Filed under: miscellanea
… that last night I stepped on a giant cockroach with my bare foot.
I felt a crunch and looked down to find a mega cockroach, upturned and squashed.
It was pretty much the most disgusting thing that has ever happened to me. I was going to take a photo of it but it had made its way into the bin (courtesy of Rhys) before I had a chance. So gross.
Filed under: puppy pants
My desire to blog today is literally at war with the pile on my desk of articles that desperately need to be read, but here is a picture of our boy at 4 weeks old (eee!):
Getting cuter by the week, no? I can’t wait for him to lose his conehead and get the cute wrinkly boxer head instead (although conehead is quite cute also). He’s actually now closer to five weeks old, as his birthday is on a Friday, which means we only have just over three weeks !!! until we get him. So. Freaking. Excited.
Look at those big paws! He’s going to be a monster!
Filed under: geekology 101
A few posts to get through today, in between actually doing some work. I found this picture on my phone the other day:
Look how transfixed they are by the glow of the television! Late night gaming at its geeky best.
There’s something in the air at the moment…
Perhaps it’s the success of the recent film Julie & Julia, or perhaps just an acknowledgement that – whoops – blogging’s not dead after all! Perhaps blogs are just really, really good at the moment. Perhaps publishers are simply panicking in the wake of the realisation that people don’t buy books anymore, because they’re all too busy reading books (which, for the record, is the exact opposite of the truth for me: my time spent reading blogs has actually lead to me purchasing more books than ever over the past five or so years – and even more importantly, branching out to buy genres that I previously wouldn’t have). Either way, it seems like more and more bloggers are quitting their day jobs to become fulltime writers. This is nothing new – Shauna of The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl first had her story published in print in early 2008. Even earlier than that, Clotilde of Chocolate & Zucchini landed a deal and has been writing ever since (and is, thankfully, still blogging).
In the past six months alone, numerous blogs that I read regularly have been offered book deals. The latest is Jenna of Eat Live Run, whose blog I do truly enjoy (especially recently, as I’m entirely envious of her recent employment at a winery in the Sonoma Valley outside of San Francisco). Jenna has been signed to write a memoir and recipe book, drawing upon her experiences as an exchange student in France and her time at culinary school. This is totally awesome, and perhaps I’m just jealous, but… aren’t memoirs usually reserved for people a little older than the ripe old age of 24? If any ELR fans are reading this, please don’t interpret what I’m saying as criticism – I love Jenna’s blog. I’m just a little curious as to how a 24 year old lands a book deal to write a memoir. Granted, the girl has had some crazy experiences over the past couple of years, and probably has some awesome stories to tell, but will I buy her book?
I’m not sure. I like blogs because I feel (and I hope) that the authors have complete artistic control over their writing. I worry that the transition from screen to page will come with some sort of sacrifice of honesty – both for the book, and the screen. How do you exert complete artistic control when a publishing company is breathing six-figure sums down your neck? Can you retain control in this situation, or does a little bit of the honesty and the personality that drew people to your blog in the first place have to be sacrified in the name of making money? Luckily for Jenna, she’s sweet-as-pie and not prone to whinging anyway… but what if I were offered a deal (*snort*)? No one would want to read a book full of whinging and whining…
I’m probably not going to buy the book by Caitlin of Operation Beautiful (or more accurately, in my case, See Bride Run Healthy Tipping Point – I read the food blog, but the book deal came from her other blog). I might, maybe, buy Matt of Matt, Liz & Madeline’s book – if for no other reason, than because his posting lately has been sporadic at best, and I miss his voice (and I think he’s one person who definitely would retain control of his art). Yet these, along with Jenna, are people whose blogs I read every day (well – when they actually update), and will continue to do so until a point that their writing no longer interests me.
Is this just the latest angle in my crusade against blogging-for-money-and-free-shit? Possibly. Maybe I ought to get off my “oh I’ve been blogging for so long for no reward, blah blah blah” high-horse. The truth is though, I just worry that the future of blogging is under threat when it grows increasingly common for bloggers to be rewarded for their writing. What ever happened to leaving some comments and building up a nice following? It seems these days that everyone’s striving towards using their blog as a portal to Something Bigger And Better. A search on Google for “blogger book deals” brings up more articles than I care to list (but here are a few) detailing the ins and outs and how-tos of using your blog to score a job, or a book deal, or freebies.
And the rest of us?
I’m stoked beyond belief when my visitor count stays over 50 for five days in a row (and then I immediately check what kind of weird and wacky things people have Googled to mistakenly end up here). Perhaps Australia isn’t quite at the same place at the States yet when it comes to the blogger-to-bookwriter trend, but will we ever be? And if/when that happens, who will get the deals?
Is the trend towards publishing bloggers in print, signalling the truth death of blogging? When integrity loses out to marketability, what hope do we have?
Filed under: miscellanea
When I was at work yesterday, my car got bombarded with these little juicy berry things. This happened in the space of just two hours. Oops. I had to take my car to the car wash because it was digusting (and I don’t even know if we own a car washing sponge!). It was fun! I went to one of those horribly non-environmental high-pressure places where you do it yourself, and I think I must have looked pretty funny weilding a high-pressure hose in a summer dress. I’ve been driving this car for about two years, and this was only the first time I’ve ever washed it (save for one time that I took it through an automated carwash, and it did pretty much nothing). I’m so lazy when it comes to car washing – I only washed my old car twice in six years (I know, I know…). I’m totally going to hell for the amount of water I used yesterday getting my car back to a nice shiny white colour, but I’ve definitely put it on my calendar to wash it again in four weeks time. My folks would be so proud of me.
Filed under: people are stupid
Gosh.
I was just reading a blog – one of the blogs related to my PhD research – and the blogger noted that she had recently been fitted for a new bra and discovered that she was wearing the complete wrong size. She listed the sizes in a matter that literally mean nothing to me – 34F? 38DD? HUH? – so I Googled “bra sizing chart”, and what would you know?
Curtin finds boobies offensive.
In fact, this post will probably be blocked after I write the word ‘boobies’ in my blog. Wait, there it is again. BOOBIES BOOBIES BOOBIES. IT has put my blog on the Curtin’s Most Wanted list previously, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it ends up on there again.
Anyway – I digress.
Since when are bra sizing charts so offensive? I didn’t want to look at breasts. I didn’t even want to look at bras. I wanted to know what a 14E translates to in American sizes, you fools. But I can’t look until I get home, because for access to a bra sizing chart, I have to fill out an application form and send it to IT. I don’t think I will be doing that.
Boobies!
Filed under: puppy pants
Another puppy pic; this is a photo of our boy at 3 weeks old. We will be getting him on/after December 4, as we have to wait until he is 8 weeks old… I’m getting so impatient! Lots to do around the house before he arrives though (such as dealing with our little mousey problem and cleaning the garden… and figuring out what to do with all the power cords that currently lie around on the carpet, and cleaning the laundry so he has somewhere to sleep… ahh!). He will be 4 weeks old this coming Saturday.
Cutest thing you’ve ever seen, no? 
Look at his saggy boxer lips starting to show!
Filed under: academia
Just to prove to my readership that I do actually do some work at times, instead of just constantly whinging about my inability to get anything done, here is a link to a book review that I wrote about eleventy million months ago, which had just been published by the Resource Centre for Cyberculture Studies. The review is of Axel Bruns’ Blogs, Wikipedia, Second Life, and Beyond: From Production to Produsage. If you’ve got to this blog by clicking the link on my review, then Hello! 
If you’ve got to this blog by searching for something to do with cyberculture studies, then I strongly recommend you check out the RCCS website – there’s a wealth of information there to assist you in finding courses and resources about the Net and other kinds of digital geekery.
If you’ve arrived at this blog by searching for any number of the truly strange things that people Google to get here (which includes, just in this past week, numerous searches for what I can only assume is a porn film entitled Erin Does Blacks, “I hate my PhD”, the lyrics to Heartbeats by Jose Gonzalez/The Knife, or “facebook whores profile” – amongst many others), then I’m sorry. You probably didn’t find what you were looking for, and you probably won’t be interested in my review.
Filed under: academia
After the massive mind-feck that was last week and my PhD breakdown, I’ve decided to declare this week a mental health week and just do some of the things that make me happy. For the past two days, I’ve spent a couple of hours at the beach, not really doing a hell of a lot except lying on the sand (on a towel, of course), swimming, and reading. Granted, I was reading a book that I’m due to submit the review for in a scant 27 days but have not yet read (!), but it’s a book I’m enjoying, so I won’t really count it as work.
I wasn't going to post this photo due to the fact that I'm evidentally retarded and put my finger over the lense, but the part you -can- see is stunning. To be fair, I couldn't actually see the picture on the screen as I took it due to glare, so I'm pretty impressed by the fact that the horizon is actually straight and that this is actually a picture of the water. Actually.
I live in the city (southside, yo), so going to the beach is nothing to sniff at. It’s a good 20 minute drive each way, and I go to Port Beach which, until this morning, I thought was actually North Fremantle beach… which is ridiculous as it’s actually south of Fremantle Surf Club. Port Beach isn’t the most picturesque beach in town because, as the name implies, it’s right next to Fremantle port… meaning that to the left, there is many a crane and warehouse to be seen. Regardless, it still beats the crap out of pretty much every beach in any other country in the world – even if the sand was a little seaweedy yesterday morning.
Whilst lying on the beach, I got to thinking about things, such as the fact that I am possibly the world’s most prolific procrastinator, and the world’s most prolific freak-outerer. Even as I lay there reading my suspiciously interesting academic text book, I began to panic because I wasn’t following the text 100%, and there were concepts I didn’t entirely understand, and I felt like a failure. I’m not sure what crazy universe I think I live in, but apparently in it, I’m a supreme being of intelligence and know the answers to everything without even trying – and when I don’t, it’s just way easier to stick my head in the sand and ignore the issue, rather than to work hard to improve the situation. I was one of those kids that did well in school without even trying. There, I’ve admitted it: I’m kind of smart, in an academic sense at least. That made me incredibly lazy, because I realised that I could get by without really having to try. Every few weeks I’d receive validation of my intelligence which, due to the fact that I hadn’t studied particularly hard for tests and the fact that I’d begun writing papers the night before (or morning!) they were due – yet still received 80%+, meant that teachers were validating my existence as the laziest person on Earth. When I got to uni, I had to try a little harder – but only a little. I put more effort in to papers because I genuinely enjoyed what I was doing a lot of the time, but many a paper was still begun within 48 hours of being due. The key was that I was still receiving feedback often enough that confirmed my abilities had not left me: I was still academically intelligent, and I could still not try.
Fastforward to PhD years, and suddenly, there’s no validation. There are no essays due, no exams to sit. Deadlines set by supervisors can be worked around by the simple sending of an email. Hell, deadlines set by conference organisers can be worked around by applying the same method. And that, my friends, is the worst news ever for a chronic procrastinator. Suddenly, there’s no one telling me that my work is awesome… but at the same time, there’s no one really kicking my arse when I don’t get things done – so the doubt sets in. I’ve become an absolute world champion self doubter. I’m realising that I don’t actually know everything; I don’t really know much at all. This scares me. How will I learn everything? How will I make sense of complex theories and apply what knowledge I do have to obscure theoretical frameworks and come up with some kind of original thought?
I’m panicking, and I’m terrified of being bad at what I do, and so instead of facing the music, I’m just not competing. If I don’t try, no one can tell me I’m not good enough. If I don’t submit papers for publication then no one can reject my work, and if I don’t attend conferences then no one can mock me or, even worse, ask me questions that I don’t have the answers for. It’s just so peculiar that instead of sorting out the root of these fears and getting some sort of help to get me out of this rut, I react by not trying – or by trying to run away. My boss told me the other day that if I’m not running to something, then I’m just running away from my PhD. Friends – what I’ve been doing for the past week is searching for something to run to. The fact is, I need to have a really really good reason to quit my PhD. I don’t really have any hobbies (because procrastinators, believe or not, don’t have time – nor inclination, due to the need for commitment – for hobbies). I have things I’m interested in, but is it really worth giving up this path I’m on to go back and study something completely unrelated that I’m not sure I’ll even like – or worse, to end up working in a job I’m not at all interested in, for the rest of my life?
I’m only 25. I forget this, and think sometimes that I’m 80 years old and my life is over and that any decision I make now might be the last one I ever make, and I put so much pressure on myself to make the right decision, to make sure I know at all times exactly what I want out of life. I plan everything. I plan what to do with my money. I plan what to do with my day. I plan what to eat. And you know what? Every day – every single day – it turns to shit, and I don’t stick to it. That kind of says something: maybe it says that I’m not the chilled-out, easy-come, easy-go person that I’ve always thought of myself as. Maybe it suggests that I’m actually an incredibly highly-strung perfectionist who will never be happy in life until I become that person that I’ve always thought I am (you still with me?). I’m going to chill, and relinquish some control, and just see where life takes me. If my PhD ends up taking another three years… so what. I’ll only be 28. It’s not actually the end of the world if I take longer to do this, and do it in such a way that doesn’t completely stress me out. Sure, my money runs out soon, but there are ways and means (and husbands) around that. If three years means that I can spend my summer mornings at the beach and my winter mornings in a coffee shop doing what makes me happy, then so be it. If it takes less than three years, then awesome – I’ll be able to become a valuable, contributing member of society at last!
So I’m going to explore my happy medium: that place between hard work and relaxing, and I’ll see where it gets me. Rather than regarding everything with the all-or-nothing attitude that I’ve been prone to employing for approximately the last 25 years, I’m just going to accept the fact that I don’t actually know everything, and consider the notion that perhaps if I stop putting such immense demands on myself to be perfect, then I might actually learn something – including learning to love my research. If that can happen, I’ll be happy. It sounds like a pretty good idea to me.
Filed under: eat your heart out
I just cut up a chicken.
In an effort to be frugal – an essential quality when one’s income is far below their wants – I bought a whole chicken when Rhys and I went shopping on 22 October… and then I put it in the freezer, and there it has sat for the past almost two weeks, because I was too scared to cut it up. For a start, it seemed like altogether too much hard work. Secondly, all that squidgy skin and bone that clicks as it dislocates and the potential of giblets still being present within the chicken really just freaked me out too much. I was a vegetarian for a very long time. Sometimes I flirt with the idea of returning to vegetarianism (although that’s a completely different story). People who flirt with the idea of not eating meat surely shouldn’t spend time cutting up a whole bird into manageable pieces. But I just did.
I watched a video on YouTube to guide me – there are many, so just watch a few until you find a technique you like. I wanted instructions that involved the least amount of bone-crunching possible, because honestly, the idea of cutting through bone grosses me out. I can’t watch action replays during the football where players have broken fingers or dislocated shoulders. Cutting through chicken bone? Yeh, it’s on the same level for me. So, I found a method that involved cutting off all the legs and arms, and then slicing the breast away from the bone – much better as I didn’t really want to cook the chicken with the bone still in – and what do you know? It wasn’t that gross. It only took me 10 minutes, and I now have ten pieces of chicken to work with – enough for two min meals and a few lunches each. I even de-fatted and de-skinned the meat, and I de-boned the thighs! And I will make soup from the carcass, because there is a lot of meat left on there due to the fact that my knife skills leave a lot to be desired.
I am, quite possibly, Margaret Fulton incarnate.
This is a big step for me in growing up. Rhys complained the other day that he’s sick of me being scared of things – which I am sometimes. Or most of the time. I’m scared of most things. I’m scared of throwing moldy food away in the fridge. I’m scared of cleaning hair out of the shower drain. I’m scared of pulling weeds with bare hands in case I touch anything icky, but I’m also scared of wearing gloves in case there is a spider in the finger. I was scared of cutting up the chicken because I didn’t want to feel squeamish, but it wasn’t so bad, and it saved me a buttload of money ($10 for a whole chook, would you believe? Free range, too! So cheap!). So, you know. Maybe it’s sometimes better to just face up to these things we’re a little afraid of. Sometimes it will be as bad as imagined, but most of the time, probably not.
I’m still not cleaning the hair out of the drain though.
*Reference to Maggie Beer, possibly my number one cooking hero because she uses the most fabulous ingredients and just does not give a damn about the skin on her chicken, and I admire that. Plus she lives in the Barossa Valley – i.e. wine country – and has the most magnificent produce farm in the entire universe… and I also admire that. ‘Admire’ here may be used synonymously with ‘greedily want to eat everything on the farm’.
