The Lake House

I just watched The Lake House starring Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock.

I am uncertain as to whether I love it or hate it...

I mean, without giving too much away, I loved the dialogue; the idea of a mysterious impossible communication; the reaching out to each other anyway they could; the crossed paths and chance meetings, and I really loved the ending.

But....

Did any, among those who have seen this move, ever wonder why she didn't just attempt to Google the guy or something; he was the son of a famous Architect....

And that SONG - bloody awful!

I am sooooOOOooooo unromantic.

Warning: possibly offensive

A neighbour came over recently and announced she was having a party, adding that it would be great if I could come. I don't know this neighbour very well, in fact, the only time she has spoken to me, was to sneer and hiss at our dogs...so for her to suddenly extend of the hand of friendship was rather unexpected.

"ALL the neighbours are coming", she gloated.

Of course, it was going to be one of THOSE parties.The picture on the invitation showed three women in party hats, wine in hand, streamers falling about them and party blowers - these "parties" are never like that.

Over the years, I have attended my fair share of sales gatherings (I refuse to call them PARTIES). I have been invited to events promoting the sale of books, cosmetics, tupperware, toys, linen, tealight candles, lingerie, crafts, and much much more. Many of these sales gatherings have been put on by very close friends or family, who I have been happy to support - we all have to make a buck somehow now, don't we?

I do have one friend however, who I only ever heard from when she was having a "sales gathering". She tended to ring me at the last minute, usually the night before, to inform me she was having an event, not many people were coming, so could I please come "to make up the numbers". I guess I am probably a bit oversensitive, but I can't help but be offended by that. "What... your real friends couldn't come?"

I must say - I would actually prefer it if I weren't invited to such events. I certainly don't want to sit around for two hours talking about plastic containers that cost the earth....sure, they have a lifetime guarantee (sigh...whatever, Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz). I always feel obliged to buy something - even if I don't want anything, and I don't really have the money to fritter away needlessly.

On the rare occasion that I have the strength to NOT buy anything, I wind up feel guilty that I enjoyed the hosts hospitality, nibbled on the chips and dip and generally wasted the sales reps time...I guess that is the effect that these organisations are kind of aiming for really.

I am also constantly amazed when I attend a sales gathering, and I witness other invitees getting so into it. They scan their glossy brochures with glassy eyed enthusiasm, pencils poise, ready for swift circling action when a desired item appears, not unlike a hunter preparing to snare a prized beast. And they discuss the items with such concentrated interest and expertise as if they are about to purchase a valuable rare antique.

"So....the three tiered pineapple piece dispenser...does it really guarantee to keep your pineapple fresh for up to 8 weeks while draining it of unnecessary liquids...I am impressed! I MUST have one of those." Oh please!

Or when the sales person starts the pitch, "just look at the quality ladies.... you won't find quality like this in any store. This egg flipper will turn a perfect fried egg every time or your money back". To which the hypnotised nod in unison, mesmerised by a bit of old plastic while frantically circling the item in the glossy brochure.

At the end of the night, invitees tally the cost of their selected items, have a minor heart attack, review the list and conclude that they simply can't go on living without a single one, especially the pancake flipper that comes with a pair of novelty oven mits, even though it looks suspiciously like the egg flipper, which is ESSENTIAL after all. They then extend a quivering hand, holding a cheque made out for a small fortune, and leave with an impending feeling of being ripped off, while the host salivates over the limited number of uninspiring host gifts and "free" sales target prizes.

I have NEVER held such a sales gathering. To me, there is something unsavory about inviting friends and acquaintances to spend their hard earned cash on items they could possibly find in a store, if they REALLY needed it..if not, SURELY they could call the appropriate sales gathering rep and place an order without having to endure the blessed "party".

Since living in this street, I have been invited to a Tupperware party, which I couldn't attend because had something else on (oh damn); two tealight candle parties, both times I had NO spare cash to fritter away on something I could never imagine ever using. I already have a couple of tealight candle holders, and honestly, two is enough....so I didn't go to either of those events.

I have noticed however, that the tealight candle neighbour refuses to acknowledge my existence, so I think my declining to attend was an offence - oops.

So.... in the spirit of being neighbourly and a good sport, I decided to attend the grouchy neighbours bloomin' sales gathering. I have no idea what product is on offer "Spirals Gourmetware - wire home decor" the invitation reads (...help me).

Where the Bloody Hell are we?

Where the bloody hell are you? If you think these words are offensive, you are not alone.

Would you believe this is the slogan chosen by the Australian Tourism Commission to entice international travellers to make the costly and timely journey across the ocean to our fair land? Well it is.

The ad made its debut quite a number of months ago, but at the time, it set the proverbial cat amongst the pigeons...if you know what I mean.

The ad was banned in the UK for its "bloody" reference; a phrase that is as commonly used within the Australian take on English, as "umm", "err" and "barbie".

We might not be an overly sophisticated bunch, but we do like a good laugh. So, of course the hoo-ha over this very Aussie ad was spoofed many times, just to highlight how much worse it could have been. I will refrain from providing a link to such spoofs, erring more on the side of good taste, although I have to admit...I was just a little bit tempted.....ok, more than a bit.

Anyway I am completely off track , if you'll pardon the pun, for I was going to talk about navigation, driving and gender pride concerning both.

Women stereotypically get a bad wrap concerning both touring tasks. According to blokes, there is scientific proof that women are bad drivers. Men might even go so far as to claim that good driving requires a gene, which women lack. Either way, the joke that "women are bad drivers", sees men across the generations, jumping into the driver's seat of the family vehicle, practically without question; without comment or even notice - unless of course, alcohol is being served at the other end, then suddenly all confidence is placed into the sturdy sober hands of women.

Under normal circumstances, when alcohol is not in the picture, the idea that women are bad drivers, leaves women to handle the map and guidance duties, which we are also, supposedly, notoriously bad for.

Basically, women can't win whatever task we volunteer ourselves for, or are relegated to do. We are destined for criticism, failure and disappointment.

My Mum ONCE navigated my Dad into a cul-de-sac - do you think she has EVER lived that down?

I don't know about you, but I resent this boys club mentality concerning driving.

I was initially taught to drive by my Dad in his beloved Holden "ute". It was a manual column shift arrangement (groan).

My Dad taunted, sighed in frustration and yelled at every possible opportunity and with evey bunny hopping jolt I nervously made, to the point where I could take his antics no longer; stopped, exited the vehicle and walked away with his tormenting blaring into the back of my skull. After a few moments of this, I responded, using rather terse words, with the suggestion that he might like to stick his ute where the sun don't shine. Soon after that it was decided that I have a professional teach me to drive - much to everyone's relief.

I still can't drive a manual vehicle. I have tried since.... but I became panicky when I didn't change gears as smoothly as I would have liked. I did the time warp, returning to that wounded 16 year old being scolded and berated by my Father. Next came a rather comical display, of me, flying into a shameful, insane rage on the side of some street; repeatedly sinking the boot into the tyre of that poor unsuspecting vehicle. It is not a moment I am proud of....

I am a good driver, albeit in an automatic only. After that I have flatly refused to EVER get behind the wheel of a manual vehicle.

A hiking friend of mine (another manual driver) asked whether she could teach me to drive her car. I declined the offer. To entice me, she attempted the guilt trip, asking what would happen if she should injure herself on one of our hikes, preventing her from driving. I told her that she would be stuffed! Not very compassionate I know, but my nerves are shot as far as the manual vehicles go, and I didn't want to frustrate her nor embarrass myself with a repeated episode of wobbly chucking, as I did the last time.

I do, however, feel I am pretty good at navigating. I know how to read a map, WITHOUT turning the map upside down when we turn a corner (another fabled claim about women navigating), and I can't remember a time when I have lead my husband, or anyone else, down the wrong path. In fact, I am very confident in my navigational skills.

My husband is also a good driver, he is more assertive than me , and so when we drive together I don't mind letting him take the wheel. His navigation skills, on the other hand, are not as good as mine.

On a UK trip from Grimsby in Lincoln shire to Birmingham in the West midlands, he somehow managed to direct us to Norwich. With each suggestion that perhaps we were going the wrong way, he assured me that we weren't. Until we got to a sign that suggested the seaside was approaching and I was forced to stop and check the map for myself.

It took us a good hour to right that little wrong, and I let him drive after that. So with that memory firmly in tact ,I asked my husband - for experimental purposes, which touring duty he felt superior in: driving or navigating? In hindsight, I think he sensed a trap. For he hesitated for a moment and replied in a rather uncharacteristically defiant and gritted-teeth tone, "BOTH!"

"Really?"

Why is it so hard for men to give ANY credit to a woman's driving skill or to admit slight weaknesses in their own, albeit the driving or the navigating? Test it out. Ask your beloved if you can take the wheel for your weekend drive together. How does he react to your request? And if you get that far, how does he behave while you are behind the wheel? Is he relaxed and chatty or sulky, overly critical, super cautious or snitchy and on edge? How is he with the map? Does HE turn it around when you turn a corner? Is every street a cul-de-sac?

I have a theory....blokes take the wheel, because they aren't so good with the map, or....perhaps they don't like it that they are not in control when the woman is behind the wheel. Oooohh, did I say that out loud?

think people

Early last month we had a rather unprecedented snowstorm. The unexpected weather then snapped even colder, freezing everything in its wake.

A large cedar on our property suffered terribly. It was not uprooted, nor did a large limb come crashing down upon our house. Rather the tree split in two; one half ended up in the carpark, while the other half remained standing.

Since then, we have become a little nervous about our tree, especially when the wind starts to blow.

We have endured 6 quite severe windstorms this season - today we experienced yet another, and one more large limb went down for the count.

The limb did not break off immediately, it simply hung on by its bark and swayed violently for about 10 minutes before dropping to the ground. Of course this occured just as the kids began emerging from the nearby schools.

Many of the kids were fascinated by the rather precarious looking branch, and stopped to gawk up at it from a safe distance. Others wandered along in a daze, treading under its unstable path quite unaware of the threat hanging over their head. Then there were other kids who dared creep as close as they could to it, and tug at the caught limb to see if they could bring it down; nature took care of that in the end.

Next I know I have a raving woman on my doorstep informing me of the fallen branch.

"I know", I tell her, "I saw it".

"Well it nearly fell on the kids", she says as if I had somehow set it up as a prank or boobey trap.

"Yes I saw that", I tell her, quite at a loss as to what I could have done - we were in the middle of a bloody wind storm after all, "I have rung the council about removing it" (and they could have cared less).

"Well its dangerous!" she rants, glaring at me for a moment before turning on her heel and leaving. Her kids looked back at me accusingly - the same kids who were pulling the branch only moments before.

If you let your kids tempt fate with suspicious looking tree limbs in the middle of a raging storm, they might wind up getting hurt. Now why is that my fault?

unfortunate jobs

Yesterday, the rain unrelentlessly pummelled the earth and winds were said to be worse than a typhoon that swept through in 1962. I watched people brace themselves before submitting their bodies to the mercy of the heavens. They ducked for cover, and raced haphazardly toward the nearest dry safe haven, as if they were under attack by enemy fire; an experience that was destined to leave them wind beaten, drenched and shivering.

While I fiddled with the car thermostat, in an effort to dry my own clothes and warm my body enough so as not to chip the remaining enamel off my violently chattering teeth, I noticed one poor bugger who I have longed pitied - the sign shaker for Little Caesar's Pizza.

We had these poor unfortunate souls in Australia too, although they worked for a different pizza chain. The sign shaker job must be one of the most boring, unstimulating, torturous, demeaningly mind numbing jobs I can possibly think of.

Some hard-up for cash person is employed to stand for hours, unenthusiastically shaking a big red number 5 at passing traffic. The sign states that a pizza costs $5....I guess, I haven't really read it in detail.

As you might expect, the staff turnover for this God awful job appears to be high, but can you imagine what the poor bugger on shift today might have said or felt when he got up this morning and saw a howling gale outside and sheet rain teeming down so hard the drops appeared to bounce off the road like rubber balls. My guess is, "F@*# that!" and then suddenly felt a migraine coming on.

Regardless, someone was out there in those dreadful conditions, and my opinion of Little Caesars went down very swiftly (not that I had any real firm opinions of them in the first place mind you).

I just felt that it was inhumane and unnecessary to have an employee out in such conditions. Sure, it is a wage for whomever drew the short straw, and if someone was desperate enough to take the sign shaker job, I just hope they had a choice about being a walking advertisement in yesterday's horrendous and bone chilling conditions, and then I just hope they got a lot of extra pay...call it danger money or an employee-of-the-decade bonus .

But realistically, the establishment could have given that person something else to do - fold pizza boxes, cut up vegetables, roll dough, clean the oven, tidy the store, brainstorm some more dignified winter promotions and less humiliating advertising strategies...I don't know - do I have to think of everything?