A Font of Wisdom

As a prolific email writer I’ve often thought it would be a great idea if we could have fonts that truly reflect our frame of mind and the preferred voice inflection of our processed words.

This could, after all, help prevent many misunderstandings around the tone of our emails.

For example, a couple of days ago I sent what I thought was a reasonably ‘friendly’ email inquiring as to whether the feedback I had provided to a colleague was to be included in the resultant document (as it appeared to NOT have been).

A subsequent telephone conversation with the colleague revealed that she had thought I was ‘miffed’ due to a perceived somewhat ‘snippy’ inflection to my email. I assured her this was not the case at all, but that I had been trying to sound casual, friendly and non-snippy. Clearly it hadn’t worked.

Therefore I believe we need a few new fonts so that our feelings on any given matter can be truly reflected in the written word.

For example, when we are feeling a bit out of sorts we could use “Cranky” font. When sad we could use “Sooky La La” font. “Mildly Disgruntled” font would be one I would use fairly regularly to convey my displeasure and “Snitchy” font could be very handy for those moments when only a catty voice will do. Personally I also wouldn’t mind a “Don’t Even THINK About It Buddy” font for those days of the month when it’s really not wise to cross me.

“Sarky” font would ensure that the subtle nuances of sarcasm are not lost and “Totally Cats Bum” font would be reserved for those moments when ‘one is not amused’.

“Smarmy” font would be useful for gloating and “Grovel” font would come in handy when you have a little sucking up to do. I must admit that a “Frankly I Can’t Be Bothered” font might get a work out on my computer — particularly on Friday afternoons — as would my “Tell Someone Who Cares” font.

The “I Can’t Believe I Have to Spell This Out to You, You Moron” font would carry me through the moments of exasperation while the “I Think This Is Hysterical, So Make Sure You Laugh Too” font would ensure my jokes are fully appreciated. The ‘I’m Only Sending You This Email Because They Said Something Good Would Happen to Me if I Sent it To at Least 8 People” font would save a lot of explaining as to why I have forwarded the Tibetan Prayer of Universal Love and Kisses to six million of my closest friends.

I’m sure there are many more potential fonts just waiting to be invented and I believe there is certainly a market for these in offices all around the world.

After all, at present it’s nigh impossible to accurately decipher if the email sender is actually being snippy or was just too busy scoffing down chocolates and talking on the phone to take proper notice of what he or she was typing. The new fonts would clarify the mental state of the typist and save valuable time in coming up with a suitably matched font for the reply.

In fact, I reckon this invention has really got legs. It’s so good I intend to contact Microsoft personally. I think I will use one of my latest ideas:

“OY! HOWSABOUT MAKING SOME NEW SHOUTY FONTS?”

I reckon they’ll get that, don’t you?

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Is Master Chef making Us Fat?

The other day I read something which really took my attention. I pathetically admit I was once again reading a weight loss book. This one was written by none other than that straight-shootin’, tough lovin’ Dr Phil. Yes, he of scary U.S. daytime television where ‘regular’ people expose their deepest, darkest souls to the scrutiny -- and often ridicule -- of the studio audience and a few million viewers worldwide. As you do if you want to keep your affairs private and maintain some measure of dignity.

Anyway, the good doctor has written a very detailed and sensible book, if I may say so, on the ‘ultimate’ way to lose weight. Essentially he says we need to take responsibility for our eating habits and get our heads together before we can possibly lose weight. Nothing so surprising there, really.

What was surprising is that Dr Phil claims scientists now believe that when we look longingly at food (drooling over a cream cake for example) our bodies begin to release insulin which accelerates the uptake of fat into our cells for storage. Meaning of course, that we might very well be gaining weight without even eating a bite! Yikes!

I started thinking about the possible implications of this in the context of our current national love affair with all things gastronomic. Specifically, I was thinking about the incredibly high-rating TV show ‘Master Chef’.

Apparently, in its last season, over two million viewers were tuning into every episode of the show. Therefore, on the basis of the aforementioned science, that would mean every time they looked lovingly at the food being cooked on the show, these same two million viewers were exposing themselves to insulin release and possible fat uptake. That’s a lot of flab!

Taking this idea a little further, think about all the people who wander around bakeries and delicatessens; greedily eyeing off the various delicious-looking treats on offer. Surely, they too, are in the firing line for a little insulin mischief, are they not?

And then there is advertising. Every second ad on television is promoting food – often fatty, salty, sugary fast-food portrayed as mouth-wateringly as possible. While we dieters sit despondently on the couch nibbling on cardboard crackers and lusting silently over the Big Mac with fries sizzling tantalisingly on the screen (and congratulating ourselves on our fabulous willpower) could it be that are our dastardly hormones are busily whipping up a little fat-storing frenzy?

And what about all the kids who watch these ads? Do their bodies produce insulin in the same way as adult bodies supposedly do? Are we inadvertently fattening up our kids by letting them even just view tempting food?

It really does make you wonder. I mean, we all know that obesity is becoming a serious problem amongst kids today. You only need visit a fast food joint near you to see whole kilos of garbage being inhaled by pudgy-faced kids. Couple this with our more sedentary lifestyles and it’s probably not surprising that we are raising a nation of fatties.

But, thanks to Dr Phil and his terrifying little revelation, I now wonder if it’s the whole story? Maybe it’s not just ‘a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips’ but also ‘a moment in your eye and the scales go sky-high!’

Well, anyway, I’m taking no chances. Next time I watch Master Chef, I will be covering my eyes.

After all, I have enough problems with real, live, in-my-mouth food expanding my girth without having sneaky insulin hormones hijacking me from the side-lines as well!

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It's A Dog's Life for Me

I’ve decided that if I ever get reincarnated, I’m coming back as a dog. Preferably a dog owned by me (to ensure maximum comfort, that is).

Dogs are so uncomplicated. They eat, sleep, play, poo and sniff. That’s about it.

They are excited by everything. No matter how many times you walk them around the same block, it’s like the maiden voyage. Every lamppost, pile of leaves and tussock of grass is intriguing and beguiling. They sniff like it’s the first time they’ve ever smelt the ‘eau de urine’ of some previous canine visitor or the waft of rabbit near the showground sheds. It’s all so fascinating!

My dogs wallow like furry hippos in every available puddle, roll in dead fish on the river bank (if given half a chance) and greet everyone they meet with slobbering, wet-pawed enthusiasm. They don’t always get that not everyone wants to be jumped on by a soggy, shaggy mutt; in fact, it never enters their heads. Why would it when they have been led to believe that they are the Supreme Four Pawed Masters of the Universe? (or at least the portion of the universe that extends for a few kilometres either side of their Utopian Doggy Palace -- aka my place).

They are always happy to see you; even if you smell, look like death or are having a really bad hair day. They don’t care if you’re happy, sad, furious, depressed, sane, crazy or drunk. As long as you have one hand that’s capable of scratching their belly while the other locates the dog treats in the pantry, all is right in their world.

The simple joy of gnawing a bone cannot be understated, according to dogs. There is nothing quite like a half-rotten chunk of animal carcass to lift one’s doggy spirits. Better still if it’s been buried for a few 40 degree days in the back yard; thus maximising its gross-o-nomic rating. Ah, the uncomplicated joy!

And what pooch in his right mind wouldn’t turn himself inside out for the opportunity to suck on a pig’s ear for half an hour? Not too many of the ones I know, that’s for sure! And yes, at my place pigs ears are a regular treat. Not to mention liver ‘treaties’, bone biscuits, Schmacko strips and the occasional doggie carob bar.

The downside of such indulgence may well be the future pancreatic misfortune of my hairy kids, so I am trying to keep the fatty stuff to a minimum – but it’s soooo hard! Especially when they look at you appealingly through their fluffy white (Lloyd Bridges) eyebrows or hoist themselves insistently at the back window in an attempt to gain your attention. What’s a smitten doggie owner to do?

Okay, okay, I shouldn’t be such a sucker. I know this is how bad habits are formed, but at least I do make them ‘sit’ before they get their treaties, so I’m not a total pushover, am I?

Oh, and by the way, it’s just not true that they ate a whole couch at the boarding kennels last time they visited. That was a vicious lie. Just because the same thing has been happening to their beds here at home, doesn’t mean there’s any link……

Well anyway, life’s good when you’re a dog. No responsibilities. No bills to pay, dishes to wash, lawns to mow, meals to cook or work to go to. Not a care in the world. Other than perhaps, when you might be getting your next ‘walkies’. And I’m sure mine don’t ever really worry about that either. If they really want a walk they just go nutzoid around the loungeroom for a few minutes and start chomping on the couch. We soon get the message. And they say animals can’t talk!

So, next time around, it’s definitely a dog’s life for me.

Just hold off on the pigs ears okay? For some reason, gnawing on the aural appendage of a dead swine just doesn’t seem to do it for me.

But, then again, I’m not a dog. Yet.

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Professor recommends "Hot Tips for Cool Parents"

Internationally recognised in the field of early childhood development, Emeritus Professor Philip Gammage PhD D Phil FRSA (Nottingham University, UK) has this to say about my new book "Hot Tips for Cool Parents: the key to raising awesome kids":

"Parenting doesn't always come naturally and good sense about it needs to be accessible. This book is full of good sense and is easily assimilated, humorous, practical and low key in its approach. Moreover the facts and research behind it are rarely easily accessible, so we are doubly indebted to the author. Read it...it will save you much heart ache. Common sense of the best sort. Dip into it when you need it. It shapes ideas fairly and squarely."

I'm so honoured that Professor Gammage has not only taken the time to read my book, but also to provide such positive feedback. Having seen and learned about his often groundbreaking work, both here in Australia and internationally in the UK and Europe, I am even more delighted that he has given Hot Tips for Cool Parents the thumbs up! Thank you Professor Gammage.

Visit www.philipgammage.org to find out more about Prof Gammage

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Careering Off - A Negative Jobseeker's Guide

I know this might sound a bit negative, but I reckon we could save a lot of time helping job seekers if, instead of asking them what they would ‘like’ to do, we just cut to the chase and asked them what they would ‘hate’ to do.

For example, I was recently helping a young friend put his Resume together. I started off asking him questions about what he really liked doing. This was met mostly with a lot of shrugging, blank staring and ‘I dunno’ ing. Clearly, I was getting nowhere, so I decided to change tactic.

“Okay” I said, “Tell me about the subjects you hated most at school, starting with the yuckiest.”

His face lit up and he rattled of a litany of despised tasks before eventually working his way back to the things he actually liked doing. Finally, with a bit more probing, we came up with a bunch of possible areas in which he might excel in the future.

What started as a plunge into the murky pool of negativity ended up on a very positive note! The Resume was a success and I’m happy to report the young man is now happily employed in an area that suits him.

This experience got me thinking about careers that wouldn’t work for me.

Some examples and the reasons I would be unsuitable for these roles are:

Brain Surgeon: No good with squishy things and useless with drills.

Mathematics Teacher: Number challenged. Likely to ask things like “What is the square root of 1356?” only to respond with an astonished “Really?” when correct answer is supplied by 5th Grader.

Airline Pilot: Dodgy sense of direction. Could be heard announcing: “Ladies and gentleman, I know we all thought we were heading to Hawaii, but I …um…kinda misread the coordinates and instead we will soon be landing in down-town Beirut. Look, I know it’s not quite the holiday you had planned, but there’s still a fair bit of sand about!”

Lead guitarist in a heavy metal band: Guitar ability limited to 6 chords, scared of tattoos and not sure if paracetamol counts as a recreational drug.

Bus or truck driver: Whole buildings, footpaths and pedestrians could go missing due to my inability to judge correct corner-turning allowance.

Football commentator: Might get distracted and say things like, “And the cute one with the nice thighs handballs to the Adonis with the pecs!” While I’m sure many girls would love it, the die-hard footy fans might lynch me.

Chef: Suffice to say, I’m sure there would be many people willing to testify that this is not, nor ever should be, the career for me.

These are just a few of the things I’d be really bad at and I now realise why we don’t normally start the resume writing process from the negative position. It’s so depressing!

I can just imagine our hapless jobseeker after undergoing this process:

Prospective employer: “And what skills would you bring to this role, Bill?”

Bill: “Dunno, but I can tell you what I’m really RUBBISH at, if that’s any help?”

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A healthy attitude?

Remember youth? Remember when you could do all sorts of terrible things to your body – like staying up late, never eating vegetables, avoiding water like the plague, frying yourself to a crisp in the sun, eating fatty, salty foods, drinking too much alcohol or choofing through a whole packet of fags in one night? Remember when your body just repaired itself and moved on?

Well brace yourselves, fellow Baby Boomers for, as a ‘Tail Ender’ of your generation, I’m here to officially tell you “it’s all over”. But don’t fret. Its passing need not be lamented. In fact, this new phase of life offers opportunities not yet discovered or enjoyed by those of younger, healthier disposition.

Yes folks, I have now joined the ranks of those who think it’s not only acceptable but down-right socially valuable to have an illness or two to discuss with one’s friends. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder what on earth I ever talked about before I was introduced to gastroscopies, colonoscopies and any other human-orifice-oscopy you can name.

Ah, the suspense of a good heart-murmur story; the intrigue of a difficult-to-diagnose kidney malfunction; the exhilaration of a cunningly detected helicobacter virus and the heartwarming tale of successful toe-nail surgery.

Where once we discussed world affairs, the news of the day, our kids or the latest gossip around town, today my degenerating cohorts and I go straight for the ‘health update’, reliving every ache, pain or dysfunction that’s afflicted us over the past decade.

We compare and contrast; we embellish and amplify; we dissect and diagnose. In short, we have a great time ghoulishly reveling in the inevitable demise of the human organism; even if it happens to be our own organism that’s up for discussion. It’s the entertainment value that counts, after all!

Besides, they say “a problem shared is a problem halved”, although I have to admit it’s unlikely that (unless you are highly infectious at the time of discussion) even your bestest buddies are going to take on a half-share of your latest affliction; that might be stretching the friendship just a tad too far. I mean, sharing a joke, a cuppa and the general details of someone’s illness is one thing; putting your life at risk for the sake of an interesting relationship is quite another.

And so, like those who have gone before me — and behind whose backs I would snigger when they insisted on imparting every gruesome detail of their latest health woe — I too find myself subscribing to the philosophy that everybody else finds my medical emergencies as fascinating as I do. After all, I think to myself, why wouldn’t they? (I admit it’s a thought I haven’t necessarily fully explored, so it may well be flawed in some way…).

But despite my acceptance of health topics as the new dominant force in my conversational life, I do still have one bodily frontier I am not yet fully willing to discuss and that is the intricacies of someone else’s, shall we say, digestive processes (and the bi-products thereof, if you take my meaning). Yes, one day my friends and I may openly and unabashedly share every grisly aspect of our ablutions, but today is not that day and nor shall it be for a little while yet.

In the meantime, I am quite happy having a chat about any other anatomical process, surgical procedure or medication. Yours, mine or Mr Bloggs Down the Road’s. It’s only natural, this hankering to understand the physical nature of ….well …nature … and to attempt to stave off the affects of the ageing process. After all, who amongst us actually likes the idea of becoming decrepit …or worse?

And besides, with our minds starting to go as well, as we approach our twilight years, it’s probably not a bad idea to focus on something as close to home as our own bodies. God knows where our thoughts might end up if we start worrying too much about other stuff. We might forget to take our tablets … or go to the toilet!

Uh oh…..did I just say “toilet”?

Yikes, it’s started already!!

I better stop now before I say “poo!”

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A Ghostly Tale

A friend was telling me how, at a wedding in New York, he got chatting with the young woman seated beside him. He asked her what she did for a living and she said she was a ‘ghost writer’.

Imagining all kinds of ghoulish protagonists and spooky storylines, my friend was intrigued.

“So does that mean you write books about the dead?” he asked innocently. But his new friend (whom he had secretly nick-named “Casper”) enlightened him that a ‘ghost writer’ doesn’t actually write about ghosts, but writes on behalf of someone else.

“Who do you write for then?” my friend asked. Casper shook her head and drew pincered fingers across her lips in a zipper gesture.

“Can’t tell you, I’m afraid,” she said. “Ghost writers often write for quite well known authors. Naturally the authors don’t want the public to know that they are not actually writing the books and their publishers don’t care who’s actually writing them, as long as they make their squillions.”

My friend was aghast, “You mean some of our big-name, world-reknowned authors may not even be writing their own books?”

Casper, however, was giving nothing away. She explained that she gets paid a lot of money to write …. and keep her mouth shut.

“But don’t you ever get the urge to blurt out that you actually wrote so-and-so’s latest best-seller?” my friend persisted. “Or the desire to write a book under your own name?”

“Not much point, really,” Casper replied. “My name means nothing to the reading public and I can’t exactly say “Ooh, but I wrote “Blah Blah” (fabulous best-seller) for “Blah Blah” (Big Name Author) can I? It would rather jeopardise my ghostly status … and my bank balance.”

My friend took her point but shook his head in bewilderment at why someone would be willing to ‘sell’ themselves in such a way.

This story made me wonder what it would be like if people in other industries decided to have ‘ghost workers’ to do the actual work, while they sat back and collected the money and kudos.

For instance, can you imagine the ‘ghost plumber’ sliding selflessly down the sewer to retrieve something nasty from the pipeworks then standing back, unperturbed, while the lady of the house lavishes cash, thanks and a slab of Carlton Cold on the ‘real plumber’ (who’s been watching from the safety of the back porch?) I don’t think so.

Or the ‘ghost-detective’ who risks losing life, limb (and occasionally the contents of his stomach) unearthing clues and dead bodies, only to pass all the information to the ‘real detective’ who gets all the credit … and the promotion? Doubtful.

But I guess, in reality, there are ‘ghost personnel’ in every organisation right across the world; people whose individual work is passed off as the intellect, the research, the expertise or the ‘brainchild’ of someone else. Funnily enough, it’s actually a win-win situation. After all, in the spirit of reciprocity, those whose ideas and projects are used, do get paid for their creativity and hard work. It’s how human organisations get things done.

So I guess those best-selling authors with ‘ghost writers’ tucked in their turrets are not so despicable after all. The reading public gets another guaranteed pot-boiler, the ‘ghost writer’ gets a tidy little sum and the author gets to sit on her sun-lounge collecting royalties (and she can blame someone else for any writing gaffes!)

Not that a ghost writer would necessarily be an easy scapegoat for blame, for surely she would just deny all knowledge of the matter (as per her contract) and get off Scot free, wouldn’t she?

And fair enough too. After all, there have to be some perks in being invisible!

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