Omnibus

Omnibus, from the Latin , meaning to or for, by with or from everybody.
- Michael Flanders

Confined to quarters again while Erik's radiator sips chicken soup and drinks ice-cream through a straw, I caught the bus to work today. I boarded feeling so community-minded and environmentally friendly. How I wish my roster would allow me to catch the bus each day.

Ha! I forget that these are the things that happen to me on public transport -
bear in mind, please, that this was all the in the space of a single 15-minute trip:

1. As we got underway I dug out my trusty mobile to send a text message. I was sitting behind the driver. As we swung around the corner my sweaty hands lost grip on my repressed* Nokia, which, smelling freedom, leapt from my grasp and slid limbo-style out the door onto the asphalt. The poor bus driver jammed on the brakes and, much to the amusement of my fellow commuters, I ran back to regain custody of my wayward appliance.

2. Just as the bus was entering the city a car swung across two lanes of traffic to turn left in front of us. The poor bus driver jammed on the brakes and we all flew about like crash test dummies. A tiny old lady across the aisle from me grazed her knee quite badly.

3. My bus makes two stops in the city - the one where everyone else gets off and the last stop of the line. I was, as you'll recall, sitting behind the driver. I was back to reading my book as we passed through the city. Suddenly the bus was in the air. We were on the flyover to the freeway. What to do? I didn't want to frighten the fella by suddenly speaking into his ear, so I pressed the bell. The poor bus driver jammed on the brakes. (How was there any tread left on these tyres?) "Bloody hell," he said, "I'm having such a bad morning!" He hadn't seen me there, assumed the bus was empty and was heading for the depot. Irritatingly, the first place he could pull up was about 5 minutes drive from my house. I'd done a big circuit. It took me 20 minutes to walk back to where I was supposed to get off, but the sunshine on my face did me good. And I made my connecting bus, which made me suspicious.

* Help, help! I'm being repressed! (Bloody peasants!)

Spot the Difference

The most horrifying scene I've ever seen in a film is that bit in 'A Clockwork Orange' where they keep Alex's eyes open with hooks. It literally, Anika, makes me squirm. There's something sacred in that protective reflex of the eye, the ability to snap shut in the face of danger.

Odd then that I should volunteer for contact lenses. A hardened glasses wearer, the epiphany came about six months ago when an eyelash wandered right into the middle of eye. It wouldn't blink out. It wouldn't wash out. The scratching was driving me to desperation. And then I made the discovery - I could touch my eye. I reached in and lifted it out. I was dumbstruck. Perhaps I needn't wear glasses after all.

So I'm trying them out - although, even after only two days, I think it might be safe to say I will never wear my glasses full-time again. It still takes me 25 minutes to put them in, usually after accidentally blinking one of them across the room for Ziggy to chase after. They're feisty little things.

It's a truly amazing experience. I'm sorry, but if you don't wear glasses around all the time, you don't understand. It's so liberating. I have peripheral vision again. I can see by myself.

But it's not all kicks. Looking at my reflection was actually a bit scary. I didn't recognise myself in the mirror. I realised that it's been a very long time since I've been able to see myself full length and in focus. I meet myself in the bathroom mirror sans lens, of course, but that's always been close up and probably still a bit blurry. I don't know who this girl is. I don't know if I like her. I didn't know I was hiding behind my glasses, using them as an excuse for something - thought I'm not quite sure what. I won't be able to do that anymore. I caught my mother looking at me sideways. "I'm just getting used to how you look," she said. Hopefully this part of things is only temporary.
Surely I'll get to know myself again.

Vertigo

I've finally got around to reading Milan Kundera's 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being', first published in 1984, and in it I came across this - in my humble opinion, magnificent - passage about vertigo:

What is vertigo? Fear of falling? Then why do we feel it even when the observation tower comes equipped with a sturdy handrail? No, vertigo is something other than the fear of falling. It is the voice of the emptiness below us which tempts us and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves.

At last I can understand my fear of heights - this describes the situation perfectly. Of course, I am afraid when there's a chance I might fall, but I'm more nervous about accidentally jumping - I don't suffer at all in an aircraft, for example. I have no desire to, but I fear my body might involuntarily leap by itself. It's like the fear on the bus that I might just throw my mobile out the window - you know the one, Alana, Neek - or that I might suddenly start shouting during a minute's silence. I don't want to - I'm just worried that I might. At some fundamental level I mistrust myself.

This Week's Band Name

Is 'Pretend Cheese'.

As inspired by this week's spine-tingling episode of 'In the Box'.

Something Fishy This Way Comes

It's odd. I had some cheese in the fridge here at the office. Some very nice cheese, as it happens, nothing fancy, just cheddar, but a rather cheeky and piquant little cheddar it was. What a disappointment when I went to construct my dinner. Today my cheese has disappeared, and in its place is a packet of the most God-awful substance known to man - DRIED Parmesan cheese. Bleccch! Looks like diseased dandruff, tastes like...
But then, perhaps you're eating yourself. Not EATING yourself - I mean, perhaps you, yourself are eating...

Ahem.

Like you needed any further proof that I shouldn't be rostered on by myself.
Did you know that when I don't see you I get withdrawal symptoms?

Round Him Up

One tries to avoid direct personality attacks, of course, but there seems to be no avoiding the fact that the Honourable Federal Member for Kennedy is about 87% dickhead.

You Can't Always Get What You Want...

Always be wary of test results that turn up early, I say!

Alas, found out this morning that I was "unsuccessful in my attempt to achieve translator accreditation". Overall, I suppose, it was a decent result for someone who hasn't had any formal training in translation - 64%, the minimum pass being 70% - but obviously that's not by any means a satisfactory result and there's still a lot of practice and study ahead. Comprehension is one thing, but achieving as near as possible to the same meaning and style in another language is qutie another. The irritations are that I thought at the time I'd done rather well and that I have to pay these people AGAIN to even get a look at the corrected paper (you wouldn't like to know how much I've already forked out) and when I do I can't take notes or take the thing with me. Hmpf. Worried too that this may delay the travel plans - I'd really prefer to have this under my belt before I take my leave of the industry in this country.

Never fear - disappointed, but shall hunt out some kind of training and perservere. Trout SHALL translate!

A Word to the Wise

Never buy home brand breakfast cereal, washing-up gloves
or tomato sauce.

Ice-cream is fine. It's great, actually. There's probably more antifreeze in it.

CHANGE THE WORLD FOR TEN BUCKS

That's 'Change the World for a Fiver' to our UK friends.

Go on, do it now!

It's taken me about a month to get hold of this great little book and I'm ashamed I didn't do it earlier. 50 ways to make an individual difference to this big, bad, beautiful world, and they're so easy even someone as congenitally lazy as I am can do them. Some of them I do already, the rest
I should be. So should you! You can even track your progress via their website.

It's only 10 bucks - come on, we spend at least double that on crap every week. I got mine from the ABC Shop, but they're also on sale in all major bookstores.

Proceeds of sales go to Pilotlight, an organisation for social change.

Just say 'Japan' and get it over with!

All I'm going to say in my defence is it can be a long while
between thrills in this job.

In our programs we often have to leave little notes to the sender to indicate when a caption should be cleared from the scene to make way for a graphic or a big pause in speech.

You see things like...

** CLEAR FOR TEMPS **

and

** CLEAR FOR FIRE **

Imagine me rubbing my little hands with glee when last night I got to type...

** CLEAR FOR TAKEOFF **

Hee hee!

This Week's Band Name

Is 'Ziggy and the Bed Mice'. (Thanks, Banana!)

The cat has decided anything moving under bedsheets - eg toes -
is a bed-borne colony of rodents that must be pounced on and chewed.

Masochism

I have, at the same time, both way too much self control
and nowhere near enough.

January 1st, 2006

Buon anno!

December 31st, 2005