MBD - The Case Studies

So I was thinking back over the past few days, trying to remember the strange things that have been happening around school. There has certainly been an unusual number of bizarre incidences, like when I put my jumper on again after PE on Tuesday and was convinced it wasn't mine, and went around the school trying to find the actual owner before my friends managed to convince me it was definitely the one I'd had on that morning. Or when I wrote all my notes in Maths backwards to perplex and bemuse Gwen (it didn't work amazingly well. She spared it a brief glance before going back to her own work, leaving me to try and interpret my own mirror writing in an attempt to recall a formula. Not something to try again). But I was giving it some thought when I realised that what most of the incidents I was considering had in common was that they took place in the library. Yes, what should have been the quietest room in the school, full of people working hard or reading quietly, was in actual fact quite the opposite. These events occurred after school, within our free time, or even during the classes themselves. The only common factor is the location. At this point I was forced to stop my train of thought and get on with my Physics questions (I'd like to know a better time to plan future blog posts than in the middle of Physics), but I devoted a great deal of thought to it at a more appropriate time later in the day (Geography), and came to a conclusion. I have recently made a number of strange discoveries in my professional guise as Dr Leslie M. Harper, PhD (Uttoxetercamfordbridgedam). For example, that schoolitis is a dangerous disease. And that cow tipping has its own Wikipedia page. However, I think this may be one of my strangest. 

We've had schoolitis, and covered it thoroughly: I believe what causes these bibliotomous events is a branch of that disease. It's almost certainly due to the presence of books. Our Technological Generation adolescent brains are unequipped to cope with such a large quantity of the printed word at any one time, especially when our immune systems have already been crippled by the savage onslaught of schoolitis. Hence, I term this strange condition, which causes the incidences of behaviour such as I have listed below, Mad Book Disease, or MBD (yes, I know it's misleading, seeing as it's not the books themselves that are ill, but Mad Youth Disease seemed too broad. Also I want to keep it for a future band name, just in case).

Case study 1: In which I am viciously and ironically attacked by Marie-Clare

I am willing to admit that this incident is at least partly my fault, although I still maintain I had only the best intentions at heart. Long-time readers - also anyone who has ever met, spoken to, or passed within a metre of Marie-Clare - will know that she has a morbid and unrealistic obsession with an older boy. I'm sorry, I meant a healthy and endearing crush on an older boy, whom we shall refer to as 25. It's surprising when Marie-Clare decides to like someone in her vicinity. Normally she goes for people like Paul McCartney or Richard Hammond. It's a nice change for her to fancy someone who is less than thirty years older than her. So obviously, we (everyone but Marie-Clare) are doing our best to facilitate said relationship. I happened to be having a conversation with Gwen the other day when we passed 25, talking to some of his friends. He's on crutches at the moment, and had paused briefly. I didn't want to waste this opportunity. I promptly raised my voice - fairly loudly, I wasn't in the library at this point - and said something along the lines of 'Marie-Clare is an amazing person! She loves people suffering from minor disabilities!' while Gwen gave me concerned looks. Honestly, I doubt 25 even noticed. Yet when I mentioned this event to Marie-Clare in the library after school, she was less pleased. I still don't think this was any reason for her to seize a book from the shelves, hit me with it, and leave. This, in itself, wasn't noticeably unusual, but this is the book she chose:

 There's nothing like seeing a giant peace symbol coming towards you, being wielded by a friend with violent intentions, to really demonstrate the meaning of the word 'irony'.

Case study 2: In which Marie-Clare attempts to prove that she is not a stalker

I'll set the scene for you. Marie-Clare, Peanut, and I are in the library for Geography. Our Scottish teacher is occupied a couple of desks away. We've got laptops and are supposed to be doing our assignment on them. Peanut has, instead, opened my blog to the previous post and is laughing at what it says about polar bears. Marie-Clare is Googling people she finds attractive and showing me their pictures. Once she'd reached the point at which she was Googling Justin Bieber, I felt sorry for her and changed the topic of conversation.

'So, how are things going with 25? Talked to him yet?'

'Well, he thinks I'm strange now. But at least I'm not stalking him. I wouldn't do that.'

'Do what, exactly?' asked I, intrigued. I'd previously considered her behaviour to be extremely stalkerish. 'What kind of thing would you consider stalking?'

'You know, looking him up on Google Images to see if there's a picture of him, like this.'

She proceeded to type his name into Google, look at the images, scream when she saw a picture of him, and slam the computer shut. I won't go in to how hard it was to persuade our teacher we were still doing work at this point.

Case study 3: In which Giuseppe finally reveals a form of ignorance

Throughout our time together, I have always regarded Giuseppe as one who, despite my many attempts to prove otherwise, is a superior being - to me, at least. She gets better grades than I do. She is older than me (her birthday was yesterday - she's now sixteen, to my petty fifteen years, eleven months and twenty-seven days. I'd made an animation saying 'HAPPY 16TH GIUSEPPE!' to upload on this blog, but it didn't work - if you want to see it, you'll have to ask me in person). This week, however, I found a weak spot, a single point of ignorance.

It was during RAVE (Religious and Values Education. Apparently it used to be called Religious and Philosophical Education, but they changed it). We were on the library computers. I was Googling the Cambridge Five (well, I certainly wasn't going to do anything RAVE-related. If they wanted us to do work they wouldn't make us take the subject). From there I got on to the Wikipedia page of a secret Cambridge debating team called the Apostles (yes, they have secret debating teams now. What do you mean, you've never heard of them? The clue's in the name. Although it must be said, I'm not overly impressed with the secrecy levels of this team, considering they have a Wikipedia page). I got Giuseppe's attention, on the basis that she'd probably want to read about it (she's a debater, and she hopes to go to Cambridge. In fact, one of our frequent arguments is Oxford vs. Cambridge. Oxford all the way, my friends. Oxford all the way). We were reading through the page, occasionally making comments like 'So what exactly is utilitarianism?' and 'Natural law can be applied to this problem in a number of different ways,' to make it sound like we were deeply involved in our religion study. We'd gotten down to the bit about how the Apostles like eating sardines on toast (apparently this is the kind of information Wikipediacs think we need) when Giuseppe turned to me and went 'What exactly is a sardine?'

At which point I probably exclaimed at her ignorance. I can't remember, precisely. All I know is that in my head I was going 'WHO DOESN'T KNOW WHAT A SARDINE IS? WHO? WHO?'

I may be biased by my partial British upbringing (I lived for two years in Oxford and three months in Cambridge, and I know which I prefer), but who doesn't know what a sardine is? Who has never played Sardines, or compared a packed room to 'a tin of sardines'?

My answer was tentative: 'A small fish. A bit like an anchovy. You can eat them on toast. Well, I don't like them on toast, but some people do.'

Her response shocked me even more, if that was possible. 'I'd always thought an anchovy was a kind of vegetable.'

I considered this. 'Well, it does sound a bit like 'olive', I suppose.'

'No, I thought it was a type of capsicum.'

We then had to look up both sardines and anchovies, meaning we didn't get any work done,which is the status quo in RAVE lessons. Again, I blame the books for Giuseppe's ignorance. Clearly a deep-seated case of MBD. Q.E.D.

Case study 4: In which Aviator proposes to the librarian

Ames brought in some rings earlier this week, some of which she gave to Ariane. Ariane proceeded to wear one, a gold-ish one with a large "diamond", as a wedding ring (although she's been married three or four times now, she decided it was easier to wear just one. Lala, who now has nine wives, is considering getting a wedding ring for each of them and wearing them on a bracelet). The next time I saw Ariane, she was wearing a silver one with a small diamond (diamond-shaped glass) instead. In response to my questioning, she informed me she'd temporarily passed the gold one on to Aviator. I couldn't think what Aviator needed a ring for, but not being there, I was unable to ask him. The next time I saw him was in the library after school. I was sitting across the table from Giuseppe, who was doing French homework with her iPod earphones in. When Aviator leapt up to her, thrust his hand directly into her line of vision and shouted 'Kiss the ring!' she let out a wild shriek and rocked backwards. When we'd both recovered slightly, and we'd assured Aviator that we were not, in fact, going to kiss the ring, no matter how many other people had agreed to, as neither of us wanted contagious diseases (except for MBD, which we didn't know about at that point), I asked him why he'd borrowed the ring in the first place. Apparently he'd used it to ask someone else in our year, Lis, to marry him. We were sceptical. Finally, he grew tired of our cynicism and said 'Fine, I'll show you how I did it.' The librarian happened to be passing, presumably on some innocent errand, when Aviator got her attention and knelt in front of her, proffering the ring. She was momentarily stunned. 'Where did you get that?'

'I used it to become engaged to someone earlier,' he explained.

'I'm not sure you've got the point of it, then. You're meant to leave the ring with the girl.'

'So will you marry me?'

'No.'

Despite this rather disappointing outcome, it was certainly a diversion to the homework I was supposed to be doing. I'm not sure how Aviator's engagement will fare when he's forced to return the ring to Ariane, but I offer him my humble congratulations, speaking as someone who has been married three times in as many weeks.

Case study 5: In which Gwen refuses to salute the poster

The librarians, in the past weeks, have put a number of posters up in the library. We used to have one of Russell Crowe and one of Frodo Baggins holding a book with the caption 'Reading. Make it a hobbit.' But my English teacher made them take the Russell Crowe one down, on the grounds that it was setting a bad example for students, and the library staff made the decision themselves to remove the hobbit poster and replace it with one of a couple of Twilight stars staring blankly out of the picture as if they've both been hit in the face with bricks (or possibly that's wishful thinking). A bad decision, in my opinion, but I couldn't get enough supporters to fall in with my plan of storming the library and ripping it off the wall. Anyway, the Russell Crowe one has been replaced by a picture of Hugh Laurie. Anybody who claims to know me at all well will know of my preoccupation with the phenomenal comedic powers of Messrs. Fry & Laurie. This poster could only be an improvement. In fact, it seemed to me, when confronted with the poster for the first time, that it was a little callous simply to walk past without acknowledging the man himself. Peanut, who was with me, seconded this notion. Now, when we walk past the poster, we always stop to salute.

I attempt to keep this important custom going even when Peanut is not with me. I also encourage others to do the same. Gwen, however, although she puts up with a great deal of insanity from us Strange Things, has to draw the line somewhere, and she has drawn it right down the middle of the library floor (metaphorically speaking). Not only does she not salute the poster, she shuns me if I attempt to do so. Blog Readers and Strange Things All, I believe we can change her mind. I'm relying on you to spread the message. Don't walk past that poster without a brief acknowledgment. A salute is not necessary. A discreet wave will do. A smile. A parade of honour marching up and down the corridor, stopping before the poster to fall to their knees in awe before the great man, while exclaiming his numerous qualities in loud voices. Any one of these small gestures is fine.

Reading back on this, I think it's fairly obvious that I, too, am afflicted with MBD.

Case study 6: In which the RCG steals a book

My sister, the Reluctant Cheese Grater, who has displayed very few criminal tendencies in the time I've known her, attempted to steal a book from the library after school. Oh, it was subtle enough, and she claims she didn't mean to, but I can see through that. She was walking from the library when she spotted the target - a book about dancing. She seized it, flicking through that pages, and casually attempted to walk out of the library. Obviously the alarm went, and she rapidly left it on the desk and departed hastily. I made her come back and put it back on the shelves (not for any particular reason, I just enjoy asserting my sororal authority), which she did, before leaving for so-called 'rehearsals'. Not only am I related to a criminal, she's an inefficient criminal. A criminal genius would be fine. I mean, there are ways of doing these things. Earlier in the year Aviator managed to liberate a book by slipping out through the door used to enter the library (he thought it would be an ironic gesture. It was a 'Where's Wally' book. I can just imagine the librarians searching for it frantically). By 'slip out through' I actually mean 'grope frantically at until Vyvyan got it open for him', but it still worked. He later returned the book,and attempted to take another one by using the library's various machines to deactivate the little magnetic strip that makes the alarms go. He was caught that time and banned from the library for two weeks. I hadn't considered it before, but that was probably one of the first cases of MBD.

Concerning, isn't it? Luckily, I don't think it's terminal. Until I can fully investigate a cure for this heinous disease (which, let's be honest, might not be for a while, seeing as I'm having so much fun chronicling the symptoms), I can only suggest that people try and stay away from libraries, classrooms, textbooks, and even novels of more than usual length. Any one of these things could set it off. In fact, the only thing it's safe to read is this blog. Yes, The Life & Times of Stranger Things™ is now the only reading material available to those who don't want to come down with MBD, that most feared of disorders (at least, it will be as soon as a proper scientific study is conducted).

And if you'll believe that, you're suffering from a disease far, far more severe than anything MBD can produce. Hello, Shoelace.

If you think you have MBD, I'd recommend that you just sit where you are, stay calm, and try not to propose to any passing librarians. You'll regret it. If you actually follow this advice, you probably do not have the disease.

If you have any concerns regarding this, or other, illnesses, the only thing I can suggest you do is to immediately send money in to the Therapy unit of Uttoxetercamfordbridgedam University. We will devote this money towards finding a cure. If we can't find a cure on our first couple of tries, we will put your kindly donated money to a different good cause, like buying a coffee machine or putting in a swimming pool on the roof.

Thank you for your time,

Dr Leslie M. Harper, PhD (Uttoxetercamfordbridgedam)

The Big Decisions

Everybody in Year 10 at the moment is stressed. Friday - that is to say, yesterday - was the day on which we submitted our final subject choices for senior school. People are falling into a number of different categories:

1. The Coolly Collected Over-Achievers

The people who have already decided what they want to do; have all their forms filled out; and spend their time strolling around nonchalantly, watching everyone else scurry about in a terror of indecision. Say things like 'You mean, you haven't decided yet?' and 'Yes, I'm doing six T subjects. It's the only way to go.' People who fit into this category are Giuseppe, and, to a lesser degree, Gwen.

NB: If you're not part of our ACT/NSW school system, you may not know what T or A subjects are. A T is something that contributes to your final grade - an A is one you do for fun. Everyone picks six subjects, and most people do five Ts and an A. That's what I'm doing, certainly.

2. The Quietly Uncertain

The people who come into school with their forms filled out, but who still aren't certain about a couple of the things on there. 'Well,' they think 'I want to be a doctor, so it's good I've written down three sciences - Physics, Biology, and Chemistry, but not Geology, because nobody does Geology except Marie-Clare - but what happens if I decide to do a law degree? What happens if I don't get a high enough ATAR at the end of Year 12 and have to fall back on being a computer technician? Should I have some IT subjects on there? What if . . .'

There aren't any specific examples of this person, as I'm not a mind reader and I can't tell who's thinking this. As a rule, it's anyone who isn't rushing around like the people in the third category, but aren't commenting on the behaviour of these people like the Over-Achievers™. I would have thought that this would be the largest category. I was wrong. See below.

3. The Specific Procrastinators

Generally speaking, these people don't have that much trouble filling out most of the form. Generally they're taking five Ts and one A. The T subjects are fine: as a rule, these people are fairly confident in what they want to do in university or in later life. But the moment the merest mention of an A subject comes up - it's too late. They're like enraged bears. The only thing you can do is stand your ground and hope you come away mostly unharmed at the end of the conversation (enraged grizzly bears, that should have been. They're nothing like enraged polar bears. If you're ever attacked by an enraged polar bear, you should slowly remove pieces of your clothing and drop them on the ground in front of you, in order to distract it. Surprisingly, this approach doesn't work at all with Procrastinators™).

It's surprising how even the meekest soul can be transformed with the prospect of the perfect A subject held just in front of them, much like the sword of Damocles. Except less lethal than the sword of Damocles was. The problem is - the main problem, that is, I'm not going to get involved in the 'My-parents-want-me-to-do-that-but-I-want-to-do-this' debate - that nobody knows exactly what the perfect A subject is.

Marie-Clare wanted to do Hospitality, but then decided Photography was the way to go. She wrote down Photography on the sheet, handed it in, and made her escape, literally running so she wouldn't be tempted to go back and change it to some other subject. This was the sensible approach, and the only thing you can really do once identified as a Procrastinator™. Others were less sensible. Lala spent lunchtime in a frenzy of indecision between Woodwork and Drama. I was less than helpful at this point, I think I changed my mind about what she should choose more often than she did. She confronted Ariane, Ames, Midgie, Lox, and her English teacher, who happened to be passing. The final score was Woodwork: 2, Drama: 2, Photography: 1 (Midgie is very keen that everyone should do Photography. Almost aggressively so. It's scary. She deserves another category to herself). In the words of Lox, who was currently made up with large quantities of stage make-up, in preparation for his drama performance 'Lala, you should do Drama. I say so. And you should always do what the glittery clown tells you to do.' Even now, I can't remember what she decided. A decision was reached, though, which is what's important. Ness was another one who couldn't make up her mind: she decided to do Hospitality, in the end.

The reason I haven't mentioned myself yet is because, in my opinion, I was one of the worst. Gwen received the brunt of my indecision. I couldn't decide whether to do Hospitality, Photography, or Media (I decided on Hospitality in the end - just to spoil the surprise for you).

As you can tell, this category is almost certainly the largest. It is not, however, the worst.

4. The Complete No-Hopers

I can't give any examples of these, as most of the people I talk about in here read the blog. Even people I don't talk about read the blog. Here's looking at you, Eggleston. Also Diego. Don't blame me for the name. Giuseppe chose it.

Anyway, luckily, I don't know anyone who's a complete no-hoper. Some people are quite no-hopery, but haven't quite reached that high level.

A Complete No-Hoper™ is someone who, despite having been given two weeks to decide subjects, still has no idea on the day, and comes to school with incomplete forms.

5. The Pushers

I've been considering it, and I think Midgie deserves her own category after all. It's for people who are so certain of what they've chosen they're trying to encourage other people into taking their subjects. It works a lot of the time, most notably on Specific Procrastinators™. No-Hopers™ seem to be relatively immune: the high panic levels seem to block encouragement.

There are my categories for you. They aren't only applicable to subject choices: they work for virtually any decision you have to make. And so, here is a scale for you. If you ever need to work out the exact indecisiveness level of yourself or others, feel free to use it.

It is currently the night of the Australian federal election. At this very moment, votes are being counted. Only too soon we will know whether we have a female, red-haired, Welsh Labour PM or a deeply Catholic, Speedo-wearing, doesn't-believe-in-climate-change-despite-insurmountable-evidence,-the-fool, Liberal. The only thing I can recommend for Tony Abbott is that his first name is Tony. On the other hand, Julia is the title of a Beatles' song. And so, name-wise, I think they're about even. Policy-wise, I'm not sure.

I am, currently unable to vote. If only the election had been deferred by a month and two years, I'd be fine. To think, I came so close! As is, my only contribution to the election has been to hang around the outside of the voting hall, giving meaningful glances to people who looked like they were intending to vote Liberal (basically anyone over the age of 50, or anyone wearing a suit. This doesn't mean they actually voted Liberal. I'd hate to place a stain like that on someone's character with no evidence. It only means I thought they might). I'd like to imagine that I made a couple of people think twice about going for Tony. In hindsight, though, that's probably quite unlikely. They may have thought I was mentally encouraging them to vote Liberal. Or possibly they just thought I had a bad squint (meaningful looks are incredibly hard to do consistently). At any rate, whether I deterred them or confused them, that was all the difference I was capable of making.

Sometime in early 2009, I and several others founded a party called the 'Fruitcake Party'. We only lasted a day, and the only reason I remember it now is because I wrote some of the information down about it at the time. I was the Head of Party. Vyvyan was Treasurer. Peanut was vice-Treasurer, deputy Head, and Chairman. I'm not totally sure as to why we needed a Chairman, as I'm fairly sure we weren't Communist, but even I can't explain the workings of my fourteen-year-old mind. Gwen was Press Secretary, as she was the only one who knew how a political party worked. Chinny was the reluctant Policy Advisor. We wanted the death penalty to be re-introduced for several specific people, and all Mexicans to be painted green before entering the country. I have no idea, not even the faintest clue, as to why we'd want this. Clearly we were very sick people. Probably still are: it's unlikely to have got any better without treatment. I put it down to schoolitis.

Anyway, this got me thinking: what would the ideal prime minister be? Here are my criteria. I'm not saying this is all we need. I'm perfectly happy with the government we have now - or, at any rate, had last week - save for a few issues. Some of them they may already have, some they may be working on, but at any rate, here it is. Just give me a second to ready myself mentally for the criticism Giuseppe and, possibly, Gwen are going to rain on me on Monday for my limited understanding of politics. Marie-Clare, and anybody else, you don't have to read this. I just need a way to vent about our political system. Writing it down and posting it on the internet seemed a better idea than going on a Charles Mansen-type killing spree, humming election jingles. Which, by the way, do not work. They just succeed in annoying potential voters.

1. Strong climate change policies

I'm not even going to emphasise the 'strong'. Just 'climate change policies' would do. If we get Mr 'Don't-worry-the-Earth-is-actually-cooling-down' Abbott I'm going to commit hari-kiri. Or move to Mexico.

2. Legalisation of gay marriage

I don't understand Gillard's reasoning on this one. She's an atheist, isn't she? What can she have against gay marriage? And yet, she doesn't support it.

If she was a deep, deep, committed Catholic, I suppose I could partly understand. Some passages in the Bible are pretty condemning of homosexuality.

Leviticus 18:22 says "Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination." It should be noted that Leviticus also tells us that hunchbacks, dwarfs, and people with poor eyesight are unholy in the eye of God. I'm not sure a book written thousands of years ago by who-knows-who is the best way to deal with this subject. How can you claim to be non-discriminatory, to not see any difference between gay and straight couples, if you're then going to give one the right to marry and go 'Too bad,' to the other?

There were a great many rhetorical questions in there. I feel they're all justified, though.

3. Helping NOT banning the boat people

I couldn't research this topic fully. Every time I try, articles pop up about the awfulness of the boat people, the way they're taking our jobs, our land, our water. Believing several pages like these, the best you'd be able to say of the boat people would would be that they'd never actually burnt down an orphanage for blind, crippled children, and that's only because there is no solid evidence. So, I'm going to have to look at it logically. I know, logic and politics don't mix well, but I intend to try nevertheless.

So. Boat people. Refugees flee to our country to find sanctuary. We lock them in prison camps and forget about them, except to occasionally drag the term up to persuade soft-minded, xenophobic members of the middle classes to vote for [insert name of political party here]. Somebody said recently that at the rate they're coming in, they'd take twenty years to fill the MCG. So why are we worried? Because political parties need a target, and starving, homeless people can't fight back.

The problem - or solution - is not up to us, at any rate. It stems from the countries they're fleeing from, and I know that's not up to us. But you're the PM! You can't pretend you have no influence.

No, I can't think of a logical solution to this 'problem'. Some of our best minds have tried and failed. Some of our worst minds have tried, and come up with election policies. But I can't even vote. I'm allowed to be idealistic, and irrational.

4. A secular system of government

Yes, I know our government isn't religious, but we could at least have a go at making policies without having to worry about offending religious groups. I mean, we all know God doesn't exist. It's only a matter of time until they find out.

5. A PM who can actually say what he/she means. Yes, they're politicians, the truth-telling instinct was drummed out of them on their first day in parliament, but it would be nice to have a prime minister who can make strong policies and stick to them. The fact is, people don't like to be scared. They're like kindergarteners - 'No, I don't like the story about climate change! Tell me something else! No, not about the horrible boat people either. Can't you tell me something happy, like how young people are fulfilling our worst expectations of them and no matter how often I want to drive my Porsche around, it won't contribute to global warming? What do you mean, it doesn't work like that? I don't like you any more.' And we have a new PM.

Unless it's Abbott, of course, in which case he will go 'Don't worry. Global warming is all made up.' He will then probably proceed to kiss the child in question, thus infecting it with Liberal germs, in his cunning plan to get at the younger generations. As opposed to just being a paedophile. I personally can't see the difference, but I'm sure there is one.

NB: I am not suggesting that kindergarteners drive Porsches, or, indeed, that we should allow them to drive Porsches. I think that would be a very bad idea indeed.

Anyway, because of this, politicians have learnt to pander to the punters' needs. If it was not for this narcissistic desire to see the world through rose-coloured half-full glasses no matter what ridiculous half-truth or 'a-bit-like-the-truth' or even 'who-are-we-kidding?-this-is-a-lie' we are forced to swallow, we could get so much more done. And so, what I'm really saying here is that we don't need to change politicians. There is certainly room for improvement, yes. But what we really need to do is to change is the mindset of the complete human race.

Let's face it. We're doomed.

α. This isn't a proper reason, so I haven't given it a proper number. My final criteria for what would make a good prime minister is this. There should be enough of information about them, and they should posses enough unique characteristics, so as to allow The Chaser to satirise them on TV with ease or even - who knows? - start the newspaper up again. The website is fine - http://www.chaser.com.au/ - but it would be nice to have some new articles.

Forgotten: The Inventors We Don't Think About

Throughout the years, there have been countless inventors, each striving to make the world a better place with their own brand of creativity.

There have been the successful ones, like Thomas Edison or Stephanie Kwolek (the inventor of Kevlar). These are the ones we remember, the ones that have contributed to the welfare of the human race. Then there have been . . . others. Those whose creations never made it into the general market. For some of these, it is easy to understand the reasons why. A type of fire alarm was developed in 1938 which, after the button calling the relevant authorities had been pressed, immediately locked the presser's arm inside the box. This was to prevent people causing false fire alarms: they were only let out when the firemen arrived, with the key. However, there was a major flaw. If the person wasn't attempting to pull an elaborate prank, and was actually activating the alarm because of a fire on the premises, they were unable to escape and were promptly burnt to death in the conflagration. I don't know why we never see fire alarms like this around nowadays, do you? It's quite sad, really. It's always depressing to see exactly how insane humans can be when they try to think things through logically. For example, the Spider Liberator, patented in 1994. It's a small ladder you can place in your bath tub to give spiders stuck inside a chance of getting out. Because obviously, my first thought upon seeing a dead spider floating in the bath is 'How tragic. If only I'd had a tiny ladder there. Then the spider would have been able to continue its happy existence in my house, hiding in my cupboards and making inconvenient webs on my bookshelves,' as opposed to 'ACK! A SPIDER! Oh, thank God, it's already dead.' 

Something else that, unsurprisingly, failed, is the anti-smoking hat. It consists of a hat containing a small cylinder of some pressurised non-toxic foam (shaving foam is suggested) wired up to an electronic smoke detector, via the brim. The 

moment the hat-wearer lights a cigarette and holds it to their face, the smoke detector detects it (well, that's what it's there for) and ejects some of the foam, thus extinguishing the cigarette while also giving the smoker in question a refreshing faceful of foam. So far as I can tell, this invention works solely on the basis that smokers are going to be too stupid to think 'Well, I want a cigarette, but this hat keeps spraying me. So maybe . . . hmmm . . . I don't know . . . I could take the hat off?'

Please note that I've tried to give as realistic a view as possible of a smoker's thoughts. I mean, they smoke. They're not going to be Mensa.

Another failed invention - and I have never been sure as to the reason why it is unavailable in the general market today - is the TeaToaster. I doubt my description would do justice to the device, so I have included a picture.

In my opinion, however, it is not the already well-known inventors who deserve our attention, or even the amusing, if impractical ones. No, what I intend to focus on today are the stories behind the creation of objects we now accept as everyday. When was the last time you spared a thought towards Hymen L. Lipman, the designer of the pencil with an eraser attached to the end? Or wondered about the fate of one of the world's first parachutists?

If you do wonder about these things, you (a) need a hobby and (b) are about to have your curiosity satisfied. If you don't tend to spare moments to think 'Hmmm . . . I wonder where cornflakes came from?', and are not intrigued by the over-long lead up I'm giving this article, feel free to allow your attention to wander. For those of you, though, who are vaguely interested in this topic, I give you:

The Leslie M. Harper List of Forgotten Inventors™

1. Hymen L. Lipman - the pencil with an eraser at the end

Now, almost every pencil we see is handily equipped with an eraser at the end, all ready for any mistakes you may make. Considering that the erasers tend to be made of some kind of rubber cement, presumably to keep production costs low, and trying to erase pencil with these generally leave you with a large hole torn in the centre of your page, I believe that Lipman's fine vision has been compromised (I have to call him Lipman. I can't call him Hymen and keep a straight face). I decided to conduct an experiment with a pencil I happened to have on my person (let's be honest: I was doing my Maths assignment, and got bored). I made a small mark with an HB pencil on a piece of scrap paper, then attempted to erase it. It resulted in a large rip, a slightly fainter pencil mark, and a virtually undiminished eraser. I felt embarrassed for our friend Hymen's sake. Originally, however, it was a noble creation. Patented in 1858, Lipman's idea was that of a normal pencil.

About three-quarters of the way down from the top (i.e. the part you use to draw with), the lead in the centre (yes, this was in the days when they still used lead pencils) was replaced with a core of indiarubber, as it was called then. You sharpened both ends of the pencil, using one to draw and one to erase. It was intended for use by architects and graphic designers, who needed thin erasers to erase accurately. In 1862, Lipman sold his patent for $100,000. That's the most I've ever heard of being paid for a pencil (hang around, and you can hear other such original and brilliant witticisms!). The chap he sold it to - Reckendorfer - then tried to sue Faber when they came out with their own version of the Lipman pencil. Unfortunately, it was ruled by the court that the patent was invalid, seeing as it was only bringing two well-known objects together, and Reckendorfer lost his money.

I'm not sure what Hymen Lipman did after that: so far as I know, he didn't continue with his inventing. I'd like to think he bought an island somewhere in the Mediterranean ($100,000 was a lot of money back then - even more so than now), disgusted with what had been made of his original vision, and even now, the Lipman family are still living there, awaiting the day when pencil erasers are made to be both convenient and useable. I think they'll be waiting a long, long time.

2. Franz Reichelt - the parachute suit

Franz Reichelt didn't invent the parachute himself, but he was one of the industry's pioneers. He was a tailor, and had created a parachute suit (a parasuit?) which he tested on a number of

dummies. Initial tests, dropping the dummies from the fifth floor of his apartment building, proved successful. After several changes to the suit the results began to be less successful. At this point, the normal person - say, you or I (well, possibly more you than I) - would think something along the lines of 'Hmmm, my invention, designed to prevent aviators from falling to their deaths, is clearly not working. I'll have to either give up or take it back and make a few changes.' Reichelt, however, as can be conclusively proved, was not a normal person. He thought 'Well, my suit isn't working. Obviously there isn't a problem with the suit itself. I know! I need more height! And the dummies are probably posing a problem as well. This suit is designed for real people, not manikins. Ah, I see the solution! Instead of throwing models incapable of experiencing pain or death from the top of my apartments, I'll put it on myself and jump off the Eiffel Tower! Perfect! I'm the kind of genius who will go down in history.'

Except, living in France, he probably thought it all in French.

Anyway, on the 4th of February 1912 Reichelt did, in fact, 

climb the Eiffel Tower. He did it with permission from the Parisian police force, who were under the impression he intended to test one of his dummies. Why did they think this? Possibly because that's what he told them. He jumped from the first platform of La Tour Eiffel at 8:22 a.m., plummeted unceremoniously towards the ground - his parachute failing to deploy - and slammed into the frozen ground, leaving a dent at the point of impact. He was rushed to the nearest hospital but was pronounced dead on arrival.

It probably would have annoyed him had he known that by that point, the first package parachutes (the kind we use today) had already been successfully tested in the USA. Now, we barely remember the name of Franz Reichelt. He certainly went down, but not in history, except as a minor mishap in the story of parachuting

At the time, he was nicknamed by his peers as the Flying Tailor. In light of his achievements, perhaps the Failing Tailor would have been more accurate. Or the Falling Tailor.

3. Dr Kellogg - cornflakes

We have a rigorous Christian church group to thank for the invention of our favourite cereal (or, at the very least, a relatively popular one for those who enjoy bland orange mush mixed with dairy products. I'm not a big fan myself). The Seventh-Day Adventists are so named because they still observe Sunday as a holy day. On the Sabbath, you can neither work (not so bad) nor indulge in any form of recreational activity (a lot worse), save occasional family activities or charity work. They also believe in strict vegetarian diets. 

Dr Kellogg, superintendent of the Battle Creek Sanatorium in Michigan, and a committed Adventist, was even stricter than most. Not only did he not allow his patients to consume any meat (also prohibiting tobacco, alcohol and caffeine), he was a strong believer in sexual abstinence. Strange man. He believed that sweet and spicy foods caused sexual excitement (which is probably untrue, or we'd have riots in curry shops), and only served flavourless foods which would, supposedly, prevent this effect. On the 8th of August 1894, he found that a lovely appealingly delicious bowl of wheat mush he'd prepared to serve to his patients had been left out too long, and gone stale. Dr Kellogg and his brother, Will, weren't prepared to give up that easily. They rolled the mixture through some rollers (what else would you roll something through?), hoping to get some sheets of dough they could, presumably, do something with. Instead, the mixture cracked, breaking up into many tiny flakes. SHOCK. They promptly toasted these flakes and served them to the patients anyway (I wouldn't have liked to have been a patient there, what about you? I can just imagine Dr Kellogg: 'Well, I found this fish at the bottom of the bin, and I think it's been there for about a week, but what the hell. Let's pour some pasta sauce over it and serve it to the patients with those weird flakey things we got when we tried to roll that wheat mush out last week. Hey, they're sick people. What are they going to do?').

Surprisingly, the wheat flakes were popular among the patients (well, they'd probably been living off cabbage and rice for weeks), so the Kellogg brothers experimented with different grains: rice (hello, Rice Bubbles, although they weren't actually mass produced until some 30-odd years later) and, surprise, surprise, corn. Eventually they decided to mass-market the

 cereal. Will Kellogg actually added some sugar to the corn flake recipe, causing an argument between the two brothers. Can you imagine that? Actually adding sugar to a breakfast cereal? We'd be seeing full-blown orgies in the street!

Anyway. Corn flakes proved hugely successful, and Kellogg's is still around today. All thanks to extreme Christianity. The Sanitarium Health Food Company, leading supplier of health and vegetarian food - not to mention cereal - in Australia and New Zealand - is also owned by the Adventist Church. Be warned. The innocent corn flake is not so innocent. And don't let me get started on Weetbix. They're getting at our brains through our brans.

NB: I know it's an awful pun. The only reason I made it is because I accidentally typed 'brans' instead of 'brains' to begin with.

A Harper by any other name

Today's post is a note on names.

As you will know, I use nicknames to refer to people in this blog instead of real ones. I'm still not sure why, as I doubt anyone who doesn't know the true identities of everyone I write about reads this account. But it certainly adds an air of mystery, and is fast becoming the Next Big Craze (and yes, this is my blog, and I'm allowed to exaggerate).

The blog nickname is now a fashion item, something convenient to take with you wherever you may go. Portable, attractive, and personalised. What's not to love? They're extremely desirable, and only available to a select few.

For example, my sister entered my room only a few minutes ago to complain, after reading the previous post. 'You've mentioned me twice, and I don't have a nickname yet! Drummer Boy has one, but I'm only in as your little sister.'

I, who was in the middle of a perplexing question on my Maths assignment, sighed. 'What kind of thing do you want?'

'Um . . .' she stalled. 'How about - Princess - Narnia - Trilogy - um . . . Pi - Ishiguru - Nix . . .'

'Are you reading those names off my bookshelves?'

'Possibly.'

'Well, I suppose you could be - Pntpin. No, that's not a word. How about . . . Pontoon?'

'I can't have that! It makes me sound fat!'

'Well, what do you want?'

'I don't know. But I want you to write a story about me. The last time you wrote about me you just said I was reluctantly grating cheese. I want a proper one.'

Inspiration struck. 'How about the Reluctant Cheese Grater?'

'No!'

'Or the RCG.'

'No.'

'Well, unless you can think of anything better, that's what it's going to be.'

She then hung on my door handle for the next few minutes, whining, until she finally got bored and vacated the room.

Sister o' mine (name unmentioned), you have 24 hours before the RCG sticks. If you want to make another suggestion before that time is up, feel free. Otherwise, Cheese Grater it will be. And as I foresee keeping this blog well into my adult life, and people are doubtless going to be curious as to the origin of the acronym 'RCG', I would use this time wisely.

I generally let people choose their own nicknames, unless I have to write about them before meeting them again. In this case, I choose a name based on what I know about them. I often have to do this anyway, as people can be surprisingly indecisive. Middle names are a good place to start. With Ariane, for example. And partly Marie-Clare. Also Shoelace, but to a lesser degree. Shoelace is half-Chinese (the other half, I think, is Scottish) and her middle name is Suling. This nickname isn't new, she'd had it for some time before I started this blog. It was accidentally coined by Ariane, who, upon hearing the name, went 'You know, Suling sounds a lot like Shoelace.' Since then, it's taken off.

A lot of the nicknames are ones that were already in use. Peanut, for example. And Lala. Giuseppe was never a nickname, but it used to be the subject of a joke between us so it seems fitting to have it now.

Anyway, since the beginning, the nicknames have gained astonishing popularity. As mentioned, Giuseppe now calls me 'Leslie' in school. She even called it across the room in Maths yesterday - to my shame, I looked up. At my school, we get jumpers at the end of Year 10 (just to prove we've been there, probably). They have 'Year 10 2010' (or whatever year) written across the front, and a nickname on the back. Giuseppe, Marie-Clare and I are all considering getting our blog names on the back. Nobody else will get it, but we love to perplex.

I personally will have to go with 'Leslie M.' as there is already someone with the last name Harper in our year. In hindsight, it wasn't the best name to choose. Especially as there's also a photographer called 'Leslie M. Harper' (they couldn't even pick a different middle initial! The cheek!). I suppose I could go back and change it to 'Lander'. But I probably won't.

I even created a coat of arms for the name:

The castle thing is because Leslie means 'grey tower' (or 'holly garden', but when was the last time you saw a picture of a holly garden on a coat of arms?). The owl is the Egyptian hieroglyph for M. Also, I like owls. I'll assume you can guess what the harps are for. If you can't - well, I'll just assume that you can. The character on the bottom right is for my star sign (I'm not so big on the zodiac, but it also looks like an M. It also looks a bit like an MP, which is good, because I like Monty Python. Not because I want to be a politician. As I don't). The motto should mean 'In strange things we trust'. It probably doesn't, though, as I used an internet translator.

Seeing as I've done the others, I should probably put a rationale of my name as well. Leslie is the middle name of the pianist (and member of The Comedy Store Players) from Whose Line Is It Anyway. Boy, was that a vague reference. The 'Harper' is after David Harper, from the second series of an awesome English TV show. Go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/This_is_David_Lander for a bit of an explanation. Or don't if you don't want to. I'll probably tell you all about it at a later date anyway.

The M is from the character of M in 'James Bond'. I'll tell you what it stands for as soon as he does. Or she, depending on whether you're thinking about the books or the new movies.

Anyway. The history of names. Extremely exciting. I've tried hard, and I'd like to think that everyone is happy with their nickname, from Marie-Clare (who looks French) to Gwen (who wanted Guinevere, but had to settle with the next best thing) to Chinny (whose real name is a nickname anyway: we call her that so often, in fact, I had to give her a new one).

With the possible exception of the RCG, anyway.

Leslie's Recipes: Tortellini

You, my readers, will know well what happens when I am unleashed in an ordinary suburban kitchen. My family, it seems, do not. Only yesterday my mother said to me (while I was innocently trying to watch an episode of 'This Is David Harper', one of the best shows ever made; hence, I was not at the height of my arguing skills) 'Could you see to dinner? You just have to get the tortellini from that packet in the fridge and cook it, and serve it with some grated cheese or something.'

With this brief, I reluctantly agreed to the task, girded myself (metaphorically speaking, as I wouldn't have a clue as to how to gird something, even if I tried), and set to it. For those of you who would like to follow my progress, the recipe is here, although it comes with a health-and-safety warning.

1. Open fridge. Look for tortellini. Discover a complete absence of tortellini. Take things out of the fridge in attempt to see better. Find ravioli, jar of jam, and anchovies. Still no tortellini.

2. Eat anchovy to raise strength. Put tin back and look for tortellini again.

3. Enlist parent's help in finding tortellini. Parent points out tortellini packet on shelf below the one I was searching through. Remove tortellini from fridge.

4. On closer inspection, the tortellini are bright green. Experience feeling of worry until noticing that packet says they are spinach flavour. Hope this means food poisoning will not result from consumption of said pasta - although with spinach, you never know.

5. Boil kettle. While waiting for kettle to boil, go and watch 'This Is David Harper' or show of similar excellence.

6. Realise kettle has boiled and cooled down again while show was being watched. Re-boil kettle.

7. Pour boiling water in large saucepan.

8. Realise should have put tortellini in saucepan first, as otherwise, when placed in pan, boiling water will splash.

9. Try putting tortellini in one by one. Get bored. Try throwing handfuls in from a distance instead. This is less accurate, but more efficient. Also getting good practice in with aiming skills for netball.

10. Turn heat on.

11. Discover younger brother (Drummer Boy) in room. As pasta is now cheerfully boiling away, decide to give him the English speech that is due tomorrow, even if he won't understand it.

12. Drummer Boy criticises several main points of English speech. Pasta tries to boil over. The distraction is welcome.

13. Eject Drummer Boy from room, claiming to be too busy to listen to him.

14. Watch tortellini cook, stirring occasionally.

15. Get bored and search the fridge for cheese.

16. In meantime, pasta boils over again. Turn stove right down to prevent re-occurrence of same incident.

17. Search for cheese again. Eventually, kneel down in despair at non-presence of cheese. Look up to discover cheese is now at eye-level.

18. Realise pot has stopped boiling all together. Turn heat up again. This time, swear to pay close attention.

19. Catch pot just before it boils over. Success!

20. Wonder when tortellini is supposed to be finished. Cannot check cooking instructions as have thrown packet away. Remember that with spaghetti, one way of telling whether it's cooked or not is to throw it at the ceiling. If it sticks, it's done.

21. Tortellini is not done. Either that, or my ceiling is non-stick.

22. Eat some tortellini in despair. It tastes done. Decide to risk it and serve.

23. In exhaustion, try to get Drummer Boy to grate cheese.

24. Drummer Boy fails in an epic manner. Clearly I am not the only culinary disappointment in this household. Younger sister is forced to grate cheese instead, which she does with much reluctance.

25. Decide to drain tortellini.

26. Drop tortellini in sink.

27. Rescue tortellini. Look for colander. Cannot find colander. Drain tortellini in sieve instead.

28. Serve tortellini up. Eat. Am hugely impressed with my skill with food. Sister is less impressed it took half an hour to cook pasta. She still eats it, though. Am glad I decided not to mention my attempts to stick pasta to ceiling before consumption of said pasta.

29. Celebrate by reading Wodehouse throughout dinner. Meal is a success.

'Stranger Things' in life

Until recently, I was under the impression that my blog had, in some minor way, improved the lives of my fellow people. School friends, that is, because I'm under no delusion that anyone else reads this thing. If you do, good for you. If not, then you won't be reading this, in which case you are an appalling person and I hope you fall off a cliff. Anyway, this is the prelude to the anecdote I'm about to relate.

At school today (in the five minutes before my Geography teacher turned up, if you want to be specific), I was discussing this blog with Marie-Clare and Peanut.

'You know, I only read the ones about me,' mused Marie-Clare. 'I read all through the bit about me and 25. Sometimes I skip over the rest of it, though.'

'Yeah, so do I,' agreed Peanut. She later retracted this statement, but at that moment, it hit me hard. They only read the bits concerning them? In that case, what was the point of me writing everything else? Also, how could I claim my blog had made an impact on their lives if they only admitted to reading part of it?

I thought this through, and realised I had made an impact. And what's more, I intend to show that this is the case. Today's post will be devoted to an example from the life of each person I have mentioned, demonstrating exactly how they've been affected by my blog. This, at least, will ensure that each paragraph is read at least once, even if it's only by the person featured in it themselves.

1. Peanut

To Peanut I believe I owe, above all, an apology. Since the publication of the 'secret word' post, she has been attacked from all sides by said weapon. Aviator alone used it three times today, and Frog, a friend of Peanut's, has used it too. A note to those considering using the word: don't use it too many times. Make sure to have a nice large gap between each usage of the word. This ensures the collapse of Peanut into hysterical laughter, whereas using it too many times in a row lessens the effect.

I did actually apologise to Peanut about it today. She waved it off. 'I think it's cool to have a super weakness. It would be better to have a more efficient one, though.'

Still, what can we expect from Peanut? Her first word was 'Batman'.

Oh, and one more thing - since I started a blog, Peanut has followed suit. It's called 'The Nut Case'. She's using the same nickname system as I am. Do read it - at http://the-nut-case.blogspot.com/

2. Giuseppe

Since the publication of this blog, Giuseppe has begun to hunt me down almost daily. When she finds me, she berates me loudly about the 'factual errors' in last night's post. This is a change, as normally she just berates me about things I say or do. I've never had her verbally attack me about my writing before. It's an improvement.

Another thing: she has also gotten into the habit of calling me 'Leslie' at school. Obviously this isn't my real name (my apologies to you if you haven't picked that up by now; I named myself after two of my favourite comedians), so it tends to attract bemused glances from passers-by passing by. It frequently happens that I'm sitting on a bench, innocently consuming my lunch-time bagel, only to hear a cry of 'Leslie M. Harper!', and know automatically that Giuseppe is approaching.

Giuseppe has also taken a leaf from my book and begun acting as a therapist. Here is an excerpt from a RAVE (Religious and Values Education) lesson:

LESLIE (L): What time is it?

GIUSEPPE (G): I don't know. How does that make you feel?

L: Unfulfilled.

G: And how does being unfulfilled make you feel?

L: Unloved.

G: And how do you feel about that?

L: It brings back painful repressed memories from my childhood.

G: Right. And how do you feel about that?

L (feeling a change of subject is required): I don't know. Did you hear about the gay penguins at the zoo?

G: I don't care about the gay penguins! Now tell me how that makes you feel!

I'm going to stop there because I think, taken on its own, that quote is one of the best - and strangest - I've every heard.

3. Marie-Clare

Since Marie-Clare saw my family tree in the previous post - despite the fact she 'didn't understand most of it' - she has married me. Who knows how these things happen? It's probably a result of Giuseppe going 'What are you, a married couple?' when we went to the canteen together earlier to buy Wagon Wheels (well, Marie-Clare was buying Wagon Wheels. She later went back to buy two more Wagon Wheels. Peanut came with us to buy a Wagon Wheel also. While there, we saw Ariane and Lala. 'Don't tell me you're buying Wagon Wheels,' I said sternly to them. 'All right, I won't' replied Ariane. Except I saw them coming out later with a Wagon Wheel each, the liars. For those of you who don't know, a Wagon Wheel is a kind of large chocolate covered jam-and-marshmallow biscuit. I've never really understood them, personally). Where was I? Oh, yes. Another reason Giuseppe refers to us as such is because we intend to go to the same university. This bit isn't actually related to the blog - I think I went off on rather a tangent about Wagon Wheels. Still, I'm allowed to do that. This is the Life & Times of Stranger Things. Can't beat that taste.

4. Shoelace

Shoelace, I believe, craves celebrity. Whenever we catch the bus together she asks to be mentioned in my blog. To this I give my generic answer - i.e. 'You've got five seconds to do something really interesting before I have to get off,' - and as she's normally still thinking in this time, she's rarely mentioned. Oh, that's not true, actually, she had that post to herself the other day. Except that was more about her gullibility than any personal achievement, so I'm not sure it counts.

Only today, as I was going down to the bus stop, she grabbed me (she didn't catch the bus today) and went 'Write about the time we made up words in Year Eight! Please!'

To please Shoelace, here is the story.

In Year Eight, Shoelace and I made up a lot of words. I've forgotten most of them. 'Haronge' was one. 'Serenderfendous' was another. We were going to put them in a dictionary but never got around to it. If I can find where I wrote them down two years ago, I'll tell you the meanings. Otherwise, no can do. That's the end of the story. Wasn't that fun, boys and girls?

5. Vyvyan

Since Vyvyan read the blog, she has sent me various comments on Facebook. Here is our conversation thus far. Obviously I've had to change the names (although I'm not sure why, seeing as Vyvyan is probably the only person reading this), but everything else is untouched. 

You only have to read half of that to realise exactly how noticeable these homicidal tendencies are. I mean, look! She's threatening to kill me!

I would mention this to her in person, but I'd be afraid of risking grievous bodily harm to myself.

6. Aviator

I only realised Aviator read the blog this morning, when he came up to me and went 'Incidentally, I like your blog.' Gave me a bit of a shock, honestly. Because of this I'm not sure he's had time to really have his life changed by it. He did, however, put some of the information mentioned on it to use by viciously attacking Peanut three times with the word 'tubes', as mentioned above. I suppose this is enough of an impact.

7. Lala

Lala's life hasn't been changed, exactly, but she certainly reads the blog. After talking to her today, I now have a new, completely updated family tree. Major changes: I've added Pablo to the tree after all, and have put Marie-Clare in as my wife. Also, the parentage of young Roman has changed (see below).

8. Ariane

Well, Ariane likes the blog. I know she does because she came up to me on the day after she read it for the first time and went 'I love your blog! It's so funny!'

So thank you, Ariane. I'm glad you liked it. That's the only purpose of its existence, after all.

And I apologise for a mistake I made previously. I said Roman was either the child of you and Lala or you and Ames. I was in error. Obviously you're still in the equation, but Lala and Ames have been removed. The child's father is, in fact, a MYSTERY MAN. I've had to signify him on the family tree with a question mark.

9. Gwen

Gwen's life has been changed by the blog, but not through any fault of her own. Only because since I started writing about marriage 'n things, I've decided that Gwen, too, should have a husband.

I remembered a story she was telling me way back in Term 1, about a pedestrian called Leon. And so, Gwen's soul mate is now Leon the Pedestrian (LTP for short). Gwen, however, refuses to accept this. I'm attempting to convince her by drawing little GA♥LTP signs in my maths book (maths being a class we have together). They were originally in her book, but she took umbrage at this and scribbled them all out. Tragic. Here is an example of one of our conversations - you can see how she was cunningly trying to change the subject:

LESLIE (L): When you're married, what do you want to call your children?

GWEN (G): I don't know. How about Sora? And Kama?

L: Karma? Awesome!

G: No, Kama, it's a Japanese word meaning - oh, never mind. I don't need to ask what you're calling your children. Are you still going to name them Cyanide and Happiness?

L: Well, I was thinking I'd call my children after the actors in The Masterson Inheritance. Assuming there's a boy and a girl. Well, no, because there are six actors in The Masterson Inheritance, and only two of them are female.

G (trying to do maths): That could be a problem.

L: Wait! I can give those names as middle names! And one of the men is called Lee. That's kind of a girl's name. That gives us - Cyanide Caroline Josie Lee Harper and Happiness Paul Phelim Jim Harper.

G: You're calling the girl Cyanide?

L: Why not?

G: If you have a third child, what will you call that one?

L: Robin Hood.

G: Of course. You're going to get sued by your children. I'll read about it in the newspapers in 15 years time, and know - just know - it's you.

L: At least my married name isn't going to be Gwen the Pedestrian.

G: Do you have to keep talking about that?

L: Yes. Let's plan your wedding. Do you want to be married by a priest? No, a priest isn't interesting enough. How about the Pope? No, that's not especially interesting either. How would you like to be married by a pirate?

G: I'd rather marry the pirate.

L: Tell you what, I'll draw a picture of Leon as a pirate.

G: You do that.

(Brief pause, in which I draw a pirate)

L: I can't draw parrots. Can I draw a hamster on his shoulder instead?

G: If you want.

L: No, I can't draw hamsters. How about a palm tree?

G: You're going to draw a bonsai palm tree on his shoulder?

L: That's an even better idea!

And it kind of goes downhill from there.

This is an example of someone's life being changed in a negative way. Sorry, Gwen. I think I owe you a proper apology. If I give you one, can I be a bride's maid?

10. Chinny

Chinny does revision for fun. I don't know if she even reads this blog. If she does, I still don't think it's changed her life to any noticeable degree. A pity. My first failure.

11. Ness

I'm not sure Ness's life has changed either. I'm fairly sure she reads the blog because I know Giuseppe got bored in the middle of English (according to her, I'm not in her class) and read my blog on the school computers instead of actually being productive, and I'm fairly sure Ness was there. But I probably haven't mentioned her enough for her life to have been impacted. So I'm sorry about that, Ness. I'll do my best to remedy that in the near future.

12. Phoenix

Phoenix, our American friend, has also started a blog since I started mine. It's about her life in America, designed to be of interest to those of us who are still Down Under. Read it, it's at http://phoenix-mylifeonanotherplanet.blogspot.com/. She's also using bizarre nicknames. My system has caught on.

13. Leslie

How have I changed? Well, I'm not sure it's a change in me, as such: more a change in my habits. Previously, when I've done random or unpredictable things, or noted this behaviour in others, I've been unable to do anything with the information. Now, people read it. For example, I just spent ten minutes combing a towel. Normally this is something I wouldn't bother sharing with the world. But with this blog, I can! Oh, joy.

Well, I think that about covers it. This blog has undoubtedly changed the lives of those involved with it. No more will I have to worry about ill-timed comments made by my friends.

Although honestly, I doubt Marie-Clare or Peanut actually remember our conversation before Geography. They soon got distracted, after Peanut decided to become a personal space invader, as seen in this comic:

What with Peanut trying to move as close to Marie-Clare as possible while she was speaking, and Marie-Clare having to break off in the middle of every few sentences to go 'WHAT THE HELL, PEANUT?', everything was a little distracting. But I'm grateful for that. It's thanks to incidents such as these - Strange Things between Stranger People - I keep in a job (metaphorically speaking, although if somebody would like to pay me for writing the blog, I'd be thrilled). So thank you, all. For the entertaining things I've never been able to record before.

And I hope you read this all the way through.

The Family Way

I may have confused a couple of you with the mentions of marriage in my previous post. I'm going to be honest. It confuses me too. And so, here is an explanation for those of you who require one.

I recently married Lala. By 'recently', I mean Thursday last week. It was a quick marriage. There wasn't even a ceremony. I just turned up and found out I was married. That's not the kind of thing I've ever been warned about. There are all kinds of posters going 'Watch out . . . you never know who may try to take advantage of you.' They're generally about sexual assault and/or drink spiking. Never have I seen a poster saying 'Watch out . . . you never know who may try and marry you when you least expect it.'

The disappointing part is that I'm not even her first wife. I'm her sixth. I am the only one who's married to her on Facebook, which I suppose is some kind of achievement. Still, it's not something to raise morale. Lala's wives, in order, are:

1. Sierra (whom I have never met)

2. Kel (whom I have met, but don't know well)

3. Ames (whom I do know well)

4. Ariane (this marriage was to be expected - they're practically inseparable anyway)

5. Peanut (about ten minutes before I married Lala, Peanut did. I think the only reason I got in was because they'd had a fight about something. Love does strange things to people)

6. Leslie (me)

7. Vyvyan (because clearly six wives just aren't enough for the modern woman)

This, in itself, is enough to get your head around. When Ariane married Ames, it was almost impossible to work with. The marriage triangle by itself is fairly complex. I would have been relatively content for it to stay thus. And it would have done, I believe, had Ariane not then immaculately conceived a child.

He is called Roman Valentino Cowlick. At least, he will be just as soon as he's born. The first two names are mine. The third is Ariane's choice. I don't know whether he is Lala's child, or Ames's. I did try messaging Lala to ask her about it, but she hasn't replied. Perhaps the memories are too recent, and too bitter.

I believe it was in an argument over Roman that caused the fatal split. Lala and Ariane decided to go for a divorce. Ariane married Pablo instead. Lala was forced to be content with her remaining six wives.

The custody battles over Roman had to be seen to be believed. If he'd actually been present, I'm sure it would have scarred him for life. I believe I touched briefly on these battles in the previous post. I'll just go over them again for those readers who are behind the times. Little Roman will spend Christmases with Lala and birthdays with Ariane, on the basis that his very first birthday was still to come, and when that day came, he was going to have to spend it with Ariane. Just the way our anatomies work.

Luckily, before we got on to the serious business of dividing up the estate, their hearts softened. They are now remarried. Ariane divorced Pablo. Instead, Ariane and Lala now act as Pablo's pimp. It seems to work for them. It's a new kind of nuclear family.

I'm sure I've lost a couple of you with these complex explanations. And so, here is a diagram. I spent much of today constructing an elaborate family tree for the situation we now find ourselves in. I was forced to leave Pablo off the tree, as I didn't want it to become too hard to read. Also, I'm not sure how to put in a whore's connection to the rest of the family. Is it a dotted line, or what? I have put Roman in as Ariane and Ames's child as, frankly, it was way easier.

And so, here is the ultimate Family Tree of all Family Trees:

That, I hope, will make it easier for the majority of you.

I've also left off the relationship between Peanut and myself. It is too soon . . . I just don't think I'm ready to put it on the family tree. We went through a painful breakup that I would prefer not to dwell on. Even now, it is hard to hold civilised conversations. All our conversations seem to follow this pattern (and yes, this is a recorded conversation, insofar as I'm typing it from the memory of an actual event. I don't pretend to be infallible):

PEANUT (P): What did we do in Geography last lesson?

LESLIE (L): How can you have forgotten? It was yesterday.

P: This is why we broke up. You're so unreasonable.

L: You can't talk like that. You're the one who . . . threw my heart across the floor.

P: Yeah, well, you threw my CDs across the floor! They're all broken now.

L: I hate your taste in music. It's your own fault.

P: If I'd actually thrown your heart across the floor you'd be dead by now.

L: Oh, yes, be literal about it.

Etcetera.

We get over it fairly quickly, though. We are, after all, reasonable human beings. I mean,we argued again before dance yesterday. And at the end we managed to jive perfectly happily together. But not well. Because I had to do the man's bit (just because I'm taller!), which I am less than competent at. So we did screw up slightly. Jeez, Peanut, what were you expecting? This is your fault. You should have remembered that I'd just spent the whole lesson doing the other bit, and I think I did quite well considering . . .

*ahem*. Reasonable human beings.

Tales of Mocktails and the Fail Whale

Two major events occurred today. I was hard pressed to decide which one I wanted to write about, and too lazy to write separate posts, so I decided to cover both in one. They do have something in common: they both relate to my future. The first in the construction of it, the second in the destruction. Enjoy.

1. Constructing my future: 2010 Careers Market

Basically, at school today, we only completed the first two periods. The middle two were taken up with the Career Market. The teachers collected the whole of Year 10 together, packed us on to several buses, and sent us off. After an uneventful bus trip, during which Lala and Ariane argued about the failure of their marriage and the fate of their unborn child Roman (I picked the name). They eventually decided that he could spend Christmas with Lala and birthdays with Ariane. Unless he ends up being born on Christmas. In this case, however, he would be Jesus, and they'd have more than enough to worry about without custody issues (and yes, this is quite as bizarre as it sounds. I will get around to telling you about it, I promise. But it really deserves a whole post to itself).

Anyway, arrived at the Careers Market without major incident. The Careers Market is only around for a couple of days, yesterday and today. It consists of a lot of booths in a large and crowded (not to mention stuffy) room. Most major Australian universities had booths there, as did several colleges and, for some reason, both MacDonalds and KFC. I was hoping for a free-Mars-Bar booth, but to no avail. There were a couple of other schools there at the same time as us. We had an hour at the Market, to collect various books and brochures and other freebies. I began by going around with Peanut. We immediately ran into her aunt, before we had a chance to look at any of the stalls. Peanut's aunt is slightly younger than she is, thanks to the divorce and re-marriage of her grandfather (Peanut's grandfather, that is. Her aunt's father). Is a mildly confusing situation. Was duly and mildly confused. Anyway, the very first booth we found was one for the Academy of Interactive Entertainment. As Peanut wants to be a game designer, this was ideal. She later confided to me she has decided to go to the AIE when she leaves school. And people say I make snap decisions.

At this point I foresaw it would be a little hard going around a Careers Market with somebody who wanted a completely different career to me, so I found Marie-Clare instead. We got two free bags from UC stall. It was easy enough. I just went up and said 'I'm really interested in studying IT at university, do you have any documents I could look at?' They did, and they gave me a free bag to carry them in. Quick, easy, and I never had to tell them I wouldn't touch IT with a barge pole. Still, I've never considered going to the UC anyway, so it probably doesn't count as lying.

Marie-Clare and I both want the same thing: to study languages at a good university (she Japanese, and I French), become successful journalists, and then move to England. The moving-to-England part was less relevant today, but we wandered around all the university stalls. Before now, I've only ever considered attending the ANU (Or possibly Oxford University. But let's be honest. That's not going to happen). My eyes have been opened considerably. We went to almost every stall: the only one I think we didn't go to was Charles Sturt University, and that's because it reminded us of deserts, which, in turn, reminded us of how hot and thirsty we were (as it was a school excursion, we were forced to wear our ridiculous and cumbersome blazers). I came back with 24 separate books in my UC bag, and an unknown quantity of loose sheets. The ones that really stood out were UNSW, University of Sydney, and Macquarie University. Also the make-up artists' stand. But the only reason that stood out was because they were showing students how to make fake wounds, and I turn into a pitiful mess at the sight of blood. Even fake blood. Even my own blood. Even when there isn't any blood, but seems likely there might be some at a later date. Marie-Clare was unimpressed. 'If I'm ever in a car crash, I really hope you're not the one trying to pull me out of the car.'

For some reason, among all the further educational booths, there was also one teaching you how to make mocktails (I think it was for some kind of barkeeping holiday course). Ariane was a little confused for a bit. 'Is this Cocktail University?' Anyway, behind it, there was a tub of greenish-brownish water, containing a few leaves. I think it may have been used to wash the mint leaves they were using in the mocktails: at any rate, it didn't look spectacularly appealing. Lala, who, having sorted out custody battles with Ariane, was in a cheerful mood, addressed Pablo and said 'I bet you $10 you won't drink any of that.'

Pablo is an amiable chap, and not the kind to pass up money. 'I'm tempted. Will you pay up?'

Lala, much surprised, assured him she would. He promptly went up to the man at the mocktails booth, and said 'Can I have a cup, please? It's for a bet.'

The man gave him one, and Pablo went round the back of the booth and scooped up a cup of the suspicious water. I think it was probably at this point I nudged Marie-Clare and whispered 'Please, let's move away, and pretend we don't know them.' We moved a safe distance away and watched Pablo drink the whole cup down. He finished by eating a couple of the leaves that had been wedged at the bottom of the cup. I hope he enjoys his $10.

After the hour had passed we were rounded back up and returned to the school, just in time for lunch. Marie-Clare and I went to the library to inspect our brochures.

2. Destructing my future: Maths Competition

The last two periods were spent doing a nation-wide Maths competition. It doesn't count towards your grade, but if you do well you get a prettily coloured certificate you can frame or, more often, throw away. There were thirty questions on the test. It was one of the ones where you write your name by shading different bubbles on the sheet, and almost all the questions are multiple choice. In this particular test the last five questions weren't multiple choice: you had to write a three digit number in instead. I managed the first few questions. Then things got tricky.

It didn't help that whoever had had the desk before me had been practicing their artistic skill on it, as opposed to doing the test. They had drawn a whale on it, drawn a lot of arrows pointing towards it, and then given it a little speech bubble saying 'Fail Whale'. This was less than encouraging. I spent some time drawing it a blowhole and a spout of water, then went back to the test.

I had to guess the last five questions. Hell, I guessed a lot of the other questions too, but those were multiple choice. I have a one-in-five chance of getting those ones right. The other ones, I have a one-in-nine hundred and ninety nine. What's more, while the other questions were all worth either three, four, or five points, the last five questions were worth six, seven, eight, nine, and ten respectively.

I talked to other people afterwards, and they reported the same experience as me. I don't know a single person who managed to get even one of the last five questions, which is quite reassuring. Pablo thought the only thing he'd got right was filling his name out. Midgie (who is new to this blog: I was going to call her Ostrich Girl, but she preferred Midgie) confided that in last year's test she'd only gotten five questions right.

At any rate, I'm not sure my future lies in Mathematics. I may just have destroyed any chance I had of working in the industry. Not that I want to work in the maths industry. Or am even sure what a maths industry is, or would do. That path is gone, man.

I doubt I'll regret that when I'm studying French at the ANU in three years time, though.