You shall not pass!

On a day when, yet again, that thing that our CMS provider says never happens, happened again - on a day when I need to be using that CMS to do stuff that is due today - I'm sat here waiting for it to realise that I'm not, in fact, logged in but logged OUT. Because this genius software won't let a logged in person 'log in'. The only way to log out is to click "log out" and if you leave the software in any other way - if your browser collapses, your computer freezes or you get hauled into a meeting and the software times out while you've gone - it refuses to realise you have left the building and won't let you back in the door for 2+ hours. Seems simple enough to know who is in and who is out but this shitty piece of software regularly gets that wrong. Add to that a business support structure that steadfastly says "THAT NEVER HAPPENS MICHELLE YOU OBVIOUSLY HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE DOING!!!!!!!!!!!" and "anyway if it did do what you say it does it would be because it's YOUR FAULT." It's at this point I remind them that they trained me on this CMS.

**crickets**

This CMS makes me want to pour petrol into my PC and set it on fire, then go over to the CMS vender's building and do the same to their cars.

So that's my day. Which can be any day, not this one in particular because this happens ALL THE TIME!

Snap happy

August Break (31 photos for each of the 31 days in August) is over. I'm not sure I had so much of a break - I sure as heck know you didn't - and I'm pretty sure I didn't need one anyway. It was nice that having photographs as a focused thought has meant I finally got my 8 rolls of film from the USA trip (back in March) developed and printed. It also made me realise that there are another couple of rolls kicking around somewhere because I didn't have many photos from Alcatraz and absolutely no photos from San Francisco - but at least I got some done.

It was nice to discover a roll from Chopped 2009 as well - that's one of the nicest things about shooting with film - the surprise at what I get back from LabX isn't always what I thought I was getting back from LabX.

I'm not sure if I told you but I decided to take all my photos during my USA trip earlier this year on my (then) new (to me), unproven LOMO LC-A. Risky as all get out: using a camera I'd just bought from Russia, without testing it first - add to which I found out the other week that the batteries that come with these LOMOs are nototious for juicing up the "on" light but not having enough power operate the shutter. Taking my 8 rolls down to LabX the other week I had a teaspoon of dread in my stomach at the thought that I hadn't actually managed to take *any* photos. I had to spend some time convincing myself that if that was case, I'd just have to exhale and chalk it up to experience and NEVER TELL ANYONE EVER!

A number of my photos didn't come out at all - due entirely to lack of light (didn't use a flash at all) but many did. I used a 400 ASA slide film and had it cross-processed so the images are a bit grainy (because of the ASA rating of the film not necessarily because of the cross processing) - very noticable when scanned and uploaded to Flickr. There is also a colour-cast across whole batches. A colour cast is when the picture has a coloured tint that makes the image look very red, or very blue, or very yellow etc.

I've since learned this is typical of cross-processed film - when I cross-process I'm looking for the colours to do weird and wonderful things so it's not like the cast ruins anything - and isn't restricted to particular brands. For instance - all my films were Agfa 400 ASA but I had red casts, orange casts, and the Chopped photos taken with the same film were hardly cast at all.

Another part of the joy with playing around with this stuff.

Speaking of playing - my latest interest is the idea to float a camera under helium balloons (I don't trust myself with a kite) and take aerial shots of my neighbourhood. What could possibly go wrong!

State of Grace

grace·ful/ˈgrāsfəl/ Adjective: Having or showing grace or elegance.

High-heeled shows coupled with low peripheral vision saw me stuck in a storm water grate while trying to get into a taxi this week.

While it may be the first time this particular scenario has played out for me - the concept of me being dorky is nothing new. This may come as a surprise to many of you who know me through my seamless, socially lubricated blogging - but I'm a bit of a mess when it comes to navigating my body through the four dimensions commonly referred to as "Life".

If I wear white (or light coloured) clothing, I will drop food or slop red wine across it; if there is a step in the floor between the lounge area and the bar area, I will fall over it; if there are any objects close to the edge of a table, I will send them smashing to the floor with one hip, and clearing the rest of the objects not knocked with my secondary "flurry of OMGod'ing" which enevitably follows.

I have fallen off every form of public transport I have ever used: tram, train, bus, ferry (twice). I slip, fall, tumble, crash and drop all the time. Friends will often describe the experience as "she was there one minute, and gone the next!" I have spat liquid onto companions (not in a good way), knocked glasses over (sometimes not even on my table), I have lost count of the numbers of times I've sent cutlery flying across the room (that stuff is always clattery). I have knocked glasses off people's faces; stood on toes; accidentally touched strangers bottoms; called my own boss the wrong name THREE TIMES this year alone.

This morning as I sat down on the bench seat on the tram, pinning the person next to me to the seat by the edge of her coat I was sitting on I finally decided on the word that encompasses all my bumbling, uncoordinated, nervous, dorky behaviours.

Gracelessness

grace·less/ˈgrāslis/ Adjective: Lacking grace, elegance, or charm.

I made a list of all the things I am that contribute to this description:

• loud
• spatially unaware
• blind
• self absorbed
• duck-footed
• poor memory
• over weight
• pushy
• short attention span
• poor thought processes

Don't get excited - I'm not going to take each list item and do anything about it - not going to suddenly enroll in dance classes to somehow get my body to work in conjunction with my mind. No, this is more like:

• Best Case Scenario: proof that I am aware of the cause of my gracelessness.
• Worst Case Scenario: evidence of early-onset motor neuron disease (or some other bacterial infection reason that isn't my fault)

I just want you to know that I am aware of the situation.

Get by with a little help from my whatsits

So I'm half way in the taxi, half way out: shoe wedged tightly in the storm water grate.

I kept thinking it would just pop out when I lifted my foot but no: my foot kept lifting from the firmly trapped shoe. Thankfully (for me, not him) a work colleague knealt on the damp road to gently take my cankle in his hands and gently pulled the shoe as I lifted my foot to free me from this unfortunate, but ultimately typical situation.

Tribute to the Best Post in the World

This is not the greatest song in the world No, this is just a tribute Couldn't remember the greatest song in the world, no, no This is a tribute, oh, to the greatest song in the world

Tenacious D

The words aligning themselves in my mind last night to describe my evening were such wonderful words. Descriptive, colourful, insightful: they drew pictures of what I was seeing and hearing and even as they fell into line after line in my head, I knew they'd never see the white of my blog space.

I have a shit short-term memory.

To be fair and honest to myself - even if I had had the means to type those words last night they would have vaporised on the way out of my fingers as if trying to read in a dream I would have lost them.

The Dacios were completely at odds with the way they appeared. Their bass player looked like he'd told his mum he was going to the movies then snuck into the bar to play; the guitarist looked just like a lego man if a lego man was a real person. The petite singer looked well, petite, and showed no clue as to the power of the voice that exploded from that tiny frame - her presence was massive - she smashed every song! About the only person who looked like he ought to look was the drummer who had more hair than Animal. But by the gods they were tremendous - the bassist breaking a string and finishing the set with just the three, nothing was going to stop this band once they got rolling.

The Graveyard Train filed onto the stage with a brass section in tow for the launch of their third album The Drink, The Devil and the Dance. They mistook my "YAAAYYYY!!" for a "NOOOO" when they asked if we liked their new music - but suggested that was tough because they were gonna play it anyway. And their new tracks were great - hooked themselves into us straight away. A sprinkling of their older stuff just carried us all along through their short (70-90 minute?) set. Grims took the stage for a couple of songs - other friends and singers ebbed and flowed and every had a rockin' good time. They're a sensationally good band live, and I can't WAIT for Chopped in October.

My stream of comments about crowd behaviour, especially that of young women who think they can bloody continue screamed conversations like demented chickens through (and it does do _right through_) the music - and the way the little slappers think that because they're small and because they're girls it's okay to push their way between people using their bony elbows and there weaselly ways to get up to the tiny pockets of space between people up front makes me want to punch them in their respective throats to teach them a frickin' lesson in manners. And BTW, if you ever think that by getting all your Year 12 classmates to push me at the same time that I'm gonna move, you've got another thing coming - don't fuck with a Nana at a gig where she's found a great spot and you arrived late, bitches.

Helicopter view (as it crashes into the ground)

I want to talk about work; about home; about my kids; about uncertainty; about opportunities; about disappointment; about procrastination; about funny conversations; about things I'm afraid of; about things I'm excited about; about all sorts of every day things - it's a long rambling stream that I would pour into an email had I anyone to send that to anymore. Instead it's all just knots and tangles of words cycloning through my head whipping into a kernel of a headache.

Genetic pixels

I'm banking on the fact that my family don't read thejamjar. They know about it but it doesn't interest them, I don't think. So I'm going to let you know that while both of my boys blog, only one has his as a public blog. He's just started a new one at his own domain - so if you'd like to check it out you can find David blogging at Friskyfeet.net

My elder son, Simon, writes but not for public consumption - or at least not for me and mine. He has recently started seeing a girl who also blogs about baking. Simon introduced her to my blog and he said, after reading some of it she wondered why I didn't talk about my children on here.

It's a good question - and when thought about it I think it has roots in the dim dark past on the internets when vaguery and anonymousness was encouraged. Remember those days when "keeping yourself safe online" meant never telling anyone your real name, or where you lived, or anything that might make it easier for the crazies who frequented these internet by-ways could find you?

Maybe you're just too young to know that's how it was back in the day.

I first discovered the joys of the internet through a chat room - I made a lot of friends there - some who continue to be my friends today. So this was in 1996-97 and I chatted and had fun and laughed and spent a bazillion hours online but all the time not telling anyone anything of consequence. One day I got an email from a good chat-friend who was very worried cause someone was in the chat room pretending to know me, or to know me, and it was causing concern among my online community. Turns out it was my daughter who had decided to come online and into my chat room to have some of the same fun on the internet I'd told her about.

When she arrived in the chat room she said she was my daughter - of course no one knew much about me, let alone I had offspring - and when challenged by my friends who accused her of no actually knowing me at all, she raged and produced, as proof of her parentage, all my personal details because how would she know that kind of information if she wasn't who she said she was.

Fact after fact she sent to the chat room - my full name, my address, my birthday - everything I'd never shared with anyone online although I had shared a lot of online shenanigans with my kids so she was like "I know you guys!" having recognised their names in my tales.

It wasn't really a big deal at the time, and kinda funny in its own way - but I think I still don't post about my kids on here because of that habit from so many years ago. So soon - not today because I miss them too much today and I will get all drizzly if I try - I'll tell you something about my children so that you can find out that even my kids can grow into fully functioning adults despite their upbringing.

30DMC - A movie that you’ve seen countless times

Look - it's not much of a secret that I've watched Last of the Mohicans more than once. Some might say I've watched it more than afew times. Others might suggest I've watched it too_many_times. Whatever others might say - I say there are worse movies to watch repeatedly.

How many times can I embed the Mohicans trailer this month?