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| Tuesday, March 28, 2006 |
| I nearly put a beak on this. |
But then I didn't. This was taken in Botanic Park, where there are trees. Big trees. Great big trees. |
posted by Ata @ 6:14 pm  |
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| Atajob |
I worked yesterday.
The temp agency rang at 9:15 (I was still in bed... Mr Ata has been working ridiculous hours over the weekend - one hours sleep on Saturday night! - the result of which being that I think I was awake more than asleep last night. At least there was some rain and thunder to listen to.), and asked if I wanted to work that day. Trying to sound like I was awake, I agreed. I wouldn't be there until 10:30, though, I warned.
So with the agreement of the client, 10:30 it was. In the shower, wash hair, sort out which clothes are still good enough to wear to an office (time for some shopping soon), eat something, put coffee in travel mug, remember to top up the kitty litter before you go or there may be unpleasant surprises on your return, oops left the bit of paper with the address on it inside, okay, now we're off. 10:05. I'm making good time.
A quick scan of the street directory suggests it'll be a pretty clean and easy run. I did run into an extended stretch of roadworks... what was usually an 80k zone was cut down to 40, then 25, but I was still travelling okay for time. Corner of Bolivar and Burton.... okay. Here's a problem. The intersection of Bolivar and Burton is a roundabout. I cruise about a bit, hoping a giant chicken processing factory will suddenly manifest itself in the middle of this very residential area. No luck. Better call the temp agency before they think you're late.
Temp agency handler says it's definately the corner of Bolivar and Burton, but hang tight and she'll check with the client for another landmark. She calls back. It's on the right, she says. As you're approaching from Port Wakefield. That's where I was coming from, I protest, and I definately don't see a chicken factory here. But I'll drive a bit further along Burton, just in case.
So I do. But it's absolutely not there. Quite sure now that I haven't just overlooked an enormous poultry processing plant, I check the street directory to be sure I am, in fact, on the right street. While I do so, the agency handler calls again. It's where Burton intersects with Port Wakefield, she reports. But Burton runs parallel to Port Wakefield, I wail! The agency handler is out of ideas. Perhaps I should call the client directly. After getting off the phone, I look more closely at the street directory. I follow Burton along with my finger. No, it definitely doesn’t intersect with Port Wakefield. In fact, it comes to a dead end.
But wait! What’s that?!
Burton comes to a dead end. Then there’s a little gap, and then… more of Burton! AND it takes a sharp left to connect with Port Wakefield!
Excited, I take off back to Port Wakefield. Ten minutes along – there it is. The giant chicken factory. I pull into the carpark, and call the temp agency to tell them I’m there and they gave me the wrong address. In fact, they didn’t even have the right suburb.
I’m only half an hour late. Oh well. The job is pretty easy. I spend the day handing out application forms, explaining application forms, entering application details to the database, and administering a dexterity test. I like administering tests. Occasionally I have to take calls from people who are cross that their job applications have been turned down, and these I offer to have someone else call them back. After all, I’m only the temp.
At the end of the day, the supervisor seems pleased. He explains that they might need me again tomorrow. I tell him that’s fine, but I have an appointment at 9:30.
And I wouldn’t be able to make it until 11. |
| posted by Ata @ 1:40 pm |
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| Sunday, March 26, 2006 |
| Nothing |
Nothing of note has been happening in Ataland, other than Mr Ata working Too Hard. He had maybe two hours sleep last night. Poor Mr Ata. So because I feel mildly bad about abandoning my blog for so long, here is a picture of the dresses my bridesmaids wore not-that-many years ago. I don't think they liked them much, particularly as they were made to wear them with elbow-length capelets. And the photographer just HAD to take a photo of the only girl wearing a bra with visible straps, didn't he.
They went very nicely with Ata's dress. 
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| posted by Ata @ 12:48 pm |
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| Tuesday, March 21, 2006 |
| Ata gets on the Penguin bandwagon |
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| posted by Ata @ 9:09 pm |
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| Sunday, March 19, 2006 |
| Snippets |
Our universal learning remote became defective. So a new one was ordered. Of course, now all the remotes must be programmed into the new one. Right now, there are no less than 11 remote controls scattered across the coffee table.
Entering the lounge to watch TV yesterday, Ata had to play a guessing game. Batteries were out of the old remote but new remote programming was only just begun, so to turn on the TV - and get sound - involves trying to remember which remote goes with which device. After a few moments confusion, Ata has a flash of inspiration. Of course, the brand name of every device is printed on it's corresponding remote! Hooray! Let's see... Topfield, that's easy. The decoder is Marantz, now there's just the TV itself... Panasonic! That's it! There we go. Now Ata can enjoy Pink's "Stupid Girls" clip.
Tonight we had tacos for tea. Ata did not feel like doing all the vegetable chopping, so she commandeered Mr Ata's services. He dutifully began washing vegies. Ata began grating cheese.
"Hey!" said Mr Ata. "You haven't washed the cheese!"
"Ha, hah." says Ata.
"But you don't know if the cow's bum was clean when it laid that cheese!" persists Mr Ata.
I swear, I married a clown.
The cats have a new food bowl. It was taped to the front of a packet of cat food, and appears to be highly scientifically designed. At least, it has a complicated looking diagram on a sticker. I put it out next to their current food bowl.
Roswell didn't like it.
She kept approaching it carefully, tapping the base with her paw, before giving it a wide berth to eat from her usual bowl. Roswell is the suspicious type.
Of course, eventually the food in the old bowl ran out. Then Ros began to feel differently about the new bowl. |
| posted by Ata @ 9:21 pm |
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| Wednesday, March 15, 2006 |
| Sorry, just one more. |
I'll stop talking about my cats after this, I promise.
But first: Bosco, when he was a kitten.
And the pic I promised Myo and Jes ages ago. Bosco & Ros doing their yin-yang approximation.
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| posted by Ata @ 11:22 pm |
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| Tuesday, March 14, 2006 |
| More Bosco |
New Favourite Trick: getting on the pelmet.
From the window ledge to the cat gym to the entertainment unit to the centre speaker to the pelmet. A convoluted path, but it's the way he likes to go. And sometimes, then, from the pelmet over the window to the pelmet over the door. Along in one direction, then the other, licking dust off the pelmet as he goes.
Unfortunately, it's harder to get down than up. Every potential landing spot is either unstable, or too small, or too far away. And if he has jumped over the space between the window-pelmet and the door-pelmet, it's even more difficult - he doesn't seem to have room to turn around on the door-pelmet. So it's forwards in one direction, then carefully, awkwardly backwards in the other direction.
If Mr Ata stands on a chair and puts his arms out, Bosco rushes along to be removed from the pelmet. If Ata stands on a chair and puts her arms out, Bosco rushes along to within millimetres of Ata's fingertips, then stops. He has to be coaxed closer with wiggly fingers promising a head rub. When within range, Ata grabs a leg - and he immediately goes rigid, protesting and struggling until Ata gets her hands under his belly. Then he goes relaxed and floppy, eager to be off the pelmet and on the ground, where he can race off to his food bowl and stuff himself with biscuits.
Access to the bedroom pelmet has been successfully prevented with strategically placed boxes. Bosco on pelmet at 4am does not make for happy human campers. And Ata is certain to close the top cupboard very very tightly, to avert leaping from the square inch of clear space on the bedside cabinet to the above head-height cupboard. Not so much because of the take-off, but his preferred landing site is, coincidentally, the spot occupied by Ata's knees when asleep. Or possibly Ata's stomach, depending on landing trajectory and how Ata is positioned. It could also be the spot Roswell sleeps in, if she is sleeping with Ata at the time, and she usually does.
Ata has no desire to be awoken in the night by either cat landing on body or cat landing on cat. This would make for a Bad Experience. |
| posted by Ata @ 10:52 pm |
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| Thursday, March 09, 2006 |
| Beasties |
I had intended to post some pictures of the Beasties at play. But I canna find the cable to connect the camera to the computer, and simply inserting the XD card direct seems to sometimes cause card failure.
So a couple of Brief Beastie Tales in the meantime.
Bosco is the troublesome animal of the house. His favourite occupation - other than sleeping on his back, leaning against the wall - is causing problems of some kind.
The other day, he got into a bag of kitty litter. An almost full bag. We buy the biggest bags of kitty litter we can get - a type made from recycled newspaper. The bag was open and left standing up. He tipped it over, enlarged the hole, and crawled inside. It is just wide enough to admit Bosco on top of the kitty litter. I walked in to find him arranged with just his nose sticking out of the bag - the other end of him was busy, peeing into the kitty litter.
Of course, by the time I'd found the camera and worked out that all the batteries were flat, he had finished peeing, scattered kitty litter around the floor, and gone.
This evening, Roswell was calmly exiting the laundry through the catflap, which allows them to get from the laundry to the kitchen. Her front half appeared through the flap, but as her back legs were about to come through, there was a kind of clunking noise - and she stopped. Stuck. As Roswell goes through the flap, there is a vulnerable point where both her back feet are off the ground as she draws them through (she also insists on pushing the flap open with her paws before putting her head through, where most cats seem to go through a flap head-first). This is the point at which she got stuck. She wiggled her hips a bit. Nothing. She went backwards slightly, and wiggled some more - and then they came loose. As the flap swung shut behind her, Bosco's face was readily visible, pressed up against the clear plastic flap on the laundry side.
One of the reasons she dislikes using the flap is that it gives Bosco plenty of opportunity to pounce upon her. I think he had slammed into her backs legs from the side, jamming her against the side of the flap. And with her front paws occupied on the other side of the door, and her back paws off the ground - she has nothing free to hit him with! I have seen him do it from the other side - ploughing into her full tilt as she comes through the flap, flattening her against the door until she slaps him and he backs off. Or rather, backs up for another run.
He has, fortunately, learned to leave her alone when she is sleeping. |
| posted by Ata @ 10:47 pm |
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| Tuesday, March 07, 2006 |
| What becomes of the open-minded? |
Enough with the Atastories - time for some Atathink.
What is open-mindedness? Ata has always considered herself open-minded, although she is aware that some might have cause for dispute on that point. The dictionary definition, of course, is showing receptiveness to the ideas or opinions of others. Ata considers this a workable definition, but one needing more investigation.
Is it a willingness to accept the possibility of being Wrong? If so, does it then follow that one cannot hold an opinion on any given topic without adding the disclaimer that "I might be Wrong" This seems like a very timid way to approach the world. A very many people would find it difficult to trust a doctor who followed every prognosis with "But I might be Wrong." And there are times when people seek - and need - certainty. To second guess your every decision is not necessarily a good survival strategy.
Is it being sure to examine all the evidence before making a decision? Well, maybe so and maybe not. Sometimes when people claim to have examined evidence, what they really mean is that they have looked at it without considering all possible meanings and interpretations. This can happen on both sides of a debate - people have a tendency to prove themselves correct. So it is more interesting, always, when people change their position after examining information than when they find their opinions confirmed. But surely just being willing to look at evidence is more open-minded than refusing to do so. On the other hand, if someone tells me that I can't really understand ectasy or LSD until I've tried it, I wouldn't find myself dabbling in potentially lethal mind-altering substances simply to prove how open-minded I am. Or to investigate the effects of being mind-altered.
Ata has friends that she would call closed-minded. In fact, the friend she has in mind would call herself closed-minded, with no apparent shame. Yet Ata finds her an agreeable and easy to be with person, even though Ata and her friend don't always agree. Ata has other friends that probably most people would call open-minded. And Ata finds them similarly agreeable and easy to be with.
There was a pastor at Ata's church some years ago, who related the story of counselling a young girl who was considering terminating a pregnancy. If you are imagining that Ata's church takes an anti-abortion stance, you are probably correct. Provided you're not picturing pitchforks and torches, that is. Adelaide Baptists don't get that excited over much. This particular pastor was an excellent teacher and student, but admitted his great weakness as a pastor was, well, the pastoral aspects of the role - encouraging and understanding people and their situations.
This pastor related the story to our study group one night, Ata cannot remember why. But the story has stuck with her for many years. As counselling progressed, it became clear why the 15 year old girl was considering abortion - she had become pregnant after being raped by her father.
And this pastor was suddenly struck by the realisation - that whatever she decided to do, she would live with it for the rest of her life. Whether she carried the pregnancy to term or not, whether she kept the baby or gave it up for adoption - the child and whatever decisions she made would be there permanently in her past, an indelible mark of the abuse forced upon her, with the power to alter her perspective of herself and every decision she made from here on out.
Ata thinks that there are two elements to what open-mindedness is: firstly, the ability to hear an opinion, belief, or argument without being compelled to accept it or refute it. And secondly, the ability to hear the people at the heart of an issue, outside of laws and who is right or what is wrong.
Hmm. Yes. Ata likes this definition. Probably because she made it up herself, but let's not go there. |
| posted by Ata @ 6:19 pm |
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| Monday, March 06, 2006 |
| A Brief Note |
A post on Rian's blog reminded me of this.
The other day in the supermarket, I picked up a pot of basil in the grocery section.
On the plastic sleeve which prevented the pot from leaking water and dirt on the shelves, it had a warning:
"Do not eat roots or potting mix" |
| posted by Ata @ 6:33 pm |
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| Saturday Night |
An Ata & Mr Ata story.
On Saturday, Mr Ata scored for the basketball. He has been unable to play the last few seasons due to a knee injury. Last Saturday was the last game of the season, and the team were going out for dinner afterward. Ata strongly suspects that Mr Ata scored for them on this occasion so as to go to dinner, and thus maintain his connection with the team.
Ata did not want to go out on Saturday night. She wanted to cook the lamb roast that she had failed to cook on Friday night due to unexpected oven failure. Additionally, she wanted to go to the movies on Sunday, and was keeping the financial aspects of going on Outings twice in one weekend in mind.
"But L and J might be going," argued Mr Ata in most persuasive tones. L and J are wives of two team-mates. L is a good friend of Ata's, and used to work with Ata's father. L's brother used to work with Ata's mother. J happens to be married to L's brother. Some years back, J was BIL#2's girlfriend. Twisted little web, isn't it? And all this spread across two states. To top it all off, Ata and L share a birthday. But I digress. Back to the story.
Notwithstanding the possible attendance of L and J, Ata maintained that she wanted to stay home and cook lamb. "You can go if you like," she offered by way of compromise.
"But I don't want you to enjoy roast lamb without me!" protested Mr Ata. "Tell you what, I'll only go if you go, and you'll go if L goes." This did not sound like any sort of compromise to Ata. But he could not talked out of the plan through rational debate, and Ata really had no strong moral objection to eating out, so while she maintained that she did not want to go, Mr Ata was allowed to cruise off to the game with the promise of maybe.
Ata's Friend-Around-the-Corner was visiting on Saturday afternoon. This is because it was Hot in Adelaide, and FAC's airconditioner was producing only a smell of burning chemicals. So FAC sought refuge at Ata's abode.
When Mr Ata called at half-time, Ata and FAC were paying no particular attention to the show that was playing on TV, and only some attention to their drawing and stamp-sorting whilst chatting. Just for the sake of clarity and to avert potential mockage, Ata would like to point out that she was NOT stamp-sorting.
"L and J are going," reported Mr Ata. "They're going to Najjar's. You like L and J, don't you? It'll be fun!"
"What time is it?" asked Ata, relenting somewhat, but making no promises.
"About 6, I think. I'm not sure. I'll check with C and call you back."
Ata did not hear from him again. At about 5:30, he breezed in, hot and sweaty from shooting around on the court after the game.
"M is picking us up at 7:10" he announced. "I am going to have a shower."
Ata and FAC looked up in amazement. "When was this decided?" enquired Ata.
"When I called!" said Mr Ata, a little surprised.
"I don't recall agreeing to anything!" protested Ata. FAC backed Ata up, asserting that she had heard no such conversation.
"No - when I called the second time." Mr Ata was quite sure of his claim. In the face of double female denial that a second call had taken place, he became uncertain.
"Well, I thought I called twice. Didn't I call twice?" Expressions of definate uncalled-ness from Ata and FAC.
"Oh well," says Mr Ata. "I could check my phone, but you're probably right. Anyway, M's coming at 7:10."
So we went out for tea. It was nice, although there was a 45-minute wait for food to be served, and Ata's meal got sent to the wrong table. Apparently the waitress thought nothing of the fact that out of a whole table of people, Ata was the only one minus a meal, and Ata had to go track down a waitperson to enquire after her missing food. Fortunately there was not a 45-minute wait for the replacement dish. |
| posted by Ata @ 5:21 pm |
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| Thursday, March 02, 2006 |
| Who IS this? |
I am developing some very un-Ataly behaviour.
Today Mr Ata and I went to the Central Market for lunch. I like going to the Central Market. I eat chicken rice from Ricky's Chicken Rice. I can't help myself. Every time I say, "I'll have something different this time." And every time, the chicken rice just seems soooo good I can't not have it.
Ricky's Chicken Rice is very popular. There is often a long queue. Unfortunately, it often seems to take a long time for food to be prepared - in the past, Ata has waited twenty minutes or so after ordering to have her number called to collect her chicken rice. So it is important to stake your place in the line and hang in there.
Today there were several people in line to place their orders when Ata arrived. There was not a very large gap between the last person in line and a wall. Ata was not even certain if he was in line, as there seemed to be a large gap between him and the next girl. So Ata took a place across the narrow aisle - not behind the linee, but quite obviously waiting her turn.
After five minutes or so, another chicken rice lover arrived. He looked at the line. He looked at Ata. He looked at the gap. He decided to line up between the guy and the wall.
Now, I would like to point out that Ata is usually fairly meek and mild. She does not object, generally, to queue-jumpers - after all, why make a fuss about having to wait an extra few minutes?
New Guy was quite aware of Ata's presence. Every time the line shuffled forward, he quickly shuffled up behind the other guy to prevent Ata from joining the queue. As they neared the front of the line, Ata manouvered herself so as to arrive at the ordering-spot just ahead of New Guy, despite his efforts to cut her off. As soon as the order-taker turned back towards the counter, New Guy began placing his order.
"Sorry," said the order-taker, "Who was next in line?"
"I was," chorused Ata and New Guy. They turned to look at each other.
"I was next!" burst out New Guy, "I lined up behind him!"
Usually, Ata would not have brought this sort of confrontation to this point, much less said what she said next. With a half-smile, challenging eyes, and a low, firm voice, she said:
"I was standing there longer."
There was a pause. New Guy gave up in obvious pique.
"Fine, whatever." He made a dismissive gesture.
Ata looked back to the order-taker, still with the coy half-smile.
"I don't mind," she said. "He can go first." This was, of course, serving no purpose other than to demonstrate that Ata had won, and it did not now matter who got served first.
New Guy was unhappy about losing, and did not intend to accept the generosity of the victor. He bluntly refused to go first. So Ata placed her order and got her chicken rice in a timely manner. Well, no more than ten minutes standing beside the stall clutching her little blue ticket, anyway.
What was that about? Am I becoming a Grumpy Old Woman, intent on making Those Young People respect their elders? I have been working on a character who expects to have everything her way. Perhaps it is rubbing off on me. There was definate Jane in that half-smile. Or maybe the heat and the promise of chicken rice overwhelmed me. Usually I'm much nicer. Really. |
| posted by Ata @ 9:24 pm |
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