I'm late for maths, pass the spliff, man

Kids are smarter than adults. Can’t find a function on your mobile phone? Ask an eight year old. Remember the really smart thing kids did not that long ago when they worked out that adults can’t hear high-pitched noises? Ring tones only kids can hear, so they can use their mobile phones during classes.

We’ve all heard the saying ‘build a better mousetrap, and nature will build a better mouse’. Build a better kid-trap, and the kids will find a way of circumventing it that will leave the average adult scratching their head in the dark, wondering what the hell happened.
Which is why drug testing in schools won’t work. Jo Baxter from Drug Free Australia (tell her they’re dreaming) reckons

After implementing a student drug-testing program, Hunterdon Central Regional
High School in New Jersey saw a reduction in cocaine use by seniors from 13% to
4% after two years. Schools in Autauga County in Alabama experienced decreases
in marijuana use from 19% to 12%. In Indiana, 85% of schools saw an increase in
drug use when testing was suspended; drug use fell when testing resumed.

But she’s not as smart as the average coke-snorting kid. None of us is. That first statistic should read

After implementing a student drug-testing program, Hunterdon Central Regional
High School in New Jersey saw a reduction in detectable cocaine use by seniors
from 13% to 4% after two years.

If you ask me (and you did, since you’re reading my blog), all that testing means is that the kids are finding ways to out-wit the testing process. Buying baby urine from a pediatric nurse, like in American Beauty, perhaps. Or taking a masking substance. Or using other drugs that are harder to detect, or aren’t being tested for. Try getting LSD to show up on a drug test. Oh wait, it doesn’t.

But the thing I really, really want to know is about the increase in drug use in Indiana when testing was suspended. If testing was suspended, how did they know more kids were using drugs? By testing them, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry. But testing’s suspended, dear Liza, dear Liza. Etc.

Jo Baxter’s Alice-in-wonderland style fantasy continues. “one significant benefit is the fact that successful models of school drug testing have provided valid reasons for students to legitimately say "no" when pressured to use drugs.”

Clearly Jo Baxter was never actually a teenager and sprung fully formed from an egg of some sort. Or possibly leapt from her father’s head, after he had a particularly bad headache for which he refused to take an aspirin. “Pressured” to take drugs – when does that actually happen? They showed us these fabulously snigger-worthy videos at school about how to “say no to drugs”, where people said things like “Oh go on, have one or you’re a dag”. It doesn’t happen in real life. Your peers aren’t going to overtly pressure you to take drugs because that means less for them. The pressure is much more subtle than that – not that I ever noticed it, because I was busy trying to get my hands on as many drugs as I could possibly purchase with my very limited pocket money – it’s the unspoken pressure to fit in with your peer group. Which I would say is a basic human drive, and not likely to be influenced by whether or not your school has a drug testing policy.

To be clear, I’m not for rampant teenaged drug use these days. For one thing, I’ve had my fun and as an old crank don’t see why anyone else should be allowed to have any. And for another thing, I saw several friends damaged pretty severely by their drug use, which revised my opinions on the whole legalise-everything-let’s-take-heaps-of-hallucinogens front. But neither am I for invading people’s civil liberties by subjecting them to unwanted drug testing (if they’re not endangering the lives of others - obviously drug/alcohol testing of drivers is a different kettle of fish). And teenagers, despite behaving to the contrary (and possibly all having a mental illness), are human beings with the same fundamental rights as the rest of us. As the Magna Carta said:

NO Freeman shall be taken or imprisoned, or be disseised of his Freehold, or
Liberties, or free Customs, or be outlawed, or exiled, or any other wise
destroyed; nor will We not pass upon him, nor condemn him, but by lawful
judgment of his Peers, or by the Law of the Land. We will sell to no man, we
will not deny or defer to any man either Justice or Right.

Also, no town or person shall be forced to build a bridge across a river. Just in case you were wondering.

Who you lookin' at? Huh?

Me and yeast, we don't get on so good.

I can't tell you the number of times I've tried to make bread, buns, loaves of various descriptions, pizza bases and even on one memorable occasion when I was about 12, ginger beer. But alas, without success. Particularly in relation to the ginger beer. My friend Andy and I were pretty sure we were going to be able to get drunk on it. Not so much.

I understand the science - what temperature the yeast has to have, that the fluffiness quotient is directly proportional to the amount of protein in the flour, all that jazz. I even know the secret of "bread improver" (aka soy flour, and a lot cheaper when you buy it like that). But it's a bit like the problem I always had with statistics - I'd think I understood the formula, but when I put my numbers in, they came out so obviously garbage that you could tell they were wrong even without checking the answers at the back of the book. I think I know what I need to do to make the perfect crusty loaf, but alas, it turns out to be the sort of thing you could throw at a burglar, causing severe head injuries and probably ending up being sued even though the low-life criminal had invaded your home. But I digress.

Also, just to clarify, although I was unsolvably hopeless at stats, I was actually very good at both algebra and calculus. Just so's you don't think I am one of those hopeless-girly-I'm-so-bad-with-numbers-giggle sort of girls. Not so.

Anyway, despite the ancient emnity between me and the yeasts, I've decided to give it another chance. A couple of weeks ago Rixa posted a recipe that looked incredibly good, and also easy because it doesn't require kneading, and so (despite the fact that really, I shouldn't be eating gluten), I have prepared the initial dough. This is now supposed to be left for 12-18 hours, to double in size and go all bubbly, which if past experience is anything to go by won't actually happen. However, I am trying to be positive and will perhaps make a small sacrifice to the dough gods before I retire. It may make all the difference. If you have a look at Rixa's post, there is a piccy of her finished bread, which is what I'm hoping mine will look like. I will post piccies tomorrow, whether the whole thing turns into delicious crusty bread or possibly an ignatious rock sample. Either way.

Easter bunnies

I was just having a bit of a mooch around the interwebs looking for plans to make a really cute bunny house that looks like a little actual house (merely for the cute factor, since our bunny and piggie have a nice big house already), and oh, poor bunnies. There are all these really sad stories out there about bunnies that are bought for Easter presents for kids and then dumped, at the RSPCA or another animal shelter, a couple of months later (probably some of them cause they're boys, and if you don't get them desexed they wee everywhere and can become aggressive) when the whole thing doesn't work out.

Since bunnies are not really suitable pets for kids anyway (the kids may like the bunnies, but the bunnies ain't going to like the kids) the whole thing is even more terrible. Poor bunnies are not cuddly toys, and of course children treat them as though they are. Then poor bunnies bite kiddies, get dumped, and are probably destroyed - all because of stupid parents who think it's a good idea to buy the kiddies a real live Easter bunny.

Don't. Just. Don't.

Buy the little blighters a toy bunny instead, or you could encourage childhood obesity by buying them unfeasible amounts of chocolate. Your call.

We're going to have another go at making Hot Pagan Buns (this was not 100% successful last Easter, because yeast and I are sworn enemies, and it doesn't matter what I do, dough will not rise for me), and I have even made plans to dye eggs. We're not buying chocolate eggs - I refuse utterly to pay inflated price for chocolate just because it's shaped like something, when you can buy an equivalent amount of flat chocolate for about a quarter of the price. Ridiculous. Then there's Greek Easter Bread (although there's the evil yeast factor with this as well - but it does look spectacular, with the red eggs plaited in the bread) and Greek Easter biscuits, which don't involve yeast so may be more successful. Mmm. Cooking. Four day weekend. Hurrah.

Oh deer.

The problem with hunting is not so much the shooting animals as the people who are shooting the ducks, deer and teenaged boys.

You can kinda sympathise with why this guy would take his daughter’s boyfriend out into the forest and shoot him. I’m pretty sure most fathers would, if they felt they could get away with it. His only regret is probably that he could only get ONE of his daughters’ boyfriends, as shooting both would have looked like carelessness. One can only imagine the conversation with his daughter on his return.

“Sorry honey, I thought your boyfriend was a deer”.

Or possibly, “Sorry honey, I thought your boyfriend was a dumb buck”.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Half an hour til drink o'clock

Today has been rather chaotic and it feels like it has been going on for approx 3 billion years (like an ice age, or something). I didn't have a chance to have lunch because I was editing a 28-page journal article (note for writers of articles: people will like you better and buy you more cocktails if you manage to make your point in five pages or fewer). And I have had too much coffee. I won't even tell you how much as Hugo may be disappointed in me.

oh hai! I'm in your internets, admitting my coffee addictions.

I am trying to find out what teh youf think is cool these days. Being an old woman who mostly hangs out with Hugo and the furries, wearing PJs, drinks endless cups of tea and goes to bed at 9.30pm, I am mostly not in touch with the current trends. When I search the intertubes, it seems to all be strange stuff like people who dress their pets in designer outfits and nintendo wii (which seems to be pronounced wee for some strange reason).

Somebody help me. I need a thorough grasp of this by mid next week. Kthx.

I can not think of a single thing to write

The weather for the next few days is ridiculously hot. Dinner is ready. Going now. Kthxbye.

Further to last post

"IN GROUND SWIMMING POOL (NEEDS A CLEAN)". That'd be the understatement of the century. Unless of course this is actually the "SEPTIC".

Real estate

I am idly looking through ads for rural property, in the hope that once I get a payrise we'll be able to afford to buy something as an investment and then live in it one day.

I just came across a property with a rather nice looking creek. I don't want anything we'll have to build a house on, since in order to afford it, we'll need to rent it out. The property has a "hut" (and I quote) "Located on the property by the creek is an iron hut, set up for relaxing weekends."

I'm really not sure how relaxing your weekend is going to be in this:


I'm not even sure this can accurately be described as a "hut". "Hovel" seems nearer the mark. Or "shanty". Or "chaotic arrangement of scrap metal".

The people who write real estate ads have a special level of hell reserved for them, I reckon.

The furry hat = the cat

The cat likes to sleep on the pillow around my head. It's slightly awkward, and often I end up not being able to move and with my head in a slightly uncomfortable position. If we wake up still in that arrangement, Hugo will say "I see you're wearing your furry hat this morning".

The other night when we'd woken up for some reason in the middle of the night, the cat was around my head and she started purring. And when that cat purrs, she PURRS.

"Quick," said Hugo, "Get a geiger counter - I think your furry hat's radioactive".

It may just be me, but I thought this was extremely funny. Also very quick, I can't make jokes when I'm half asleep, so it seems like quite a talent to me. And just so you don't all think he's the smart one in the family, playing scrabulous with Keith, I scored 81 points on a word yesterday - oozier, which also made hobo. On a triple word score. Oozy, oozier, ooziest - perfectly normal English construction.

Freaks, fruitcakes and the famous

Q: If you have a stainless steel surface, and you kill 99% of the bacteria on it, what do you have?
A. A nice clean practically sterile surface
OR
B. A nice clean surface that provides an ideal breeding ground for the 1% of bacteria strong enough to resist your bacteria pogrom, which will then breed like, well, bacteria, and next time you clean the surface will laugh at your puny anti-bacterial wipes?

Clearly, the correct answer is B. In fact, the antibacterial products sold to the public are strong enough to increase anti-biotic resistant bacteria but are not actually strong enough to kill e coli.

By sterilising things, you may be doing more than just breeding super-bugs. If you have kids this sort of germ-phobia is likely to lead to them having immune system problems. This study showed that sterilising a baby's dummy (pacifier) daily led to an increase in asthmatic symptoms. And other studies have shown that children with pets and siblings are less likely to develop allergies, etc, than only children with no pets (I'm thinking probably goldfish don't count here, although they may turn your child into a nerd, which is possibly not a successful strategy from an evolutionary point of view). And you may be making your child more likely to develop diabetes.

Altogether, this is called the hygiene hypothesis. Basically, the cleaner you keep everything, the more likely your child is to end up one of those freak children who has to live in a bubble, because they're allergic to animals/gluten/peanuts/eggs/milk//grass/water/air/colouring pencisl/their father/etc.

Clearly Jennifer Lopez has not heard about this. Apparently she turned into a "germaphobe" after having twins, has banned flowers and presents from the twins’ nursery to ensure it remains spotless, and whichever one of her so-called friends has been mouthing off about this to the 'papes added "She is also paranoid about hygiene. The twins’ wing is totally sterile and all flowers and presents are stored in a separate area so they don’t contaminate the babies’ area. It may sound excessive but she only has her kids’ best interests at heart and wants to give them the start in life she never had." It has also been claimed J-Lo is so freaked about the poor preciouses being exposed to germs she asks guests to use a special antiseptic hand lotion and don surgical masks before they enter the nursery. Okkkaaay.

But then again she is clearly nuts - the same article also points out that she has hired a "colour therapist" for the babies (can you say "look at the crazy lady", boys and girls?) - which is extra-hilarious because babies respond best to black and white - and a masseuse (actually that's slightly less crazy - who doesn't love a massage?) also for the babies (although clearly, if I was a new mother, and was hiring a masseuse, I'd be for ME not the babies). And if that's not nuts enough for you, she's also ordered two Shetland ponies for the babies, along with diamond-encrusted rattles and 600-count Egyptian cotton for the baby’s cots.

Actually, truth be told, I'm rather envious. Ponies and diamonds are my two favourite things, and these little over-indulged bastards have them and I don't. Also Egyptian cotton sheets, which I do have, but may I inquire as to why people are not purchasing them for me? Where are my ponies? Where are my diamond-encrusted objets? IT'S NOT FAIR.

What does a newborn baby want with a shetland pony anyway? I wouldn't let a shetland pony anywhere near a delicate newborn - the last shetland I tried to make friends with bit me in the fleshy part of the thigh - I had bruised teeth marks in my leg for a fortnight. Believe me, they may be titchy ponies, but their teeth are unfeasibly large. Nasty little buggers. Obviously just another celeb with brain cells numbering approximately the same as their dress size.

I'm rapidly coming to the conclusion that Paris Hilton is the only one with half a brain - especially since her diet theory has been proved correct (she only eats finger food at parties and drinks regular coke - because "Diet coke is just for fat people") - Diet coke really is just for fat people.

Obsessed, moi?

Last weekend, my PU#1 accused me of getting somewhat obsessed with food. Apparently, if we start this now, by the time I am her age, it's going to be all I think/talk about, somewhat like certain friends of hers (whose names shall not be mentioned here, to protect the innocent) who (apparently) talk of nothing else. My thought on this matter is that (a) I'm not obsessed with food, and (b) her food-obsessed friends have the Best.Dinner parties.Ever. and you start drooling several weeks in advance of dinner in sheer anticipation if invited around by them, so perhaps it's worth it anyway.

This comment was brought on by me saying that one day, we're going to move to the country and grow all our own food (I had been perusing the Landlines section of Earth Garden magazine). I mean, check this out - for $135,000 we could have ten acres, a house, chicken sheds, and all the farm equipment you could shake a stick at. Bargain!!! But I digress, and anyway, we can't afford to do it yet.

Just because I'm dreaming about eating my own chickens, beef and lamb (and have already picked the heritage breeds I'm going to use), feasting on my own home-grown veggies, making soaps and jams and breeding miniature donkeys (I think they are the cutest things ever), does not mean I am obsessed with food. One might just as well say that I am obsessed with miniature donkeys, which I don't plan to eat. They sell for upwards of $3000 each, so will be handy supplement to farm income and income from renting out apartment. It's not totally about the food.

Meanwhile, PU#1 also thinks it's disturbing that we go to the farmers' market and then spend hours raving about the bacon. Sheesh. Good food is a Good Thing, and there's nothing wrong with wanting to eat it, I sa. And what else is there to talk about, anyway? We have a Labor Government now, and they're doing splendid things, so no more bitching about Howard, and there's only so much one can discuss philosophy. That leaves religion - which I think we've all pretty much covered in the past, and we're all on the same page about that (the page in question would be one of the pages of The God Delusion, most likely). Or sex, which frankly is disturbing in the context of the PUs, and I think they find it somewhat disturbing in the context of me, too. And unfortunately only the socially unacceptable topics are actually interesting. Would she rather we discussed football, the price of petrol and the difficulty of redeeming frequent flyer points?

Bacon it is, then.

Kitteh can has new couch

I've been wanting a little couch for kitteh for ages, so we can put it in front of the heater in winter for her. PU#1 found one in the hard rubbish last week - which just goes to show that if you wait for long enough, just about anything you need will turn up in someone else's rubbish.

Plus, is she not adorable all curled up on her couch?