I cannot concentrate today. I don't know what's wrong with me - I've only got the tiniest finishing touches to put on my essay then I'm done for the time being, but I just can't make myself do it... Maybe it's the wind. Or the fact that it's such a nice day but I'm indoors all by my onesy. I dunno. I got a hair cut yesterday. I'm blonde again! What colour next, I wonder?

 

I'd just like to make a small space here as a tribute to irony, who has taken an extreme interesyt in my day-to-day affairs today and over the past week or so.

 

 

 

Right, that should be enough space. I love irony. I don't love assignments. But they have to be done, and so I think I'll go finish it off now. Before I do, however, there's my last Shopper Type. Honestly, I don't know how I didn't think of it before - they used to be the most common shopper type I encountered. Once upon a time,  when the world was younger, and I had everything to lose- Um. Yeah. Anyway.

 

BLIND MICE: Shoppers that almost literally are equipped with two sightless glass eyes. I have been standing at a shelf packing, for example, Corn Flakes, and had a customer come up to me and ask "Where d'you keep the Corn Flakes young man?" Generally speaknig the best way to deal with them is to simply step aside and let their embarrassment do the work for you. Those are the worst, but enough times I've had customers ask me for a product they were standing next to, or in front of, or in some cases,. that I was holding in my very hand. Like Missionaries and Shop Socialisers, these are only a minor threat to supermarket workings.

 

Right. So that's my Shopper Types list complete. For my next trick, I'm taking the advice of a friend and making up a list of all the employee types I've seen or encountered.

 

I haven't done a music/mood/clothing check in a looong time now.

Listening to: They are night zombies!! They are neighbours!! They have come back ffrom the dead!! Ahhhh! - Sufjan Stevens. You can't help but like a title like that one, and it's a darned good song, too.

 

Wearing: Red tshirt and denim shorts, no socks. It's funny that the first day after I lost my red hair I happen to pull out my red tshirt.

 

Mood: Annoyed. Concentrate, dammit! Janet!

 

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First of all, I'm wallowing in self-frustration. Feel free to come and tell me how much of a spineless waste of skin I am; it'll make me feel better. Maybe. Based on the date stamp at the end (or maybe start?) of this Blog, at least two readers should be able to make an educated guess as to the reason for my frustration. Anyway, that's not why I wanted to Blog. I thought up another Supermarket Shopper Type.

 

WORSHIPPERS: This is actually a very broad category of shopper, because Worshippers have a tendency to invest me with some particularly miraculour powers, normally reserved for God.

 

My personal favourite is this one: a customer will come up to me with a peach and say "what does this peach taste like?" Unspoken in my mind is: "Would you like me to take a bite and tell you?" That counts as "sarcasm", however, so I refrain from saying it. How am I supposed to know what the fruit tastes like? It's not like we all sit down in the back dock each week and share a nice fruit platter so as we can tell customers that the mangoes are still too sour.

 

Others include "Oh wiat! I wanted $20 cash out with my shopping!", said just as the receipt starts printing out. Apparently even God doesn'y like to muck about with time, so your chances of that happening are slim to none.

 

CLUSTER SHOPPERS: This is not so much a shopper type as it is a reflection on supermarket mob mentality. Cluster Shoppers, by definition, travel in packs, though they will often have little or nothing to do with one another. The uniting factor is that their psycho-fiscal cycles have linked up, so that they always go shopping so that they end up at the register within a minute or so of one another. Most Cluster Shoppers have also developed a cycle that leads them to shop directly before an employee on the checkout leaves, resulting in the checkout person having to stay back to stem the tide of shoppers. It is an arduous and thankless task.

 

Of course, the worst combination here is a series of Cluster Shopper/Claymores, or Cluster Shopper/Missionaries, as the stress level from the group increases exponentially if they are not getting in and out of the shop in World Record time.

Yes, it's another cryptic Blog entry. Yes, those scarce few of you who puzzled out the first one might have an edge figuring this one out. No, I'm not just going to tell you. No, you probably haven't figured it out already.

 

So then in the midst of something unexpected. Some might compare it to a fishbowl, but not an aquarium. Definitely not an aquarium. One of those little round fishbowls you might keep on top of the TV, or on your work desk. Yeah, like that.

 

I think maybe I tried to look into the bowl, but the glass isn't what it looks like. Imagine something transparent and opaque at the same time, and you'd have a totally inaccurate yet somehow satisfying allegory. Of course, when you're in the bowl it's like the occupant is circling you. But not like a shark. That's just cruel. Anyway, whoever heard of keeping a shark in a fishbowl?

 

Where was I? Oh right, looking at the bowl. You might find it easier if you think in terms of a really bad metaphor. It smells like hay for some reason. Was that the flash of a fin? Even biologists didn't give some of this information, or at least not so clearly.

 

What's the term for being afraid of Fish? Pisceophobia? Aquaphobia?

 

Okay, so maybe the code was wearing thin by the end, but you get the picture. Actually, scrap that. You probably don't. Mostly because the picture was painted by a very confused and sometimes neurotic artist (that is to say, me). I'll take a leaf out of Fillet's book and give chocolate to anyone who can tell me the exact answer/solution. I'm deadly serious here. If I can't easily get to your house you can wait, or I'll mail it.

 

Oh, just as one last hint: there are plenty of bowls out there. Maybe if I look at enough I'll find one? Who knows... I'm going to stop Blogging until I've got all my uni work done, so you've got plenty of time to try and win your chocolate. You can pick, too, if it's dark, milk or white chocolate.

Which old Prac? The wicked Prac! Ding-dong, the wicked Prac is deeeead!

 

Okay, so it wasn't that bad. But overall I'm disappointed by how I went, comapred to, say, my last Prac. Not as organised, not as enthusiastic, not as interested. I could have done much better. Something threw me, but what that was, I don't know. Still, the last day was picture-perfect in every way, right down to playing Medicine Ball with the class (the two us playing as well) on the lower slopes.

 

Oh, I've developed my list of in-school pet hates.

 

1. "Goooood mooooorniiiing Miiiiisteeeeeeer Aaaaaleeeeeexaaaaaandeeeeeeeer."

Seriously, I'm banning this in my classrooms. By the time the class chants its way in meticulous unison to the emd of the -ander, I'm about ready to fall asleep. Children will say their good mornings at their own pace, and in their own way.

 

2. "I don't get it..."

Yes, you do. I'd bet your life on it. You need to read the question before you call me over, as there are plenty of other things I could be doing. Have. A. Go.

 

3. "I can't do it..."

Yes, you can. You just don't think you can. If you can't, talk to the person next to you, and see what she's doing. Or be innovative - figure it out for yourself!

 

4. "Peace dude! Wasabi!"

Once was enough. The kid who says this to me at least two or three times per day for the duration of the Prac is asking to be thrown into the lake with lead weights stuffed down his throat.

 

5. Kids with their hands or clothing in their mouth.

Take. It. Out. Now. Now go wash your hands.

 

6. Kids with the permanently blocked/runny nose.

For the first child: learn to use a tissue. For the second, learn to use a cork.

 

7. The walking plague pit, whose mother insists he come to school anyway.

Go back to bed. I don't need to get another flu because you don't know to cover your mouth when you cough, sitting opposite me.

 

8. "Loose" and "Lose"

"Lose" is the opposite of "find"."Loose" is the opposite of "tight". Any more people wanting to say "When did you loose your bag?" or similar will hereby be relegated to the lake bottom with Wasabi Kid.

 

 

It's not all bad; I've also developed my list of in-school pet loves.

 

1. The moment where you're looking around and realise "wow, they actually all got it!" It is about at that moment that I remember one of the greatest feel-good perks of teaching: the "they got it" moment.

 

2. Kindergarten's song and dance to "love makes the world go round" by some obscure artist nobody's heard of. Too cute.

 

3. The sight of a class finally realising that they need to work together to play "Freedom!" and similar games.

 

I'm not getting out of bed before midday tomorrow; if anyone tries to call me I will come to your house (after midday), drag you down to the lake near my former Prac school, and you can join Wasabi Kid at the bottom.

 

Oh, and the Fish is running out of places to hide. I think.

No, I don't mean by showing them your interesting collection of oozing scabs, or by describing your innermost fantasies involving their grandmother.

 

I'm branching out a bit in this whole religion quest. I posted the following, um, post, on a public discussion forum a few days back, and have been having some short-lived, but interesting, conversations within.

 

My questions, in my opening post, were these:

 

1. Why do you believe in God?

2. Why do you believe in Jesus (the son of God, as opposed to the man)?

3. Why do you believe the authenticity of the Bible?

Anyone posting with "the Bible is a piece of s**t and God is a fake" will be shot on sight.

 

And I got many and varied responses. Among them was this little gem, which not only totally failed to understand what I was getting at, but actually managed to repulse me. That's not too easy a feat to do. Without any editing, I present it here:

 

What you should know Alexander is that you as a human being, you have an origin. You came out of a womb of somebody, "Your Mother", and before that you didn't know anything until you were born.The thing is that God exists, he created you in his own image, there is no way out my friend wether you believe in God or not, you are his creature wether you like it or not. If you do not believe this, well death will make believe that the bible is true. The bible says, "Man die once and there after face judgement with God". So wether you don't belive now that he is true you shall believe when you die, remember you are only mortal and he(God) is immortal so you shall stand before him. Remember too, Jesus said, "Every knee shall bow down and every tongue shall confess that Jesus is the Lord (Son Of God)", this scripture is telling you that even the so called "The Devil" and his demons and all sorts of sturbbon and stiff-necked people who don't believe in God, on that day they shall bow down and confess the he is the Lord.

 

The bible is not just a book of good living or a book of metaphors as you call it. My friend the bible says you shall stand before God and give account on what ever every word you utter torwards men even what you teach men about the Holy Scriptures (The Bible). The bible is true, the only thing that people fail to understand is that God gave you a choice in what you want to believe, for example you can choose to obey him or to obey the devil. Remember what the Devil (Satan) did when he was living with God, he used to be a beautifull angel of God but he chose not to obey him which is the same thing you are asking that why should we believe in God. He did that for a long time, because God is very patient, the devil thought that this God was useless, but one Day he was struck by lightining being casted out of heaven, he fell head first (which means he hit the huge stone with his head first then the body later) then the rest of the body later so do not upset God with what you are saying and teaching others because one day you will pay the full price.

 

The bible is not fiction my friend Jesus rose from the dead, the devil knows that and the devil is even more powerful than you, in other words you can't do anything with the devil he can just crash you to death in matter of a second but the BIBLE tells us that the, "Devil and his Demons, do BELIEVE and TREMBLE/SHUDDER that GOD exists". You see here God is not doing anything, the devil is just believing that God exists, but its enough for him to send shock waves of death in his body what if then God comes to him, its even worse. But you, a mere being you stand there and say whatever you want agaist God... Becareful My Friend... You haven't seen much.

 

And as well the bible talks about those who delibarately deny to believe in God that they will suffer the terrible consequences of burning for "ETERNITY" in hell. If you think that this is a lie i am telling you this all those you desobeyed or refused to believe in God or who walked around seeking the praise of MEN and GIRLS saying that beliving in God is crap...// ??? or wasting time i am telling you this they are regretting why they have given their time to the devil and not beileve in their everlasting Father (God). They are burning in the pits of hell mixed with brime stone and sulpher which is even a million times hotter that the hottest steel furnuce on earth. My Friend you don't want to be in a place like this when you die..... Please i beg you come to Jesus very quickly before you die because your life is like the morning due it vanishes away as soon as the sun hits on the leaves.

 

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And now back to the lands of sanity. I mean... Damn... I replied a few times, but by the end I was basically saying that if I wanted to be preached at, I would go to the most conservative church I could find. I refuted this person's arguments in a calm and measured way, and gave the poster the opportunity to start an actual conversation with me. So far, the person has not taken me up on it.

MySpace is the most annoying way on the internet to make yourself heard. It's got about as much user-friendliness as it does arms and legs. It's as unwieldy as a sword made of ten-foot blocks of cheese, and just to glance upon its dread homepage is to be assaulted by more ads than watching Channel Ten all day. I finally caved and made a stupid Space, but it's vanished! And then it's back! Then gone! It can't make up its mind! IT DOESN'T HAVE A MIND!

 

In the words of a friend, "like I said, MySpace sucks"

 

Too right.

Well now, just to let everyone know, my Space turns one year old today! It's a glorious time in the life of a Space, who has been with me through good times and bad, as I made some of the biggest moves of my life, and some of the biggest mistakes. It's been a hell of a year, let me tell you, with more ups and downs than a honeymoon bedspread. All in all, I wouldn't have traded it for a big clock.

What was I doing, this time last year? Well, in fact I was on Prac, like I am now. I was terribly sick, just like I am now. I was procrastinating about doing paperwork, much the same as now, only this time, the paperwork is double. But you've heard me complain about my workload more than enough, let's get out the party hats and celebrate the First Birthday of Azukar Online!

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I see no paper hats! Where are the paper hats!  Look: even the weird dude who munches on RATS for fun has a hat; where's yours!?

Oh, and here's another birthday: my car turned 10 000 last week. Yep, that's right, the (explicitly) Unnamed Barina has now travelled over 11 000 kilometres, all but 40 of which are mine and mine alone. Yay. I didn't buy it a birthday present though, because we had a talk and decided it would save up the birthday-ness for it's 15 000th birthday, when it goes in for it's first ever real service. Knowing my luck, that would be around about December, just after I unload most of my savings registering and insuring it. Gotta love birthdays.

And finally (because I'm not talking about human birthdays, Abbie or David), this Blog entry also marks a great milestone in the life of my Space. In fact, milestones are strangely irregular, so this is more like a kilometrestone. Sadly, that doesn't have the same ring.

It's my 100th Blog entry. Yep, I kid you not, count them if you like. 99 Blogs before this one have come straight from the tortured depths of my consciousness to be with you, ranging from the most menial to the deepest expressions of my psyche I could put words around. Of course, if you take out all the Blogs that are utter crap, there's probably about eight left over, so maybe this birthday isn't such a big one.

Oh, and I still haven't found my Fish. The slippery little sucker has found a cunning new hiding spot, but I'll say no more about it here... Don't want the fishy to find out, you see...

I'm sick. Very sick, I don't want to go to Prac any more. But I kinda have to. So I'm dosed up on all kinds of vitamins and supplement-y things, and life goes on. Wish me luck, ravenous readers. We’re taking over the class!

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I haven't forgotten about the paper hats! I’m waiting! I should be up to here in colourful streamers by now!

At least, that's the way it seems. I don't think that I really want him dead, but circumstances just keep on cropping up...

 

See, this child, the fixation of my homicidal tendency, is an average child. He's not bright, nor dumb. I can say such non-politically correct phrases because I just don't care. He's pretty cheeky sometimes, but not to the point where you want to tie lead weights to his feet and throw him in the lake. Yes, there are kids is my class like that. No, they are all still (currently) alive.

 

And he's got some allergies. In particular, he's allergic to peanuts, eggs, and bee stings. No student in the class is allowed to bring anything peanut-related to school: his anaphylactic reactions are that severe.

 

For those that don't know, or don't know the term, anaphylactic shock is pretty much the most severe allergic reaction a person can have. It's quick, it shuts down your breathing, and you die. Quickly. The antidote (carried by anaphylactics everywhere) is the horrific EpiPen, which injects adrenaline into them. The idea is you basically rip the top of the needle off, them slam it into their leg or arm nice and hard and leave it there for ten seconds or so. It's not pretty, let me tell you.

 

And therein lies my subconscious desire to see this poor innocent (more or less) kid dead and gone. I was aware of his condition from day one, and since then, I've continued, completely without thinking, to buy and bring, or else buy at the school, various peanutty products! One day I had no lunch, so I bought a Summer Log chocolate bar from some fundraiser. What does the Log contain? Coconut, nougat, and PEANUTS. Then later in the week there was some chocolate going around at lunch time, and I took a piece of two. What kind of chocolate was it? Fruit and NUT! I felt so bad and guilty afterward that I went and washed my mouth out and scrubbed my hands clean, then downed a scalding hot cup of tea just in case. Only yesterday, in fact, I stopped myself right in the middle of filling up a little tub with salted mixed nuts to take to school...

 

I must want to kill this guy. Something in the back of my mind must be saying, "Patrick (not his real name), you're a nice kid, but your hair offends me on a level most personal, and your inability to write neatly even in your handwriting book leaves me with no choice but your fast, painful death." It's not Azukar saying it, even he's not that murderous. And Joel wouldn't hurt a fly. There msut be another personality in my mind, and I'm not at all sure I like him much. Maybe I should commission Azukar to hunt him down...

 

In other news, Steve Irwin is dead. Dead as a doornail. He got speared through the heart by a stingray, while making a doco on deadly marine animals. Irony with a capital Iron, says I. But I couldn't quite make out what all the fuss was about, so I Googled him and found this most curious news article, that obviously underwent no editing before being published (in true Wikipedia style).

 

First quote: "It's likely that he possibly died instantly when the barb hit him, and I don't think that he ... felt any pain."

 

So he died instantly. Fair 'nuff, he did cop a barb to the heart and all. but wait! There's more!

 

Same article: "Unconscious, Mr Irwin was pulled aboard his research vessel, Croc One, for a 30-minute dash to Low Isle, where an emergency helicopter had been summoned at about 11am, his Australia Zoo said in a statement. The crew of the Croc One performed constant CPR during the voyage to Low Isle, but medical staff pronounced Mr Irwin dead about noon."

 

So... They pulled his corpse aboard, and performed CPR on it until he died at noon? Huh? Oh wait, there's yet more!

 

Same article again: "Everyone tried absolutely tirelessly to revive him to keep him alive, we cut dinghies loose and made it post haste to Low Isle where we knew the chopper would be able to get in, but I think it's possible he probably died at 11am."

 

Hmm, so the poor guy died not once, but three whole times! Even Jesus didn't manage such a feat. Here's the article, in case you don't believe me.

Or one game, anyway. It's a very good game, I like it, but it's not easy to play. Moreover, some people actually avoid playing it, because they either think that the other person is going to attack them, or because they simply point-blank refuse to take part. That's usually some sort of subconscious fear on the part of the player that possibly maybe they are going to "lose". Which really misses the point, I think, because the point of the game is not to win, or to lose, but to do both at once.

 

The game, of course, is called Get Your Story Straight, and although I'm sure millions of people play it at one skill level or another, I'm the only person who has tried to give it a name. Yay me. I play it a lot; it infuriates my mum sometimes because I try to get her to play it, but of course if I do I'm just being rude or cynical. She doesn't much like the game. Which is sad, because she can be pretty damned good at it when she wants to.

 

But Get Your Story Straight has a flaw. A pretty serious flaw, which against common sense actually gets worse and worse as you get better and better at playing it. After a while, a player starts to realise that it's more than a game. It almost becomes a part of your personality, like someone totally obsessed with tea cosies, only less weird and more invasive. People who don't know better start thinking that the player is an incorrigible sceptic. Some just think they're too cynical. Both are true to a degree, but again it misses the point.

 

Of course, the worst damage is done to the individual afflicted with acute Story Straightening Syndrome. The very best players of the game can play it even by their selves, and often derive more from it. Which is nice. The problem creeps in when the player realises that he or she no longer really knows what they believe in. When they realise they've got so good at strategising, at finding the other point of view, and at being able to play with any hand they're given, that they can't actually distinguish between them. It's similar to a feeling of disequilibrium, except that rather than having two mutually exclusive points of view in their head, the poor person has every point of view in their head.

 

It's a terrible affliction, even though it can also be so beneficial. The full depths of the symptoms have not been plumbed, but it doesn't take much imagination to see that complete withdrawal from the world can easily be the final symptom of the less-able minded sufferer. The stronger victim probably has longer to find their exit point, or a similar fate could surely be theirs too...

 

The cure for Story Straightening Syndrome is at the same time simple, yet oh so difficult. All the sufferer needs to do is find a single solid point, anything they can use as a sort of mental compass, stopping them from going mad. For some, that compass is God, or some form of religion. For others, the attraction is to the seemingly flawless empiricism of science. Some turn to the drink, trying to drown the illness out.

 

And therein lies the biggest problem of all: the more advanced the symptoms, the harder it is to cure. Even if the patient realises the need for a cure, he or she may find that they are unable to actually find their solid point to navigate by, simply because they have become so good at playing against any solid points. Even worse: the sufferer has found, through playing Get Your Story Straight, that the more solid a point of view appears to be, the less likely it is to actually be true to the core. Whether it is or not in reality, the afflicted person will be likely to fight their cure to the very last.

 

What happens next? I don't know. Let's wait and see.