Script's Ready. Would You Like Fish Oil With That?

Imagine visiting cinema land from October 1. Over at the refreshments counter, you decide to order a bucket of popcorn. How would you react if the friendly young woman behind the counter suggested you needed to buy a Coke, because the popcorn is salty and you will feel thirsty during the film? This takes the 'super size me' culture to a whole new level.

Loudest Voice Gets Attention

It is a regrettable life lesson that the obnoxious one who complains loudest is processed first.

We arrived bleary eyed at terminal two on a cold, rainy morning. It was the first weekend of the school holidays. A procession of cars waited to pull in at the drop-off zone.

Two excited young women were heading to Queensland. Their anticipation was reminiscent of schoolies, but this time it was university games. I expect the shenanigans will be similar.

Void Living

August 18, 2011
Sydney Morning Herald Opinion
HECKLER

At what point in an architect's career do they decide that void ceilings work? Who or what inspires architects to create one of the most annoying building features which do nothing more than wreak havoc on the lives of the poor souls who live in them?

My latest experience was a funky hotel in the nation's capital which boasted one-bedroom apartments with a separate lounge. It sounded perfect for a tired couple requiring refuge from life's challenges.

We arrived kiddie-free and in blissful contemplation of quiet time to eat, read, hang out together and relax.

The "one-bedroom apartment" consisted of a downstairs area and an open loft. Both areas shared the same massive floor-to-ceiling windows which required automated blinds to be lowered for privacy. Trouble came when we realised the blinds were the black-out variety, which meant lights on, even in the middle of the day. We had been assigned to a cave for the weekend.

When time came to sleep and our nocturnal paths separated, I was left with television noise which kept me awake even with the volume turned down low. In the chilly dawn of the next morning I was rudely awakened to the sound of a grumpy man tripping over the golfing paraphernalia as he tried to find car keys in the dark.

A friend visited Paris lately and booked a one-bedroom apartment for the same reasons as me: different nocturnal habits and the need for space. When they arrived, the loft bedroom was completely open, allowing for light, sounds and cooking smells to invade the boudoir.

When relatives with many children built a home which featured a void ceiling, I wondered why they would opt for heat, cold, noise and privacy problems when a normal two-storey home with separate sleeping chambers seemed more logical. I hesitated to voice my view as their super-fabulous groovy architect insisted she had it all covered.

At dinner last weekend we discussed this matter with friends. Everyone around the table had similar tales to tell. Who seriously wants to share the din of the downstairs with the tranquillity of the bedroom? What about privacy? What about relief from the snoring man on the couch?

Calling all architects! We need doors and walls! Open-plan living is a nightmare and when it extends to multiple levels, it threatens our sanity. It takes five long years to train architects. Make ''no void ceilings'' lesson one, semester one, to be revised constantly throughout their long journey.

http://www.smh.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/living-the-openplan-nightmare-20110817-1iy52.html#ixzz1VKVZKhoy

The Lot of a Woman

Sometimes it is hard to be a woman.

First an ominous letter arrives warning me I am overdue for a pap smear. Of course I am. One of life’s most unpleasant medical procedures comes around way too often. Had you asked me, I would have guessed I last endured this procedure two years ago. Nasty memories remain even though five years have slipped by.

I grab the diary.

When the Shoe Thief Calls

Did I tell you about our shoe thief?

I’d always wanted a verandah, shielded from the street behind a hedge. So we built one.

Most days we'd leave our shoes there, preferring quiet entries and hoping to postpone wear and tear on timber floors. A family lives here and until recently, a very cute but yappy dog. That's another story, tinged with sadness.

When visitors come and go, a sensor light helps them up the stairs in the dark.

It takes a brave person to open the rickety gate, walk down a floodlit path, up the stairs and steal every pair of size eight women’s shoes om that verandah. Given three people share a shoe size, there was always plenty to choice during a spree which lasted over fourteen months.

At first we spent lots of time with our heads in each other’s wardrobes looking for the runners or the flats. We blamed each other. We argued amongst ourselves. One night the uni student returned late and left the birthday boots at the door. She was due at work very early the next morning. She didn't think she could be that unlucky. When she opened the front door, the boots were gone.

Then there was the time I demanded the return of my turquoise loafers.

Raised eyebrows from the teenagers. Perhaps the shoe thief did the household a favour that time. Our thief traversed the seasons, visiting often, stealing everything from rubber flip flops to stilettos.

When the cold snap arrived, I decorated the verandah with pots of cyclamens and winter bulbs. The verandah faces south and in the winter gloom, the pretty colours cheered our days and made us smile. Those flowers disappeared but the heavy planters remained. I replaced the flowers and moved the pots out the back. The plants vanished again.

There were nights when the outside light flicked on unexpectedly or the dog barked and scratched the door. We raced out, tore down the path and searched the street. We were jumpy and irritable, living on constant alert.

One morning, the hubby went out for the paper and there she was, escaping down our path: a tiny, wrinkled old woman, dressed in black and wearing a pair of our shoes. She carried a pile of empty shopping bags in anticipation of a haul. But she was unlucky that day. The verandah had been stripped bare as we became depressingly accustomed to our life under siege.

When she heard his roar, she took off and was chased by a man twice her size, his confused wife, a barking dog and the half dressed teenager who wasn't going to miss the drama.

On the footpath outside, she panted and wailed but denied everything.

We demanded proof of identity and dared to grab a wallet from her gaping handbag.

She went unpunished because her Medicare card was a fake and the police are too busy fighting serious crime to bother with trivial misdemeanours.

She may have come out of retirement during the past few weeks, because a friend in a nearby suburb has just lost two pairs of size eight runners from beside her front door.