I think the title sums it up well enough. No Jack Frosts and Maisys speaking in this Blog, you just get me instead. If I find an internet café, you'll get the next chapter of my (increasingly, as I write it) bizarre story about Santa, Jack, and the other fabulous creatures (not fabulous as in gay, fabulous as in deriving from a fable, y'see) on or before January 4. It might be earlier if I see some actual enthusiasm for the story, shown in comment form, wink wink.

 

Now, why would I, a man entirely equipped of an internet connection, need the services of hire-a-net? For those of you who don't know, I'm on vacation as of tomorrow! New Year's party tonight, and then I drive out to Port Stevens tomorrow morning. The laptop is of course coming with me, but somehow the effective range of our router doesn't stretch to Newcastle... Oh well.

 

We're staying there until Saturday. Everyone else is already in the house/unit/apartment/cabin/whatever-it-is-we're-staying-in, but I'm staying behind to do new year's with friends. Jelly Shots ahoy! Now, a few people are going to be interested as to how this holiday pans out, and at least one other person should be interested but doesn't because they don't know enough about the whos and the whats and the whens. And if that's not enough to tip you off as to what I'm cryptically rambling about, then you'll have to ask me.

 

So that's the next week or so of my life in one little paragraph. Depending on my funds post-holiday, I might be going off on a trip somewhere else while I'm at it. A few readers know about my eclectic plan to head upward to Newcastle, Byron Bay, Brisbane, the Gold Coast and other places. That one fell by the wayside for a number of reasons. I'm thinking Melbourne might be the way to go. I want to go to Melbourne for my next teacing Prac, so it'd be good to scope out the area and just generally Get Away From It All, which councillors tell you is oh so good for you.

 

   "Hey! He's writing a Blog without us, Tug! Quick, get in before he publishes it!"

 

Crap, I've been found out. Better finish this one up before the rest of the crowd arrives. Happy new year, everyone!

 

   "What's g

Joel Alexander
Chapter One - 'Twas the Night after Christmas
December 26 

Santa Claus sighed as he shuffled through the paperwork strewn before him. No matter how many times he looked over the figures, he could not make them say anything other than the obvious.

"People, our situation is grim," he said, still apparently addressing the paperwork. The others around the table shifted uneasily. "Localised belief is down by three percent, in this year alone. The Christmas belief spike is wearing down. New believers are becoming increasingly sparse." He looked up. Almost nobody seemed surprised. "We are being forgotten."

He looked around the table. Only Jack Frost, and possibly Charlie, met his gaze.

The Tooth Fairy leaned forward in her chair. Everyone leaned forward to hear her. "Are we sure it’s really that bad?" She asked hopefully. "It might just be one of those phases, you know? It could still pass us by."

Jack Frost laughed, sounding like ice cracking on a frozen lake. "Pass us by? I do not think we can discount this string of events so easily. Does anyone here truly believe there is no connection between the rise in consumerism, the increasing power of western media, and our waning power? Myriad factors are at work here; the danger is very real."

"I think that might be a little harsh, Jack," the Tooth Fairy replied. "I mean, the tooth industry is thriving, more so than ever thanks to all those wonderful candies children buy. We’re thinking of employing an apprentice or two, especially coming into next year!"

Jack gave her an icy look. "That is all well and good for you Lavender, but not all of us have the luxury of a continued market should these belief rates continue to fall as they are now. Well within five years we may face a crisis."

"He’s right!" The Easter Bunny nodded, seeming agitated. "I for one cannot afford to lose out on belief, especially not lately. Times have not been favourable to the Easter business."

"Well surely it’s not so bad for everyone?" The Tooth Fairy looked around the table, looking for support. "Santa, you can still deliver, can’t you? Jack, nothing stops you from painting the world in ice. Ghost, your people will still be active no matter what, won’t they?"

The ghost shook his head solemnly. "If belief in us stops, then Halloween will no longer be practiced," he whispered. "The Order of Occult Persons would lose its very purpose, and we would be nothing more than unexplained frights in the night. Even now the Bogeymen have been dealt a terrible blow, with so many households installing security blinds and cameras. Children simply aren’t as afraid anymore."

"That’s right, he’s right! And if everyone goes and buys their Easter eggs in supermarkets, where does that leave me? I just can’t compete with that kind of power! I have obligations to keep, you know?"

There was silence for a moment. The Tooth Fairy seemed to have given up. Outside, the wind howled, piling snow in the corners of the windows.

Santa Claus clasped his hands, resting them on the table edge. "This affects us all. Whether we lose business directly as a result of the problem or not is, in fact, not the problem. Without the continual inflow of belief, all of us," he pointed at the ghost and the apparently empty chair, "and the people we represent here, lose our purpose. We lose our true function. Jack here would become nothing more than a force of nature. Lavender and I would be persecuted for breaking and entering if we even attempted to continue our businesses without the backing power of belief."

Jack nodded. "Well said my friend. The ghost has stated our potential future: without belief, we are random events at best, at worst invisible. No offence to you of course, Charlie." Jack nodded at the empty chair.

"Ah yes," said Santa. "You have been so silent thus far. How will your company react to this news?"

"Hmm. As you have said, Invisible Friends cannot survive without belief. We have no link to a human unless they believe in us, as you know, hence why we have so few adult clients outside mental institutions. The board of directors is aware of this concern, and are expecting that this meeting will yield a solution."

"Your design team has not come up with any so far?"

"We have many concerns which we must address."

"I see." Santa Claus leant back in his chair, running his hand over the Christmas tree engraved in the armrest. "Well people, at this point I am open to suggestions."

The Easter Bunny spread his front paws. "I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again."

Jack Frost rolled his eyes. "Not this harebrained plan again," he muttered.

"Yes, this one again. We might not get another option. Manifest. Show ourselves to the world. It’s foolproof."

"No, it is not."

"Why not? After all, seeing is believing!"

Santa shook his head. "No, seeing would be the death of us. If we lose our status as mythic figures, if we manifest, we can be changed. We would lose a great deal of power and influence through the massive shift in belief. Besides that, does anyone really want to be subject to the whims of humans?"

The Tooth Fairy gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. "The very thought! I’ve seen the kind of interest fairies get from humans. I simply could not stand that much attention!"

"Who says it will come to that?" The Easter Bunny scratched at one drooping ear, and then pointed at the ghost. "The Order is fully used to disclosure, isn’t it? You have to get the people nice and frightened, don’t you?"

All eyes turned to the ghost, who seemed unimpressed. "Our circumstances are not as simple as you make out, sir. Even in such a profession as ours, we walk a fine line. We manifest only enough to fulfil our mission, and to insure belief. Never enough to prove ourselves. Do you imagine Billy would survive one day in Loch Ness if scientists knew for certain that he was there to be found?"

Santa’s eyes narrowed. "I dare say those physicists would like to poke around in my sleigh and find out a bit about our ways," he said. "But by my oath, if any one of them tries to start anything with me they’ll be lucky if they can walk away."

"And I have no doubt that biologists would enjoy learning a bit about you, Easter Bunny," Jack Frost added. "How would you like to be a giant rabbit in a cage? Under their scalpel?"

"All right, all right!" The Easter Bunny was becoming alarmed again. "It was a bad idea. Well, does anyone have any better ones?"

Again, there was silence. Santa Claus took the opportunity to stand and walk to the roaring fire behind his chair, which he prodded viciously with a poker. Jack Frost eyed the flames warily. Despite the warmth from the fire, brittle cold was creeping into the room from every corner.

The Easter Bunny stared into his basket, as though trying to find another idea among the scrunched-up foil wrappers and chocolate stains. The Tooth Fairy tapped her hands on the surface of the table nervously. Charlie was silent.

The ghost sighed quietly, and looked up. "It depends," he said, "on how far we are willing to go."

"I fail to see that we have the luxury of choice in that matter," said Jack Frost. The ghost gave him a long, solemn look.

"In that case, I may have a plan that will work."

‘Guess what Tug?’ Maisy placed her tray on the table, and swung her bag off her shoulder as she sat down.

Tugelbert prodded the grey lumps on his plate with his fork. ‘The kitchen ladies have finally admitted to making our lunches out of cardboard?’

‘Ha, ha, no,’ Maisy rolled her eyes, opening her milk carton. 'I saw last night where Shane Warne has retired from cricket!’

‘No way! Since when?’ He picked up his knife and started dissecting a chunk of what might have been meat.

‘Since last night – he announced it on the news in some big press conference.’

'Huh. I always imagined him playing forever, until he just got too old. Look: it wobbles. Should meat wobble like that?’

‘John Howard was on the news too, saying how sad he was that Warnie’s leaving.'

‘I bet he was.’

Maisy rolled her eyes. ‘He said how much he respected Shane for resurrecting "the ancient art of spin bowling", as he put it.’

‘He's good with words, that man.' Tugelbert stuck his fork into the stew in resignation, and shifted along the seat as a group of juniors sat next to them.

‘I wonder what the King of Spin’s next move will be then?’

'Who knows, but I know Warnie's going into sports commentary.' He held up his fork. 'Is this a sultana? Who puts sultanas in stew?'

'Okay, enough picking at the cardboard stew.'

'I think it likes me. Should I call it Stewart?'

'That, Tug, might be the worst joke you have ever made.'

'Coming from you Maisy I'll take that as a compliment.'

This has been a Herman Stamp of Approval Blog, brough to you by Azukar Incorporated Writing, Jozalex Industries and Razuka Limited. Also, tell me about my banner, and how I can make it less blurry.

(Azukar made a boo-boo. If you want to know what it was, read Josh's comment below, then go praise him for uncovering this fact.)

 

Another year, another 64 points' worth of subjects...

 

Another two semesters of psychological torture summed up with eight simple two-letter grades.

 

Probably most people reading this know about the saga of the Psychology lecturer-turned-snap-dragon. Well, any personal feelings aside, or not, two incredibly high-marked assignments can't be denied, so that subject was a resounding High Distinction.

 

Sadly, I got yet another Credit for the actual Prac subject... I dunno. See, a Credit is a fine mark. It's better than a Pass, and since Pass is "average", Credit must be "Above-average", which is nice. But. But. Given that Prac is the most important line of subjects we do (the ones in which we actually teach, y'see), I'd like to think that I can do better. Maybe I can't. Maybe the fact of the matter is that while I go well in enough theory subjects, my theory-into-practice still needs work. Maybe it's a reflection on the fact that I still haven't had a Prac class in the upper grades, and I know for a fact I'm an upper grades teacher. I'd be doing high school if I liked the high school system; as it just so happens I don't.

 

So Practicum Subject Number Two (or three, depending) gains me a Credit. And Psychology a High Distinction.

 

Here's a word for the ol' vocabularies: Privative.

 

Say it: privite. PRIV-at-iv. It's not a hard word to say.

 

A privative is the name for the name we give to an absence or lack of something. And that's amazingly confusing, so let's go for the examples.

 

Dark is a privative. It's the name we give to the absence of light. Dark, and darkness, are not "things", not in the same way that light is a "thing". Cold is a privative. It's the name we give to a lack of heat. Cold is not a thing. You can't close the doors to stop cold from getting in; you close them to stop the heat escaping. Now, without privative words, we'd be talking mighty odd. We'd sound like some super-intelligent rod-up-their-backsides aliens who say things like "your lack of intelligence is alarming in the extreme" instead of just "you're stupid". Stupid is a privative.

 

But we do get into trouble if we forget that we're using privative words as handy shortcuts. You start reifying things that aren't real. It can get a bit bad. Apparently a company once sold a little mirror-like device that focusses cold onto an object to make it easier to cut. It might not sound so bizarre to you - after all, you can focus heat waves, so why not cold? Because cold doesn't exist.

 

And there is such thing as too much chocolate, I've discovered. We went out for morning tea, mum and I, to this little coffe-slash-chocolate shop I've never been to. They have the most amazing hand-made chocolates, half the menu has chocolate in it somewhere, there's a giant chocolate fountain near the back of the shop! And as for the food... Wow. I had hot chocolate, made with and of real Belgian chocolate, and waffles. You get three, massive waffles, covered in molten chocolate, with a huge serve of cream, and I got fresh banana on top as well... Talk about the best morning tea EVER! Actually, no. We both walked out looking like we'd had a night on the booze. I couldn't finish it. Me! And that's saying something, especially when it's that tasty.

I am borderline. Borderline everything. It's like some kind of metaphysical character trait, only one I can't really control. And it's designed and built specifically to annoy me.

 

Case in point: Everyone's favourite assassin got back four of the last five assignments he handed in. Three yesterday, and one today. What did he get, I hear you cry? What did he get?

 

Assignment 1: Credit, precisely half a mark off being a Distinction.

 

Assignment 2: Distinction, one mark off being a High Distinction.

 

Assignment 3: High Distinction, one band off being a perfect score.

 

Assignment 4: Credit, one band off being a Distinction.

 

Borderline, borderline, borderline, border-freakin'-line. Okay, so I'm not upset at the marks. Those are good marks. I'm fine with those marks, especially for assignments one and four. Because we fully and truly expected to fail them. But we didn't. So all is well in the world.

 

What I am frustrated about is my consistant ability to sit on the fence and write between the lines. I'd almost, almost rather get a lower score than 99% for a test, instead of wondering where that 1% got lost in the mail. Especially when it's an essay. That just sucks.

 

I figure this character trait/flaw will define the rest of my life. I'll go on to be a semi-permanent teacher of a multi-stage class (like a class with years four and five, for example), drive a hybrid (petrol/electric) car, live on the border between a rich suburb and a normal suburb (in fact we do already), between the borders of two cities, and be engaged but never actually marry. It'd be about right. And I'll always be just on the verge of paying off the mortage, but never actually do it.

 

And I'll live in a la-di-dah land of permanent Springtime! Not quite Summer, not quite Winter...

 

I can live with that.

I'm not the best driver in the world. In fact, only one person is. I don't know who that person is, but he or she would be pretty damned good at it. But I do know that braking hard when going around a corner heading up a hill is not, really, necessary.

 

One thing that's just plain mean is to not let a person be born or introduced with a clean slate. That's a bit cryptic, so let's expand on it a little. If a child is born out of, say, sexual assault, or to drug-abusing parents, is it fair to put those prejudices on the child? Not really, no. Not unless you believe that the attitudes of the child come direct from the sperm and egg of the parents. Which frankly speaking is garbage.

 

So to restate: the child deserves to be born with a clean record. None of this "sins of the parents" business. Which makes me wonder why they go on about Original Sin. It makes no sense, especially from the perspective of justice and just practices. And after all, who is the almighty master of justice? And if Original Sin doesn't matter, why go on about it? Unfortunately it does matter.

 

Why put reflector strips on a car? Like, eleven of them on the rear end, around the boot and under the rear lights? So you can see the car when you're driving at night? Or maybe it's so the light from other cars reflects off the strips and they can see the road behind them Think about that one...

 

"The beauty of Grace is it makes life not fair". The song is full of little oxymorons like that one. What is the message they're trying to put across? It made me wonder. It's a good one, anyway. You can almost taste the inner mental struggle. Or maybe it's just mine leaking out. Who knows?

 

This Christmas-to-New-Year-to-Beyond is going to be very interesting... Between some tricky time-splicing to be almost in two places at once (no kids, don't try it at home - Laws of Physics were not made to be broken), some possibly dodgy trafficking, and any amount of mayhem and madness up northways, stay tuned dear readers for the updates.

 

I don't like netspeak much, but this phrase just made me laugh. "oh noes! waht u doen?" Don't ask. It just did. Don't expect to see it ona t-shirt or anything.