Enough to give me a heart attack.

(But she’s stubborn as hell and likes to talk back)

She found us! She is us! You want to be in a picture? I’ll give you a picture.

Next order of business for Team Capable: Get pictures. Be picturised; in other words, succumb to being pictured. That means YOU.

I shall be planning the best way in which to aquire picturians, a pictorial if you will – sourcing a pictographer to pictorise and thereby memorialise our dear, sweet selves.

You asked for it. You got it. Be prepared.

And here’s one to tide you over:

Ukraine – Where did she get that giant plexiglass mirror full of men in doorways? I want one! Go go body rolls! Overall, pretty good, but not nearly cheesy enough for me. Of course, I can forgive anything if it has enough dramatic lighting. Seriously.

…Toilet Break…

Okay, first view of the hosts. They show the trophy, and suggest that the winner’s receipt of the trophy will be ‘something to look forward to”. I’m sure. (and S is back)

France – Oh yes, it appears to be bah-bah-doo-wop. And a … golf buggy? An inflatable beach ball globe? A bearded hippy whose voice just dropped, and who is looking for the milky way. Doo-wop.

Azerbaijan – “It’s a fairly simple story here; the ones in the feathers are the good guys. The one in the black is the devil himself“. Also, the guy in black has hair extensions, I’m convinced of it. The angels are wearing MC Hammer pants, and the devil just had a hearty, evil chuckle. Maybe about pouring wine all over one of his dancing girls. What? I missed a complete costume change AGAIN – another man in black all of a sudden in head-to-toe white. S was looking right at the TV, and missed it too. Magic? Yes!

Greece – She’s not a little girl! What? But she’s wearing a pink dress! I don’t understand. Also, I think we’re supposed to figure out her secret combination to get to the centre of her heart? Or is she just saying she intends to keep it a mystery? Costume change! Now she’s a sparkly ra-ra slut!

Spain – Old MacDonald played on an electronic children’s toy guitar by a Groucho Marx look-alike doing an impression of Elvis, and then Dancing! Girls! From the Sixties! Okay, he mentioned the Macarena, and he appears to be making some kind of list with three items in it. Unfortunately these items are all in Spanish, and I don’t understand them. Something to do with chicky-chicky? Wait! There are four items – S understands these items to be steps in his dance. He is teaching us! One step is the .. robocop? And one is the sideways robot? Maybe?

Serbia – Yet another earnest skinny lady. Hi Serbia! You have a pretty lady. That’s a little incongruous – everyone is in formal dresses, except one slightly overweight guy in a t-shirt and dad jeans. He’s singing, by himself, right up the back. Serbia, don’t be embarrassed about your dad jeans guy. Let him let his light shine up the front with the pretty lady.

Russia – What? Mr voice-over just asked us to “watch out for Michael Flatley, river dancing … on skates“. Right. Oh yeah, Mr White Pants, sing on your knees for added conviction. I’m watching this guy for a crucifix pose – he’s just the type. Okay, there is totally a guy river dancing on ice skates on a specially imported tiny ice rink. It’s not Michael Flatley though. And they believe in YOOOOOOU (meaning me?) and finish with a point to the audience (rather than the crucifix? Risky choice guys).

Norway – Norway lady, how did you get so understanding about my depression and anger? And I must be saying “Ooooo. I don’t want to be lonely.” But who does Norway lady? Oh, I get it. You’re tapping into a universally shared feeling! People don’t want to be lonely. That can only be a shameless grab for votes. (Pretty good though. A little lacking in cheese).

That’s it! Who do I think will win? Groucho Marx? The four knitting brides of Frankenstein (with the lady in the rockin’ apple print skirt and the Duke of Hairnet)? The Croatian Mafia? Buxom pirates from the sea? Or the bluesy beret guy? They’re my picks anyway. Come on Europe, you have 15 minutes to vote! Also, this is probably a delayed showing, and surely I could already know the result? No! No fun that way. S’s picks: Pirates! Results soon …

..right after this folk band?

Russia? Really? I don’t really know what to say. They say this: “Thankyou! We won because of US! Because of you!”

My favourite part, by far, is the snarky English voice over guy. I heart him and his thinly-veiled guffawing. All voice-over guy quotes are in green. Okay – here we go …

Romania – Serious man sings passionately in another language. The defining moment of the song, though, is when silver dressed lady makes a dramatically striding entrance. I think they feel passionately about each other. Or something.

UK - A strangely-dressed bald man dancing in a giant disco womb. I don’t understand his suit. The commentator man says it’s best English entry in years. He’s not joking

Albania – Introduced with ‘the pleasing view of the first belly-button for the evening.’ Wind machine! Wild gesturing! Earnest looks into the camera! “Not easy to sing in a high wind like that”

Germany – Smoke machines – always appropriate. Oh, it’s a girl group. They wrap themselves in colourful chiffon as they sing about disappearing. Also, every good girl group contains a red afro having white lady. The first group choreography of the evening and, I might be wrong, but I don’t think that lady’s wearing underpants.

Armenia – Is that Gloria Estefan? No? I think I’m confused by the red smoke. Go go go bad breakdancing men in black! In terms of Eurovision – I think this lady might have a chance. A little bit of Indian influence in the music.Go go go body-rolling dancer men!

Bosnia/Herzegovina – Experimental! ‘Four knitting brides of Frankenstein‘ and something about a clothesline. A dude pops up from a washing basket! I think he’s wearing a hairnet … and is crazy. And … she’s running! Throwing bouquets! I think I like this song, it kind of sounds like a children’s song/musical number/early 80’s inspiration pop piece. Woo!

Israel – I would guess that this guy was once the youngest member of a boy group. He’s wearing a shiny women’s sleeveless top, and standing in the middle of a giant blood vessel maybe? Ooh, he just switched to English. C’mon, give us a dance break. Wait wait, I though he had five very dull back-up dancers, but in fact they just started singing the final few lines with him. Poorly.

Finland – It’s gothic rock with fireworks! “Hoo! Ha!” they reckon. I don’t know – it’s a little 80’s hair rock for me, although I love a nice rolled ‘r’. Bursts of fire!

Croatia – “Men in hats and a grumpy old man”. It’s a little bit like a Mafia Cirque du Soleil, with a Spanish-inspired ballet dancer on a low podium. S is scared the Croatian Mafia will ‘insist’ we vote for them. Is that old man in the white suit relevant at all? And is that dancing lady doing flamenco popping? Now she’s pretending to play a xylophone made of bottles filled with red water, and old man is using an old style gramophone as a turntable.

Poland - “Four girls pretending to play the violin“, he says, and “You haven’t seen teeth like this since the Osmonds“. She totally looks like Donatella Versace doing a poor impression of Celine Dion, and S predicts: She looks pretty ripe for a costume malfunction, and he mistook her cleavage for a necklace.

Iceland – Ooo, he’s pretty like a lady. A lady with a blond faux hawk. Aaaand he HITS the crucifix pose, plays to the camera, and INSISTS that this is his LIFE, and he don’t wanna CHANGE anything. Blond lady in a black tutu! It’s her life too. Classic pop. Really very uplifting, especially the synchronised step-ball-changes. And they point to the audience in a display of conviction!

Turkey – It’s a neon-green bedazzled-guitar pop/rock fusion. Punch the air guitar boy, rock that artistic moustache you crazy-eyed music maker. Second crucifix pose of the night.

Portugal – She’s serious, and surrounded by … toga wearing virgins? A very serious fringe aswell. I can’t quite make it out, but I think the virgins are singing too. Yep, digging on the flesh coloured face microphones. Dramatic costume flicks! Oh gosh, singer lady just squatted down in her voluminous black gown, and appeared very much like an evil witchy mushroom.

Latvia – They’re all from the sea. Buxom pirates from the sea, with a ‘Hi Hi Ho and a Hi Hi Hey, pirates are all they can be’. I don’t know if they are honestly trying to win or not. If they are, why would they write a bad techno children’s pirate song? If they’re not … that’s awesome. “Hey guys, I can’t think of any good lyrics for my cheap drum machine backing track! We’ll never win Eurovision.” “That’s okay, we’ll just sing about pirates. Everyone loves pirates.” “True”.

Sweden – That lady’s flesh has no colour whatsoever. She is a black and white lady. Also, she sings through her nose. I think she wants to be some kind of hero? Or maybe love is a hero? And will survive, or maybe stay alive? How can you not vote for her? You like love, don’t you? Or do you want love to die?

Denmark -Yeah! Beret man enjoys life! It’s kind of a rocking bluesy version of an acoustic Queen song, with a National Youth Choir chorus. Well I know what I mean, anyway. Also, we should celebrate good times, and I totally think Denmark is in with a chance.

Georgia – “Low key and slightly depressing” Promising. Cyborg singer lady tells me to look – the sky is crying! I think she’s been quite heavily botoxed, and may very well be blind. That would explain the sunglasses, and also her shiny arm guards. Wait, I looked down for a second, and now everyone is wearing white instead of black. Go costume changes!

I’m not sure if you know (although I suspect that you do), but I can overhear your drunken front porch conversations from my kitchen window. When one of you yells “Hey! Let’s put on some Slayer!”, and then two more of you yell “Yeah! Awesome!”,you are not, in fact, being retro-cool. I just wanted to let you know.

Dear George Foreman Grill,

If you had an on/off switch that I could use instead of turning you on and off at the power point every time, I’d feel much more comfortable. Why don’t you have an on/off switch? Is it really so much to ask?

Dear My New Phone,

I thought I really liked you when I picked you out, but after thinking about it for a while, and after the day-to-day phone calls and messages I make and receive, I’ve decided that you are just not my type of phone. I thought that your overall flatness and lightness would allow me to put you in my pocket for unencumbered walking around. But I just put you in my handbag, where I lose you completely because of your smallness, and only find you in time to miss the call that is coming through, whereupon I try to call the missed number back, and my voicemail tone screams in my ear. And on the smallness and lightness – is that why I can’t seem to hold on to you? You just slide right out of my hand.

I didn’t want to say anything, but your ring tones are really annoying. I’ve got the closest thing to a ‘Ring Ring’ that you offer, but why does my message tone have to be so awful? And why does it have to go for so long? Why can’t it just go ‘bing bong’ or something? And your alarm – why do I have to choose between some awful classical music and ‘Funky City’? Obviously I’m going to go for the funkier of the two options, but when my alarm goes off it terrifies me. I don’t know why it’s so scary to wake up in such a funky way, but it is.

I don’t know if this can go on. I’m sorry New Phone, but I might have to let you go.

Dear My Throat,

Stop feeling scratchy. I do not want to be sick, and I do not want to have to tell you twice. Smarten up.

Sincerely,

Cpt Capable.

Dear all,

i scuppers have hijacked this post and will have my way with it mwhahahahaha!!!!!!!!!

Dear my lego men,

you guys are so cool and starwars-ey, try if you could to be more numerous-ey

that will be all thank you.

regards Scuppers

number 1: I remember those little disposable toothbrushes that that were dispensed by a machine for 20 cents at the airport, you know the ones that looked like a lipstick, you took one end off and put it back on the other way round and hey presto! pre-pasted toothbrush. they did the job(sorta) and they fell apart pretty easy and the bristles were made of one molded piece of plastic (oh so ouchy against the gums) but the paste, now that was something else it was sweet and sort of minty the like of which I have never seen. dad used to bring em back for us en-mass when he went away and i cant seem to find them as an adult.Where did they go i wonder, maybe they have become extinct or it is possible that they just didn’t meet current hygiene standards, but i don’t care! PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASEEEEEEEEEEEE bring them back i miss them terribly.

until next week Scuppers signing off.

Now, I kind of did two new things this week, but one of them is something I would have done anyway (not to mention the process isn’t actually, finally, complete) and the other is small, only kind of new, but cute and funny. I’m celebrating the first thing right now with cold vodka and passionfruit syrup, mixed in a bloated martini glass, and the vodka is so cold that the syrup has kind of gone … odd … but do I care? A little. Whatever! I’m drinking it anyway!

Shut up! Show me pictures!

The first thing is (deep breath) I finally submitted my upgrade from Masters to PhD Research Proposal. And by submitted I mean finished. And by finished, I mean provisionally finished. This is a big deal to me, because the whole process has been dragging on for months, and also … there is a chance that this proposal will be DENIED, but now I’ve written about it I can’t pretend that (a) I never tried to upgrade, and (b) I don’t really care anyway. I did and I do. Wish me luck.

A note to my future self: Dear future self, Writing research proposals is beyond horrible. You have now written two. If you never have to write another one ever, you are very lucky.

A note to my current self: Dear me, Please will you keep a copy of your proposal coversheet(s) this time. Someday you will have to write another one because the world is like that, I don’t know why, and trying to find a copy of your scholarship information the second time around is boring, and surprisingly dusty.

The second thing … ready? It’s really cute.

I used my novice clicker training skills to teach the dog how to wave. I so did. In two five minute sessions, no less. Photographic evidence? Here you are:
Well, it’s cuter in real life.

And for those of you who noticed, yes I am wearing my slippers in the middle of the day in the backyard. I work at home, you know? I hang out all day with a dog and my brain. I’ve very almost lost all sense of acceptable clothing standards. I’m fine with that.

So, that’s my week, unless I do something else new … and I’ve got some things in mind. Don’t think that I don’t. Now, would I suggest that you try this? Try what? Which one? Both, together?

Okay, I’ll make it easy: Writing a Research Proposal: NO. I in no way recommend that you attempt to write a research proposal, unless it is the only thing getting in the way of your desperate desire to be admitted into a postgraduate degree. And even then, be prepared for late nights and heartache.

Teaching your dog to wave, or using clicker training in general? Hella yes yes yes. It’s the funnest thing in the world (of dog training). Even your dog will smile. Hmmm … let’s say … a 3 mallet rating.

I’ve almost finished my passionfruit vodka. Time to switch to beer and sing bad songs badly. Or something.

I ate breakfast with S, Lt, and the lady(the latter two having mysteriously appeared after a text message which, although well-intentioned in terms of misdirection, was somewhat unconvincing), and washed it down with strawberry champagne. Part of what I washed down with strawberry champagne was Cointreau-soaked berries, but I defy you to accuse me of excess. If you do (you foolhardy adventurer) I won’t deny it. I’ll say “Excess? Have you, yourself, never had a birthday? Go and think upon this, and return only when you have brought me some beer.”

Then I played croquet. Yes I did. And I liked it. Really really lots. I will do it again. You cannot stop me. I hit the ball with the whatsy, through them thing-things, and then I was a rover. It was super great.

Consider the following picture of croquet playing/observing. Does it not look fun? Does it not entice you? Does the weather not seem oddly sunny for my birthday, which is always cold and a bit rainy? Alas, it was sunny, and I aquired my first sunburn of the croquet season (which, by the way, has just started). Next time, I will wear a hat, sunscreen, and a not-singlet. I will not be caught out again.

I actually did learn a little bit about croquet etiquette, as well as the basic rules and terms. For example, this is the correct face to make if your ball has been roqueted, and you realise that the person who has roqueted you is about to croquet your ball off into the distance.

Also, if your partner thinks that he is going to be awesome at trick shots, even though he has never played croquet before, is playing on a wildly varied surface (lumpy grass, with the occasional patch of dog poo in the out-of-bounds areas), and quite obviously doesn’t have the skill to pull off his clever plans, you will probably lose. But not by much. And it will still be fun.

By the way, I also went to Cirque du Soleil. And drank Vodka Martinis to ring in my birthday at twenty past midnight. And ate gelato and bought books after the circus. And got caught in the rain. And drove my Dad to the airport, and then drove his van through stupid traffic to take it to be repaired, during what I now realise must have been World Truck Day, because there was always at least one speeding past me, leaving a stream of exhaust behind.

That last one wasn’t so good. Everything else was.

So: Do I recommend that you play croquet in your backyard? Yes! I say Yes! I rate it 5 Croquet Mallets! Better yet, do it in my backyard so I can play too. But wear a hat.

I am a little nervous, but this is just a warm-up, and I persevere.

(As a side note, I am curious as to whether you would drink this. It’s not the Yoghurt Drink concept that bothers me, it’s the homemade improperly-sealed aspect of it. But my my, hey hey, better to burn out than fade away, right? So, would you drink it? Keeping in mind that we have never been to the Istanbul Food Place before, and have no experience with their general standards of good-foodery – What Would You Do?)

I drank it. I did so. Look (but before you do, you might notice that I made everyone look like a cartoon … kind of. This is because I wanted to. Also, why not? Ok, you can look now):

It tasted like a yoghurt drink. But kind of sour. Also, it had the faintest tang of something animal-like. I really can’t explain it. Then I made S try it.

He looks happy, doesn’t he?

As a happy ending to this story, I can now tell you that, after ascertaining that neither of us would be drinking more of the yoghurt drink, we generously gave the rest to the naughty dog-oo.

She loved it.

Would I recommend that you try this? Eh, you might like it. I don’t NOT recommend it. Perhaps go for a more hygienic seal on your yoghurt drink.

Now, it’s not that I’ve never appreciated elephants before, so appreciating elephants in and of itself would not be a new thing. BUT appreciating elephants on Elephant Appreciation Day (in other words, willfully and knowledgeably celebrating Elephant Appreciation Day) is another matter entirely, and I think it qualifies. Plus, whenever I’m stuck for something new to do, I can scamper over to Holiday Insights and find a rockin’ day to celebrate.

Now I’m going to go drink some coffee and be pleased with myself.

Ahoy!! Avast all ye landlubbers. In’ernational Talk Like a Pirate Day is almost upon us. (Arrr) So grab ye a shovel and dig – dig like you’ve never dug before, for a pearl of great price awaits all o’ ye who be brave enough to seek it.

And a great, grand ‘thank-ye’ to salty ol’ Cap’n Capable for her great grand gesture of countdown ticker making, gifted to the crew to keep spirits alive.

Arrrrrrr!