Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Irritable netball Syndrome

Well woo-hoo.

First, some family news. Very soon, Sharon is turning 40. Sadly I had to cancel the live performance by Darren Hayes, the fireworks, the official statement by Kevin Rudd and banquet for 3,000 people when she insisted on having a quiet little gathering of...get this...girls only.

I'll ponder the self-value implications of that later. Meanwhile I'm kinda glad the Darren Hayes thing was called off. Some of his roadies were looking at me in ways that just weren't right.

Our little princess Becky Boo is experimenting beyond artistic pursuits and is now trying out sport: Netball. I got to take her to a Saturday prac recently. In hindsight I should have taken the video cam, in case I caught that elusive cute-6-year-old-girl-getting-hit-in-the-face-with-a-ball shot for Australia's Funniest Videos of Kids Seriously Maiming Themselves. Perhaps not.

I actually quite like netball. It's a fast-paced game where the ball moves around a lot, and the plot is simple. I'm not so sure about the mass TV coverage it's getting though. Sure, netball deserves it. I'm just worried that it will turn an army of cute little good-natured netballers into ravenous, violent hyenas. That's what happens when sports and sheep stations get mixed up.

By the way, if anyone is into cliche entomology, I would love to know where the term "playing for sheep stations" actually arose. Did a backyard cricketer actually win a sheep station once? Did they keep it?

Elsewhere on the wonderful internet, it appears the most talented writers ply their gifts in online auction postings. In New Zealand, a young man was simply trying to sell his washing machine, and his ad copy skills ended up on TV, Radio, and a fan page on facebook. Exhibit A- he described the washing machine as

the loudest most violent sounding washing machine I have ever encountered. It makes guests scared and children cry. Once while washing a load of towels so out of control for a minute that I swear I actually saw a porthole to another dimension open above it just for a second, there were dinosaurs on the other side and they looked scared too, it almost sucked me in but I held on for my life to the deepfreeze.

Just to show it was no flash of freak genius, the seller's responses in the "questions and answers" section is not only brilliant, it appears to have become a full time job. Observe...

Q: Did you see any hot cavemen through the portal? Not only do I need a washing machine but I need someone to do the lawns and fix the squeaky door
A: Look lady I was terrified and holding on for my life. I didn't really have time to sum up the hotness of cavemen as my pants and shoes were being sucked into the vortex of death. I only remembered seeing the dinosaurs because it was quite remarkable. I've seen a lot of cave men before, I grew up in Waiuku. But dinosaurs is a first for me.

I doubt the designers of this online auction ever dreamt that their Q & A forum would become a long, Pythonesque soap opera with recurring themes, instructions on how to turn your goldfish into fridge magnets, and paranioa about NZ being invaded by Iceland.

There's even philosophy: I try to learn obscure skills in case of dramatic life changing occurrences- I am learning to toe type at the moment in case I accidently dip my hands in liquid nitrogen.

And .. OHS would rain down on you like a tonne of bricks. Incidentally a tonne of feathers would be just as heavy as a tonne of bricks...a thought I have always puzzled over. ..I'd rather be smothered under a tonne of feathers though, I would rather risk the suffocation than be battered to a pulp by bricks

And ...I've seen what acid can do, I watched Robocop. A lot can be learned from Robocop.

And ...I've never understood the fear of cursed mummy hands. After all it's just a hand, no claws, no poison glands, no fangs, all it can do at worst is make rude gestures or wipe its smell on you.

And ...Isn't the term "sustainable life" a bit silly? All life is sustained, if its ceases to be sustained its stopped. When it's stopped it becomes death.

Reading through the comments is better than two hours of TV, and I don't just say that because TV is rubbish. He deserves to get over $10,000 for his washing machine, or at least the price of a major publishing contract.

In news far less palatable I have begun a course of herbal stuff to combat a condition I have which, in the interests of good taste, I will describe merely as "digestive issues". I am confident that this stuff will do the trick. I base this optimism on the fact that it is, without peer, the most foul tasting substance I have ever come near. It tastes like fertilizer. I suppose I should have purchased the "berry flavoured" version, but I'd reckon it would simply taste like fertilizer with berries in it. And I'd prefer my affection for berries to remain intact.

You might argue that, just because this stuff leaves you feeling like a demonic being from Hades has urinated in your mouth doesn't mean it's effective. But you see, I'm applying the logic of Darren Hayes in reverse. He once sung that "junk food tastes so good because it's bad for you".

Or so one of his roadies said.


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