Saturday, January 24, 2009
heeheehee
Star Wars: Retold (by someone who hasn't seen it) from Joe Nicolosi on Vimeo.
I probably shouldn't laugh, I really struggle remember anything about Star Wars, and I'm probably laughing that the bits that she has right.
Friday, January 23, 2009
gracious
me, OCTOBER was my last post.
What I do like though, is that every so often I get emails from the blog counter thingy, (lower right), telling me that another thousand people have viewed my blog, but that - according to the stats I so narcissisticly seek out - the only reason that people keep finding my blog is that they are googling "colouring in Jesus" and they find my post about visiting New York because I linked here while ranting about the history of Western Christian painting and it gives me a consistent ponderance as to what they think when it is my blog they find. Well, assuming they discover the link they think "well good, now I have a picture for the kids to colour on Sunday". But personally, I like to think I challenge their whole view of Western art history, the didactic nature of same, and really, everything that's happened, ever.
I hope they get those brass pin things that you can shove through paper and then spread out so that you can make cut out figures of Jesus where the arms and legs move. There are two things I remember from my early days as a Sunday School pupil and they are:
1) the metal chairs. supremely uncomfortable but with an appealing aesthetic that practically made me dance when I discovered the Exact Same Chairs at Tilley's 17 years later and a reasonably loyal - or at least repetitive - attendee of Tilley's ever since, despite hating almost everything about the place.*
2) The brass (maybe?) pins that did the splits so you could colour in and then cut out the torso & head section of Jesus (or other assorted religious figure) and then attach arms and legs, and hey presto, moving Jesus.
* Tilley's is often treated as a bit of a religion in Canberra - not inappropriate, given the stylistic heritage of their outdoor settings - but let me, if you will, rant, because, Oh My Word. The place drives me up the wall. Because yes, they have excellent, if uncomfortable chairs, that I obviously have a very personal connection with, and they have painted their ceiling red, which is always a plus, and they have velvet curtains, also good, and on occasions they have bands playing Canberra which means I don't have to see them at the ANU Bar which always makes me want to smack an undergraduate Because They Are Children And Can't Handle Liquor, and also wifi, even though they don't have enough powerpoints in the place to really make it a generous offer - and I think that's it: they promise so much, but refuse to deliver, right from the teetering brink of the cusp of we were about to single-handedly make Canberra a blissful paradise. Firstly, they set themselves up as a heavenly red roomed cafe where you can loiter for hours and study undisturbed bar for a regularly impeccable classics jazz soundtrack, but then, they can't make coffee. Just to smack you in the face: we have purpose built an ideal habitat for you, but denied you the very crux of the point of doing so: you will wait for longer than you took to gestate, order said beverage, and then we will give you a cup of bitter filth. Which brings me to, secondly, They Charge A Lot, refuse to offer table service, and frequently deliver below the standards of McDonalds. Seriously, I have had better coffee from a franchise that advertises with a clown. You have to queue with everyone in the place for AN INSANE AMOUNT of time, and then they deliver below the very proximity of goodness. Thirdle, okay, that's a typo, that I just corrected, but then had to go back and change because how much should thirdle be a word?, Thirdly, the staff. You order your beverage, knowing how truly awful it is going to be, and the staff give you the "I am doing you SUCH a favour, you should lick between my toes" attitude: if you hate working here so much - and clearly I would, so sympathy, sister (as it invariably is) - Get. Another. Job. At least up until recently, they have been around fairly plentifully. It's not like I think you have a great job and therefore should be enjoying it, but I've done jobs I haven't liked as well, but the point is: you're being paid to serve. So serve. You aren't doing me a favour, you're being paid to do this. In fact, I've just done half your job by standing here wait to ask for my "coffee" and then wait for an inordinate amount of time for you to make the damn thing, so Happy Faces. Fourthly, when you go to see a gig and they make you stand in the rain because they are incapable of managing a system whereby you've paid quite a bit for tickets and you don't have to stand in the street. Fifthly, the staff - bless their arrogant little hearts - don't ever seem to quite know what is going on, so whenever you call them, with those stumbling brainteasers: "What time does the gig start?", "What time do the doors open?", "Can we book a table?" or the brain-exploding "Will you be serving food at this event?" you get a different answer from every member of staff, none of which is conclusive, until you turn up to said event and just discover as you go whatever regime they have installed. Sixly, the imppossibility of keeping the kitchen open for an event. so: a) they are a restaurant. b) they have sold out (because, 6.i, they only put bands on they know are going to sell the venue out, and are still game enough to have that "Keeping music live" banner: long have I wanted to add a subtitle "as long as the musicians have proven their commerical value"), c) they know there is going to be an hour and a half between the doors opening and the band playing. So, in consequence, they offer cheese plates. Which sell out. And then refuse to allow you to bring additional food from the handily located supermarket "because we still have cake". I'VE JUST HAD A BOTTLE OF RED AND A WHEEL OF BRIE I CAN'T HAVE CAKE. I NEED SAVORY CARBS, SAVORY! DAMN YOU."
So whenever someone suggests we have brunch at Tilley's on the weekend I have to make alternative arrangements.
*deep breath*
What I do like though, is that every so often I get emails from the blog counter thingy, (lower right), telling me that another thousand people have viewed my blog, but that - according to the stats I so narcissisticly seek out - the only reason that people keep finding my blog is that they are googling "colouring in Jesus" and they find my post about visiting New York because I linked here while ranting about the history of Western Christian painting and it gives me a consistent ponderance as to what they think when it is my blog they find. Well, assuming they discover the link they think "well good, now I have a picture for the kids to colour on Sunday". But personally, I like to think I challenge their whole view of Western art history, the didactic nature of same, and really, everything that's happened, ever.
I hope they get those brass pin things that you can shove through paper and then spread out so that you can make cut out figures of Jesus where the arms and legs move. There are two things I remember from my early days as a Sunday School pupil and they are:
1) the metal chairs. supremely uncomfortable but with an appealing aesthetic that practically made me dance when I discovered the Exact Same Chairs at Tilley's 17 years later and a reasonably loyal - or at least repetitive - attendee of Tilley's ever since, despite hating almost everything about the place.*
2) The brass (maybe?) pins that did the splits so you could colour in and then cut out the torso & head section of Jesus (or other assorted religious figure) and then attach arms and legs, and hey presto, moving Jesus.
* Tilley's is often treated as a bit of a religion in Canberra - not inappropriate, given the stylistic heritage of their outdoor settings - but let me, if you will, rant, because, Oh My Word. The place drives me up the wall. Because yes, they have excellent, if uncomfortable chairs, that I obviously have a very personal connection with, and they have painted their ceiling red, which is always a plus, and they have velvet curtains, also good, and on occasions they have bands playing Canberra which means I don't have to see them at the ANU Bar which always makes me want to smack an undergraduate Because They Are Children And Can't Handle Liquor, and also wifi, even though they don't have enough powerpoints in the place to really make it a generous offer - and I think that's it: they promise so much, but refuse to deliver, right from the teetering brink of the cusp of we were about to single-handedly make Canberra a blissful paradise. Firstly, they set themselves up as a heavenly red roomed cafe where you can loiter for hours and study undisturbed bar for a regularly impeccable classics jazz soundtrack, but then, they can't make coffee. Just to smack you in the face: we have purpose built an ideal habitat for you, but denied you the very crux of the point of doing so: you will wait for longer than you took to gestate, order said beverage, and then we will give you a cup of bitter filth. Which brings me to, secondly, They Charge A Lot, refuse to offer table service, and frequently deliver below the standards of McDonalds. Seriously, I have had better coffee from a franchise that advertises with a clown. You have to queue with everyone in the place for AN INSANE AMOUNT of time, and then they deliver below the very proximity of goodness. Thirdle, okay, that's a typo, that I just corrected, but then had to go back and change because how much should thirdle be a word?, Thirdly, the staff. You order your beverage, knowing how truly awful it is going to be, and the staff give you the "I am doing you SUCH a favour, you should lick between my toes" attitude: if you hate working here so much - and clearly I would, so sympathy, sister (as it invariably is) - Get. Another. Job. At least up until recently, they have been around fairly plentifully. It's not like I think you have a great job and therefore should be enjoying it, but I've done jobs I haven't liked as well, but the point is: you're being paid to serve. So serve. You aren't doing me a favour, you're being paid to do this. In fact, I've just done half your job by standing here wait to ask for my "coffee" and then wait for an inordinate amount of time for you to make the damn thing, so Happy Faces. Fourthly, when you go to see a gig and they make you stand in the rain because they are incapable of managing a system whereby you've paid quite a bit for tickets and you don't have to stand in the street. Fifthly, the staff - bless their arrogant little hearts - don't ever seem to quite know what is going on, so whenever you call them, with those stumbling brainteasers: "What time does the gig start?", "What time do the doors open?", "Can we book a table?" or the brain-exploding "Will you be serving food at this event?" you get a different answer from every member of staff, none of which is conclusive, until you turn up to said event and just discover as you go whatever regime they have installed. Sixly, the imppossibility of keeping the kitchen open for an event. so: a) they are a restaurant. b) they have sold out (because, 6.i, they only put bands on they know are going to sell the venue out, and are still game enough to have that "Keeping music live" banner: long have I wanted to add a subtitle "as long as the musicians have proven their commerical value"), c) they know there is going to be an hour and a half between the doors opening and the band playing. So, in consequence, they offer cheese plates. Which sell out. And then refuse to allow you to bring additional food from the handily located supermarket "because we still have cake". I'VE JUST HAD A BOTTLE OF RED AND A WHEEL OF BRIE I CAN'T HAVE CAKE. I NEED SAVORY CARBS, SAVORY! DAMN YOU."
So whenever someone suggests we have brunch at Tilley's on the weekend I have to make alternative arrangements.
*deep breath*
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