Kleptomania!

I had drinks with one of friends the other week. Nothing unusual, though I hadnt seen her since the grand occasion of my 21st which was a bit over a year ago. We chatted about many things, but one of the most humourous topics was the fact that disgruntled employees are kleptomaniacs!

Ms. B. (as she shall be titled) works for a certain global coffee franchise that sounds a lot like Klarbucks and has a less than pleasant manager. As a result, she occasionally helps herself to the odd item that looks useful. When this came up in the conversation i was surprised, but then cast my mind back a good 3 years or so when i was a similarly disgruntled employee for a vegetable orientated children's clothing company. i became so disgruntled in fact, due to my long hours, horrid manager, ungrateful and nasty customers, and always being kept late (without getting paid for it) that i may have 'accidentally' helped myself to at least two pairs of earrings on different occasions. I'm certainly not a completely immoral person but i suppose the rationalization behind it is that you are working hard and getting treated badly for such a pitiful wage that you might as well make your time at work more lucrative. Its sort of like being an entrepreneur really. Well, actually that's a ridiculous lie. Thankfully not long after that i quit! Very satisfying!

And in case you were wondering - Ms. B's haul includes a thermometer and a bottle of mango frappe syrup among other items. As for my earrings i believe both pairs are now lost, which i can only conclude reflects the karmic implication of stealing...

I ♥ Zack Morris

ohmygod excitement! I just bought this!

An honest review... and about time too!

I was perusing The Press last Friday and came across a review which gave me revolting amounts of delight. It wasn't mean, just truthful. The reviewer, David Sell, a music lecturer at Canterbury University, did not mince words. Some of my favourites:

"... there were three voices, regardless of what she sang - a girlish upper voice, a bland lower voice, and a few notes in between that were always harsh and piercing"

and

"...It is a voice of little musical character."

We are talking, of course, about Hayley Westenra.

Well isn't that about time? I was so surprised to read a reviewer actually slagging off our wee Hayley that i nearly had an apoplexy on the spot. Sure she's done well, earnt millions, rubbed shoulders with politicians, celebrities and royalty, but she certainly doesn't have a lasting career in classical music. As soon as her cute factor wears off and she enters the adult world, she'll be out in the cold. I seriously doubt she will puruse serious voice training. In fact, if I had already made millions by the age of 18 I doubt I would either.

I have never felt strongly enough about anything to actually write a letter to the editor, but on this occassion i felt the opportunity was too good to pass up, and so as of yesterday I am a bondafide published author. My letter was short, but written with a little too much pleasure:

Dear Sir,
I wish to congratulate David Sell on his honest review of Hayley Westenra's Jan 18th concert. Too often one reads reviews, which by the very nature of the genre purport to be impartial, that spout nothing more than obsequious drivel. Mr Sell, with his frank appraisal of Miss Westenra’s performance, is a great credit both to himself and to the upholding of musical standards. May we look forward to many more honest reviewers and reviews in the future.

Czech it out!

I spent most of this afternoon in the company of a delightful lady from The Czech Republic. She and her husband and their three small children immigrated to NZ in the late 1960s to escape the communist rule of Czechoslovakia and settled in Auckland, and later Canterbury. Despite living here for around 40 years she still thinks her English is bad! Well... not as bad as my Czech as it would turn out.

She was helping me with my newest czech aria O jaky zal! jaky to zal! which is Marenka's third act aria from Smetana's The Bartered Bride. Despite being there for a good three and a half hours we only managed to get through the first four lines of recitative! God knows it's easier to sing in German, a language I actually understand, but it should be worth it. Actually my pronunciation isn't that shockingly bad, it's just that she was awfully chatty. Our topics of conversation ranged from her former career as an industrial chemist, to czech national costume, to fifteenth century engraving techniques, as well as a potted history of Czechoslovakia/The Czech Republic and its regions and dialectic differences, and last but not least, the terrible youth of today who abhor any form of classical music! I'm sure there were more, but memory fails me at the present.

Anyway, I have instructions to practise my pronunciation then go back and see her again later this week. Maybe her husband won't laugh at my efforts next time!

Love War - England Vs. Scotland.

After telling myself on no uncertain terms that i was not to waste my time watching Bridget Jones's Diary on tv this evening, i found myself doing just that. Yes, alright Renee is american, but it's just those damn English accents that get me. More specifically the fact that I have been hopelessly and irrevocably in love with both Hugh Grant and Colin Firth for as long as I can remember. I really can't choose between them. They are both just so... goddamn delicious....

I've also developed a terrible crush on a book character. I remember laughing at a certain Ms Artemis when she confessed herself to be guilty of the same crime, but in all honesty, i now completely understand (though i have, I must say, forgotten which character it was she lusted after). Jamie Fraser (swoon) is a highland scotsman from Diana Gabaldon's stellar Outlander series of historical coughtimetravelcough novels. The series begins with Cross Stitch in which Claire, a twentieth English expatriate living in Boston, travels back to the early eighteenth century (It doesn't sound nearly so ridiculous in context of the novel). She is wed to the 23 year old blood-thirsty but fiercely loyal clansman, Jamie Fraser, against her wishes, later to fall hopelessly in love with him. I can't remember all the details of the first book, being up to the sixth in the series (published last year) at the moment, but the following books tell of Jamie and Claire's unorthodox relationship and in fact i shall rather give up on trying to explain and just say click here for a brief summary of the first five books (which does NOT do them justice!). The most recent volume, A Breath of Snow and Ashes, (which I'm reading now) follows Claire and Jamie and their family through the perils and adventures of the American Revolution.

I don't doubt that it's still possible to still find a man capable of killing with sword, dirk, pistol, musket, rifle or bare hands. I do doubt that the same man could be as loving, loyal and fiercely protective as Jamie Fraser. He seems to be the ultimate in macho-ism and testosterone, but desperately in touch with his feminine side as well. Isn't that what we're all after? Alas my lack of time travel skills does me wrong... even Colin and Hugh don't seem quite so appealing in comparison. Damn fantasy man; oh how i love him.

My cat is amazing! He can play the guitar! He may not be an actor, but he's a pussy superstar!

Full marks to anyone who can tell me the name of the song that this post's title comes from, and the band who sings it!

So I was in the bathroom flossing my teeth this evening (and anyone who knows me vaguely at all will know i have a particularly neurotic and obsessive 4 step oral hygeine routine in the evening - but i digress), and my cat casually saunters into the bathroom and proceeds to throw up on the floor right beside my right foot. It was not a small puddle either, god knows what and how much of it she had been eating. I think the blame may rest squarely on the scrawny shoulders 0f my tiny 7 year old cousin who has been visiting and (i think) force feeding the pets.

I called out for mum's assistance. Obviously i did not want a vomity bear cat interrupting my anally retentive 4 step oral hygeine routine. The funny thing about being back at home is that you suddenly want your mummy to do everything that you are perfectly capable of doing, and indeed do do for yourself when are not at home. Like washing. Or making your bed. Or cooking dinner. Or cleaning up cat vom...

Living at home makes you LAZY!

PS - Is it wrong to gain as much satisfaction from flossing as i do?!?

Pump It Update

Aforementioned rematch did not take place as sister and i were in the midst of an argument.

Pump it!

Last night I challenged my sister to a water drinking contest. This was mainly due to the high winds and heat o' the day which had left me thoroughly dehydrated. We bet $1 on the outcome. Luckily i did not bet my $15 brazil nut lip butter from The Body Shop. We thought the contest may take some time as it was no ordinary 250 ml glass race; this was a 750ml bottle to bottle desperate contest for glory, not to mention a dollar.

The race was intense. It lasted for less than a minute, but it was a hard fought battle.

The result?
Sister: 1. Me: 0.

I was understandably upset, being the more experienced and seasoned drinker, but as i cogitated upon the event later i came to conclusion that it had not been a fair experiment as there had been several uncontrolled variables.

1) My sister was drinking from a streamlined H2Go bottle which, with its curves and aerodynamic design clearly allowed more water to be supped at a faster rate than my stocky and squat Pump bottle.
2) My pump bottle had been chilling in the fridge for a goodly 7 hours or so, rendering it fridge temperature of 3degrees or so which burnt my throat with its icy clime as i tried to skull it.

The contest shall be repeated at a later stage this evening. I shall take care of those variables by finding either another H2Go or Pump bottle and we shall see clearly and without a shadow of a doubt who the clear victor is in a fair fight.

My sister is here as i write this. She is complaining that i am putting my own slant on the story. How can i not? I am writing of my experience, not hers. Ahh the fatal flaw of first person narration. She wants me to mention that i lost by at least a quarter of a bottle. And that she had just finished a delicious delicious glass of Barker's Blackcurrant and Raspberry cordial, thus leaving her more waterlogged than I, and perhaps on the verge of becoming a vomity bear.

After the contest, despite my sister's victory we lay on my bed and great merriment and mirth was had by both parties as we jiggled our bellies trying to hear sloshy water sounds inside of us. Dear Lord, am i admitting this?

Postscript: My apologies to the certain blogeress who i did not think read my blog! :p That will teach me.

Six points of annoyance

I'm in a paticularly grumpy sort of mood at the present. Here's a list of things which are currently rubbing me quite the wrong way.

• The weather. These unseasonable gusts of wind have rendered me helpless for the entire day. Gales of up to 160km/h have seen me unable to venture from home, ergo languishing in my boudoir reading Angela's Ashes, watching a dreadful faux-period drama entitled The Abduction Club, and having a mediocre nap. The thought of what would have happened to my (already hard to control) hair if i had gone outside does not bear thinking about.
• The News and TVNZ in general. This evening's channel 1 news featured a notable and informative segment on 'how not to be a fashion victim.' This in-depth 5 minute segment featured inteviews with vapid store assistants extolling the virtues of chunky accessories and the joyous news that boho-chic will continue well into 2006. Metallics will also continue to feature, particularly in '06 winter lines. Uhh... newsflash. I do not watch the nation's evening news to keep abreast of fashion. Is it me or has TVNZ really slipped since the excommunication of Judy Bailey? That woman was a pillar of propriety and news-reading virtue. God knows she was no amateur pretender to the (news)throne. In my opinion, I could only begrudge her proposed NZ$800,000 salary if Helen Clark's was not raised to match.
• That's another think that irks me. Why does Helen only get just above $200,000 a year? She deserves more.
• Reading Angela's Ashes has also added to the general grumpiness of my state. Ooooh i just want to shake Frank McCourt's father. How dare he drink away their dole money of 16 shillings a week, leaving the children hungry and crying. Going to the pub may give a few hours respite, but is that really worth the tradeoff of the wrath of your (extremely fertile) wife ... continued below...
• CATHOLICS. What is with them and their damn breeding. With the world overpopulated as it is what the hell is wrong with using a condom?
• A certain blogeress who has alienated her (predominately poor) student, previously captivated audience. I do not know how she affords her many overseas trips and multiple CD and DVD purchases, suffice to say that this student can afford neither.