postaday2011 – Page 17 – a little cameo

I don’t want the new Facebook profile

January 12, 2011

I don’t want the new Facebook profile. It is only designed to give more space to the ads and therefore justify the $50billion that Facebook has been valued at in preparation for a public float of the company.

This was my intended status update last night after receiving a message on my homepage that said that my profile would soon be automatically switched over.

Message from Zuckerberg

Apparently 99 of my 350 odd friends have already made the transition. Well good on them. I am not a follower, so just because around a third of my friends have switched, doesn’t mean that I have to. Although I guess that power is out of my hands and into those of Zuckerberg’s acolytes.

Facebook is a world onto its own. It has been described as “a virtual monopoly without being declared a monopoly” in one opinion piece. And as the Model T Ford of its time, Facebook prescribes the layout on every person’s profile. There are very few customisable or personalisation elements, unlike with Twitter or here on WordPress. They got rid of most of those in the last refurbish, banishing any external applications to a confusing little breadcrumb trail. The only thing tailored about a Facebook profile is the advertising in the right hand panel. The right hand panel that’s about to get bigger in the new template.

Currently, using my oh-so-accurate measuring system (old school ruler place against the screen) the ad panel is 4cm, the middle wall area is 13.5cm and the left column is 4.7cm wide. On the new profile it is 5.8cm for the ad space, 12.7cm for the wall area and 4.2cm for the profile pic in the left hand column. That’s some substantial change we’re seeing. This year it’s the substance that’s getting skinny while the advertising gets fat. Granted, they try to cover up this giant growth spurt for the ads with a new feature, the Friendship page. A feature that is only going to further enhance the Stalkerbook reputation.

I might sound narky and pre-menstrual about this, but the thing is that if you are a business trying to target me, online ads on Facebook are your best bets. Given that you are logged in alongside all manner of information and detail about you, the Facebook ad database should toss up clickable ads. I’ve clicked on links to RMIT Alumni and in the lead up the Victorian State Election, a Facebook ad prompted me to update my address by making it as easy as pointing my mouse at it. I also see plenty of other ads that interest me, which isn’t the case on other websites.

I don’t mind Facebook having ads, but with the whole “Facebook is valued at $50 billion” we’ve been hearing and reading about and the talk of a public stock float it seems that the social networking platform we underpin our online identities with, is about to do us over just like how it happened in the movie The Social Network.

A crafty rainy day project, or maybe not

January 11, 2011

My marketing brain told me a personalised t-shirt would be a good promotional tool for my blog. I told myself it’s no different to those necklaces with your name on them. Although I’d never get one of those.

What do you think?

Parla italiano?

January 10, 2011

Once upon a time, six years ago, I wanted to learn Italian. I had just returned to my hometown from a year-long journey where I had learned Spanish to the point of being able to read, write and have conversations with people.

I had found a job with Italian employers, and whilst some random words sounded familiar to my Spanish-enabled ear, I decided I wanted to learn Italian. So I did all the things you do when you decide to do something. I bought a lesson book, audio CDs, a dictionary and the Big Green Book of Italian Verbs, 555 conjugated Italian verbs.

Like a health kick, it started off well. I dedicated some time to it, and completed a few lessons. Then somewhere along the line, my enthusiasm waned (no doubt distracted by the most recent infatuation) and I abandoned my Italian studies. I think I justified it to myself as “I don’t want to forget/lose my Spanish by learning Italian.”

In my desire to downsize pending the move to LA, the Italian resources got the chop. A Facebook status update advertising all these resources free to a good home netted a response from a friend who is passionately in love with the Italian language, has been to Italy a number of times and who admitted to me today, dreams about having an Italian boyfriend.

So over a coffee at a cafe run by my former Italian bosses, we exchanged plans for 2011 and I handed over the books.

My plan is to focus on improving my Spanish. I’m sure there will be ample opportunity to learn, study and practice Spanish in LA, so rather than spread my language skills thinly like Vegemite on toast, I’m going to focus on immersing myself in Spanish like a big thick goop of peanut butter instead.

What language are you learning (or continuing with) in 2011? My best wishes and encouragement go out to you as you pick up the lingo.

Catch of the Day: Atlantic salmon

January 9, 2011

The restaurant where I work doesn’t have specials. The only items subject to change on any given day are the house dips and the catch of the day.

The other day a repeat customer came in and asked after the catch of the day, the Atlantic salmon. He first asked if it was local, which was easy to answer given our inland location.

He then asked where it came from. Having been a member of Slow Food I understand the importance of food provenance and also eating regionally and seasonally. Now I’m not a fish or seafood expert by any means, but I told him that I assumed it would be Australian and most likely from Tasmania.

The next question was whether it was wild, and I responded that I thought it would be farmed. You see I’ve met people from Tasmania who are involved in aquaculture and fish farming. Plus on one holiday there, I saw the fish farms from a distance.

I offered to check with the chef, which the customer then asked me to do. Unfortunately I didn’t get a particularly forthcoming answer from the chefs. They said “Well where is the Atlantic?”. I pride myself on my geography, so I know that it is the ocean between the Americas and Europe and Africa.

So I went back to the customer, explained the geography lesson I’d received from the kitchen and he was appeased. It was as though he knew that all along and was testing me. I must say I felt a little foolish. But now I just feel foolish because my research shows that I was right in the first place.

Salmon was first introduced to Australia in the 1800s, with eggs arriving on sailing ships, for sport fishing, though it wasn’t particularly successful. Then in the 1960s, eggs from Canada were brought in to the Snowy River Mountain Hydroelectric Scheme lakes, however it was too warm for them to establish a colony.

Tasmania has been farming salmon, Atlantic salmon, since the mid 1980s. Though it may be an introduced species, just because its name is reminiscent of its origin doesn’t mean that’s where the only ones come from. It is not as specific to one region as Parma ham or Champagne.

So eat Atlantic salmon and know that it’s Australian, farmed and good for you.

I found my information about how Sammy the Atlantic Salmon found his way to Australia on these websites:

http://www.australian-aquacultureportal.com/industrygroups/salmon.html

http://www.tasmaniansalmon.com.au/consumer/about/history.html

Holy moley, me oh my

January 8, 2011

This song, Home, is one of my favourites, and this is such a cute cover of it.

With over a million views on YouTube since posting on 31 December, it has gone viral and now has more than twice the number of views than the official video on TheMagneticZeros channel. I first saw Jorge and Alexa’s version on a blog yesterday (which I’ve since forgotten) and then again when a friend added it to her Facebook feed.

The first time I ever heard this song was at the beginning of my friend Richard Gray’s (aka Ricky Hollywood) film Summer Coda at its Mildura premiere in October 2010. Sadly it isn’t on the film’s soundtrack (though there are many fab songs from Australian artists on there) but given that I’ve seen Summer Coda six times now, I will always associate this song with the film and the opening sequence that strikes a deep chord of nostalgia with me.

So I’m going to keep watching both of these versions on YouTube because Home takes me to a magical, carefree, beautiful and happy place. It makes my insides backflip like a gymnast and my heart radiate.

You can enjoy the full version of the song and film clip here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3HNY0rx2fw4

Keep whistling.

Only at the cinema

January 7, 2011

A visit to the cinema yesterday to see Morning Glory, which by the way is a very forgettable title in the context of this great film, highlighted that cinema etiquette has gone out the window.

For a Thursday afternoon there was a good-sized audience, but still plenty of room to select good seats. My friend, Movie Lass, and I walked down the aisle complete with popcorn, coke and Kit Kat, and sat towards the front on the right next to the aisle. We settled in for the film and chatted through the ads.

Along came Rude Woman, coffee in hand, who chose to sit in the next row, directly in front of us. Movie Lass and I looked around the cinema. There was no one sitting opposite us and just a few people scattered around the back seats. We looked at each other and said “What is this?”

The lights hadn’t gone down yet, so in one shared meaningful glance, we picked up our belongings and moved directly across the aisle where we had an unobstructed view of the screen and were a couple of rows in front of the nearest people.

We exclaimed about Rude Woman’s complete disregard of cinema etiquette. Common sense and courtesy dictate that unless absolutely unavoidable, you sit AWAY from others in the cinema. No one likes a dandruffy scalp blocking your view of the latest blockbuster. More often than not, there are way more empty seats than occupied ones at a screening. Unless you choose Friday or Saturday nights when huge gangs of Teeny-Boppers frequent cinemas with juvenile and Gen Y behaviour that seriously flaunts cinema etiquette, but that moan is for a whole other blog post.

While we commented on such appalling behaviour from a woman old enough to know better, Rude Woman went a step further. She took hold of the armrest, turned around in her seat, noted that the seats behind her were now vacant and GOT UP and moved to the seats WHERE WE HAD BEEN SITTING! Quite simply, a normal person would not do that. A polite person would not do that. A cinema-holic would certainly not do that.

I still have a bad case of slackjaw recalling this scene. So, if I’m to make a list of cinema etiquette it would start with:

1. Never sit directly in front of other people unless absolutely unavoidable. Under no circumstance move after you have been the cause of other people moving, and especially not to their recently vacated seats.

As for the movie, I enjoyed it. Rachel McAdams was wonderful and Harrison Ford brought a delightful mix of Indiana Jones and comic softie to his role as Mike. I hadn’t heard anything about Morning Glory, but it comes out on top of the list of the last three films I’ve been to see, beating Love and Other Drugs and The Tourist. Respect to all those out there working on morning shows.

Bank of Big Sister is no longer lending

January 6, 2011

The Bank of Big Sister has two customers. Two poor credit rating customers by the names of Bro #1 and Bro #2.

This should really come as no surprise as it all started some 20 years ago when Bro #2 took advantage of his kindergarten hours to steal $10 I thought I had cleverly hidden in my room while I was at school. I never saw that $10 again. He also stole from Bro #1, which brought about some fun conversations in Bro #1’s sleep. “Bro #2 give me back my $10” was heard in the wee hours of one evening.

As horrid as my brothers can be, they can also be exceptionally charming and they also know how to press all of big sister’s buttons. They manage to wheedle money out of me by finding the weakest spot and pressing until it caves in. The weakest spot just so happens to be a desire to make things okay for them and to help them get through ‘tough’ times and the pressing usually involves them being extraordinarily nice to me and seemingly very considerate.

Yesterday was a perfect example. Bro #2 called to ask if he could borrow some money, despite his outstanding debt and having just paid 50% of it back three days earlier. My steely exterior was really just the density of steel wool, with plenty of cracks and gaps. He begged that it was for a date with, in a coy voice, “some girl”. Crumble, crumble, crumble went my resolve as I desperately tried to bolster my steely exterior.

“But I just need it to put some fuel in my car,” continued Bro #2, sensing his prey was weakening. The how much started at $50 and went down to $20 as I managed to bite my tongue from responding as quickly as he thought I would.

I asked when I would expect repayment, to which Bro #2 replied “I’ll get Mum to give it to you”. You see my mother manages my brothers’ money, giving them small allowances, while making sure there is money in their account for loan repayments and paying their phone bills online. They have us all twisted around their little fingers, even Other Sister gets hit up for money, despite the fact that the boys probably earn more than her – frugality didn’t get passed on to the male gene in my family.

So, against my better judgement, but with a lecture of “you really need to learn how to budget your money and understand what its value is and what you should be spending it on” my steely exterior crumbled like tin foil and bled plastic money.

Breakfast where?

January 5, 2011

Can you believe that I got to thirty-one years of age with a love of movies and have never seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s?

I couldn’t believe it either, so much so that I always thought I HAD seen it, and just forgotten what happened.

This myth was shattered after catching a few glimpses of it as it played in the background at a friend’s place. The music sounded so familiar, I’ve heard it in so many other films, but I’d never seen it in the context of a big old taxi pulling up outside the grand New York Tiffany’s.

My announcement prompted my friend to make me watch it with her that afternoon.

Whilst it was nice and I somewhat enjoyed the scatter-brained Holly, it certainly didn’t make me reconsider my list of favourite films. I loved the song Moon River and of course the fashions in the film but I didn’t feel overly sentimental or romantic about it. In fact, dare I say it, I don’t think I need to see it again.

If that’s the case, what are the classics I should be adding to my ‘watched’ list?

The great white tooth

January 4, 2011

Has anyone ever stopped to think that the Tooth Fairy is the only childhood hero who doesn’t give gifts freely. Hers (unless the Rock now has us believing in boy tooth fairies) is one of exchange. She takes your teeth, one by one, and replaces them with a coin.

I actually think my teeth are worth more than a dollar, or the fifty cents I used to get. My sister would definitely agree as in the past four months, she’s had four wisdom teeth and a reluctant baby tooth removed. The Tooth Fairy has not appeared to make her smile (albeit a now metal and brace filled smile) but is letting her foot the few thousand dollar bill. Even if she had saved all the money previously ‘gifted’ by the tooth fairy, it would not even make a small dent in the price she has to pay for good teeth.

I got the good teeth in my family. Straight, relatively healthy and with room for all four wisdom teeth, which ever so ironically appeared at a rate of one per year during my university degree. Besides a small chip on one of my front teeth from a skateboarding incident 20 odd years ago (don’t tow ropes with knots in the end behind your skateboard) the only complaint I have is that they are not sparkling white like in a toothpaste commercial.

My forthcoming move to LA in one month has the vain diva in me worried that my smile isn’t as sparkling as all the other smiles in LA. With this major concern, I scoured the aisles of Priceline and found a new brand of toothpaste with the tagline “Originally formulated for film actors and models”. For me this said “With me, your teeth will be as white as a freshly painted Hollywood sign and will beckon in a come hither manner to Ryan Reynolds”. That baby, complete with free toothbrush and flosser toothpicks, led me to the checkout and winked at me with a blinking sparkle.

So here I am with one month to furiously brush my teeth into a snowstorm ready for their Hollywood debut.

Screaming good fun on the water

January 3, 2011

Growing up on the Murray River meant that we spent a lot of time doing water-based activities.

My dad was a competitive water skier in his younger years, so our holidays generally consisted of camping trips along the river for one competition or another. Summertime family gatherings would be with the speedboat down on the sandbar and all us kids in lifejackets.

So on New Years Day the skiboat was pulled out again for a few runs. We’ve had the boat my whole entire life. Its golden yellow clinker hull with black cutouts on the bonnet, yellow fuzzy seat upholstery and leather steering wheel have worn and faded with time, but still provide plenty of thrills for all the family (except my sister, who only ever gets into the action on rare occasions).

Bro #1 likes to drive the boat, so he took his friends out for a tandem ride on the ski biscuits. Then it was his turn for a ski. Though he prefers a jump start, he had to go deep water because of where we were on the river and I nearly thought he’d lose his grip coming out of the water.

Dad had a go after Bro #1 and as always made it look super easy. His slaloms cutting back and forth over the wake don’t get any clumsier with age. Though he was knackered afterwards, he’s still got it.

I’d finally warmed up to jumping in for a go on the biscuit, but as I’d had some terse words over splashes with Bro #1, I didn’t want him in the driver’s seat. It seems Dad took Bro #1’s mongrel on, grew some big horns and had a one track desire to upend me out of the biscuit.

Dad was swerving and turning, sending me flying back and forth across the wake unable to do anything except hold on…TIGHT. I got through the fear to chortle with delight that he hadn’t tipped me out yet as I was getting good at holding and balancing in all the right places, until an innocuous little skid over the wake had me tumbling out the back.

Airborn — Getting airborne behind the boat

We were almost back to the start, but this was where Dad was saving up his best to send me sprawling (in front of a crowd) by doing doughnut after doughnut. Each turn I gathered more speed and pelted into bigger and bigger waves. I gripped on tight with my hands and legs, leaning my body weight forward. Miraculously I managed to hold on for the four or five circles Dad cut, getting through the choppy water and at one point flying over it, before he gave in and we went back to the shore.

I was jubilant at my awesome display of tenacity and strength but probably crowed one time too many, because they just left me floating out the back instead of pulling me in.