguous compliments.

Game Two:
NICK: That’s some weak sauce, young Nick.

See, everyone talks about themselves in third person. It’s normal. Totally.

Nick claims he’s not doing as well this game, which I blame on his years in Australia; it’s never that the opposition just played better, is it? Nope, he claims he’s “lost his mojo already,” which is strangely sad.

That’s probably why he’s cheating, sitting in my way for my next shot on the grounds that his feet hurt. On the other hand, he is getting a lot of difficult splits, while I’m getting spares and strikes.

COMPUTER (off Nick’s shot): Nice spare!
ME: That wasn’t a nice spare; it was a weak spare.
NICK: Spare me.

Oddly, I beat Nick comprehensively, but still didn’t regain my “pro” status. Still, at least I’m spared old jokes (except the bad puns I make myself).

Game Three:
Nick seems to have got his mojo back, and all I can manage are spares, despite the tried-and-true method of shouting “Fall over!” at the pins. I might have to challenge him to golf.

On the plus side, Nick has the most hilarious bowling action ever. Still, he wins—and I move further from my pro status. Golf it is.

Especially since the computerised bowling spectators boo gutter balls, which is intensely rude and rather off-putting.

Golf:
Hole 1 goes to me, with a rather neat par—if I say so myself—even including the fact that I stuffed a practice swing and cost myself a stroke.

But Nick insists that I mention that he wouldn’t have ended up with a triple bogey if I hadn’t distracted him at a key moment, which meant a 4.6 yard putt ended up sending his ball back onto the fairway.

And all in the comfort of our living room!

The golf crowd are much more polite than the bowling-alley guys.

Hole 2’s a tie, both pars.

But Hole 3’s an awful par 5 dogleg and Nick ends up behind a computer-generated tree, so we’ll see.

ME: I think I’m in the rough.
NICK: You always look good to me.
ME: No, I mean . . . never mind.

He’ll regret that when my birdy assures me victory. Really, once he admits that I’m better at Wii Sports than he is, I can stop boring people with my blog entries on, to paraphrase Dilbert, a computer simulation of a game that’s almost a sport.

But I don’t see him making that concession any time soon.

In fact, he wants to play again tomorrow. If he smacktalks me again—he’s just gone into the Wii newsfeed to gloat “Bowling pro status lost. Oh, dear”—we might just have another blog entry.

Strange Conversations: Part Eleven

Posted 6 May 2008 in by Catriona

Nick and I have been watching 30 Rock, which led to the following conversation.

ME: You really fancy Tina Fey, don’t you?
NICK: Yep.
ME: But she’s nothing like me!
(Long pause.)
NICK: I love all humanity!
ME: The correct answer is ‘No, honey, she’s exactly like you.’
(Pause of about ten minutes.)
NICK: And you both wear glasses.

Sure, anyone who knows me will suspect a degree of hypocrisy in my answers. (Did that coughing noise sound suspiciously like “Lord of the Rings,” or was that just me?)

But in my defense, I am really tired.

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