Rise of the Phone Zombie

Apparently my mind is fixed on zombies at the moment.  And while zombie zombies are a scary possibility, phone zombies are an annoying reality.

Now I'm not going to say I don't use my phone and that sometimes I get sucked into staring at the screen but I'm definitely not a phone zombie.  For one thing my phone stays in my handbag when I'm walking through the city.  Unless I'm in need of logistical assistance (a map) then the phone stays put.  And I, as a non phone zombie, am forced to do battle with the multitude of phone zombies walking towards me or blocking the path ahead.  I've never seen so many people walking with their heads down, so engrossed in their phones that they seem oblivious to the world around them.  You have to dodge them because they can't see you walking towards them.  You have to squeeze your way past them because they walk so slowly and zig zag mindlessly.  I find it so infuriating that I've recently stopped dodging out of the way.  I let them walk into me.  There's nothing so important or fascinating on your phone that means you should just walk blindly amongst hordes of people and just expect them to get out of your way.  I'm surprised I don't see more accidents.

Phone zombies are prevalent on buses.  It's almost scary how everyone adopts the same pose - shoulders hunched, head down, hands clutching at their precious device.  Again, I'm not saying I've never done it but I make a specific effort to leave my phone in my bag.  I look out the window.  I ponder my blog.  Every day my bus takes me over the Harbour Bridge, past the Opera House and in to the city.  I want to remember the spectacular view of my commute rather than some random comment on Facebook.  The other day I saw the most beautiful sunrise over the Opera House and I'm pretty sure the only ones who noticed were me and the bus driver.

Phones have come a long way and I wouldn't give mine up but I don't want to get sucked into missing the moment because I'm staring at a screen.  The zombie apocalypse seems to have arrived but I've got my spatula enhanced mop and I plan to keep it at bay.

Little Stalky ponders the zombie apocalypse

A popular topic of conversation of late has been the zombie apocalypse.  How imminent is the zombie apocalypse?  What type of zombies would we be facing?  Can animals become zombies?  Can zombies swim?  And most importantly - how would we go about surviving the zombie apocalypse?

It's an important consideration.  If TV and films have taught us anything it's that we need to be prepared for an attack from the undead.

Firstly - weapons of choice.  And you might be a pacifist but zombies and violence go hand in hand so you have to be prepared.  After much debate we came to the conclusion that some kind of sword would be a good option.  A long sword.  Maybe even two swords strapped together.  Basically something that could be used while keeping the zombie at arms length.  Or swords length in this case.  Something long and pointy. I'm not sure how one goes about acquiring a sword though.  And a zombie apocalypse would no doubt be sudden.  In which case I think I'm going to have to make do with a spatula strapped to a mop.

Secondly - transport.  It's my understanding that zombies are fairly slow and could most likely be outpaced but even so, you're going to want wheels to get you out of the zombie trouble zone.  Wheels.  Or hooves. We initially concluded that some kind of armoured vehicle would be the way to go but then we figured well, how long is the petrol going to last for.  If there's a zombie apocalypse then I guess petrol will inevitably run out.  So I suppose what we need is some kind of hybrid.  Or maybe even a scooter.  Something fuel efficient and faster than zombies.

Thirdly - A safe haven.  Once you've gathered your weapons and family members, and loaded them onto your scooter, you need to find somewhere safe to lurk.  Somewhere you can sleep peacefully without fear of being rudely awaken by a zombie munching on your arm.  This is why we felt it important to understand whether or not zombies can swim.  Because if zombies can't swim then it seems like some form of island would be a good solution. Get to a boat and get to an island.  Of course I don't know how easy it would be to get a boat.  Or find an island.  It might be more feasible to collect all of our surfboards, strap them together and float out to a rock.

So you see, I have ideas about the zombie apocalypse - whipping through a pack of undead in a hybrid tank, armed with a sword before leaping aboard a tall ship and sailing off to a magical island where the coconuts are full of wine.  But in reality there are too many of us on a scooter, armed with mops, overbalanced by surfboards, in search of a rock.  Zombie apocalypse?  You know you want me on your team.

The Socially Awkward Penguin

I’m what is known as – in modern terms – a socially awkward penguin.  I’m pretty sure I was a socially awkward penguin before the term socially awkward penguin even existed but it’s nice to have a name for it.  This way when a socially awkward penguin moment occurs, I can label it as such.  And Mystical Roo, who is trying to discourage this behaviour, can whisper at me “socially awkward penguin.”

I had a socially awkward penguin moment (one of many) the other day when I went to get my boots reheeled.  We popped into a little cobbler and Mystical Roo encouraged me to step up to the counter.  I struggle with things like this because I don’t know what the etiquette is.  I don’t know the format.  Do you just hand over your boots?  Do you ask them if they do boots?  Do you pay in advance or when you collect the boots?  So many questions!  Over-thinking is not a socially awkward penguin’s friend.

So I just kind of held my boots, like some kind of offering and asked if they could be reheeled.  The woman behind the counter said yes that would be fine, wrote down my name, took my boots and gave me a little piece of paper with a number on it.  That was all.  And I needed more because I didn’t know what to do next.  I mumbled something about asking when to pay and she said to just pay on collection.  When would they be ready?  Tuesday.  This caught me off guard because it was a Saturday and cold and I wasn’t sure how I would do without my boots until then.  And when do you open?  8am until 5pm.  Which is totally inconvenient for me because I have to go to work.

But I just smile and nod and say thank you and walk away.  Mystical Roo calls me out on having another socially awkward penguin moment.  Little Stalky, why did you leave your boots with that lady when you know that you can’t pick them up on Tuesday?  Little Stalky, why didn’t you just ask for the boots back and take them elsewhere?  Why?  Because she’d already given me a little purple ticket.  And she already had my boots.  What else is there to do but smile and nod, say thank you and walk away.  That gets you out of the immediate situation and then you can think of a solution later.  One that possibly involves bribing your boyfriend into collecting your boots for you.

It’s a hard life being a socially awkward penguin.  

Rucksacks

Rucksacks (or backpacks as I keep being corrected) are without a doubt handy things to have around. I've made the swap from handbag to rucksack for work and my right shoulder is definitely happier.  I throw in my lunch, my purse, phone, keys, and on days I'm feeling energetic, my gym stuff too.  It's a very practical way of carrying stuff.  But while the pros definitely outweigh the cons, I've come across two definitive hurdles - bus journeys and getting stuck in freezers.

Bus journeys are normally made easier with a rucksack, mainly because everything I have is in one bag rather than three.  But on a rammed bus, standing up because there are no seats, a heavy bag on your back can prove tricky.  Especially when the bus driver insists on slamming on the breaks. The thing is, with a heavy bag on your back and a bus jerking around all over the place, gravity tends to work against you.  I get thrown about and often the only thing that stops me falling over is the other passenger that I inevitably crash into.  Imagine if there were no buffers.  I'd fall on my back and that's where I'd stay.  Like a tortoise.  Legs and arms waving around and rocking helplessly from side to side.  The shame.  This hasn't actually happened yet but I feel it's only a matter of time.

Anyway - on to getting stuck in freezers.  That actually has happened.  And is probably a lesser known problem associated with the carrying of rucksacks.

I popped into Woolworths on my way home and went in search of frozen berries.  At this point I already had a heavy basket and obviously the rucksack on my back.  I pulled open the freezer door and as often I do, propped it open with myself.  Winter layers, a rucksack and a heavy basket do not lend themselves to stretching so I found the berries just out of reach.  It was like the peppermill all over again!  So I had to shuffle myself forward in order to reach them.  Success.  But somewhere in my shuffling process the rucksack had become snagged on the door and when I tried to shuffle backwards I found that I was stuck.

The important thing in these situations is not to panic.  When trapped in a freezer by your own rucksack you don't really want to draw attention to yourself.  Not unless you think you might freeze to death.  Then you just have to swallow your pride.

I dropped the berries into my basket and then continued to stare at the frozen fruit some more.  Then I casually wiggled my way into breaking free of the freezer door.  Reverse wiggling.  It's a very sophisticated move.  Of course it never occurred to me to just remove the backpack.  Or to put down the basket.  Reverse wiggling was obviously the right thing to do.  And I think it was the right thing to do because I untangled myself with minimal embarrassment.  And with the frozen berries.

So I guess the moral of this Stalky tale is that rucksacks are good as long as you can keep your balance on the bus and if you stay out of freezers.

Stalky Against the Machines: the Machines Fight Back

I was up at the crack of dawn the other day to catch a bus to catch a train to be at my destination at the agreed time of 7am.  A seemingly simple task that was thwarted on my arrival at the station.

At 6am I hop on a bus, try to control the inevitable sneezing fit I get when faced with a bus full of perfumed commuters, and ponder what time I’ll be able to snaffle my first cup of tea.  When the bus reaches the station, I get off the bus.  So far, so good, and all thoroughly exciting.

I head down the wooden escalator, which by the way, I still think is very weird and head round the corner to where I know the ticket machines are.  Three ticket machines.  No queue.  But the one I normally use has a big sign saying that today it’s not accepting cards.  Cash only.  I inspect the other two machines and discover that they too are both cash only.  Big sigh.  I’m not very good at carrying cash.  I remain traumatised after dropping £5 at a car boot sale.

So, three machines and not one of them will accept card.  I check my purse just to double check there are no notes floating around.  There are not.  I check my shrapnel and am excited to discover two gold coins and number of silvers.  I have exactly $3.60.  How much is my ticket?  Exactly $3.80.  Woe is Little Stalky.

Then I notice an ATM and feel relieved that I will be able to overcome this evil ticket machine hurdle.  I go to the ATM machine and am presented with options of $40, $60 and so on.  I don’t really want $40 but I guess it will have to do.  So I choose that option, at which point the machine promptly tells me that I can only select an amount in multiples of 50.  Multiples of 50!  Stupid machine.  Don’t tempt me with offers of $40 and $60 if you’re just going to change your mind and throw 50 in my face.  I grumble at this, hope I don’t look too bonkers, and grudgingly draw out $50 after grudgingly accepting the $2.50 charge the machine wants to charge me for the pleasure.

Back to the machines.  The machines that are now all happily announcing the fact that they have a maximum of $19.90 in change.  No more will be given.  And I have a feeling they mean it.  So here I am – 20c off the amount in change, $46.20 over the amount in cash and 3 machines that won’t accept card.  Not a recipe for a smooth morning.

If only I knew the station better.  If only I’d ventured further into the depths of its endless tunnels.  If only I’d gone around the corner….to where a very nice man was selling tickets from a booth.  Old school style. 

I did eventually turn the corner and find the nice man selling tickets from a booth but not before I’d gotten myself very cross.  Machines 1, Little Stalky 0.

The Peppermill

It could be said that sometimes I don't go about doing certain things the "normal" way.  You want ice with your margarita?  OK, but the ice cubes haven't frozen yet so here, I'll just add some icy water to your drink. It's the same thing.  And apparently pulling the stone out of an avocado is easier than cutting the fruit (or vegetable) away from it.  And if you smell burning then you're probably not imagining it and the tortillas really are turning black in the oven.  We may have had Mexican the other night and margaritas may have been consumed before dinner....

Anyway.  On a non-Mexican themed note, I had an incident with the peppermill the other day.  Or should I say an almost incident.

Some of the shelves in our kitchen are quite high and when Mystical Roos are not in the area, Little Stalkys have to think of other ways to get things from the top shelf.  More often than not I give up and wait for Mystical Roo to come home.  But in the middle of cooking dinner for the aforementioned Mystical Roo, I needed pepper.  And where was the pepper? On the top shelf of course.

So I stared at it for a while.  Stared at it and wondered if I could make it move with my mind.  Impossible.  I don't have those kinds of powers yet.  Then I decided to grab for it.  Sneak a stretch and somehow trick my body into thinking it was taller.  I was on my highest tiptoes, my arm stretched, my fingers reaching, reaching. And the peppermill was almost within reach.  I could just graze it with my fingertips.  It was infuriatingly close.

I decide that the next sensible course of action is to incorporate a spatula into my plan.  So I find a spatula and use it as an extension of my too short arm.  I hook the spatula around the back of the peppermill and start shuffling it towards the edge of the shelf.  I figure if I can just inch it a little closer to the edge then I'll be able to reach it.  But I can't.  It's still an infuriating inch out of my reach.

My next idea is pure genius.  If I can't get to the peppermill then I'll get the peppermill to come to me. What if I just push that peppermill right off the edge.  What if I use the spatula to shove that peppermill into my outstretched arms.  I'm a good catch.  I've got good reflexes.  What could possibly go wrong?  Yes, the peppermill is made of glass.  Yes, there are several pots bubbling on the hob below.  Yes, that is chili (maybe this was a Mexican themed note) bubbling away.  What's that you say?  Is that a white top you're wearing.  Why yes it is.  Recipe for disaster?  More like recipe for massively impressive Little Stalky act of awesomeness.

Definitely a recipe for disaster.  But what's impressive about this is I actually recognised the imminent disaster.  I stopped with the peppermill on the brink and I actually decided that my plan was silly.  Look how mature I am!  I also imagined being both laughed at and scolded by Mystical Roo.

So I used that spatula to push the peppermill away from the brink.  I put on an apron.  Then I grabbed the footstool and used it to give myself the extra height needed to grab the peppermill.  Easy.  I just don't know why it took me so long to think of it.  Normal just doesn't seem to be the Little Stalky way.

Possums Like to Party

So we've been in our new home for a couple of months now and one of the most exciting discoveries so far is that we have possums.  I think this must be very English of us to be excited about possums because I'm pretty sure that the Australians see them as pests.  And if what my boss tells me is true, the Kiwis shoot them and collect a dollar per pelt.....

Anyway, I'm English and I think possums are cute.

They made their presence known quite early on but it took me a while to realise what they were.  Or rather that it was possums making all the noise on top of our conservatory. I thought it was branches clattering, Will the pigeon, maybe even a rogue land dwelling shark.  But it turned out to be possums.

The sun goes down and the possums come out to play.  They scuttle across the conservatory roof and then leap from tree to tree.  I'm not sure if I'll ever stop being fascinated by their antics.  And I think they secretly love the attention.  Shy, nocturnal creatures?  Hell no.  Possums are party animals.  Stalky fans may remember that Mystical Roo found one asleep in a bin after a heavy night of partying.  And a notorious little karaoke bar down the road from us is called the Pickled Possum.  Coincidence?  I think not.  Possums like to party.  And as it goes they like to party on our roof.

Little Stalky's Lemon

So it turns out my last post was way back in 2012.  And it's now 2014.  That's a pretty long time.  There was a whole lot of 2013 in between then and now.

But could anything that crazy really have happened in Little Stalky world since then?  Anything truly nutty?  Does Mystical Roo still have a beard?  Do carrots still taste like soap?  And will anyone ever stop the plight that is the land dwelling shark?

Mystical Roo does still have a beard and it's bigger and bushier then ever.  There are rumours that it now houses a field mouse but that might just be gossip.  The flavour of carrots have definitely improved but I'm ever vigilant.  And the land dwelling sharks? They continue to dwell on land (and occasionally in letter boxes).

It's been an eventful couple of years - Mystical Roo and I have moved twice, explored new continents, climbed trees, floated on BBQ boats, shot lasers and stomped grapes.  We've been wining, dining and generally enjoying everything that Sydney living has to offer.

I had to give up my compost heap, then I started a new compost heap and then I had to give up that compost heap too.  One lemon tree died but another thrived and if there's one piece of news that I need to share, it's that I have successfully harvested my first ever lemon.  I know I'm biased but I'm pretty sure this is the most perfectly perfect lemon in the entire world.

So there we have it. Little Stalky's lemon.  I figure when you've been off the blog scene for a while you need to come back with a bang.