Shortcuts for Christmas

My cooking skills are elementary. Christmas is the time where you’re suppose to consume glace cherries, plum pudding and turkey. However, I think I’m the only person on Earth who dislikes consuming all of these produce.

Glace cherries repulse me. Their red or green jelly appearance makes me feel ill. They don’t resemble or taste anything like cherries. Even on December 25th, I wouldn’t go near one.

Plum pudding? Its appearance, without the custard reminds me of the content of animal waste, whose diet consists of vegetables and legumes. It’s big and brown and the thought of sticking this into my mouth, also repulses me.

In regards to turkey, I know I can hear readers through Twitter screaming, “But Christmas isn’t the same without a turkey!” This may be true, though I wish I could be consuming other forms of meat like a roast chicken instead.

So I decided to look through recipes for inspiration. Looking at the pictures of food books makes my mouth water. Following the instructions implicity however, is a different story. No matter how many times I re-read instructions of a recipe books, it never turns out the same way it’s shown in the book.

What I should be cooking should resemble something like this:



After reading through recipes to make bolotti bean brushchetta, salmon arancini and pork and chive dumplings, I’ve resorted to doing something which should be considered a Christmas crime. Instead I bought this:



And then pretending I made this all from scratch.

I don’t know why I bother, it’s not like anyone would care. It’s obvious I didn’t make it; I don’t re-stock the fridge with fresh vegetables, meat and fruit. It’s filled with fully-prepared meals and nothing in between. I can imagine my extended family sitting in the table, with my Dad putting on a straight face saying, “This is delicious, Tina”.

Has anyone taken drastic short-cuts to shorten Christmas preparations? Or dislike certain foods which were only meant to be eaten during Christmas? Please do tell me.

Happy reading (& a very Merry Christmas!)
5ft0

**Pictures courtesy of Better Homes & Gardens

I'm being up myself again - another blatant promotion

I know I haven't attended to this blog in a while - but I do have a very good reason for it. Other than end of year exams for uni and partying.

I can now finally reveal the project I'm working on:



I'm just so excited that OntheSOS was launched today. I woke up at seven this morning just to check out OntheSOS. It's pathetic, but I'm excited as a little kid on Christmas Day. I lie on my bed, telling myself to act like a twenty three year old and lay back and not think about it. But I can't resist. My mind was swimming with images of beautiful pictures taken around Sydney as well as my profile. I could picture people looking at my website reading intently, or not even give a toss about it. But I can finally see my ideas coming to life now.


Photo courtesy of Jessica Klingelfuss, OnTheSOS

What are people going to see? My name of course! Along with the other members of the team. But still, I can't contain my excitement at the moment.

Anyway, tell me what you think about the website. To see it, click here. I shall write more soon!

Happy reading,
5ft0

Is the concept of originality dead?

There's no such thing as originality. The need to be unique is condemned to be a thing of the past.

As a growing amount of authors, singers, designers - hell anyone who's in the creative field is accused of plagiarism these days. You only have to listen to every second song to hear a melody was taken from another song. Modern day films are identical to copies of classical films, we're stuck with the notion that we're running out of ideas. Ever since history was written onto books, we've always reworked themes to suit the context of our times. However, we may have a certain limit to how much imagination humanity has.

These days, everybody is copying everyone else. From chain store brands copying the latest fashion from the catwalks of Milan at the fraction of the price, to television stations copying each other in genres such as food and talent shows. It's not necessarily a bad thing. It encourages participates from both sides to do a better version of a theme. In recent years, the quality of the copy is either similar or even surpasses the original. It's accessible to the ordinary citizen and may bring a multitude of enviable characteristics. There's no need to chime the phrase, "Copy is inferior".

I prefer watching shows like "The 70s Show" than going through a time machine to live in the 70s, because I feel like it's a boring time for me. While plastic flowers will never die and don't require watering. My understanding of copies comes from personal experience.

As a kid, my parents bought a tea towel which featured "The Scream" by Van Gogh. It displayed all the aura a portrait has, as well as being a humble rag which was functional. It also had a ghosting effect, due to a printing fault. The towel was laid out in our kitchen, unlike the pompous 10 inch bullet proof glass.

When I saw the painting years later, it wasn't as magnificent as I thought it was. I missed the grease and vegetable oil that the man his jaundiced glow. What about the scorch mark that left him with one eye? The tea towel of "The Scream" was far better than the original.

The field of creativity has always been plagued by plagiarism and copy cats. Take a look at Britney Spears' version of Joan Jett's song, "I love Rock & Roll", or when Ryan Tedder used the same back tracking for the lyrics to Already Gone by Kelly Clarkson and Beyonce's Halo songs. Even in Copyright Law, there's no law about copying the idea itself - it is only copying the exact final product which will land you in hot water.



Did Chloe or Hermes steal the idea of the 'padlock' to be a main feature on bags?

In my case, if you copy the exact words or pictures from a writer or an artist, that's plagiarism. If you steal from many, it's called research.

Perhaps, the main aim of originality is to be copied. Take a look at the ubiquitous amounts of Louis Vuitton counterfeit bags sold at the markets, or hidden street corners.

We can delude ourselves to believe that our latest project is original - but most of us are born to copy. Even human nature is born to copy - from our bodies constantly replacing skin cells and blood, to the fact that when we reproduce, they're copies of ourselves.

In fact, we are the copies of our own ancestors.

So what do you think?

Happy reading!
5ft0

The Beast Called 'Real Life'

When I sixteen, my best friend and I had a dream, we detested the school we went to and wanted to leave it as soon as our last year of school came to a close. This plan consisted of us being wealthy in a matter of months of leaving our home town: she’ll be the first person who made millions selling worry dolls and I’d be in New York as a fashion stylist to Anna Wintour.

With the money we had from our fabulous jobs, we would buy every apartment across the globe – whatever we fancied, we could get it.

Even though our lives didn’t pan out the way we imagined, we’re still young. I feel my school girl frivolity is still alive – moving overseas may take a while, but it’s still simmering. There were other things I didn’t expect when I graduated all those years ago, to still be studying at a ripe old age of twenty three.

But what society thinks there should be a certain way to live life? To have a cool job, getting married and own a house by the time we’re twenty five? Are we setting ourselves a deadline that’s impossible to reach? Or are we trying to rush through things because we want to achieve everything now?

Recently, I had dinner with a few friends and all of them were talking about the dilemmas of life. One of them was particularly exhausted after she finished her rant.
“We worked hard at school to go to uni and study the degree we wanted. When we got to uni, we had to study hard to get the jobs we wanted. Then after that, we go back to uni to boost our qualifications. Not only that, but we need to get married. Then once we have kids, the cycle starts all over again”.

Few of the people at the table nodded. On the other hand, I didn’t agree.
“There are other ways to live life. That’s just one life, but you don’t have to live with it”.

“You’re still at uni. Uni life isn’t going to stay forever Tina. Real life has to begin sometime and this is it.”

I think to myself, I’m not going to be a university student forever – but if this is what real life is, it sounds tedious to me. Who says ‘real life’ is all about university degrees, marriage and wearing dull clothes?

Why do we feel the need to rush through our career, marriage and life in general? Do we always need to outdo our peers or is it something more than that?

I don’t hold the answers either –but I’ve observed that people finally reach ‘society’s expected goals’ such as graduating from university or being accepted into a corporate firm – it wasn’t as exciting as they first imagined. To compensate their disappointment, they try another goal such as getting married by a certain age, or some other goal. And again, to realise once they’ve attained it, it wasn’t as exciting as they thought it was.

What do you think?

Happy reading!
5ft0

Breaking up and defriending friends is hard

Have you tried to sever a friendship with a porcupine?

Me neither.

Ending a friendship takes on many forms: an ugly confrontation, or a polite, “I don’t think this is working out”, or just simply cutting ties with them by not returning their phone calls or responding to their e-mails.

Friendship breakups are a tricky topic. No matter which side you were on, the dumper or the dumpee – they’re fraught guilt and betrayal. Questions such as “What did I do wrong?” infest your mind. It’s quite obvious what they did was wrong – whether they betrayed you or taking credit of your work. Ending a friendship seems harsh. Until recently, there was a time I felt guilty ending a friendship. Let alone defriending an actual, real-life friend on Facebook.

Sure, drifting apart does happen. Instead of talking once a day, it may be once every three months. But the friendship contract in theory, is never-ending.

But actually defriending an actual, real-life friend on Facebook is much more difficult. They might not initially know you’ve defriended. It just appears as a blip on their friend tally. Telling a mate that you don’t like them anymore – just makes you want to drink more vodka. There’s no easy way out. No cliché phrases such as “It’s not me, it’s you” will cut it. With friendship breakups, it’s you. You can’t talk to someone who brings poison to your life. Nor you can be friends with someone who only takes advantage of your good nature.

However, there’s one easy way to tell if you’re doing the right thing. And that’s how you feel. When the person is out of your life, it feels like you can finally breathe for the first time in months. There’s a peaceful calm that comes when severing ties with the person. And GUESS WHAT? You no longer have your mind infested with negative thoughts such as, “Does this person actually like me or not?” because you’re too busy investing into friendships that truly make you happy. It feels easy and you wonder why you didn’t do it sooner.

You feel so stupid when you should've done it sooner even when Toby the dog knows the friendship is over.

Have you had to break up a friend because it was no longer working out? Or defriended someone on Facebook? It'll be great to know I'm not the only one.

Happy reading,
5ft0

Voting Woes

I'm not a voting virgin - this will be my second time in voting at a federal election. However, I'm still sitting on the fence on which party I'm going to vote this weekend.

The electorate I live in is a safe Labor seat. Our local Labor candidate is no-where to be found. Their name doesn't spring to my mind immediately. It's embarrassing to admit that.

The Liberal candidate is charming, they've taken the time to mail us glossy brochures in the post - pointing out all the things the Labor's party has done wrong over its three year tenure. While they made the effort to campaign around our local area, something still bugged me.

Maybe it's to do with an event that unfolded a few weeks ago.

I was meandering through the streets of my home town, witnessing an elderly man scavenging the bin and finding a half-eaten pork roll. I decided to get some ice coffee and while I was there, a middle-aged lady with coffee-stained teeth and dandruff-infested hair served me.

I glanced at the poster which had a picture of a potential local candidate. It was hanging on the wall of the cafe. The lady smiled at me and said,
"You should vote for him this election. He's an Asian - only an Asian can understand the hardships we go through".

Digesting what she said, I replied, "Have you tried being Aboriginal?"

The lady had no answer to my question.

Who are you going to vote this election?

Happy reading!
5ft0

Black Love

Falling in love is a beautiful thing, your heart is in a flutter and thoughts of romance and happily ever afters float around your head, constantly.

However, when you've got the wrong end of the stick when it comes to love, you suddenly don't feel hungry anymore. You don't want to eat your favourite chocolate bar. Your ice cream scoop shaped cheeks are turning bright red. Underneath it all, you feel cold and stupid.

You start doubting yourself. Of course they've got a partner. Of course they have. I'm an idiot aren't I. I should've known there was another person in the picture.

To top it off, you've been patronised as well with the other person saying, "I'm sorry if I led you on. I didn't know I did that".

You stare at the person in silence. The feeling of mortification rises exponentially. Your throat tightens and there's pain hitting in your chest. You really feel like the most dumbest person ever. The person who got completely the wrong end of the stick. You were so stupid in thinking the other person may have had feelings for you.

You feel sick with humiliation. Then you start to be self-conscious how others see you. You're the silly person who didn't understand the difference between Brie and Camembert cheese. You're the person who didn't know Matt Preston from Masterchef wears cravats. Above all, you think you're the only person in the world where people won't take you seriously.

You don't like how you were being treated, so you stiffly stand up and defend yourself. Then before they can say anything, you run out of the room quickly, filled with disappointed tears.

When you arrive home, you feel weary and miserable. Real life sinks in. Home to a place where it still smells like burnt peanuts and piles of bills stacked on the kitchen bench. You call a friend up to distract yourself - you get hysterical if you should purchase a bag from Country Road or Mimco and how you're mystified that people find Justin Bieber talented.

You go to bed forgetting about the whole situation. Only to wake up the next morning, with all the memories rushing back to you like a scary movie. You wake up looking pale and unsteady and wishing you could take a sickie. You want to stay home and watch day time telly, but you don't. You go out and do your normal thing, just because you don't want to be swallowed by the sadness of the situation.

Happy reading,
5ft0

All that Glitters is Gold

Hands up if any of you have a collection of Little Golden Books on your bookshelf? I had a huge collection of them and my parents would read them to me before I drifted off to sleep. I hung onto these books like some of my other childhood stuffs - like my cabbage patch dolls and Ninja Turtle headbands. One day, my parents were tired of seeing these items choking up with dust and demanded "Clean up all your junk! Plus, we want you out of here when you finish your uni degree".

So I decided to rescue them and tidied up my bedroom. I spent the day re-reading and flicking through the books which I once loved. There were some stories I knew off by heart, like 'The Whispering Rabbit, 'The Poky Little Puppy' and the whole Sesame Street collection. That day, I counted how many Little Golden Books I have, they were 150.

I have to thank the Little Golden Books for a few things. I learnt how to count 1-10 through my 'My First Counting Book'. While sadly I still don't know how to add up the cost of a coffee and banana bread, I am grateful I know the numerical language. While the book titled, 'Old McDonald's Farm' helped me memorise the lyrics to that nursery, as well as seeing what a horse, pig, cow and sheep look like as well. This helped me with my later studies in agriculture.

I've never paid more than a couple of dollars for each one. Though I would like to have the twelve original Little Golden Books that were published in 1942. Right now, I just have 'The Poky Little Puppy' sitting on my shelf.

I still keep my Little Golden Books in my bookshelf. My little cousins, nieces and nephews have a ball when they come to the bookshelf - it's always a mess when they visit.

What Little Golden Books do you have sitting on your bookshelf? Or garage? Or anywhere around the house?

Happy reading,
5ft0

Monthly update, sadly it's true and what talents do you have?

I'm terrified returning to 5ft0 at the moment.

It's like she's going to scream at me for being a bad mum who's neglected her child in order to study for her end-of-semester exams. Or she's forgotten to give her baby her favourite drink, the humble orange juice.

She's got the right to yell, I've been neglecting this blog because I've been studying for my end-of-semester exams. I feel like in the last three weeks, the amount of white hairs on my head has increased by 200%.

Anyway, I promised to answer questions about myself and Siobhan here's your answer:

I can't imitate accents or people if my life depended on it. Hence, I would've made a bad comedian. My gorgeous little sister however, can imitate anyone she pleases and always tells me how bad I am.

I do have other talents, such as shopping and finding ways to get out of tight situations.

So now 5ft0s, I'll ask you a question: What talents do you have?

Happy reading!
5ft0

** More substantial posts will come soon!

Feel free to ask me anything!

As this is Friday, I'm thinking about the weekend ahead. It's a mixture of catching up on my law readings, writing essays, working and meeting up with my friends. I'll also be rescuing koalas from the cold weather and making a fool of myself.

The point here is:


Whether it is what I have for breakfast, to what my favourite movies are or you're curious as to how this blog came about - ask away. I'm not going to shy away from any of the questions you post. In fact, this could be fun!

This also serves me a great opportunity to procrastinate on my final law exams too.

Happy reading!
5ft0

Why do we hold ourselves back?

It’s human nature to hold ourselves back when we’re in a situation we haven’t encountered before. Or even worse, if we’ve been through a situation that’s gut-wrenching and we see similarities to the current situation, we don’t only hold ourselves back, we run. If we could buy a ticket to the Moon - we would head over there to run away from our troubles.

Holding back is a bit like a sailor anchoring their ship to a rock. He takes a rope, ties it securely to a rock, drops the rock into the water and the boat's anchored. The rock will hold the boat in place. It's easier than cooking two minute noodles.

The thought that water and the wind have an erratic personality doesn't cross the sailor's mind.

Then one night, a cyclone hits the coast of the beach. The wind is so strong, it causes the rock to drag across the sea bed by the boat. The sailor who naively believed the anchor would secure the ship now realises his mistake.

As humans, holding ourselves back is a defence mechanism. If we've been through poor past experiences, we will use these as lessons to avoid getting hurt in the future.

However, the more we hold ourselves back, the more we hinder ourselves from future prospects.

So why do we still hold back on our feelings if we're going to experience grief anyway?

Perhaps we just hate the thought of getting a negative outcome out of a situation. Maybe the idea of confronting someone is just too much to handle.

Or maybe letting go of who you are to become the person you will be scares you half to death.

Happy reading,
5ft0

I've Neglected Myself

I apologise for my absence during the month of April, this includes my friends, family and my great online readers. This year has been excruciating for me. For a long time, I've always put other people's needs before myself.

I didn't express my opinions about anything. Even simple things like "I don't want anchovies on my pizza" just because it was easier to go along with people, then getting a backlash due to my answer.

If there were tasks which had unrealistic deadlines, I'd complete the task straight away rather than telling my supervisor I couldn't handle the work load. I'd rather have duties piled on me than to admit I can no longer cope with the demands set on me.

I'd give up on my weekends to work, rather than admit I need a break - just because I was taught to think about others before yourself. At one stage, I had this idea that I could create more time. It's relentless. There never seems to be enough hours in a day. I wish there were eight days in a week. As a child, I wondered how there were never enough hours in a day and secretly wish I could extend time, just so I could complete tasks set out for me.

Then one day, I gave up being nice girl. Working and studying seven days a week took a toll on my health. I looked myself at the mirror, staring back at me was an image of a girl with red eyes, sunken cheeks and my usual sunny disposition was no where to be seen. I couldn't even pull myself to write or buy milk. I didn't have the energy to log onto my blog and type.

By neglecting this blog, I neglected myself. Attending to other people's needs before my own was something I was taught to do as a child. No one ever told me that it was fine to think about yourself once in a while. In fact, I was taught it was selfish to do so.

So from today, I'm slowly learning that it's fine that you can't complete the 1001 tasks set out by your supervisor. That it's fine to be vulnerable and ask for help support from your friends and family when I need it. And most of all, I learnt that it's not selfish to think for yourself every now and again.

Happy reading!
5ft0

ANZAC Day - Lest We Forget

Today is ANZAC Day and I want to commemorate the soldiers who fought in Gallipoli in 1915. Some of the soldiers were as young as sixteen - they did this to ensure the security of their country. It is hard to comprehend that. When I was sixteen, I was saving my pennies to gain a fake ID to enter the hottest clubs and bars.

Every time April 25th comes around every year, I can't help but watch the sky darken as the bugle plays the tune of the"Last Post" . My heart vibrates and I feel connected with the young men who got out of their boats and ran towards the beach - not knowing what was going to happen next. Some of the soldiers were as young as sixteen years old. I don't know about you, but when I was sixteen, I was saving my pennies to get a fake ID to enter clubs and bars. Not saving the entire nation.

Sure, many of the young soldiers did it for adventure. Most of all, they did it to ensure the security of their country. The country I'm in now.

The war was senseless, but if it weren't for the soldiers - Australia and New Zealand wouldn't be the nation it is today.

For that, I say:



I also want to end this post with this question, what were you doing when you were sixteen?

5ft0

I'm sorry Sydney

Dear Sydney,

You and I had a little quarrel before I left you during the long Easter weekend. I was tired of hearing the announcer at the train station saying, “This train has been delayed for approximately five minutes. City Rail apologises for any inconvenience this has caused” for the millionth time. I gave up on finding the perfect cup of coffee. I was getting fed up on budgeting my weekly expenses. With these little flaws, I chucked a tantrum and flew down to this city:


Melbourne. The city vibrates with energy and excitement well into the night. I believe it's to do with the ubiquitous amounts of cafes at the end of every street. Is it now one cafe per person? I drank two cups of chai latte and I couldn't sleep for three days. Is that normal? I wanted to get some shut-eye, but it never happened. Also, I never cooked anything in Melbourne. The delights of Lygon Street kept my tum tum filled for three days.

It is also a city that can laugh at itself. When I was searching around the mountains of vintage accessories at the Camberwell Markets, my eyes glanced over the scribbling sign of a cathode ray monitor which is sold at the total price of:


Melbourne was showing off their International Comedy Festival, especially Swanston Street where the grand Melbourne Town Hall was located. People were glinting their eyes over the portico to examine the huge list of shows of each night. The building's tower were decorated with multiple colours and flags and laughter filled the Melbourne CBD. I laughed so hard at Jeff Green's show I think I peed my pants.

Everything was going along fine until I saw the Docklands ferris wheel - where the Victorian Government spent $40 million on it. Actually that's a lie, it wasn't even a ferris wheel. There was no wheel on it. I scratched myself and wondered, why Melbourne, why? Aren't you content with the amount of comedy festivals, cafes and restaurants you show-off to the citizens of Victoria and tourists?

Then I heard people gibbering in the background complaining how Safeway is now being called Woolworths, and how they refused to call it Woolworths. These name changes are annoying and since I'm from NSW, I can relate to this. There was this shed I affectionately called Grace Bros. One day, some head honcho from Melbourne decided to change the name to Myer. We took it on the chin and went ahead with our chaotic lives. Now you know how it feels to screw over a state.

The honeymoon period was over. I craved for a city that preferred busyness over mellowness. I wanted to be back to a city where the roads weren't all straight lines and ninety-degree angles, or the fact that a city was designed in a grid-like manner.

I know every city has its flaws and I need to accept that. I also have to stop placing high expectations on anything, even innate objects. I act like a pratty school-girl who wanted everything her way. The only thing I can say to you Sydney is:



Always,
5ft0

5ft0 Note: Happy Easter!

Hey everyone!

All I want to say is:



During the Easter period, I'm heading down to this fabulous city:



For this:



I may sporadically come and type in random posts. However, I'll be officially be starting to write posts again on Tuesday 6th April.

Have a happy easter!
5ft0

P.S - Promise me you won't lose any demerit points during the Easter break. It is double demerit points after all.

The reasons why you shouldn't go to law school

According to my make-believe statistics, 67% of law students across the world studied law for the money. They all want to live at the right address, swanky neighbourhood and have endless amounts of money. My latest observations confirms my results.

In one of my law tutorials, my tutor asked a simple question, "So why did you choose to study law?"

He went around the classroom and the responses were astounding.

"I chose law because I got the marks to do it".

"To be honest with you, I'm not going to work in law in the future. It just gives me a perspective on life".

"I chose law because I get to wear sexy suits everyday".

"I only chose law because it looks good on my resume".

By the end of the Q&A session, my tutor looked like he wanted to get a hammer, nail himself to the oak table, and throw himself into the sunset.

I was thinking to myself why on earth why they chose a degree they absolutely hated. Then, I realised how much of a goofball I was. I could list the reasons easily here:

1. The impression that you'll earn the big dollars as soon as you graduate from the College of Law. This is A LIE. Unless you start your own law firm, you don't earn a lot of money in law.

2. You work hard at school to get good marks to get into law school. Only to discover law is boring, but you don't want to disappoint your parents by giving up on it so easily.

3. Your parents force you to do law.

4. It looks impressive on your resume. It's not great to do law just for display. Also, if you're not going to use your law degree, it's as valuable as toilet paper.

I know what I've wrote sounds blunt - but it is the truth. How many people study law purely to make their parents happy? Or hell with it, studying other degrees or diplomas for the money, and not the passion?

Or maybe it's silly of me to talk about doing something your passionate about, because you've got a mortgage, a luxury car, designer clothes and alcohol bills to worry about.

What do you think?

Happy reading!
5ft0

Battling with God's Everlasting Creature

The reason why I haven't been posting as many posts as I should be, is the fact I'm at war. I'm at war with an opponent that's lived longer than humans. This opponent is smaller than any human living on this earth. An opponent which is more numerous than stars in the skies.

Ladies and gentleman, I'm at war with this creature:


I've always been armed with insect spray and a fly squat whenever I see it. Though I found that a cockroach's needs are similar to humans - we eat, sleep, eat, sleep and occasionally, copulate. The only difference is, cockroaches don't have to pay for the rent, electricity and phone bills.

I still can't get rid of the image of a cockroach prancing around the house over left over crumbs of choc-chip cookies I accidentally dropped on the tiled floor. Nor do I enjoy the image of a cockroach hiding in my bed sheets. I have killed cockroaches with many means, even mixing deadly chemicals to get rid of them. But still, these little buggers find any nook and cranny and still invade my daily life.

My war with the cockroaches escalated when I opened the fridge the other day. After dinner, I occasionally have a small bowl of choc-chip ice cream for dessert. As I opened the tub of ice cream, I saw some ugly antennae sticking out of the tub. I gasped. With its brown shell lying in the middle of the ice cream tub, I was disgusted with what I saw. I threw the tub into the bin and realised something.

I've lost the war with the cockroach.

No matter what I do, the little bugger will come to haunt me at any random hour of the day. Whenever a politician is planning on world domination, I can feel it in my bones that the cockroaches are chuckling underground knowing they've won. After all, what other creature has lived ever since dinosaurs roamed around the earth?

Happy reading!
5ft0

I'm no longer making blatant attempts, I am a show-off

Hey 5ft0s,

I apologise for the lack of creative posts recently as I've been busy with work and this article right here:



Working alongside with this article is fellow colleague, Nic Christensen. A political buff who'll make a great journalist and perhaps editor one day, prepare to see more of his work around the online and print world.

Again, politics isn't everyone's cup of tea - but I can't guarantee you this article may bore you to tears. Free feel to agree with me, disagree with me or even hate me.

Happy reading!
5ft0

Are you a fan of tea or coffee?

Personally, there's nothing more seductive than an early morning brew - whether it's coffee or tea. Both drinks bring a measure of warmth and serenity to a chaotic world of Blackberry's, deadlines and schedules. It's the taxi-driver's mate, a lawyer's best friend, or a stay-at-home parent's companion.

The only difference in my eyes, is that tea has a spiritual aura surrounding this fabulous drink. While I always imagine coffee drinkers to have foam solidifying on their upper lips, whilst juggling a suitcase, laptop and a Blackberry on their way to work.

I've always wondered why this is the case. Why the coffee drinker has always been mocked and ridiculed for being an addict, while tea drinkers have gotten away with such abuse. It may be the fact that coffee houses in the 17th Century were formed alongside insurance companies to attract new customers. Or it could be the fact we picture coffee drinkers with yellow teeth, a nose which is dipped in espresso and blood-shot eyes. Not to mention coffee takes a significant portion out of one's weekly expenses.

However, tea has gone trendy as well - to the point of being frivolous. Many tea houses now package tea leaves in swanky designer boxes, delicate porcelain teapots, cups and saucers. I'm intimidating to go to tea houses now, in fear that I wouldn't know what white monkey jasmine tea is. I'm much more happy using a tea bag from Tetley and eating it with an apple and pecan cake.

They've also got many interesting concoctions, such as watered downed Turkish apple and cinnamon, white flowery pekoe or green rooibos with berries. It sounds like a lawn mower has gone through his mulch, picked out the odd berries and tree roots from it and brewed it for afternoon tea. I can feel many tea drinkers whose preferred poison is an English Breakfast shaking their heads at the way tea is now being marketed.

For me, my favourite poison is this humble drink:
With the taste of chai, cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, pepper and ginger - it's consumed hot and sweet, with the sugar bringing out the full flavour of the spices.

However, I feel chai latte has gone way too sweet for my liking, with cafes scrimping on the spices and increasing the amount of sugar to save money. Or am I merely just imagining such things?

Now it's over to you. Are you a coffee or tea drinker? Do you think cafes are scrimping on ingredients to save costs?

Happy reading!
5ft0

Has the 2010 Sydney Mardi Gras gone too corporate?

Until Saturday 27th February, the closest thing to attending a Mardi Gras parade was seeing my maths teacher on the news - wearing a fluro yellow bow tie, fluro pink tutu and a glittering wand. Not to mention he was prancing along Oxford Street like a happy lamb.

While that image has now been burnt into my retina, I was still curious to see how a Mardi Gras parade unfolded. As my friends and I were walking along the streets on Sydney, we saw a plethora of costumes and the energy was intoxicating.





By the time my friends arrived at Oxford Street at five o'clock, the street had been transformed into a colourful catwalk, with several parade participants dancing around with the trademark flag. Not to mention, the street was crowded. As my friend puts it correctly, "I felt like a human sausage".





I had to stand at the crowd for three hours before the parade began. After that, the parade started off with the 200 'Dykes on Bikes' riding up on Oxford Street. As the parade continued, I was expecting to see some witty visual commentary on their political opponents featuring in the floats. Instead, I saw advertisements for State Transit, Legal Aid and a few other corporate sponsors. I felt like the Sydney Mardi Gras was more interested in corporate relationships, then community values and local activism.

While there were a few costumes that stood out, like the Thai representative group which showed off their exquisite cultural costume - it saddens me that the parade now focuses on profit. Sometimes, I feel like they've forgotten the days where a parade couldn't go a day without a protest.

For those who attended the Mardi Gras this year - what did you think of this year's events? Am I being naive or have the Mardi Gras have gone too corporate?

Happy reading!
5ft0

*Photos courtesy of Kym Huynh

Another Blatant Attempt At Self Promotion

Huzzah!
I'm about to do it again!

Feel free to slap me if I become a show-off.

Over at The Punch, I've written an article about banks. It is a topic that most people roll their eyes over whenever they hear that word. I can reassure you that this piece won't bore you.



I can't believe my article is working alongside with David Koch's article about finance! Oh gosh, I'm definitely going to get slapped any minute now.

Another thing, I received an award from Sam on Things, Just Things.


When I first started blogging over a year ago, I thought I would be another blog that was being cool and indifferent, shuffling along cyberspace like a deck of cards. So here's seven things you don't know about me:

1. There was a time where I thought Kindergarten was the only grade in school. This was shattered when I returned from my six week summer holiday and my Kindergarten teacher at the time said, "You're all going to year one today! I won't be your teacher anymore."

As I was trying to grasp this concept, I cried in front of the whole class - because I didn't want to accept there was no such thing as year one. Eighteen years later, I can see how stupid I was.

2. I dislike mushrooms - except if it's chicken and mushroom pide or in pizza.

3. I like the small cases by Pretty in Pink. I have a mobile phone case, iPod case and vanity case in my bag from them. Friends find it hilarious. I prefer to think these as an investment.

4. There was a time where I spent my pocket money on magazines, instead of recess and lunch. I always wanted to read the latest issue of Australian Cosmopolitan - for the witty editor's letter written by Mia Freedman.

5. I love the beach. But I'm always scared of the creatures that lurk in the waters. Australia is a dangerous place, if you're not faced with snakes - you'll be faced with sharks and jellyfishes that wouldn't mind wrecking havoc on your day.

6. I'm currently learning how to play the flute and my cheek muscles are more toned than my tummy and butt.

7. I never understood why people use the phrase "Same, but different". It's useless. It can't be both. It's either the same, or its different. Another phrase I cringe at it's "Definitely maybe". Definitely means you're sure about it. While 'maybe' these days means you're not sure or according to Facebook - you're not going to the party that John Smith invited you too.

I'm going to give the awards to the following people:

Kym Huynh at Kym Huynh
Siobhan at Facets of the Fabulous
Alex at Shut Up Vita
Kate at I'm the worst blogger
Sam at I've never been good with titles
Rob at Go Forth & Blogeth
Gigdiary at Gigdiary

Happy reading!
5ft0

Remembering how to use most obsolete gadgets

I usually have a good memory. If I hear an inkling that a new technological device or trend is about to invade to Australia – I’ll snap it immediately and use it until it completely falls apart or becomes obsolete. However, I can still remember how to use years after it becomes obsolete. My short history proves this. Here I go:

When I was Year Three, I discovered Windows 95. Being 1995, my first foray into technology was using Encarta Encyclopaedia to do my homework, playing Carmen Sandiego and marvel the fact that a CD-Rom could hold so much information. Today, I’m amazed that I remember how to use all these products.

When I was 10, I got my first Sony portable CD player. I was in awe of a machine where I could listen to music while I was eating lunch at the school playground, as well as carrying a folder of CDs to listen to my music. Today, even though my portable CD player is collecting dust up in the antic, I still remember how to use it.

When I was 11, I was obsessed with Pokemon and in particular, Pikachu. Who doesn’t find the little yellow monster adorable? Today, I still remember the motto “Gotta catch em all”.

When I was 13, the 90s were coming to an end. Backstreet Boys were popular and I had a huge crush on Nick Carter. I had posters of him in my bedroom and prayed to the almighty above that he will come down to Australia and ask me to go out with him. Today, whenever a Backstreet Boys song is played on the radio, I still remember the lyrics to “As Long As You Love Me”.

When I was 15, my parents finally got a 56K modem. It took three minutes to load up eBay. Songs took about twenty minutes to download. Image websites took ten minutes to upload and downloading movies was impossible. Today, I currently use broadband but I still remember how to use a dial-up internet.

When I was 17, I received my first iPod. The screen was black and white. However, I was gobsmacked when the device had a 20GB memory, holding approximately 2,000 songs. Today, I still remember to use an iPod – even though the little gadget has been upgraded around sixty-seven times.

When I was 21, Facebook bursted into the scene and I no longer needed to manually show to my friends pictures of my recent trip to Melbourne. Today, I remember how to use Facebook – even though the widget has undergone changes than Heidi Montag.

But a few days ago, I had to use a technological device that I hadn’t used since I was ten.
I had to walk downstairs to pick up this device from the antic:


I took it down to the lounge room. A friend of mine gave me a video titled ‘The Big Gig’ video as a gift and I was bursting with excitement to watch it.

However, as I placed the VCR down, my mind went blank. I turned around and asked my sister,

“So, where do you put the video tape?”

Happy reading!
5ft0

Slow Times at my 5 Year High School Reunion

After my previous post, I decided to attend my high school reunion. I had my doubts though: would everyone think I'm still geeky? Would people think I'm a loser because I'm still finishing off my university degree? What am I going to answer when people ask for the one hundredth time, "So, what are you currently up to Tina?"

Dreading these thoughts, I had a plan: I'll hire a double D breasted hooker with lots of make-up and pretend it's me. Only problem was I didn't have $3,000 lying around my home to do that. My friends however, were against this and didn't see why I wanted a hooker to impersonate me. Though they did warn me to not wear a blazer because it would look as if I was trying too hard to impress my classmates. I haven't done anything remotely impressive, but apparently, the blazer was pushing it too far.

When I got to the function room at the Shamrock Lounge in Sydney, N.S.W - perhaps the perfect adult way to reminisce my high school memories - there were people in the room. The lounge was dimly lit, so I didn't recognise anyone.

With $300 tugged into my handbag, I decided to buy a drink. As I glanced around the room, no one's face looked familiar. This was a bad place in finding out what people I knew as teenagers looked like, if they were married, what they do for a living, who went to jail for a while. All the important questions.

Then a man aged in his latest forties came towards me,
"Oh hey Lizzie! What have you been doing since we graduated from med school?"
I couldn't move. My feet were cemented to the floor. I'm in the wrong reunion.
I answered the man anyway,
"Um hello!" I left my hand in a friendly little wave, and smiled around the room.
But nobody smiled back.
"Errm...I've just got to..." I started backing away. "Just go to..."
I turned. And I ran.

As I arrived back down the foyer, I'm panting slightly. Which is not surprising, since I've just done a half marathon along endless corridors, trying to get out of this place. I pressed the button for the lift, then paused to catch my breathe. I straightened my dress, transferred my handbag from one aching shoulder to the other, and began to walk calmly across the foyer towards the door. All I can think about is getting out of this function before anyone can...

"Tina!" comes a voice behind my head, and I froze. Shit. They've got me.
"Hello," I gulped, turning around.
It was a classmate of mine, standing right in front of me.
"Hi Tina, I'm just here to tell you that we didn't book a venue for 5 year reunion - so come down to the bar next door".

This day is unbelievable. Completely and utterly unreal.
I followed my classmate, clasping my beige tote bag tightly. I gave a nervous look to my classmate and I'm already having worrying about this reunion. What if everyone thinks I'm still pimply Tina? What if everyone thinks I'm a trumped-up unemployed uni student with no aim in life?

As I arrived at the bar, there were a few people sipping drinks. To my surprise, I realised a lot of the people attending the reunion had the same nagging thoughts as well. However, I didn't expect to feel that I could happily go back to hanging out with these people. After high school, I was able to seek out friends who had similar interests and ambitions, instead of those who happened to live a walking distance away.

I left at ten-thirty, when most of my friends had other parties to attend. We left the potent mixture of nostalgia and beer behind, realising our futures don't hinge on this reunion.


Happy reading!
5ft0

Heinz - Chicken in a Can

When Jessica Simpson uttered the famous comment, “Is this chicken what I have, or is it fish?” The workers over at ‘Chicken of the Sea’ must’ve shook their heads in disappointment.

Recently, I’ve been shaking my head in disappointment with Heinz’s new product – Chicken in a Can. Their new tagline? "Real chicken just got interesting again."
To me, it's gotten a whole lot disgusting.

I’m use to eating a succulent roast chicken which has been cooking away in the oven for an hour. Not from a can. I don’t even eat tuna in a can – so chicken is beyond me. The only meat I buy in a can is dog food. There’s something unsettling about chicken that’s been shredded to eternity, resembling more like cat food than chicken.

At the same time, I feel I am being hypocritical. Chicken has been in tinned cans for yonks, think Campbell’s chicken soup, or any tinned can soup with the ingredients chicken mentioned in the list. Or the well-known Spam, where people either like it or hate it. Why should I be turning my nose up when Heinz decides to put pure chicken in a can?

Maybe it’s the ad. It’s awful. I couldn’t think of anything worse that the possibility of chicken nail clippings in my food. Either way, I prefer a good roast chicken over a can any day.

What do you people think about the concept of chicken in a can?

Happy reading!
5ft0

Double Standards for Double Ds

Sometimes, I don't understand why society imposes double standards for double Ds. In one of my previous posts, I mentioned that Heidi Montag had ten cosmetic surgery procedures done on her, including upgrading her breasts from a double D to a triple D. What was more astounding is that people applaud Heidi for showing off her surgically enhanced cleavage.

Then you get Jessica Simpson, whose cleavage is au-naturale, is ridicule for showing her boobs in public. Recently, Jessica Simpson went out to dinner in a low-cut dress, leading to instant drama in Twitter. To make matters worse, Simpson often posts a picture of herself displaying a lot of cleavage, which caused a serious Twitter backlash. Let's face it, we're obsessed with breasts. You only need to glance a copy at the latest issue of Ralph magazine to realise that.

Though the question is, would people have been offended and insulted if Simpson's breasts were fake? I mean, women with small breasts feel shamed and are presured into having cosmetic surgery to increase their breast size. If that scares them, they can walk into in a lingerie store and purchase a push-up bra. Once they do either of those things, they are allowed to display them for all the world to see - like they're an investment.

Meanwhile, women who are blessed with big breasts are ridiculed and are pressured to wearing high cut dresses and blouses to avoid any attention.

Why should we celebrate one young woman who decides she needs ten different surgeries to make herself look perfect? While another is content with her body, but is punished. How is any lady in today's society expected to feel good?

Happy reading,
5ft0

The Lost Letter from Parliament House

This letter was found at the footsteps of Parliament House. Before the letter was discovered, witnesses spotted a scantily clad young woman being escorted from the premises shouting incoherent babble.

However, an unnamed source sent the letter to Five Foot Nothing and here it is:

Tony love,

Remember me? It’s Amelia. I’m at Parliament House now. The place is filled with security guards. I’ve only got five minutes to write this letter and not get caught.

Anyway, I was THAT young lass from the Motherland. I think you said you had some sort of promotion in your government job. I want to congratulate you on that. I can’t remember what it was though; I had one too many pints of cold beer to recall anything.

When I first met you, you were coming out of Bondi Beach, looking hot and bronzed. Those pair of budgie smugglers just sealed the deal. I always imagined Aussie lads to be fit like you.

I’m the woman of your dreams Tony dear. I’ll make you breakfast every morning and I’ll save myself for you. I’m glad you’re not a priest. I use to fancy a priest down the road. He was a good-looking lad. It was a pity he only had eyes for Jesus though. He also started talking some nonsense that women should only have sex after marriage. I couldn’t stand a lad who treated women like farm animals. I would kick him into the gutter and give him the finger.

Oh sweetie, I heard you got a little bit of bad press recently. They said you were out of touch, conservative and religious. A night with me and you can easily solve all three of those problems, I promise. The press also said the Aussies prefer that Ruddy sot over you. Blimey, people here prefer Mr Sheen over a bronzed handsome man like you? Unbelievable! I can’t believe they aren’t besotted about your good looks.

I found the press so biased; I decided to conduct my own survey. I know the media can misconstrue things so I made my own survey to put my heart at ease. This task wasn’t as easy as I anticipated. Some of the people I asked to do a survey threw sticks at me. It was humiliating. Someone like you should teach these barbarians some manners! You don’t throw things at people.

While I’m at it, it seems like people think you don’t have any strengths. Silly colonials, everyone has their own strengths. I do too. I have the ability to down five pints of cold beer in eight seconds. It helps when Happy Hour comes to an end. Your strength Tony dear, is your Aussie accent. I fancy a man with an Aussie accent, it makes you manly. Also, I’m glad to hear that you Aussies are still loyal to the Motherland. Good to see you colonials are even more loyal than we are to the Royal Family.


Before we commit to the next step in our fairytale relationship, please tell me that what people are saying about your views on climate change isn’t true. A lot of people I did survey said this. Please, tell me it isn’t true. How else do you explain Antarctica is becoming smaller every year? Think about those poor little penguins! There is such a thing as global warming. I know deep down sweetie, you believe this is happening. Poor thing, this survey makes me realise you cop a lot of flak from the Aussies. Don’t worry dear; people bully other people for no apparent reason.

I don’t want to upset you Tony darling, but here are some of the responses the surveyors wrote:

Ruth, 71, Mona Vale

I find Abbott a hypocrite. He’s a Christian, but does un-Christian things like condemning migrants for embracing their own values.

Larry, 54, Kings Cross

He’s old-fashioned. He’s a homophobic prick who dislikes change. How can you be a good politician if you can’t embrace new ideas? It scares me that the Liberal party voted a leader who is so out-of-touch with current issue.

However, a few people had nice things to say. Here is one:

Amelia, 21, England

Tony Abbott? That man is sex on legs. You Aussies produce good-looking lads. Keep it up!

Oh bollocks! The guards are coming towards m-

A Sugarholic's Diary

My friend Jane* believes I'm addicted to sugar. I beg to differ. Even though I hide lollies around my room, doesn't make me guilty of being a sugarholic.

Sure, I like sweet food. Everyone does.

7:30 am: I'm busy reading the newspaper. Oooh, sugar! I want it in my cereal.

10:14 am: I'm typing an article for a website. Oooh, biscuits! I grab three of those.

10:15 am: I'm feeling tired. Oooh, chai lattes! I run downstairs to the cafe to purchase this.

12:00 pm: Lunch time. I walk to the kitchen and as I grab my lunch something grabs my attention. Oooh, choc-chip cookies! I grab one.

4:00 pm: Again, I walk down the kitchen. The jar's empty. I say out loud to anyone who could hear me, "Who stole the cookies from the cookie jar?" I'm getting stroppy with my co-workers afterwards.

5:00 pm: TGIF drinks! Oooh, I want some lemon and lime bitters with vodka please. I'm happy again.

9.:30 pm: Having dinner with the other half. Oooh, tiramisu. Should I have it? I've eaten way too many sweets all day. Bugger it, have it.

Three hours later, I feel sorry that I divulged in so many sugary foods. I only have two packets of Oreos, a box of Cadbury favourites and Pop Tarts hidden in my room. It's decreased heaps.

Oh bugger it! I open up a packet of Tim Tams and bite both ends, stick it into a mug of hot chocolate and use it like a straw.

In hindsight, I look at this timeline and wonder if I am a sugarholic. Does anyone feel guilty at the amount of sweets they eat at times? Oh please, don't tell me I should attend Sugarholic Anonymous meetings!

Happy reading,
5ft0

P.S - Parts of this entry may be slightly fabricated for entertainment value.

* Names have been changed for privacy reasons.

Did you enjoy High School?

Recently, I received an invitation on Facebook that my grade was going to hold a belated five year reunion. I thought school reunions occurred a decade after we finished school. I was wrong.

It got me thinking, did I enjoy high school? I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel when I step back through the doors of my high school years in two weeks time. However, I do remember a few things.

I remember that when I was at high school, I didn't have Facebook to distract me. I had Tickle. iPod's were still black and white and I had a huge crush on Adam Brody from The OC.

I remember I was embarrassed that I attended this high school. My school stuck out like a sore thumb compared to other schools in my area. The boys’ uniform resembled an outfit Steve Irwin would be proud of – khaki shirt and shorts with black school shoes.

Unlike other schools in my area, my school had a farm. While most girls my age were too busy stuffing their bras with oranges to make their breasts look bigger, I was milking cows and growing cabbages. While most students came home looking relatively clean, I came home looking like I spent three days down a mine shaft. I had gesso, clay and blue pen marks on my school uniform. My mum threw sticks at me after I committed this offence the twentieth time. As a result of this, I’ve been washing my clothes since.

I remember how I hated looking at myself in the mirror before I went to school each morning. I hated how I had a broad face and almond eyes, and wondered why I wasn’t a tall girl with long blonde hair, with sky blue eyes and a smile so bright, that
could save New York City a huge electricity bill.

My skin had more craters than the Earth's moon. I used any old thing at the local pharmacy to try and scrub it into submission. I would also go to a supermarket and buy foundation to hide my crater face. But as I was hopeless in applying foundation, I didn’t even use it at the end.

School wise? I was an average student - who did enough work to scrape by. My favourite subjects were recess and lunch. I couldn't wait to finish year twelve. I want to escape from all the stupid rules, chemistry and I didn't need sin, cos and tan to navigate my way through life.

Now? I wish someone told me the HSC had the same value as toilet paper. Or that 'real life' doesn't mean you need to be an accountant or a pharmacist to have a steady income and pay the mortgage.

After recalling all these memories from high school, I still want to go to the reunion. Seeing what people are up to these days. Who's married? Who's already got kids? All the important questions in life.

How was your high school days like? Would you go to your high school reunion? For those of you who have, what was the reunion like?


Happy reading!
5ft0

Who wants to win the iPad battle?

Last time, Apple wanted to sue Woolies because their logo looked apple-y.

Now, Fujitsu wants to sue Apple because they have own the trademark to the iPad. In 2002, Fujitsu released a touchscreen, Wi-Fi and Bluetooth phone which looks like this:


It looks like Apple's new iPad which looks like this:


Like most people, I didn't know Fujitsu created an iPad. They even wanted to trademark the iPad name in 2003, but this was suspended at the U.S Patent and Trademark office because ANOTHER company wanted to register this name. This company was Mag-Tek. They wanted to register the name in 2000, only to abandon this process in 2002.

Even a Canadian company invented the breast-enhancing iPad bra. However, I've searched the interweb and I couldn't find the images to this.

Since none of them actually own the iPad trademark, I predict this case would go bust. Compared to what's happening at Haiti at the moment, this stuff is so trivial.

What are your thoughts about this?

Happy reading,
5ft0

A New Way of Looking at Aging

This particular post was inspired by watching "Iron Chef". It wasn't the cooking that got me - it was more of the commentating of the judges that surprised me. There was this thirty-one year old female contestant who went up against Chen Kenichi (for those that don't know, Chen's the Chinese Iron Chef). What would most of you think when you hear the age thirty-one? In Western countries she would've been considered mature, or in the modelling industry, O-L-D.

Here? They called this thirty-one year old female contestant as 'young'. I thought it was a great way of viewing aging. In fact, in the Japanese culture, you're not considered an adult until your fifty. Their reason? "For the first fifty years of your life, you're learning all the lessons about life. You need to learn these lessons before you're considered an adult".

Different, yes. But thought-provoking. In Straya, we considered adults to be over the age of eighteen, where they're legal to buy beer, get into clubs, drive...all the important life lessons.

If we had a different perception of old-age, would people fear aging? It is a natural process. However, our youth-centred perception of older women in particular, is stereotyped and negative. This is reflected in our use of language, humour and media. Phrases such as 'over the hill' and 'don't be a fuddy-duddy' show old age as a period of incompetence. In jokes - which speaks volumes about societal attitudes - show women as lonely, frustrated and shrivelled up. Even though women live longer than men on average, older men are perceived as being healthier than older women.

Youthfulness is a major incentive to sell products. We're surrounded by media messages about the need - especially for women to stay young. As I said from the previous post, hiding old age is impossible. I'm twenty-three. While it isn't noticeable, I have laugh wrinkles. Even seventeen year olds have wrinkles, but they aren't noticeable. It's normal. We're all going to have wrinkled skin and sagging bodies to mark our old age.

A great example of someone who feared aging is this person. She went from this:


To this:


Happy reading!
5ft0

Y'know how Paris Hilton always talks herself up?

I'm about to do the same.
Oops.

I don't want to sound like I'm the biggest show-off in cyberspace, but I'm so thrilled that an article of mine is published at The Punch.

I was nervous when I walked into 'The Punch' office. My writing skills aren't on par with the journos there - especially with Penbo and Colgo. But hey, I gave it a shot.

I've got to stop the bragging mechanism right here. Feel free to comment on my post - you can agree with me, criticise me, hate me - whatever. Australia is a democratic country after all.

I have to thank Alex at Shut Up Vita for writing out her thoughts about the Republican v Monarchy debate. Your help was much appreciated.

Happy reading!
5ft0

Prince William doesn't do it for me

I'm unfazed with Prince William's arrival to Sydney today. I know many girls are in shock that I'm not besotted by Prince William's looks. After watching a shot of Prince William greeting people in New Zealand yesterday, he looks like a pasty pompous prince with a bald patch on his head.

I'm having a crush on this Prince:



Yes, I admit I'm a shallow person and a silly girl on top of that. But he looks like a guy who can laugh at himself. Sure, he's done some stupid things such as wearing a Swastika armband to a party, embarrassing the Royal Family in the process. Or getting caught smoking pot and drinking in 2002.

But today, I'm here to admire the aesthetics of this young Prince.

Happy perving!
5ft0

The Brits Cracking Down on Obesity

It feels like I've neglected this blog for far too long! But I wanted to hear your say in what you think of this news.

In 2008 in Britain , parents are receiving official letters telling them if their child is has a weight problem under a Government crackdown on obesity.

However, words such as 'fat' and 'obese' will not be used to avoid stigmatising the illness. The word obese apparently makes parents 'switch off' and not take any notice. Instead, words such as 'overweight' or 'very overweight' replace the former.

The measurements used to calculate the body weight of a child is to use the Body Mass Index (BMI) adjusted for their age but parents will not be told this figure. Instead the letter will plot where the child is on a scale from underweight, to healthy weight, overweight and very overweight.

The letter will also accompany with leaflets on healthy eating, 'physical activity' and the health risks associated with being overweight.

I'm on two thoughts with this one. On one hand, is right for schools to give authority if their child is obese...oh sorry, I mean overweight? Or do some parents need to be told what to do?

But here's my piece. When I was doing work experience at a school recently, I'd noticed children's lunch were overloaded with food. I'd started Kindergarten over 17 years ago and the only thing I had in my lunch box was a small bag of chips, a ham, cheese and tomato sandwich and an apple juice.

Today? The kids lunch boxes are filled with a 50 gram packet of chips, double layer sandwiches, a tub of yoghurt, biscuits and a banana. I think to myself, is a child going to eat all of that?

Even worse, when I did notice a student only having an apple and a bottle of water for recess, the teacher was alarmed and said,

"Are you already full from eating an apple?"
To which the child replied, "Yes".

Blimey, haven't times changed.

What's your opinion on this issue?

Happy reading!
5ft0