Travel blog?

I've been asked to give the world some information about Australia. Fair enough, I suppose. If I want an international audience, as it were, I should say something about my little plot of the world. I'm not much of a travel writer - for that matter, I'm not nearly as well travelled as I'd like to be - but I'll give you my point of view.

Australia is bone bloody dry - especially my bit of it, South Australia. We're getting water restrictions in Adelaide at the moment. Don't use sprinklers between 8am and 8pm - don't use them at all on certain days of the week. Don't empty and refill your pool. Wash your car with a bucket, not a hose. That sort of stuff.

I'm not trying to put people off coming here by telling you about the water problems. It's just the way it is. We have plenty of water at the beach - you just can't use it for gardens and drinking. We could have massive desalination plants to resolve our problems, but for some reason, we don't seem to.

Coming back to the beaches - we really do have some great ones. I haven't been to the Gold Coast or anything like that, so I can't comment - though I think it'd be way too crowded for this little loner. Back in my old stomping grounds around Ceduna, though, I know the beaches are awesome, and there are very few people to spoil it. Cactus beach is a pretty well-known surfing beach. I'd watch out for sharks, though. Otherwise, there's the shallow but peaceful water of Decrees Bay, or the great, rolling sandhills of Davenport Creek.











Cactus Beach (on a calm day)


I can't really comment much on tourist destinations. I'm a local and I see things from a local perspective. Social commontary, though - I can do that. Go to somewhere like Ceduna, and you'll find most of them live (and drive) at a somewhat unhurried pace and are happy to say g'day to a new face. Good place to be a tourist. As a place to live - well, I don't live there anymore. Then again, I'm a progressive, intelligent female, and there's not real much for my type to do, there.

So, about Adelaide. Nice, quaint little city. The architecture, especially in the city centre, is really something. Well, it is to me. Mainly because it's not all the modern crap that looks like no effort's been made on it. I'm talking about the old churches and stuff like that, and even the railway station. Adelaide is called the City of Churches, and so it is. I'm not much of a religious type, myself, but I do appreciate the buildings.

One of the aforementioned churches

The people here are a mixed bag. Mostly, we're pretty friendly, but there's the rude and stupid ones as well (as you will find pretty much anywhere). Adelaide has more relaxed laws than the other states on vehicle registration - this means no-one really checks up on the condition of our vehicles (unless you count being defected by cops now and then), so we have a lot of old cars on the road. Not classics, really, just old cars like my beaten up old Galant. Most of us in this country seem to drive Holden Commodores or Ford Falcons. Don't ask me if I'm a Ford or Holden girl, 'cos I've owned - and enjoyed owning - both. Though it's been said that the Aussie dream is to own a Commodore (or a Monaro, for the showy types) and a big-arse TV... which even this broke grunt can do (well, the Commodore, not the Monaro). We're easy to please.

The coveted Holden Monaro

Wanna know your horoscope?

Owing to me being knackered, I'll let Weird Al inspire you, today.

Your Horoscope For Today

Aquarius
There's travel in your future when your tongue freezes to the back of a speeding bus
Fill that void in your pathetic life by playing Whack-A-Mole seventeen hours a day

Pisces
Try to avoid any Virgos or Leos... with the Ebola virus
You are the true Lord of the Dance, no matter what those idiots at work say

Aries
The look on your face will be priceless when you find that forty pound watermelon in your colon
Trade toothbrushes with an albino dwarf, then give a hickey to Meryl Streep

Taurus
You will never find true happiness - what you gonna do, cry about it?
The stars predict tomorrow you'll wake up, do a bunch of stuff, and then go back to sleep

That's your horoscope for today-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay
That's your horoscope for today
That's your horoscope for today-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay
That's your horoscope for today

Gemini
Your birthday party will be ruined once again by your explosive flatulence
Your love life will run into trouble when your fiancé hurls a javelin through your chest

Cancer
The position of Jupiter says you should spend the rest of the week face down in the mud
Try not to shove a roll of duct tape up your nose while taking your driver's test

Leo
Now is not a good time to photocopy your butt and staple it to your boss's face, oh no
Eat a bucket of tuna-flavored pudding, then wash it down with a gallon of strawberry Quick

Virgo
All Virgos are extremely friendly and intelligent - except for you
Expect a big surprise today when you wind up with your head impaled upon a stick

That's your horoscope for today-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay
That's your horoscope for today
That's your horoscope for today-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay
That's your horoscope for today

Now you may find it inconceivable or at the very least a bit unlikely that the relative position of the planets and the stars could have a special deep significance or meaning that exclusively applies to only you, but let me give you my assurance that these forecasts and predictions are all based on solid, scientific, documented evidence, so you would have to be some kind of moron not to realize that every single one of them is absolutely true.
Where was I?

Libra
A big promotion is just around the corner for someone much more talented than you
Laughter is the very best medicine, remember that when your appendix bursts next week

Scorpio
Get ready for an unexpected trip when you fall screaming from an open window
Work a little bit harder on improving your low self-esteem... you stupid freak

Sagittarius
All your friends are laughing behind your back (kill them)
Take down all those naked pictures of Ernest Borgnine you've got hanging in your den

Capricorn
The stars say that you're an exciting and wonderful person - but you know they're lying
If I were you, I’d lock my doors and windows and never never never never never leave my house again

That's your horoscope for today-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay
That's your horoscope for today
That's your horoscope for today-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay
That's your horoscope for today
That's your horoscope for today-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay
That's your horoscope for today
That's your horoscope for today-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay
That's your horoscope for today

Me being serious - are you serious?

It's time for another outpouring of drivel from your favourite weirdo. This one's on the nature of intuition. I read something recently referring to women's intuition. I always thought that was a silly term. Men get it too, they just call it a 'gut feeling' instead. Same shit, different bucket. But my gender-differentiation ranting aside, as I said, I'm interested in the nature of intuition.

People seem to have this idea that there's something mystical about it. Rubbish, says I. It's not the ghost of your dead granny trying to tell you something, nor is it The Force (though never shall I speak ill of The Force!) or anything grandiose like that. Now don't ask me for references, because I don't recall where I found all this (or if I did, and it isn't all my own construct), but I say it's your own subconscious talking to you.

The subconscious (or 'unconscious' as some call it, though I don't much go on the term) stores information, pure and simple. All our memory and experience wanders off down there into that handy-dandy mental archive. The little dude down there (a bit like the guy who turns the light on in your fridge) sorts files and hands them up to you when you're thinking about stuff. Where did I leave my keys? The little dude gives you a file on your favourite places to put shit down when you come home. Where was my cute, fluffy little kitten when I came home from school that day and Mum said he 'ran away'? The little dude discreetly holds back the file from that day, illustrating how you saw some freshly tilled earth in the back yard. Well, you get the picture.

Some days, the little dude in your subconscious archive realises he's spilled his delicious iced coffee on one of your precious files and he can't really read it, so he calls up to you with what he remembers. That's your gut feeling.

Even without realising it, we observe an awful lot about our environment, and about what's going on with us internally. For instance, we notice other people's body language, speech patterns, etc. So, let's say you have a friend who you think may be a nasty rotten two-faced piece of crap, but you can't work out why you think this may be so, because they haven't really done anything to prove it. You may have had a nasty rotten two-faced friend in the past. The things you never realised you'd noticed about the first horrid friend may be cropping up in your new horrid friend. Maybe there's a certain narrowing of the eyes or nervous 'I'm lying my arse off' twitch. Your iced coffee-spilling archivist yells to you 'she's lying!' and you suddenly feel uneasy about this new person in your life. Maybe your dead granny's trying to tell you that too - far be it from me refute the existence of your ectoplasm-dribbling dead relatives - but your subconscious is the thing you rely on to (hopefully) keep you out of too much trouble.

Let it also be said that what the subconscious contains is information. It is by no means the root of all truth, as the information it contains is coloured by your own thought processes. It is not objective. What that means, essentially, is that there's a reason your gut feelings are as often wrong as they are right. Balance your decisions between your own reasoning/judgement and the feeling that comes to you. But if your gut feelings keep being right (even if it is only on certain subjects), learn when to follow them. Had I trusted my (remarkably accurate) instincts regarding human character, I never would have dated a guy who liked getting into physical fights with me (don't worry, I traded him in on a superior - and younger - model). The moral of the story is that getting laid isn't worth ignoring your strongest foreboding feelings... or something like that.

Thought for the day # 2

Mmm, stolen cheese...

Just because I can # 2

I ate cheese at work that wasn't mine... just because I can.


What? It didn't have a name on it! Now if it's all the same to you, I'm going to go and take over the world.

Tollerating the egomaniac

For those of you who dig the philosophical side of The Mad Shillelagh, I try to at least occasionally throw in something semi-sensible, amongst the bad poetry, fart jokes and sexual inuendo. So here's one of those segments.

When people give me feedback on my blog, it's almost invariably about what I've said on self-esteem. Hence, I've been thinking a lot about the issue. This led me to thinking about the role of self-esteem and 'other-esteem' if you will, in how we relate to other human beings, and how they relate to us.

You might remember I said others (these days) actually compliment me on both physical things and my personal characteristics. Now I'll be honest - if no-one else strokes my ego, I'm not above stroking my own (I know what you're thinking, you dirty little degenerate - it's not an indirect physical reference). So why do my peers tollerate my gargantuan ego and actually go so far as to feed it?

The reason my friends humour me is (I sincerely hope, because I try to convey this) because I have every bit as much pride in my friends as I do in myself. I don't see why ego can't be a thing shared. We do, after all, include the people we surround ourselves with, in defining ourselves as individuals. It is entirely natural, in the course of conversation, for me to say 'now this is what I like about you...' and rattle off whatever trait said friend has impressed me with.

Friendship is a kind of relationship and I think perhaps people don't realise friends need validation and consideration every bit as much as lovers and close relatives. Friendships - even the merest of them - need to be looked after. Now don't get me wrong - I take the piss out of my friends (almost constantly). But even within the ritual berrating we Australians love to give those closest to us, we can show a knowledge and appreciation of our friends. Confused? What I mean is that when we know our friends well, we have the tact to avoid things we know to be particularly sensitive, and we show we've observed things about them, with the rest of it. Some brilliant friendships in my life (such as that with a former co-worker of mine) began with verbal sparring and a contest of wit, by which we came to know and respect each other. It also required laughing at ourselves and acknowledging our shortcomings.

So where am I going with all this? Honestly, I'm not entirely sure, myself. I think I may be posing another way for you self-loathing saps out there to see something good about yourselves. Who we choose as friends can tell us a lot about ourselves. If you don't like your friends, you probably don't like yourself much, either. But if you stop now and realise what beautiful people you have close to you, think about what it means.

For my part, I'm a semi-social person. What this means is I try to get along with everybody, but I'm choosy about who I let close to me, and even then I don't see them overly often (partly because most of them live miles away, and partly because I'm the type who likes to retreat to my hobbit-hole and keep my own company, or that of a good book). Don't choose friends for their 'fashionability' or who demand you to fit into a lifestyle or way of thinking that doesn't suit you. And certainly don't pine for the friends you want but who don't want you. It really is miserable.

Going back to my days in high school and all that horridness associated with being identified as Pizza the Hut (well, their nicknames were less imaginative, but you know what I mean) I, like any teenager, would have liked to be accepted by the 'in' crowd. Didn't happen, obviously. I was a stray, and I made friends with other strays. But let me tell you they were a heck of a lot more fun to hang out with.

Part of what's made me happy since those days is coming to the realisation that I don't give a shit what people think of me. I'm not like the 'in' crowd and that's okay. I'm not like the rebel crowd either, that's said to themselves 'the popular people rejected me so I'll be as different to them as I can be to show them so'. It's all about them, isn't it?

I know I have some things in common with the ones everyone likes, other things in common with the underdogs and rebels, and some things in common with nobody in particular. So, I am who I am, and those who really like it (few though they are) have offered me their friendship and accepted mine. Those who don't leave me alone ('cos I don't take crap from them); and those on the fence (including 'in' people, rebels, underdogs and loner/wierdo types etc.) banter with me when I'm around and send me the occasional SMS. I don't fit into a class; I merely am.

Coming back to the moral of the story: don't be a friend whore. There's no pay-off for sucking up to people that don't want you, and it's downright demoralising. Choosing your friends with care will help you understand yourself and feel good about yourself. Don't worry if your friends aren't many or even if they're popular; just make sure they're good. They are, after all, a reflection of you.

PS If you click on the link, it'll take you to the lyrics of a dodgy little song about friendship.

Just because I can # 1

On the off chance you were thinking 'I'd like to see the original red Power Ranger showing off his muscles'...

Thought for the day # 1

Rolly polly fish heads are never seen drinking cappacino in Italian restaurants with Oriental women...Yeah

Egocentric git

Since my silly poem about iced coffee, I think I've recovered some of my composure. I've been thinking about the whole self-esteem issue, tonight. Not that I have trouble with it - I'm an egocentric git.

I was watching Futurama - that episode with the enormous women on a planet with no men. (For those who haven't read much of this blog, you might like to refer to my post entitled Men, glorious men for my opinion on them.) The bit that stuck in my mind was the two women complimenting each other and calling themselves fat. This is hardly an exaggeration, I regret.

Women, more so than men, seem to hate themselves. Why? Beats me. I wonder if they're just fishing for compliments or they really do feel that way. Probably both, but the latter mostly because they buy those goofy products that promise to make them look like models. Daft. Truly daft.

Now I'm realistic enough to know that I'm no super-model. I'm a comfortable size 12 (or 10, in the brands that like to flatter people my size) and I don't have great skin. But I don't spend my time thinking I should be a size 8, or trying to raise the money for plastic surgery. Even if I had the money, the risks and my personal values say it doesn't matter. My acne scars and my curvy bits aren't a problem.

This, I say to those of you who obsess over minor physical shortcomings - get over it. I now get told often enough that I'm intelligent, funny, attractive, etc. It's nice. I like the affirmation of others. But I don't need it. (There's a good chance the buggers are just humouring me 'cos they know I think I'm all those things!) But I'll tell you a sad story. I was the kid at school who looked like a human pizza. I was taunted almost constantly. You know what else? I don't remember once hearing my parents say they were proud of me, or anything like that. Boo hoo. Even then (though loathing my acne) I knew I was decent to look at underneath it. More importantly, I didn't think I was a waste of space as a person. Never did. I was stuck with my looks and I held onto my equally unpopular kooky character. It was a hideously unpleasant experience, especially from a teenage perspective, but I got through it. I came out the other end with my acne gone and my dignity and individuality intact. Now people say nice things about me. Funny how things turn around, eh?

My point is this: most of the people I hear putting themselves down never had such a deforming condition as severe cystic acne, yet clearly feel they worse about themselves than I ever did. Here's an example of a conversation I had with someone on a related subject:

Friend: I'm fat.
Me: Do you think I'm fat?
Friend: What? No!
Me: I'm twice your size.
Friend: I never thought about it that way.

If you don't think badly of someone else with the same or a worse feature than the one you're worried about in yourself, maybe you should quit it.

Now here's where I pose the question of the nature of ego. Am I horribly egocentric to say I'm satisfied with the person I see in the mirror and there are times I stop and think to myself that I'm pretty awesome? Well, maybe. But isn't it worse to spend all your time whining to your friends 'I'm fat' or 'I don't like my hair' to get people to either affirm your worth or give you an excuse to believe you have none? If you don't like it, change it. If you can't change it, shut up about it.

When it comes down to it, the average guy on the street doesn't give a rat's arse about my acne scars or your big butt. It's egomaniacal to think they do. And the people that care about you probably aren't half as concerned about those things as you are. If you legitimately need help (for instance, to lose weight) then by all means ask. But finding self worth doesn't start with anyone but you. No matter how many voices told me I was ugly or stupid, mine always said 'bollocks to that' - and I got on with my life. You'll be amazed at what a little self-confidence can do for you.

An Ode to Iced Coffee

Iced coffee
How great ye are
Sweet liquid of the ever-flatulent Aussie gods.

So milky
Full of caffeine
And calcium to stop us getting osteoporosis.

Addictive
And containing lactose
That we may fart on unsuspecting co-workers.

Your carton
A cardboard box
Which vibrates to the awesome base of my car stereo.

Iced coffee
How great ye are.

Stalking

Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Something about a dude hanging about outside your window. But no. I'm thinking about sultanas... and raisins. Have you ever been munching on a delicious chunk of rum and raisin chocolate, only to have the experience ruined by a stalk? I hate it when the stalks are still on! I think we could create a marvellous employment opportunity, just by getting someone to take off all the stalks from our raisins and sultanas. Never again will we be dubiously eying our muesli after the appearance of a stalk!

Now here's another thing that gives me the heebie-jeebies. Round shoelaces. Not spherical, you understand - then they wouldn't be shoelaces - but the ones you get on boots, that aren't conveniently flat like sneaker laces. You can double, triple or quadrouple tie these buggers and they still manage to come undone! Can't we just have thinner flat laces for boots and stuff? Or an expert knot guy to sell them to us. I can see the promotion now 'free fisherman with every pair of round laces'. Thought it'd be more appropriate than giving away boy scouts...

And just to make your day, I'm going to have a rant about car parks, too. I've observed that road rules completely go out the window in car parks. Now I'd like to experience a noble, impressive death when my time comes, but somehow I know I'll probably just be squashed by some git while braving the 20 metres between my car and the shop to get my beloved iced coffee. Mayhap, if happen it must, it will do so on my way back to my car, and I'll get to go out happy - with a stomach full of that sweet, caffienated liquid.

Men, glorious men

Now I'm sure not everyone will agree with me. Men will, I don't doubt. Here's what's been on my mind, today: men are marvellous creatures. Some are smart, some aren't; most are entirely unsubtle; a lot of them are goofy, whether or not they mean to be. It's fun to be around.

Now, I'm not just thinking of the standard, physical interest a woman might have in men. Certainly, this is a joy, but there's more. I'm one of those women that has more male friends than female ones. Hopefully, they don't all think I want to shag them - having a boyfriend, I'm obliged to keep any roving of my eyes to celebrities I can't get at. :D

I just think the average male of the species, in all his lack of subtlety, is a crap liar and uninterested in playing soap opera games. There's no subterfuge because he's jealous you're also friends with someone else. There's no extensive clothes shopping. There's the matter of exessive interest in cars (I like 'em, but I don't live for 'em) and suchlike, but the smarter guys are great to talk to and for the most part I understand them.

I suppose it seems funny, being a woman, that I should say all this. I do have female friends and I enjoy their company - but these women are independent and just a little bit mannish. I don't really understand my own gender. Why do other women cake their faces in stuff that will make their skin horrid and in need of other products to 'fix' it? Why do they wear shoes that make their feet want to jump off and run away? Why do they junk up their hands with handbags when they can have handy-dandy pockets? Why don't they save a hundred bucks and change their own oil and spark plugs? (Yeah, that goes for you metrosexual guys, as well!) I won't say it wouldn't be nice to have decent nails, but maintaining them stops you doing stuff like living life and putting your car back together.

Maybe these musings aren't accomplishing anything, but I think for all the stuff there is to make women feel better about their crappy self-esteem, someone should tell men they're appreciated. Men of the world, thank you for existing.



A little something to amuse.

First post ever

Greetings!

I've never made a blog before, so here goes. I'm pretty much here to let out the strange and irrelevant thoughts that for some reason keep me up at night. That includes any little observations I make throughout the day, things I think are downright marvellous, and pet peeves like people who drive at 50kph or less everywhere they go.

So I'll tell you a bit about me, which you'll probably also see in my profile later, when I work out how to make it. :) I'm 26, female and a complete iced coffee addict. Looking at my online nickname, you might be wondering what the hell a shillelagh is. It's a cudgel, or club - you know, to hit stuff with. I saw this little 5 minute cartoon where a critter called The Great Shillelagh chased all the snakes out of Ireland. I became obsessed with the word, and thus The Mad Shillelagh was born. Other than that, well, you'll just have to read my musings if you want to know stuff about me.

Now, here's a note on e-mailing me: go right ahead. Don't send me abusive stuff, 'cos I won't read it. If it seems a bit weird that my address is 'twohourlongregistration' you have to understand that even the most unlikely of addresses seem to be taken and I got mad. Still, easier to spell than 'shillelagh' isn't it? :P

I can't promise regular postings on here - I'm a bit of an inconsistent Internet user. If you're nuts about Mad Shillelagh musings, I'll ask you to be a bit patient. If not, well, you probably won't visit my blog, so it doesn't really matter.

Chronic procrastinator

I'm not just a grunt, I'm also a uni student. That's not so uncommon, I suppose. I've thought about it, and I think perhaps smart grunts are the worst. We get bored very, very easily. Which isn't to say we don't do the work - on average, I think we're quicker and better because we can think of ways to speed things up - so we can wander off and make mayhem afterwards. A bit off topic? Well, I get bored easy...

Here I am, with a major assignment that needs doing. An Honours thesis, to be precise. And I'm mucking about with a web log. Logical? Hell no! It's procrastination, pure and simple. We all do it at one time or another, but I'm among the worst. I told my boyfriend I had about a week to work on this thing. He says 'sure, but you won't do it yet, then things will get in the way and you'll be in a mad rush at the last minute - you don't learn!' Yeah, well, he's right. Who in the community of uni students isn't guilty of that?

Anyone with ideas on making yourself do stuff, feel free to post a comment. Really. I need it. Please!