A Turd Share in Property

Photo sourced from www.gumtree.com.au

You’re going to attract weird looks when you say your property is "ludicrously overpriced" and has carpet “stained like an infant’s undies”. People are expecting the spacious, inviting and warm adjectives like ‘cosy ambience,’ ‘bustling shopping strip’ and ‘sweeping views’. After all would you want to live in a “crap place?”

That’s just how Ben Rawling from North Bondi described his apartment to prospective flat mates on www.gumtree.com.au. Rawling, a spin king himself, decided to try a different advertising approach with tongue in cheek humour. It worked! He got a few date offers, global emails and at the end of the day a jolly good laugh. Social media picked up his quirky style and it went viral.

Who says words aren’t important? All it took to get Rawling’s flat of ‘trailer trash’ into the public eye was the word ‘crap’ itself.

As a bonus you got “a truly appealing paint job.. no, I meant a peeling paint job…"

Whether you read it for fun or were genuinely interested, you knew the type of person your prospective flat mate was. At the end of the day a small apartment would be unbearable if you didn’t get on with your roomie.

Well penned Ben – I hope you have lots of laughs with your new roommate!

Game Set D.N.A

I remember when I first learnt about DNA in biology class at high school. It was one of those important long-winded words that stuck in my mind. DNA name recall came in handy recently for a green ‘piece of pie’ in a Trivial Pursuit game. Deoxyribonucleic Acid it seems now has its own game and children are its pawns.

According to Wikipedia, DNA is a nucleic acid that contains the genetic instructions used in the development and functioning of all known living organisms.

In simple terms it holds our chromosomes that contain all our genetic information. This includes what colour skin, hair type, eye colour and whether or not we have a predisposition to a genetic disorder or disease such as Huntington’s disease.

DNA can be used to help catch a criminal, stop a tomato from over ripening and to research other living organisms and their functions, among other things. Now you can test DNA to see which sport your child will excel in by using a simple ‘Sports X Factor’ DNA kit.

Excuse me? What ever happened to let’s try tennis, footy, basketball, dancing, cricket, softball, gymnastics, karate or golf etc. and see what the children enjoy and feel confident doing? It appears that science wants to take the fun of experimentation and exposure to different codes of sport out of ‘sport’ itself.

With the DNA kit parents can test children to see if they have genes prominent in certain sports and predetermine what sport they will be good at.

It’s already crazy when parents say, “he has his father’s legs, he’ll be a hurdler,” or “ with that gracefulness she’ll be a ballerina.” The DNA kit will confirm whether those dreams are futile: “Yeh, he does have great legs but his DNA is suited to sports with hand eye coordination.” and “sorry enjoy your ballerina now, she doesn’t have any sporting DNA in her body!” Or build a trophy cabinet, this child is going to be a star basketballer.”

According to Dr. Lainie Friedman Ross, a pediatrician and bioethicist at the University of Chicago, “sports and physical activity should be fun for kids. It shouldn’t be, ‘You’re going to be the world’s greatest athlete’ or ‘Give up now, kid, because you won’t have a chance’ because of your genes.”

Elitism in sport is not based entirely on genetics and I question how a commercial test like this will measure will power, passion for the chosen sport and determination to succeed. After all a lot of talented athletes have fallen by the way side because they didn’t have the mental application.

To develop into a successful athlete, being at your peak at the right time, as well as injury-free and training hard are crucial factors. These are essential components in sport that cannot be predicted through DNA analysis.

Will we stop at sport? Perhaps we’ll want to know how attractive our children will be, whether they will be good money managers or have great social skills. Surely DNA can tell us that too? Gasp.

I am thrilled that my children have their own chosen passions in life. For my son so far it’s any ball sport and for my daughter to date it’s drawing and art. I wouldn’t dream of testing them to fabricate a future in sport.

  

References

http://healthland.time.com/2011/06/08/predicting-kids-athletic-skill-theres-a-dna-test-for-that/#ixzz1U1vBNX9M

http://www.washingtonpost.com/national/genetic-testing-for-sports-genes-courts-controversy/2011/05/09/AFkTuV6G_story.html

http://www.newton.dep.anl.gov/askasci/bio99/bio99109.htm

Wikipedia

Copy That

In the words of J. Richardson, ‘when it comes to the future there are those who make things happen; those that wait for things to happen; and those that wonder what happened.’

I’ll admit it’s been a while since I stepped into the corporate arena. My circa 2004 Country Road suit doesn’t quite cut the mustard and social media has become the guts of marketing in today’s world. Cumbersome laptops are so ’99 with iPads and iPhones the latest must-have portable accessories.

You have to be creative to stand out from the crowd when it comes to jobs.  C.V’s are interactive or content letters have links to personal websites or You Tube. Applications are online and everyone (even my Dad who can’t operate a D.V.D player) owns an iPhone. It’s time to show prospective employers my dynamic Cliff …ord edge.

My business wardrobe has now moved with the times and so have I. With a strong grounding in communications, I jumped on board the Facebook, Blogging and Twitter phenomenon to better myself as a communicator.

I saw this ad on Seek and to coin a marketing phrase it ‘grabbed’ me: 


Publicity Assistant - Tennis Australia

Based within the Communications business unit, this entry level position will be responsible for providing administration support to the Public Relations Manager and working closely with PR and digital team to publicise and promote all tennis events and programs.

I believe I have the drive, creative skills and energy required for this position. Seven years out has still been seven years onwards and upwards. After all Lleyton Hewitt can still match the up and coming players despite being sidelined for a while.

Perhaps these ad words were the inspiration I needed to get back on the circuit writing, promoting and doing what I love – Copy That?

Freeman of Speech

Mia Freeman is a young and hip mum with an opinion. She often writes articles that the thirty to fourty somethings can relate to: offending our parents, juggling children, awkward sexual encounters and fashion faux pas, but today on Channel nine’s Today and her own blog Mamamia, she just came across as blatantly ignorant saying that all Cadel Evans did was “get on a bike.” Yes he did, but for 3,000 grueling kilometres over three weeks Mia!!!!!

Freeman’s argument was that we elevate sportspeople, label them as heroes and overpay them when there are far more deserving people. I appreciate the old analogy that it’s ‘easy as riding a bike’ but if we break down Cadel’s climb to the Yellow Jersey, it hasn’t been an easy ride and in my opinion his achievement is deserving of the accolades.

In 2005 and 2008 Cadel came so close to clinching Tour de France victory but didn’t get there and had to settle for second. A bad ride in 2009 didn’t rattle Cadel and although he started strongly in 2010, mechanical issues forced him in to a lower placing. He battled on and trained more aggressively, despite losing his coach and friend of twenty years, with the ultimate prize still in sight.

A hero is defined in the dictionary as someone who is admired for achieving something great. Greatness and sacrifice in any discipline deserves recognition. They may be a pioneering scientist; a selfless grandparent adopting their abandoned grandchild; a bestselling author; a brilliant singer or actor; a lifesaver; or an elite sportsperson. Just because Cadel is being financially rewarded for his sporting feat doesn’t mean he is less of a hero in the eyes of Australians.

To come back year after year and ride some of the most unforgiving mountains and this year turn a 3 minute deficit into a 1.34 min lead is surely of hero status. Perhaps Mia needs to just get on her bike and see how awe inspiring this journey of Cadel’s has been?

For the record, I am not a cyclist or an avid viewer of the Tour de France but any commoner can see how much blood and sweat those men shed in the last few weeks as they pushed their bodies and minds to their limits.

It’s so nice to read such uplifting news after the horrific bombing and massacre in Norway. Mia has her right to an opinion but trampling on the achievements of Cadel because he is triumphant in sport is unnecessary.

In joyful strains then let us sing  ‘well done Cadel – you did it and we salute you!’

Conversations with my Grandmother

The heavy black Bakelite*, with her old-fashioned finger-dial face, rang cheerfully. No electronic beeps or booms. No flashing buttons or man-made dialogue. Just the classic ring of a phone from years gone by, echoing out of the receiver. I was lost in this nostalgic moment.

There I was back in the old sunroom at 3 Yonga Road. Mum and Dad had scored tickets to the tennis at Kooyong and it was time to explore my Grandparents’ house. The back room had all sorts of surprises for young inquisitive children. Raffle tickets and empty ice-cream containers from bingo; old stamp pads; letters (I later discovered were from my Grandfather’s brother in WW1) sealed inside reused bread bags; and the old Singer sewing machine, drawers spilling over with interesting buttons, threads and implements.

Plonked on the Singer was my grandparents old Bakelite phone with their phone number scribbled on its dial. It didn’t work anymore but it became one of our favourite play accessories.  Phone calls to our Mum and Dad at the tennis (mobile phones weren’t even conceived,) calls to our toyshop or our office and phone calls to our grandmother in the next room. These were conversations that evoked the same magic from pumpkins, magic beans and toadstools.

‘Ring, ring.’

“This is Dot’s Diner. How can I help you?”

“Hi Dot. We’d like to order a ham sandwich with green pickles, a crab-apple jelly sandwich and two glasses of cordial please.”

 “What time shall I expect you?” 

 “We will be arriving in ten minutes.”

 “Would you like the table set with fine china?”

 “Yes please and we’d love Jacko to eat with us too.”

'Click.' The Old Bakelite phone piece gently presses the receiver buttons and engages our conversation. A poorly insulated wall separates us.

Conversations with my grandmother are becoming clear again as the Bakelite rings on.

‘Ring, ring’

“836 3442…Hello Mrs Meagher speaking”

 “Yes. Hello Mrs Meagher. We’d like to invite you to our fairy party.”

“That sounds splendid. When is it?”

 “Today of course!”

 “I’d love to, but I’m not sure I will have time to bake.”

 “That’s o.k. We are eating magic fairy food in the garden.”

“ I’ll put my boots on and see you soon”

“ See you soon Dot.”

Silence as the Bakelite swallows our secret conversation with a smile.

It takes twice as long to call out on the old Bakelite but the eh urrr, eh urrr sound of the finger dial being turned is enjoyable. For that moment I am the little girl at the diner ordering her lunch and the magic fairy planning her party. I am having a conversation with my grandmother.

‘Ring, ring’ the Bakelite cheerfully exclaims as I wait…

* Bakelite phones are the old black hard cased phones from the 50-60’s (see pic). I recently purchased one on EBay because I was feeling nostalgic and it reminded me of my happy childhood as we approach Mother’s Day. Who needs an IPhone when you can have a Bakelite phone?

I Read the Reader (Book Review)

‘Cyclone holidays’ are still upon us and not a room in the house has been excluded. My kids started their assault in the kitchen where paper, pencils and Easter crafts are strewn on the dinner table. They’ve made a pink woolen spider’s web that wraps itself around every chair and door handle and the bedrooms have had every box and trinket upended on the floor. There’s even a plate of pretend spaghetti from the spider web off-cuts. If only my children would sit down quietly and read!

My big challenge for the past term has been listening to two readers a night. As much as my hub gets involved in every aspect of our kids’ lives, he’s often too late for readers or has his course to attend. We have to squeeze in sports training and dinner in the mix too. Find that balance. Seize while the mind is focused.

When I stumbled upon Mem Fox’s Reading Magic: How your child can learn to read before school – and other read-aloud miracles, I was quite relieved to receive some guidance and advice at last.

I may have mentioned before that we have read to our children since they were in cots. According to Fox, if you’ve done this, your children will be able to read before school. Not quite. Our children have a fascination with books, love being read to and are starting to unlock the mysteries of language and reading. However, they are not reading on their own and I believe it’s unfair that Fox assumes reading is such an easy skill to learn if your parents read to you.

Our kids have all the right influences, being read to every night, my love of the English language, bookcases chocked full of books and fun inventive word games. My hub and I are committed to supporting them with their readers and reading. We want them to enjoy this wonderful pastime.

Fox thinks that school readers are detrimental to learner readers, often with poor grammar and boring repetitive text. She believes that we should be reading quality picture books and learning from these. I agree that some readers are mundane but I also think we need to keep the rituals of nighttime reading separate from school reading. I make readers exciting by imagining together what will happen next and encouraging every attempt at a new word. A book in bed is about sharing this close moment together and any learning is a bonus.

Which brings me to my blog title I Read the Reader. It can be read in past or present tense and although the word read is spelt the same, it sounds different. I read (red) the reader, or I read (reed) the reader, or the reader was red. Complicating enough for us and I haven’t even mentioned reed or reid or reyd. Our vowels make so many different sounds. You only need to look at a Thrass Chart* for your head, let alone your child’s to go in a spin.

What did I take from Reading Magic? Fox says that children who have been read to by an adult expect the book to make sense. Agreed. They know if you are making coherent sentences. Children who do not comprehend the words may still be able to read language without knowing what is happening. Fox goes as far as saying we can’t assess children’s reading abilities by reading aloud. How do we know they understand what they are saying?

It’s also important how we read and the intonations in our voices. You should hear my German accent. I make a very good crackly old person’s voice too after reading Roald Dahl’s The Witches to my children recently! Playing games and creating distinct and engaging character voices makes reading fun and inventive.

The first secret of reading, according to Fox, is understanding the print on the page: “The more they see of the printed word, the more they will understand its peculiarities – such as the letter combinations tch, sh, th, ight and words ending in tion.”

We can build our children’s understanding of print by acknowledging everyday print around us on signs, posters, in junk mail etc. The learning is fun and beneficial to the child.

Fox’s second secret is the magic of language. The fun we can have with our language is essential to learning it through its rhymes, songs, jingles and poems. Dr Seuss – rhythm, rhyme and repetition is a great starting point. Green Eggs and Ham and If I had Duck Feet bring such delight to my children’s faces.

The third secret to teaching your child to read, according to Fox, is general knowledge. For example, if your child knows what a dinosaur is, has been to the ballet, visited the War Memorial, or gained knowledge through similar experiences, many words have a familiarity with them and are easier to decipher in print.

Fox believes that poor readers use phonic learning only, do not see the words connecting and do not use the other secrets mentioned above to help them unlock the world of reading. She continues by saying that children need to read efficiently because their memories can’t hold onto the information. The slower children read the worse they will be at reading. Harsh Mrs Fox!

Fox doesn’t hesitate to self promote her own picture books, vast education and accolades and daughter’s exceptional reading ability by age three years. I found this to be the least interesting part of her book.

However, I like Fox’s focus on parents reading aloud to their children and making it fun. I believe that most children will be able to read eventually, but it takes longer for some of them to unravel the language. Even Fox’s Reading Magic cannot guarantee that your child will be able to read before school.

On that note it’s time to get the books out – a stray basketball’s just broken the lounge light!

*Thrass Chart is a Teaching Handwriting Reading and Spelling System

How it works.

English: The alphabet has twenty-six letters, but the English language uses more sounds than this (approx. forty-four discrete sounds (phonemes.) Some of the letters have more than one sound and get combined to make a new sound.

THRASS identifies the forty-four phonemes we use in English and the different graphemes we use to write each one of these phonemes. It relates each grapheme with a key word and identifiable picture. The picture helps the student to read the word and the phoneme for the particular grapheme demonstrated in that word.

E.g. Bed and Bread

Taken from www.acea.org.au

The Way I'm Heading

There is a condition that many of us (especially females) have to live with daily. I am not exempt from this disorder and in fact suffer quite severely from it. I see a page of black, red and orange lines with green and yellow spots and squares. A blur of arrows and colours are before me. For a CantworkoutwhereI’mgoing sufferer, maps just don’t make any sense.

I needed to get myself to Women of Letters on Sunday afternoon.  I picked up my faceless Melways and got as far as the turnoff at Chandler Highway. From there my disorder got the better of me. Was I to go left? Or was it right? If I turned my Melways upside down would that help? Why does Westgarth Street look like it’s off a service lane? These are the questions that flash through the mind of a person with no sense of direction.

I find my way to places through visual markers. Looking for a postbox, shop front or unusual house. Verbal directions also tend to stick. I’m the sort of person that goes shopping, enters a store and then walks back in the same direction I’ve come from until I see a shop I’ve just been to.

Being in unfamiliar territory is quite daunting for a CantworkoutwhereI’mgoing sufferer. “Just use you sat nav!” I didn’t bother getting it in my car because I couldn’t understand it anyway. More complicated electronic maps and distances to grapple with. There is always the mobile to “Come and get me” or the wind down your window “Excuse me, how do I get to..?” Luckily, I don’t mind approaching people because I would have been late to many functions when I simply lost my way.

I had to suddenly turn left and jump across lanes when I realised that right was not left, but I made it in good time for Women of Letters. I even managed to find the toilets from my memory of walking up a small flight of stairs last time.

It was another enjoyable and uplifting afternoon listening to distinguished women discussing their letters of complaint. Whether it was their working conditions, our disregard for the environment, employment issues, disenchantment when championing for a cause, or a distracting psychotherapist and writer’s block, it had us chugging back the vino with big belly laughs or sympathetic smiles.

On the way home, I proceeded to get swallowed up by traffic and disoriented by road closures for the Grand Prix. My hubby even had to come and meet me when his “turn left,” “travel 400 metres” and “adjacent to the stadium,” instructions washed over me like an undeveloped image.  I was there but not really there.

I battle on with my disorder and the impossibly of reading a map, but thankfully I have my own ‘sat nav’ hubby on standby to show me which way I am heading.

P.S Ironically, it’s 15 years to the day since my lack of direction got me into real trouble on the streets of BudaPest. At least I’m not scared of spiders!