The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent terrorist threats and have recently raised their security level from 'Miffed' to 'Peeved'.
Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to 'Irritated' or even 'A Bit Cross'.
Londoners have not been 'A Bit Cross' since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies all but ran out.
Terrorists have been re-categorized from 'Tiresome' to a 'Bloody Nuisance'.
The last time the British issued a 'Bloody Nuisance' warning level was during the great fire of 1666.
The French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from 'Run' to 'Hide'. The only two higher levels in France are 'Surrender' and 'Collaborate'.
The rise was precipitated by a recent fire, which destroyed France's white flag factory, effectively paralysing the country's military capability.
It's not only the English and French that are on a heightened level of alert.
Italy has increased the alert level from 'Shout Loudly and Excitedly' to 'Elaborate Military Posturing'.
Two more levels remain: 'Ineffective Combat Operations' and 'Change Sides'.
The Germans also increased their alert state from 'Disdainful Arrogance' to 'Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs'.
They also have two higher levels: 'Invade a Neighbour' and 'Lose.'
Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual, and the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels.
The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy.
These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish navy can get a really good look at the old ones.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Butcher Dance
A guy spent five years travelling all around the world making a documentary on Native dances. At the end of this time, he had every single native dance of every indigenous culture in the world on film -- or so he thought. He wound up in Australia, in Alice Springs, so he popped into a pub for a well earned beer.
He got talking to one of the local Aborigines and told him about his project. The Aborigine asked the guy what he thought of the Butcher Dance.
"Butcher Dance?" he said, confused. "What's that?" "What? You didn't see the Butcher Dance?" "No, I've never heard of it." "Mate, you're crazy," the Aborigine replied. "How can you say you filmed every native dance if you haven't seen the Butcher Dance?" "Umm. I got a Corroborree on film just the other week. Is that what you mean?" "No, no. The Butcher Dance is much more important than the Corroborree." "Oh," the man said, his curiosity piqued. "Well how can I see this Butcher Dance then?"
"Mate, the Butcher Dance is way out in the wilderness. It'll take you many days of travel to go see it." "Look, I've been everywhere from the forests of the Amazon, to deepest darkest Africa, to the frozen wastes of the Arctic filming these dances. Nothing will prevent me from recording this one last dance."
"Ok, mate," the Aborigine replied, shrugging. "You drive north along the highway towards Darwin. After you drive 197 miles, you'll see a dirt track veer off to left. Follow the dirt track for 126 miles till you see big huge dead gum tree -- the biggest tree you've ever seen. Here you gotta leave car, because it's much too rough for driving. You strike out due west into the setting sun. Walk three days till you hit a creek. You follow this creek to the northwest. After two days you'll find where the creek flows out of some rocky mountains, but it's much too difficult to cross the mountains there, though. So you head south for half day until you see a pass through mountains. The pass is very difficult and very dangerous. It'll take you two, maybe three days to get through it. On the other side, head northwest for four days until you reach a big huge rock -- twenty feet high and shaped like a man's head. From the rock, walk due west for two days, and then you'll find the village. You'll be able to see the Butcher Dance there."
So the guy grabbed his camera crew and equipment and headed out. After a couple of hours, he found the dirt track. The track was in a shocking state, and he was forced to crawl along at a snail's pace, and so he didn't reach the tree until dusk, where he was forced to set up camp for the night.
He set out bright and early the following morning. His spirits were high, and he was excited about the prospect of capturing on film this mysterious dance that he had never heard mention of before. True to the directions he had been given, he reached the creek after three days and followed it for another two, until he reached the rocky mountains.
The merciless sun was starting to take its toll, and the spirits of both himself and his crew were starting to flag; but wearily they trudged on, finally finding the pass through the mountains. Nothing would prevent him from completing his life's dream. The mountains proved to be every bit as treacherous as their guide had said, and at times they despaired of ever getting their bulky equipment through. But after three and a half days of back breaking effort, they finally forced their way clear and continued their long trek.
When they reached the huge rock, four days later, their water was running low, and their feet were covered with blisters, but they steeled themselves and headed out on the last leg of their journey. Two days later they virtually staggered into the village. To their relief, the natives welcomed them and fed them and gave them fresh water, and they began to feel like new men. Once he recovered enough, the guy went before the village chief and told him that he came to film their Butcher Dance.
"Oh mate," he said. "Very bad you come today. Butcher Dance last night. You too late. You miss dance." "Well, when do you hold the next dance?" "Not till next year." "Well, I've come all this way. Couldn't you just hold an extra dance for me tonight?" "No, no, no!" the chief exclaimed. "Butcher Dance very holy. Only hold once a year. You want see Butcher Dance, you come back next year."
Understandably, the guy was devastated, but he had no other option but to head back to civilization and back home.
The following year, he headed back to Australia and, determined not to miss out again, set out a week earlier than before. He was quite willing to spend a week in the village before the dance is performed in order to ensure he was present to witness it.
But right from the start, things went wrong. Heavy rains that year turned the dirt track to mud, and the car got bogged down every few miles. Finally they had to abandon their vehicles and slog through the mud on foot almost half the distance to the tree. They reached the creek and the mountains without any further problems, but halfway through the mountain pass, they were struck by a fierce storm that raged for several days, during which they were forced to cling forlornly to the mountainside until it subsided.
Then, before they had travelled a mile out from the mountains, one of the crew sprained his ankle badly, slowing down the rest of their journey greatly. Eventually, having lost all sense of how long they had been travelling, they staggered into the village right at noon.
"The Butcher Dance!" the man gasped. "Please don't tell me I'm too late to see it!" The chief recognised him and said, "No, white fella. Butcher Dance performed tonight. You come just in time."
Relieved beyond measure, the crew spent the rest of the afternoon setting up their equipment and preparing to capture the night's ritual on celluloid. As dusk fell, the natives started to cover their bodies in white paint and adorn themselves in all manner of birds' feathers and animal skins. Once darkness had settled fully over the land, the natives formed a circle around a huge roaring fire. A deathly hush descended over performers and spectators alike as a wizened old figure with elaborate swirling designs covering his entire body entered the circle and began to chant.
"What's he doing?" the man whispered to the chief. "Hush," the chief whispered back. "You first white man ever to see most sacred of our rituals. Must remain silent. Holy man, he asks that the spirits of the dream world watch as we demonstrate our devotion to them through our dance, and, if they like our dancing, will they be so gracious as to watch over us and protect us for another year."
The chanting of the holy man reached a stunning crescendo before he removed himself from the circle. The rhythmic pounding of drums boomed out across the land, and the natives began to sway to the stirring rhythm. The guy became caught up in the fervour of the moment himself. This was it. He realized beyond all doubt that his wait had not been in vain. He was about to witness the ultimate performance of rhythm and movement ever conceived by mankind.
The chief strode to his position in the circle and, in a big booming voice, started to sing: "You butch yer right arm in. You butch yer right arm out. You butch yer right arm in, and you shake it all about...."
He got talking to one of the local Aborigines and told him about his project. The Aborigine asked the guy what he thought of the Butcher Dance.
"Butcher Dance?" he said, confused. "What's that?" "What? You didn't see the Butcher Dance?" "No, I've never heard of it." "Mate, you're crazy," the Aborigine replied. "How can you say you filmed every native dance if you haven't seen the Butcher Dance?" "Umm. I got a Corroborree on film just the other week. Is that what you mean?" "No, no. The Butcher Dance is much more important than the Corroborree." "Oh," the man said, his curiosity piqued. "Well how can I see this Butcher Dance then?"
"Mate, the Butcher Dance is way out in the wilderness. It'll take you many days of travel to go see it." "Look, I've been everywhere from the forests of the Amazon, to deepest darkest Africa, to the frozen wastes of the Arctic filming these dances. Nothing will prevent me from recording this one last dance."
"Ok, mate," the Aborigine replied, shrugging. "You drive north along the highway towards Darwin. After you drive 197 miles, you'll see a dirt track veer off to left. Follow the dirt track for 126 miles till you see big huge dead gum tree -- the biggest tree you've ever seen. Here you gotta leave car, because it's much too rough for driving. You strike out due west into the setting sun. Walk three days till you hit a creek. You follow this creek to the northwest. After two days you'll find where the creek flows out of some rocky mountains, but it's much too difficult to cross the mountains there, though. So you head south for half day until you see a pass through mountains. The pass is very difficult and very dangerous. It'll take you two, maybe three days to get through it. On the other side, head northwest for four days until you reach a big huge rock -- twenty feet high and shaped like a man's head. From the rock, walk due west for two days, and then you'll find the village. You'll be able to see the Butcher Dance there."
So the guy grabbed his camera crew and equipment and headed out. After a couple of hours, he found the dirt track. The track was in a shocking state, and he was forced to crawl along at a snail's pace, and so he didn't reach the tree until dusk, where he was forced to set up camp for the night.
He set out bright and early the following morning. His spirits were high, and he was excited about the prospect of capturing on film this mysterious dance that he had never heard mention of before. True to the directions he had been given, he reached the creek after three days and followed it for another two, until he reached the rocky mountains.
The merciless sun was starting to take its toll, and the spirits of both himself and his crew were starting to flag; but wearily they trudged on, finally finding the pass through the mountains. Nothing would prevent him from completing his life's dream. The mountains proved to be every bit as treacherous as their guide had said, and at times they despaired of ever getting their bulky equipment through. But after three and a half days of back breaking effort, they finally forced their way clear and continued their long trek.
When they reached the huge rock, four days later, their water was running low, and their feet were covered with blisters, but they steeled themselves and headed out on the last leg of their journey. Two days later they virtually staggered into the village. To their relief, the natives welcomed them and fed them and gave them fresh water, and they began to feel like new men. Once he recovered enough, the guy went before the village chief and told him that he came to film their Butcher Dance.
"Oh mate," he said. "Very bad you come today. Butcher Dance last night. You too late. You miss dance." "Well, when do you hold the next dance?" "Not till next year." "Well, I've come all this way. Couldn't you just hold an extra dance for me tonight?" "No, no, no!" the chief exclaimed. "Butcher Dance very holy. Only hold once a year. You want see Butcher Dance, you come back next year."
Understandably, the guy was devastated, but he had no other option but to head back to civilization and back home.
The following year, he headed back to Australia and, determined not to miss out again, set out a week earlier than before. He was quite willing to spend a week in the village before the dance is performed in order to ensure he was present to witness it.
But right from the start, things went wrong. Heavy rains that year turned the dirt track to mud, and the car got bogged down every few miles. Finally they had to abandon their vehicles and slog through the mud on foot almost half the distance to the tree. They reached the creek and the mountains without any further problems, but halfway through the mountain pass, they were struck by a fierce storm that raged for several days, during which they were forced to cling forlornly to the mountainside until it subsided.
Then, before they had travelled a mile out from the mountains, one of the crew sprained his ankle badly, slowing down the rest of their journey greatly. Eventually, having lost all sense of how long they had been travelling, they staggered into the village right at noon.
"The Butcher Dance!" the man gasped. "Please don't tell me I'm too late to see it!" The chief recognised him and said, "No, white fella. Butcher Dance performed tonight. You come just in time."
Relieved beyond measure, the crew spent the rest of the afternoon setting up their equipment and preparing to capture the night's ritual on celluloid. As dusk fell, the natives started to cover their bodies in white paint and adorn themselves in all manner of birds' feathers and animal skins. Once darkness had settled fully over the land, the natives formed a circle around a huge roaring fire. A deathly hush descended over performers and spectators alike as a wizened old figure with elaborate swirling designs covering his entire body entered the circle and began to chant.
"What's he doing?" the man whispered to the chief. "Hush," the chief whispered back. "You first white man ever to see most sacred of our rituals. Must remain silent. Holy man, he asks that the spirits of the dream world watch as we demonstrate our devotion to them through our dance, and, if they like our dancing, will they be so gracious as to watch over us and protect us for another year."
The chanting of the holy man reached a stunning crescendo before he removed himself from the circle. The rhythmic pounding of drums boomed out across the land, and the natives began to sway to the stirring rhythm. The guy became caught up in the fervour of the moment himself. This was it. He realized beyond all doubt that his wait had not been in vain. He was about to witness the ultimate performance of rhythm and movement ever conceived by mankind.
The chief strode to his position in the circle and, in a big booming voice, started to sing: "You butch yer right arm in. You butch yer right arm out. You butch yer right arm in, and you shake it all about...."
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Contact
Isn't if funny that in todays society, with email, cellphones etc that it is easier than ever to stay in contact with people, yet it is also easier to lose contact, and the contact that you have is less and less personal.
Perhaps progress isn't always a good thing.
Perhaps progress isn't always a good thing.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Inflatable Boy
There’s this inflatable boy and he goes to this inflatable school and, while there, finds himself having a really bad day. Bored with the lesson, he gets up and walks out of the inflatable classroom but, while walking down the corridor, he sees the inflatable headmaster approaching him.
The inflatable boy pulls out a pin and punctures the inflatable headmaster before running out of the inflatable school gates. Just as he gets past the gates, he thinks again, "I hate school", and once more pulls out his pin and pokes it into the inflatable school. He then runs as fast as his inflatable legs allow, all the way home and races into his inflatable bedroom.
A couple of hours later, his inflatable mother is knocking at his bedroom door and with her are the inflatable Police. Panicking, our inflatable boy yet again pulls out the pin and jabs it into himself. Later on that evening, he wakes up in an inflatable hospital and, in the bed next to him, he sees the inflatable headmaster.
Shaking his deflated head - more in sorrow than in anger - the Headmaster gravely intones: "You've let me down; you've let the school down, but worst of all, you've let yourself down."
Monday, May 07, 2007
It's not MY fault...it's YOUR fault
Everyone these days seems to be playing the blame game.
Nothing is ever their fault, it's always someone elses fault.
Shooter in Virgina - Not his fault, he was bullied.
Prisoner beaten in a van - Not his fault, he was failed by the system
Hit & Run driver - Not his fault, police should have stepped in sooner.
These are just 3 examples...there are too many to mention.
Virgina - Who pulled the trigger?
Prisoner - Who was arrested, and got lippy to a fellow prisoner?
Hit & Run - Who was involved in a fight? and got in their car and hit the people?
Our generation is a generation of excuses. We are a generation that no other generation before us have had things so good, yet we still want want want... we want things for no work...
I am tired of the "poor me" epidemic we have.
People need to accept responsibility for their own actions and stop blaming others.
If you do something wrong, then accept that you've done something wrong, and learn from it.
Nothing is ever their fault, it's always someone elses fault.
Shooter in Virgina - Not his fault, he was bullied.
Prisoner beaten in a van - Not his fault, he was failed by the system
Hit & Run driver - Not his fault, police should have stepped in sooner.
These are just 3 examples...there are too many to mention.
Virgina - Who pulled the trigger?
Prisoner - Who was arrested, and got lippy to a fellow prisoner?
Hit & Run - Who was involved in a fight? and got in their car and hit the people?
Our generation is a generation of excuses. We are a generation that no other generation before us have had things so good, yet we still want want want... we want things for no work...
I am tired of the "poor me" epidemic we have.
People need to accept responsibility for their own actions and stop blaming others.
If you do something wrong, then accept that you've done something wrong, and learn from it.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Cow Capitalism
TRADITIONAL CAPITALISM:
You have two cows.
You sell one and buy a bull.
Your herd multiplies, and the economy grows.
You sell them and retire on the income.
AMERICAN CAPITALISM:
You have two cows.
You sell three of them to your publicly listed company, using letters of credit opened by yourbrother-in-law at the bank, then execute a debt/equity swap with an associated general offer sothat you get all four cows back, with a tax exemptionfor five cows. The milk rights of the six cows aretransferred via an intermediary to a Cayman Islandcompany secretly owned by the majority shareholder whosells the rights to all seven cows back to your listedcompany.
The annual report says the company owns eight cows, with an option on one more.
Sell one cow to buy a new president of the United States, leaving you with nine cows.
No balance sheet provided with the release.
The public buys your bull.
A FRENCH CORPORATION:
You have two cows.
You go on strike because you want three cows.
A JAPANESE CORPORATION:
You have two cows.
You redesign them so they are one-tenth the size of anordinary cow and produce twenty times the milk.
You then create clever cow cartoon images called Cowkimon and market them worldwide.
A GERMAN CORPORATION:
You have two cows.
You reengineer them so they live for 100 years, eatonce a month, and milk themselves.
A BRITISH CORPORATION:
You have two cows.
Both are mad.
AN ITALIAN CORPORATION:
You have two cows, but you don't know where they are.
You break for lunch.
A RUSSIAN CORPORATION:
You count them and learn you have five cows.
You count them again and learn you have 42 cows.
You count them again and learn you have 12 cows.
You stop counting cows and open another bottle of vodka.
A SWISS CORPORATION:
You have 5000 cows, none of which belong to you.
You charge others for storing them.
A CHINESE CORPORATION:
You have two cows.
You have 300 people milking them.
You claim full employment, high bovine productivity, and arrest thenewsman who reported the numbers.
AN AUSTRALIAN CORPORATION:
You have two cows.
That one on the left is kinda cute.
You have two cows.
You sell one and buy a bull.
Your herd multiplies, and the economy grows.
You sell them and retire on the income.
AMERICAN CAPITALISM:
You have two cows.
You sell three of them to your publicly listed company, using letters of credit opened by yourbrother-in-law at the bank, then execute a debt/equity swap with an associated general offer sothat you get all four cows back, with a tax exemptionfor five cows. The milk rights of the six cows aretransferred via an intermediary to a Cayman Islandcompany secretly owned by the majority shareholder whosells the rights to all seven cows back to your listedcompany.
The annual report says the company owns eight cows, with an option on one more.
Sell one cow to buy a new president of the United States, leaving you with nine cows.
No balance sheet provided with the release.
The public buys your bull.
A FRENCH CORPORATION:
You have two cows.
You go on strike because you want three cows.
A JAPANESE CORPORATION:
You have two cows.
You redesign them so they are one-tenth the size of anordinary cow and produce twenty times the milk.
You then create clever cow cartoon images called Cowkimon and market them worldwide.
A GERMAN CORPORATION:
You have two cows.
You reengineer them so they live for 100 years, eatonce a month, and milk themselves.
A BRITISH CORPORATION:
You have two cows.
Both are mad.
AN ITALIAN CORPORATION:
You have two cows, but you don't know where they are.
You break for lunch.
A RUSSIAN CORPORATION:
You count them and learn you have five cows.
You count them again and learn you have 42 cows.
You count them again and learn you have 12 cows.
You stop counting cows and open another bottle of vodka.
A SWISS CORPORATION:
You have 5000 cows, none of which belong to you.
You charge others for storing them.
A CHINESE CORPORATION:
You have two cows.
You have 300 people milking them.
You claim full employment, high bovine productivity, and arrest thenewsman who reported the numbers.
AN AUSTRALIAN CORPORATION:
You have two cows.
That one on the left is kinda cute.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Monday, November 27, 2006
Sunday, November 12, 2006
I speak good England
- We'll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes; but the plural of ox becomes oxen not oxes.
- One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese, yet the plural of moose should never be meese.
- You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice; yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.
- If the plural of man is always called men, why shouldn't the plural of pan be called pen?
- If I spoke of my foot and show you my feet, and I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?
- If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth, why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth?
- Then one may be that, and three would be those, yet hat in the plural would never be hose, and the plural of cat is cats, not cose.
- We speak of a brother and also of brethren, but though we say mother, we never say methren.
- Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him, but imagine the feminine, she, shis and shim.
- Let's face! it! - English is a crazy language.
- There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple.
- English muffins weren't invented in England. We take English for granted.
- But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.
- And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham?
- Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend?
- If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?
- If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught?
- If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?
- Sometimes I think all the folks who grew up speaking English should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane.
- In what other language do people recite at a play and play at a recital?
- Ship by truck and send cargo by ship?
- Have noses that run and feet that smell?
- How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?
- You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out and in which an alarm goes off by going on.
- If Dad is Pop, how's come Mum isn't Mop?
- One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese, yet the plural of moose should never be meese.
- You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice; yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.
- If the plural of man is always called men, why shouldn't the plural of pan be called pen?
- If I spoke of my foot and show you my feet, and I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?
- If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth, why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth?
- Then one may be that, and three would be those, yet hat in the plural would never be hose, and the plural of cat is cats, not cose.
- We speak of a brother and also of brethren, but though we say mother, we never say methren.
- Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him, but imagine the feminine, she, shis and shim.
- Let's face! it! - English is a crazy language.
- There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple.
- English muffins weren't invented in England. We take English for granted.
- But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.
- And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham?
- Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend?
- If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?
- If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught?
- If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?
- Sometimes I think all the folks who grew up speaking English should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane.
- In what other language do people recite at a play and play at a recital?
- Ship by truck and send cargo by ship?
- Have noses that run and feet that smell?
- How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?
- You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out and in which an alarm goes off by going on.
- If Dad is Pop, how's come Mum isn't Mop?
Monday, October 16, 2006
TomCat
description The server encountered an internal error () that prevented it from fulfilling this request.
exception
javax.servlet.ServletException: createFormsDatabase(): java.sql.SQLException: Io exception: Connection refused(DESCRIPTION=(TMP=)(VSNNUM=153092864)(ERR=12505)(ERROR_STACK=(ERROR=(CODE=12505)(EMFI=4))))
sml.framework2.servlet.ServletResponse.init(ServletResponse.java:109)
org.apache.catalina.valves.ErrorReportValve.invoke(ErrorReportValve.java:164)
org.apache.coyote.tomcat5.CoyoteAdapter.service(CoyoteAdapter.java:211)
org.apache.jk.server.JkCoyoteHandler.invoke(JkCoyoteHandler.java:309)
org.apache.jk.common.HandlerRequest.invoke(HandlerRequest.java:387)
org.apache.jk.common.ChannelSocket.invoke(ChannelSocket.java:673)
org.apache.jk.common.ChannelSocket.processConnection(ChannelSocket.java:615)
org.apache.jk.common.SocketConnection.runIt(ChannelSocket.java:786)
org.apache.tomcat.util.threads.ThreadPool$ControlRunnable.run(ThreadPool.java:677)
java.lang.Thread.run(Thread.java:534)
note The full stack trace of the root cause is available in the Tomcat logs.
The previous is an error log from work.
What I want to know is what the hang Tom Cruise and Katie Homes have to do with it…..
Friday, October 13, 2006
Friday
Yes, It's Friday the 13th Today
So?
Tomorrow is Saturday the 14th!
Shock Horror
Today I
Crossed a Black Cats Path
Walked under ladders
Broke Mirrors
I opened all the unbrellas I own, inside
And the day turned out fine.
Fingers crossed, there's still 5mins left of it
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Growing Up in New Zealand
GROWING UP IN NEW ZEALAND
I'm talking about hide and seek/spotlight in the park. The corner
dairy, hopscotch, four square, go carts, cricket in front of the
garbage bin and inviting everyone on your street to join in,
skipping (double dutch), gutterball, handstands, elastics,
bullrush, catch and kiss, footy on the best lawn in the street,
slip'n'slides, the trampoline with water on it
(or a sprinkler under it), hula hoops,jumping in puddles with
gumboots on, mud pies and building dams in the gutter. The smell
of the sun and fresh cut grass.
'Big bubbles no troubles' with Hubba Bubba bubble gum. A topsy.
Mr Whippy cones on a warm summer night after you've chased him
round the block. 20 cents worth of mixed lollies lasted a week
and pretending to smoke "fags" (the lollies) was really cool!..
A dollars' worth of chips from the corner take-away fed two
people (AND the sauce was free!!).
Being upset when you botched putting on the temporary tattoo
from the bubblegum packet, but still wearing it proudly.
Watching Saturday morning cartoons: 'The Smurfs', 'AstroBoy',
'He-man', 'Captain Caveman','Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles',
'Jem' (trulyoutrageous!!), 'Super d'',and
'Heeeey heeeeey heeeeeeey it's faaaaaaat Albert'.
Or staying up late and sneaking a look at the "AO" on the
second telly, being amazed when you watched TV right up until
the 'Goodnight Kiwi!'
When After School with Jason Gunn & Thingie had a cult following
and What Now was on saturday mornings! When around the corner
seemed a long
way, and going into town seemed like going somewhere. Where
running away meant you did laps of the block because you weren't
allowed to cross the road?? A million mozzie bites, wasp and bee
stings (stee bings!).
Sticky fingers, goodies & baddies, cops and robbers, cowboys and
indians, riding bikes til the streetlights came on and catching
tadpoles in horse troughs.
Going down to the school swimming pool when you didn't have a key
and your friends letting you in, drawing all over the road and
driveway with chalk. Climbing trees and building huts out of every
sheet your mum had in the cupboard (and never putting them back
folded). Walking to school in bare feet, no matter what the weather.
When writing 'I love....? on your pencil case, really did mean it
was true love. "he loves me? he loves me not?" and daisy chains on
the front lawn. Stealing other people's flowers from their gardens
and then selling them back to them...
Running till you were out of breath. Laughing so hard that your
stomach hurt. Pitching the tent in the back/front yard (and never
being able to find all the pegs). Jumping on the bed. Singing into
your hair brush in front of the mirror, making mix tapes...
Sleep overs and ghosts stories with the next door neighbours.
Pillowfights, spinning round, getting dizzy and falling down was
cause for the giggles. The worst embarrassment was being picked
last for a team. Water balloons were the ultimate weapon.
Weetbix cards pegged on the spokes transformed any bike into a
motorcycle. Collecting WWF and garbage pail kids cards.
Eating raw jelly and raro, making homemade lemonade and sucking
on a Rad, a traffic light popsicle, or a Paddle Pop... blurple,
yollange and prink!
You knew everyone in your street - and so did your parents!
It wasn't odd to have two or three "best friends" and you would
ask them by sending a note asking them to be your best friend.
You didn't sleep a wink on Christmas eve and tried (and failed)
to wait up for the tooth fairy. When nobody owned a pure-bred dog.
When 50c was decent pocket money. When you'd reach into a muddy
gutter for 10c.
When nearly everyone's mum was there when the kids got home from
school.
It was magic when dad would "remove" his thumb.
When it was considered a great privilege to be taken out to dinner at
the local Chinese restaurant (or Cobb'n'Co.) with your family.
When any parent could discipline any kid, or feed her or use him to
carry groceries and nobody, not even the kid, thought a thing of it.
When being sent to the principal's office was nothing compared to the
fate that awaited a misbehaving student at home.
Basically, we were in fear for our lives, but it wasn't because of
drive-by shootings, drugs, gangs, etc. Our parents and grandparents
were a much bigger threat! Some of us are still afraid of them!!!
Remember when decisions were made by going "eeny-meeny-miney-mo"
or dib dib's-scissors, paper, rock. "Race issue" meant arguing
about who ran the fastest. Money issues were handled by whoever
was the banker in Monopoly.
Terrorism was when the older kids were at the end of your street
with pea-shooters waiting to ambush you, or the neighbourhood
rottie chased you up a tree!
The worst thing you could catch from the opposite sex was boy/girl
germs, and the worst thing in your day was having to sit next
to one.
Where bluelight disco's were the equivalent to a Rave, and asking
a boy out meant writing a 'polite' note getting them to tick
'yes' or 'no'. When there was always that one 'HOT' guy/girl.
Having a weapon in school meant being caught with a slingshot.
Your biggest danger at school was accidentally walking through
the middle of a heated game of "brandies".
Birthday beats meant you didn't want to go to school on your birthday!
Scrapes and bruises were kissed and made better. Taking drugs
meant scoffing orange-flavoured chewable vitamin C's, or swallowing
half a Panadol. Ice cream was considered a basic food group.
Going to the beach and catching a wave was a dream come true.
Boogie boarding in the white wash made you the next Kelly Slater.
Abilities were discovered because of a "double- dare".
Older siblings were the worst tormentors, but also the fiercest
protectors.
Now, didn't that bring back some fond memories??
If you can remember most of these, you're an Kiwi legend!!!
Pass this on to another Kiwi legend who may need a break from
their "grown up" life...
I DOUBLE-DARE YA!!!!!
I'm talking about hide and seek/spotlight in the park. The corner
dairy, hopscotch, four square, go carts, cricket in front of the
garbage bin and inviting everyone on your street to join in,
skipping (double dutch), gutterball, handstands, elastics,
bullrush, catch and kiss, footy on the best lawn in the street,
slip'n'slides, the trampoline with water on it
(or a sprinkler under it), hula hoops,jumping in puddles with
gumboots on, mud pies and building dams in the gutter. The smell
of the sun and fresh cut grass.
'Big bubbles no troubles' with Hubba Bubba bubble gum. A topsy.
Mr Whippy cones on a warm summer night after you've chased him
round the block. 20 cents worth of mixed lollies lasted a week
and pretending to smoke "fags" (the lollies) was really cool!..
A dollars' worth of chips from the corner take-away fed two
people (AND the sauce was free!!).
Being upset when you botched putting on the temporary tattoo
from the bubblegum packet, but still wearing it proudly.
Watching Saturday morning cartoons: 'The Smurfs', 'AstroBoy',
'He-man', 'Captain Caveman','Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles',
'Jem' (trulyoutrageous!!), 'Super d'',and
'Heeeey heeeeey heeeeeeey it's faaaaaaat Albert'.
Or staying up late and sneaking a look at the "AO" on the
second telly, being amazed when you watched TV right up until
the 'Goodnight Kiwi!'
When After School with Jason Gunn & Thingie had a cult following
and What Now was on saturday mornings! When around the corner
seemed a long
way, and going into town seemed like going somewhere. Where
running away meant you did laps of the block because you weren't
allowed to cross the road?? A million mozzie bites, wasp and bee
stings (stee bings!).
Sticky fingers, goodies & baddies, cops and robbers, cowboys and
indians, riding bikes til the streetlights came on and catching
tadpoles in horse troughs.
Going down to the school swimming pool when you didn't have a key
and your friends letting you in, drawing all over the road and
driveway with chalk. Climbing trees and building huts out of every
sheet your mum had in the cupboard (and never putting them back
folded). Walking to school in bare feet, no matter what the weather.
When writing 'I love....? on your pencil case, really did mean it
was true love. "he loves me? he loves me not?" and daisy chains on
the front lawn. Stealing other people's flowers from their gardens
and then selling them back to them...
Running till you were out of breath. Laughing so hard that your
stomach hurt. Pitching the tent in the back/front yard (and never
being able to find all the pegs). Jumping on the bed. Singing into
your hair brush in front of the mirror, making mix tapes...
Sleep overs and ghosts stories with the next door neighbours.
Pillowfights, spinning round, getting dizzy and falling down was
cause for the giggles. The worst embarrassment was being picked
last for a team. Water balloons were the ultimate weapon.
Weetbix cards pegged on the spokes transformed any bike into a
motorcycle. Collecting WWF and garbage pail kids cards.
Eating raw jelly and raro, making homemade lemonade and sucking
on a Rad, a traffic light popsicle, or a Paddle Pop... blurple,
yollange and prink!
You knew everyone in your street - and so did your parents!
It wasn't odd to have two or three "best friends" and you would
ask them by sending a note asking them to be your best friend.
You didn't sleep a wink on Christmas eve and tried (and failed)
to wait up for the tooth fairy. When nobody owned a pure-bred dog.
When 50c was decent pocket money. When you'd reach into a muddy
gutter for 10c.
When nearly everyone's mum was there when the kids got home from
school.
It was magic when dad would "remove" his thumb.
When it was considered a great privilege to be taken out to dinner at
the local Chinese restaurant (or Cobb'n'Co.) with your family.
When any parent could discipline any kid, or feed her or use him to
carry groceries and nobody, not even the kid, thought a thing of it.
When being sent to the principal's office was nothing compared to the
fate that awaited a misbehaving student at home.
Basically, we were in fear for our lives, but it wasn't because of
drive-by shootings, drugs, gangs, etc. Our parents and grandparents
were a much bigger threat! Some of us are still afraid of them!!!
Remember when decisions were made by going "eeny-meeny-miney-mo"
or dib dib's-scissors, paper, rock. "Race issue" meant arguing
about who ran the fastest. Money issues were handled by whoever
was the banker in Monopoly.
Terrorism was when the older kids were at the end of your street
with pea-shooters waiting to ambush you, or the neighbourhood
rottie chased you up a tree!
The worst thing you could catch from the opposite sex was boy/girl
germs, and the worst thing in your day was having to sit next
to one.
Where bluelight disco's were the equivalent to a Rave, and asking
a boy out meant writing a 'polite' note getting them to tick
'yes' or 'no'. When there was always that one 'HOT' guy/girl.
Having a weapon in school meant being caught with a slingshot.
Your biggest danger at school was accidentally walking through
the middle of a heated game of "brandies".
Birthday beats meant you didn't want to go to school on your birthday!
Scrapes and bruises were kissed and made better. Taking drugs
meant scoffing orange-flavoured chewable vitamin C's, or swallowing
half a Panadol. Ice cream was considered a basic food group.
Going to the beach and catching a wave was a dream come true.
Boogie boarding in the white wash made you the next Kelly Slater.
Abilities were discovered because of a "double- dare".
Older siblings were the worst tormentors, but also the fiercest
protectors.
Now, didn't that bring back some fond memories??
If you can remember most of these, you're an Kiwi legend!!!
Pass this on to another Kiwi legend who may need a break from
their "grown up" life...
I DOUBLE-DARE YA!!!!!
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