That statement appeared on a billboard for the Northern Territory News about a week ago.
And another recent gem:
Fish fillet was an 'offensive weapon'
By BOB WATT
A piece of battered fish became an "offensive weapon" in Darwin Magistrates Court yesterday.
It was added to a charge of assault as an "aggravation" -- making more serious an altercation over a fish burger. ..
And another: Is Azaria still alive?
You see, the news really is more interesting up here. I'm posting the above, as I don't have much to say for myself, other that I'm zonked from moving and unpacking, and from being pursued by non-ironic Pentecostals (better not mention H-lls-ong).
I'm having a bit of a quandary here tonight, as I don't know if I've installed the gas heater here properly. I was told by bluff jovial type in the shop that I could do it myself, as it only involved attaching heater pipe to the gas bayonet, and that I didn't need to call a plumber, as per the instruction manual. As a feminist, I feel committed of course to d-i-y. But now I'm beginning to ponder the value of this...am I being oversensitive or is there really a smell of gas in the room? How much of a smell should I expect anyway, given that it's a gas heater and that there's a pilot thing inside? Every little thing seems to go wrong for me with moving in (like not having hot water for 3 days -- Alice has been experiencing subzero temps in the early am) and having to ring all the garbos in town to find if any of them would empty my garbage, which had been filled with housebricks between now and last occupancy, and probably easily my body weight. Apparently, some special garbo truck with a special heavy duty forklift is needed -- and there was one and only one of these in town. (This kind of thing is where you really notice the difference between living here and an East Coast city.)
Anyway, my eyes are pricking (or is that for ears only? Perhaps they're prickling) from the fumes...but it could be the fumes from the wood fires outside. It seems that some people in the complex here have woodfire heating and it's extremely pungent. Either that or it's from one of the Aboriginal families camping in the Todd, but I doubt they'd be burning such a great volume of wood. I'm turning off the heater every half hour or so, trying to work out whether I'm gassing myself, then getting too cold and putting it back on. If I open the door, I'm greeted with the pungent smell of woodsmoke. My biggest fear is gassing one of the cats (the heater's supposed to cut out if there isn't enough oxygen in the room).
So, if I'm found dead in my flat, you can tell the Coroner what I wrote here. I'm having a washing machine delivered tomorrow and I'm hoping I can persuade one of the installers to look at the heater as well (they might know something I don't about gas bayonets). I'm getting sick of ringing and waiting for tradesmen; I don't know that I want to ring the gas people yet again.
Hate to admit to this (esp given feminist academic credentials), but I've done enough Ingenuous Girl stuff to sink a battleship (or perhaps an archive of dolly magazine). Surprised that I can still pull this off (but the bus drivers here -- and even occasionally in Sydney -- ask me if I'm a concession, tho this could be a reflection of studenty-type apparel and lack of entourage of sprogs). But it really does work for getting freebies and discounts -- I got almost 20 % off on the gas heater and about 5 % off on the washing machine. (Perhaps I should revel in this while I can.)
I've received some news of a fisting workshop. Initially I was musing over the possibilities of the format for this workshop, wondering if it might be like the Ag prac (i.e. at my nerdy agricultural school) where we had to line up to put on an arm-length plastic glove and insert our arm up a cow's bum to turn the calf...but perhaps I'm confusing things with a feminist treatise I read on medieval midwifery. We probably only had to feel the calf. But seems I was on the right track, as the informant alluded to the workshop possessing a certain veterinarian tone.
Otherwise: the unit is good. Hard to believe I'm not renting it, and that it really is mine to wreck. Guess I'll spend the whole weekend unpacking (yet again).
The cats seem startled, mystified by their sudden relocation (yet again). Jessie pads roound the house after me (perhaps she'll lost some weight at last). Leonard is still reposing in the bottom of the second bedroom's wardrobe. And Otty is waiting patiently for me on the couch (he'll be the first one to be gassed). I've finally fixed the DVD (much more simple than what I thought, as ever) and plan on watching Lost in Translation now, which I've seen before, but seems like a suitable housewarming DVD to give to self.
Other good news (but only of obscure interest to me): an Italian study has concluded that there is a lower risk of recurrent events for upper extremity thrombosis as cf'd to lower extremity thrombosis (in fact, a very low risk indeed).