strawberry welded to a tiny banana, and we can all enjoy that.
Blogged from the hip
Stefan tells stories, writes about stories and tells stories about stories.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Leen's new kettle
strawberry welded to a tiny banana, and we can all enjoy that.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Ninjas and Pens
Two things happened this week:
Firstly, Queensland teachers were asked to stop marking their students' work with red pens in a bid to improve mental health in the classroom.
Apparently, red is too aggressive a colour, and teachers are asked to switch to something more placid. The practical consideration that red stands out on a page, allowing for more visible corrections - you know, the reason it is used in the first place - was not mentioned. Paperfairy's photo over there shows this pretty well I think. If that was a calming blue or green, the words would be nigh unreadable.
This country is getting crazy. Why not just throw out marking altogether and replace it with hugs?
Secondly, I was exposed to this:
That's right. In Japan contestants compete in physical challenges to determine who is most equipped to tread the path of the ninja.
Sure beats the hell out of football, a pastime that envelops Australia without ever allowing contestants to enter a fourth floor museum window unseen having climbed the exterior wall.
The sum total of these two events? I am moving to Japan.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Star Trek vs Star Wars
My man AC sent me a link to this video and I must share it, because it's awesome.
All who disagree are mistaken.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Burning Man
So, I'm just going to write overwrought fiction sometimes. Be aware.
"Do you want something to eat?"
I don't know why I bothered to ask, and he didn't bother to answer.
Brushing the snow from his shoulders, he shambled across the small room like a collection of brittle sticks.
The study was bathed in the flickering light of the fire. An hour ago it had been comfortable warmth, a nice place to read a book and allow one's mind to tumble out of the bitterly cold countryside. Now it felt stuffy and cramped.
"I-I'm sorry," I said. My voice cracked and I'm sure he heard it. He didn't give on though. I felt awkward, and the heat of the room gathered around my cheeks.
"I don't know who you are. Are you looking for someone?"
He turned as if to respond. His eyes shimmered with milky sadness and a noise rose from his throat like two cars scraping together as they passed in an overgrown lane. His head shook a small amount and he turned away.
He plunged his hands into the fire.
"Wait! What are you doing?" I screamed. I sprang up faster than the flames licking up his sodden sleeves.
He did not respond. There was a loud bang and my eyes hurt. He was gone.
I went back to my book. I reached for my cup of tea. It took three tries to get a firm grasp around the fine handle. I took a sip and brown liquid skittered down across my shirt.
I tried to put the incident out of my mind. Surely I was mistaken.
I don't know why I bothered to ask, and he didn't bother to answer.
Brushing the snow from his shoulders, he shambled across the small room like a collection of brittle sticks.
The study was bathed in the flickering light of the fire. An hour ago it had been comfortable warmth, a nice place to read a book and allow one's mind to tumble out of the bitterly cold countryside. Now it felt stuffy and cramped.
"I-I'm sorry," I said. My voice cracked and I'm sure he heard it. He didn't give on though. I felt awkward, and the heat of the room gathered around my cheeks.
"I don't know who you are. Are you looking for someone?"
He turned as if to respond. His eyes shimmered with milky sadness and a noise rose from his throat like two cars scraping together as they passed in an overgrown lane. His head shook a small amount and he turned away.
He plunged his hands into the fire.
"Wait! What are you doing?" I screamed. I sprang up faster than the flames licking up his sodden sleeves.
He did not respond. There was a loud bang and my eyes hurt. He was gone.
I went back to my book. I reached for my cup of tea. It took three tries to get a firm grasp around the fine handle. I took a sip and brown liquid skittered down across my shirt.
I tried to put the incident out of my mind. Surely I was mistaken.
Monday, December 1, 2008
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