March in review

March 31. Day 90. Nectar of the Gods

There is something very special about Easter. Even those with who don't celebrate Easter as a religious festival, can't help but love a time of year where the traditions all seem to involve chocolate.
This morning Mr O ate chocolate for breakfast. In bed. As he has done every Easter.
Okay, I admit I'm not always as good at setting boundaries as I should  but even I won't allow the C Word at breakfast time, not even Coco Pops which I am sure have all the nutritional value of fairy floss.
But sometimes rules are made to be broken and once a year, well that can't hurt anyone can it????
I, however, held off and had my normal bowl containing a sensible amount of sensible cereal.
While all those around me - including this noisy miner on the tree out the front of my house - were sucking back the sweet stuff like it was going out of fashion, I refrained.
I could say that I have learned to act my age. That would be a lie. I will be 48 tomorrow. Forty-eight.
That is sooo old. But do you know what the worst of it is and the real reason I held out until 4pm for my first bite of Cherry Ripe? I have a big fat pimple on my chin.
Seriously, what kind of hormonal joke is the universe playing? If it wanted to let me know I should be a little more careful about what I eat, a Post-it Note on the fridge would  do it.
Anyway, it's not fair. The noisy miner consumes nectar all day and has circles around its eyes but still manages to look delightful hanging from the tree. I eat anything bad and it's on my thighs (or chin as it now turns out) and the panda eye effect is far from fetching, I tell you.
Still, I can't let one small (okay huge) zit spoil everything. No point being silly about it.
Dinner will be a family affair at one of those specialist chocolate restaurants. Chocolate fondue. Liquid pleasure. Suck it up sister. You don't have to start acting your age yet. Tomorrow is another day.

March 30. Day 89. Music to my ears

Give people a uniform and so often they seems to think that gives them permission to act like complete arseholes. I'm not talking here about police, ambos or firies. It's more the bouncers, security guards and traffic control people who take a bit of authority and turn it into a power trip.

Of course there are exceptions that make and break every rule and I have to say the security people are South Bank have got the firm but fair thing perfectly sorted.

Twice in the past couple of weeks I've seen the security personnel in action. The first time, a schoolgirl was busking without a permit near the river. The guards politely walked up to her mum as the little one played violin and told her the rules. they directed her to the office where the permits are issues.

A second instance happened today. Members of the hip hop dance troupe Empire were rehearsing at the piazza in preparation for next week's Hip Hop Street Dance Championships at the Clem Jones Centre in Brisbane. The parklands were packed with families enjoying the Easter Saturday sunshine and a large crowd had gathered to watch.

Then the security guards appeared. Again politely they told the group they had no problem  with them rehearsing or with their music but the power cord snaking its way across the concrete piazza was a serious health and safety risk especially with all the small children running around and would have to go. 

They suggested that if the group wanted to use the space on an ongoing basis they should talk to the managing authority to get a safer access to power.

Firm but fair. 

It could have been ugly. It wasn't. A break was called and I'm not sure what the dancers did next but I did notice that as he walked away Manuel Grundy was still doing backflips. He may not have been head over heals with the situation but he was doing a great job of hiding it.

March 29. Day 88. Photography for dummies

As I boarded the shuttle bus from the Redcliffe Showgrounds to the Festival of the Sails at Suttons Beach, a woman commented on the impressive camera around my neck.
She told me she had a PhD is camera use where PhD stood for Push Here Dummy. Appearances, I assured her, could be deceptive. The camera was impressive. The photographer was not. Almost all the time I use the Push Here Dummy automatic method. Yes, there are manual settings but that would require reading the manual.
Today, as it turned out, I didn't even get to push the f***ing button because doing so would have required taking the memory card out of the computer and putting it back in the camera. That didn't actually happen so the only button I got to push was on my iPhone.
But given it was a beautiful day, there was nothing to lose. Kite flying, beach cricket, sand sculpting, swimming, rock climbing and fresh sea air, it would have been churlish not to do what all the other families at Redcliffe were doing and just enjoy the day.
So I persevered and did the best I could with what I had. While I don't have a PhD, I do have a Research Masters and in the first semester we joined with the PhD students in a one research methods seminar. I remember just one take home message from that semester-long torture. The first presenter opened with this thought: "Really stupid people get Masters and PhD degrees. The difference between those who graduate and those who don't is not how smart they are but how prepared they are to persevere, to stick with it". So I could have come home with nothing but I stuck with it. Sponge Bob Sand Pants by sand sculptor Dennis Massoud may not be the best photo I've ever taken but it's better than nothing and that's exactly what I would have achieved if I'd taken my bat and ball and gone home. So today I award myself the Photography for Dummies prize. If the lens cap fits...

March 28. Day 87. The pillow fight

I swear I walked in on an American teen movie today.
It was celebrate-the-end-of-the-school-term sleepover night at my niece Scarlett's house and I was instructed to bring over a spare mattress.
I could hear the noise well before I got to the front door.
Six teenagers who have just finished the first round of Year 12 exams can make A LOT of noise. Music was blaring and when I walked in the girls were all collapsed on the bed screaming and laughing. Then the selfies, the  pillow fighting and hair doing began - all straight out of Textbook Teen Movie.
I suspect there won't be much sleep happening tonight which again leaves me to question why the activity ever got the name sleepover, probably because Over doesn't sound like much of an activity.
Anyway, the girls deserved it. Year 12 is ridiculously stressful. Might as well throw a few pillows to let off some steam.

March 27. Day 86. Hanging on

I'm not actually a hoarder but I do have a problem with letting go. Whether it's clothes that might fit again some time, people who used to be best, best friends but now I have little in common with or Tupperware containers whose lids somehow disappeared into the great overpriced plastic black hole, I like to hang on to things just in case.
In part it's laziness, in part it's nostalgia, in part it's because I like things to be the way they are. There is comfort in the familiar - like old shoes something I also have a problem with getting rid of.
Two things had me thinking about hanging on for grim death today. The first was this drop of water on a Cows Udder I photographed Roma Street Parkland today. (I bet you think I either made that name up or read it on a sign in the parkland. Not so. There was no sign so I asked one of the volunteer guide who also told me it was a relative of the egg plant).
Anyway, the droplet really looked like it was defying gravity by staying on the fruit. Then just around the corner at King George Square three abseilers were hanging off the side of the City Hall Clock Tower. Nice. It would appear others don't have such a problem with hanging on.

March 26. Day 85. Getting in early

Body fluids. Snot. Vomit. Wee. Poo. Toe Jam. Belly Button Fluff.
There is no shortage of it in children's entertainment.
Yep bums, nostrils and ear wax are hilarious. Totally hilarious - but there is more to life.
As I see it, there are two types of kids entertainment. There's the type where, as an adult, you endure the performance but love watching the joy on your youngster's face.
Then there's the entertainment where you actually getting your money's worth in your own right. Surprisingly I've seen body-fluid-inspired entertainment of both types.

But one of the great things about  your kids growing up is that there are more and more things you can enjoy together and less and less times when the idea of having to point your fingers and do the twist one more time makes you want to have a little lie down after consuming a medicinal drink. The number of body fluid jokes also trails off a little until you get to comedy festivals and then they are back with a vengeance.
Twelve years of reviewing family entertainment means I've seen it all - the good, the bad and the snotty. Kids entertainment is now big business. Where there are $$$$ to be made there is no shortage of dubious operators ready to cash in on parents willing to invest big bucks to expose their kids to a full range of entertainment opportunities.
And there are the professional, really professional outfits.
Today it was a pleasure to be the audience of a Queensland Symphony Orchestra's Kiddie Cushion Concert. It's been a long time, but the thrill of seeing and hearing the orchestra so close up in such an intimate space is such a delight.
What I especially love is that there are the Kiddie Classics such as Bananas in Pyjamas and Do You Put Your Hat on Your Foot but they are performed alongside music from Sleeping Beauty and the Nutcracker Suite. A guest performance by a ballerina sealed the deal.
The kids seemed happy to dance and clap along to the full range of the orchestra's offerings. They also got to meet the different sections of the orchestra and hear the story of Peter Rabbit with an orchestral accompaniment.
And an hour later they were out the door and home in time for a nap (Perhaps that was just me).
I'm pretty sure everyone felt they got their money's worth with not a single fart or bum joke. Quality.