Category: The Life of Lara
It’s all here. Adventures in extreme knitting, the house of poop, and suburban permaculture. You may also find rants about politics, ecology, humanitarianism, responsible living, toe floss, and other topics not covered here. Expect profanity and irreverence. You have been warned.
A visitor
Mark was busy in the garden today. He borrowed Ted’s new whipper snipper and cleared a lot of the back garden, and some of the front garden. He uncovered the grape vine, which we thought was dead. I moved some mulch around its base, and found this little guy. He’s a Blue Tongued Lizard, and a lovely healthy specimen, which is a great joy to us. Having “a bluey” in the garden is a good sign of a healthy environment.
Speaking of which, I am relishing the challenge of my current job. It’s a retail/service company, but one that I know I can help. They started about a year ago, and had such rapid growth that they haven’t had time to work out good procedures and processes. It’s my job to go through the place with a fine tooth comb and make things work. I’m a consultant, and they are prepared to print me a business card with the title “Queen of the Goddamn Motherfucking Universe”.
Gotta love someone who believes in you.
And now for something so funny, I suggest you put down the coffee before clicking the link
Actual hard work
A friend has a business doing Apple computer and iPod repairs, and he wants to get the place ship shape for the new year. I’m helping out by cracking the whip a little, tidying the place up (a lot), and generally trying to streamline procedures. Last week I spent a few hours tidying, and today I spent almost the whole day nagging, cajoling, and bitching at them to throw out the crap, and find a place for the useful stuff. I’m exhausted.
And I am crystalising an idea in my head that I really don’t want to work in a shop any more. I love dealing with people, but retail really sucks. A lot of sales jobs really suck, but retail is the pits. A large proportion of customers are lovely, but there is that 1% that think they are the centre of the universe, and that I should be overjoyed at the prospect of selling them an iPod for a $5 profit. And since I am not overjoyed, in fact it would be fair to say that I have a less than enthusiastic response to spending an hour helping you to decide whether your merchant banker fiance would prefer a nano (because he goes jogging at lunchtime), or an iPod with video (because he has “thousands” of CD’s), because the thought of this causes me actual physical pain, I am thinking that selling medical equipment might be a nice change of pace. Or maybe drugs…
Legal ones, of course.
Absolutely no knitting progress today. Not a stitch. Am thinking that public transport = good knitting time, and driving to work = stress and grumpiness. Another factor to consider in the search for gainful employment. So far I have;
Must be either a) extremely lucrative, or b) very flexible and fun
Would prefer to be away from Apple
Would prefer to be able to catch public transport
Would prefer to work in a relaxed and informal environment
I think I should put some more thought in – it’s not really leading to any useful conclusions at this point. And Mark is talking about applying for interstate jobs.
An interview with the anti-christ
Went rather swimmingly actually.
They went to great lengths to explain that the corporate culture in hell has been going through a regime change, and that all the horrible things I had heard were in the past. They love women and actively recruit them. They realise that they are no good at relationship sales, and are trying to change the culture, to the extent of cold calling competitors and poaching them – like in my case. Apparently the sales manager called me for a chat pretending to be a customer and was so impressed that he called a store manager to get me in for an interview. I’ve never been head hunted before, it was rather flattering.
They offered me the job. Well, to be perfectly frank and earnest, they offered me any job I wanted (within reason). They told me to name my price (but of course I have to pay my own way with sales), and I get to choose where I work. I can pick any of their stores to work out of, or a serviced office. I can start work when it suits me, and choose the sales model that suits me.
All very flattering and wonderful, except….
WHAT THE HELL DO I WANT TO DO?
I’ve been in a funk all day. It’s silly how something that should make you feel 10ft tall and bulletproof has just made me feel like it’s my first day of big school, and all the other kids have new shoes and ribbons in their hair, and I have a second hand school case and one long frumpy braid. I don’t look different, I just think I do, and I can’t possibly interact on a level playing field because in my head I only have one leg and no arms.
If I had to fight for this job, would I feel better about it ? Would I want it more if I felt that I had to struggle for it? Why do I feel like I have a block of concrete tied around my neck, and I am drifting to the bottom of the pool?
Should I become an agent of satan, despite my nebulous and incoherent misgivings? Can I be an agent of regime change, and use my powers for good ? If I was an agent of satan, would my duties be largely ceremonial?
I have “until Christmas” to give them an answer.
An Essay
David was kind enough to include an essay of mine in this weeks podcast. We recorded it last week, and I listened to it this morning on my way in to SSK.
It made sense to me, and I hope some people will be amused. Obviously I am convinced that I sound like a moron and that no-one will laugh, and that David is just humouring me by including it. The more rational part of my brain recognises that David really cares about the quality of his show, and he actually included it because it doesn’t suck. So I am going with the grown up interpretation, and hoping that I get good comments about it.
The bunnies (from left to right Vernon, Vice and Virtue) live with my friend Damian (not a knitter), and he was kind enough to loan them to us for a week while he went to a conference in QLD. He was also kind enough to give us a case of wine for the privilege. Yes ladies, he’s single….
And another FO. Last night I gave Andrew his birthday cross stitch, and he just sent me a cameraphone pic that I can put on the blog…
So I’m not going to die
Many thanks to Emma for telling me about eggs and shitake mushrooms. We agreed that 200 eggs a day isn’t feasible, and Evan is calling in a family favour to ask his cousin (a Naturopath) to find veg friendly D.
And also to Mary-Helen and Sandra. It’s wonderful to have a nurse in the family!
No pictures, because I am a bad blogger, but last night was REALLY FUN.
It was Andrews birthday on thursday and last night we went to Ya Habibi in Newtown to celebrate. It was an intimate group of rowdies, and a good time was had by all. Emma knew the belly dancer, so I fulfilled my dream of seeing her dance before she leaves, and Andrew shook his Ya Ya’s for all he was worth. Good times.
A million years ago, Emma went to Melbourne, and bought some VERY PINK yarn. Check the sidebars, you’ll get the idea…. She started to knit some lace, and then we never saw it again. Nothing suss – that girl usually has a few dozen projects on the needles, and she only brings “easy” stuff to the pub. Of course, Emma’s idea of easy would make most of us quake in our very large boots, but Emma is not afraid of a challenge. Unless, of course, it is a challenge preceded by alcohol intake. So the complicated stuff stays at home, and we only see her knitting insane fair isle, and endless circular lace, and lace socks – you know, easy stuff….
But last night, she brought out the pink laceweight. In a gift bag. With my name on it.
Some yarns, like Jussi’s Scarf, can tell people what they want to be. Apparently this yarn told Emma who wanted to come and live with.
I am astounded by it’s cleverness, but even more so by Emma’s thoughtfulness and generosity, and general wonderfulness. She is leaving, but she has left me with such a special gift, I will always have a little bit of Emma to wrap myself in, and remember the confidence she has given me over the years.
One down
One more to go.
Had a job interview this morning, which went relatively well. I’m not qualified for the job, but they might offer to train me at a lower salary. Or they might not. I think it’s easier to learn technical stuff than it is to learn sales skills, so I am a good prospect, and I think they liked me. I’ll hear next week.
Another interview on Monday morning.
Popped over to Mosman to see the shop where I’ll be working for the next few weeks, and I can see that I will be able to make a difference there. Then off to the doc to get the results of last weeks blood test. Hep A immunity is OK, but I should have the Hep B shots. And Typhoid. Or was it cholera? No nasty stomach bugs causing my reflux, but I do have a vitamin D deficiency. Apparently it’s somewhat of an epidemic in IT workers who never see the sun. No problem, I just have to “take some fish oil supplements”, says the doctor. “Fish are friends, not food”, says Lara. General hilarity ensues. Apparently my freaky aversion to eating sentient creatures will lead to cancer, bone deformation, osteoporosis, tiredness, depression, muscle loss, fractures, muscles spasms, low calcium, eczema, tourettes, halitosis, acne, syphilis, obsessive compulsive disorder, mange, plague and an escalation of conflict in the middle east. And someone, somewhere will be mean to a puppy.
Or at lease some of the above. And I already have a very mild form of tourettes. Hardly noticeable at all.
I need 1000 “international units” of a vitamin d supplement per day for a few months to normalise my levels before I have another blood test and can use sun exposure and diet to keep my levels at a normal level. Right now, they are so low that diet and sun exposure alone won’t cut the mustard.
The thought of eating fish (even in capsule form) makes me gag, but I’ve always said that if my diet came down to me and a cow on a desert island with no other source of food, I’d be chasing after the cow with an axe.
Has it come to that ?
A quote
Tonight we had a Greens meeting that was a little more interesting than usual. We were supposed to preselect a candidate for the state seat of Epping, but a health scare and a work commitment prevented the candidate from standing, which is a great pity. She isn’t someone I know very well, but apparently she is a woman of faith, and she quoted St Augustine of Hippo in conversation. He was born in Africa in the 5th Century, and is believed to have said,
“Hope has two beautiful daughters, and their names are anger and courage. Anger about those things that need to be changed, and the courage to change them.”
Lee Rhiannon spoke about the Lane Cove Tunnel, as did Ray Kearney, Chair of the Lane Cove Tunnel Action Group, and Professor of Immunology and infectious Diseases at Sydney University.
Two things made me angry. Apparently the CSIRO are quashing the findings from emissions research for financial gain. I knew they accepted large grants from the Meat and Livestock Corporation and then released a diet book heavy in red meat. But I didn’t know that the problem was widespread. I was also shocked just now after doing a google search for meat and livestock csiro to see just how many links there were containing those words. Apparently you can buy the CSIRO.
Secondly, we are all aware that cars are dangerous. We are bombarded with media attention on young drivers in fatal accidents, kiddies that get squashed by high speed police chases and lose limbs when cars crash into day care centers. But I had no idea that the number of pollution related deaths in Australia each year outnumbers road fatalities by a factor of about three to one. That the cost to our public health system of air quality related illness is absolutely massive, and makes a poor joke of arguments that we can’t filter tunnel emissions because the cost is too high.
I had no idea. None at all. Isn’t it funny that we can live in a world and think that we are aware of the issues that affect our day to day lives, and yet there are massive issues like this lurking literally like clouds over our heads, and we are oblivious.
I am finding the anger, just waiting on the courage.
And in knitting news…..
My last Christmas knitting project is nearing completion. Last night I was on the 5th line of the last chart when I discovered I was about 50cm away from the end of the ball. The only ball. So today I popped in to Rubi + Lana to pick up another ball. BUT THERE WAS NONE ON THE SHELF.
Cue panic attack. Rapid inhalation and exhalation, resulting in not much oxygen getting to the brain, and I almost cried. I am waaaay overdue for a big cry, but this was not the time, nor the place. Pamela, this is where you come in. Apparently, you ordered two large balls of the same colour, and some clever person had put aside on small ball for you. Apparently, there is more yarn at the warehouse with your name on it, but some helpful person snaffled the last small ball and hid it from view, just in case you might want that before the two large balls came from the warehouse. Apparently, I was able to convince the very helpful staff that my need was greater than yours, and they you would understand.
Apparently, the universe owes me a few blessings, and I am now well on the road to finishing. And Pamela, I owe you one. (And I won’t use much of this ball, and it’s yours when I’m done!)
Pauline Hanson is revolting
Is it the iced vovo mumu, the nasal voice, the fish and chip shop accent ?
No, it’s her opinions. The way she thinks. It’s personal. Deeply personal. How can a human being reach her age, and still be sooooo bloody selfish. It beggars belief that the woman has ever met anyone with a disability, a disadvantage, or from a minority group. She takes such stock from being “a voice of the people”, but I would prefer not to live in a country full of such arrogant, ignorant, selfish, stupid people. In bad clothes.
Tell me it’s not just me.
Disco Knitter 