Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Why Red Rooster is Probably a Front for a Drug Cartel


... or: "That time I got sued for defamation".

... or, preferably: "That time I received an international award commending my bravery for outing a dangerous underground network".

... or, even more preferably: "That time Red Rooster gave me lots of their [improved] menu items to thank me for showing them the light about how the public perceives their business and how they can better themselves".


Our suspect:




Red Rooster. An Australian fast food chain, started in 1972. Over 360 stores in Australia. Name suggests a bias toward male virility. 'Cock'-based jokes welcome. 'It's gotta be red' makes no sense. Most likely some sort of code.


My Suspicions:  

  • I have never known anybody to regularly eat at Red Rooster (unlike, say, McDonalds, KFC, Hungry Jacks, etc).
  • During high school, my friends and I had jobs at other (see above) fast food establishments, but NOBODY worked at Red Rooster, nor did they ever seem to advertise for junior staff.
  • Every store I've ever walked past has been empty, or close to empty.
  • Despite this apparent lack of business, Red Rooster does not seem to be struggling financially, managing to retain a widespread, national presence.
  • Everybody I asked said the food is 'okay'. It is not bad - but it is so, so unexciting and average that you can never imagine craving an item from their menu (unlike my quarterly 'oh-my-god-I-need-a-Happy-Meal-now!' cravings).
  • Their menu appears to have had minimal changes/upgrades since their 1972 opening. While this really quite charming (I like the fact that they sell assorted roast vegetables and fried pineapple rings and potato salad in addition to fried chicken), they do not executive these items well enough to justify how outdated, giving a feeling of laziness to the menu design.
    (I should be fair and point out there have been SOME changes to their food - they've jumped on the wrap and salad bandwagons and promote some 'healthier' options, but these items have an overwhelming 'afterthought' feel about them)
  • The above two points give the overall impression that the food is secondary to.... something.
  • Something nearly always = secret drug cartel.
  • Ergo, Red Rooster is a front for a secret underground drug cartel.
  • Everybody I have mentioned this theory to has exclaimed 'OH MY GOD! YES!' and admitted to feeling similarly about the chain. So I'm glad to know I'm not the only one who feels this way.
  • I Googled 'Red Rooster' (no one can accuse me of not doing my research - NO SIREE!) and came across this. Hmmm.


The Undercover Investigation:

I had no memory of ever eating at Red Rooster (see point 1), and so had no experience with their food. I decided to pay them a visit one lunch time, accompanied by two coworkers, to sample their menu, meet their staff, and see if they had any other customers (and whether they used special code words to make 'special orders').

Do I have what it takes to manage a drug ring??? No. To be honest, I probably don't.


Observations:

  • Empty. A pair of truck drivers and a mysterious looking man wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses (despite the pouring rain... and which he never took off) entered while I was eating, ordered takeaway, and quickly left.
  • Weird, doctor's-office-eque paintings on the walls. Faded, rural, colonial [tacky as all hell] scenes. To create a false sense of homeliness, maybe? (you know what, Red Rooster? In my home, we have a little thing called HEATING. Jesus.)

 
  • FREEZING. Do drug labs need to be particularly cold? Maybe. I don't know. I've never owned or operated a drug lab, but it seems plausible.
  • One staff member at front of shop taking orders; 10+ staff out the back, apparently preparing food for the non-existent customers.

 I tried to get a shot of the 8746846 people in the kitchen... failed. You'll have to take my word for it.
 
  • Oddly old serving staff member: no pimply teenagers here! She looked to be in her 30s, seemed distracted, erratic, and was completely uninterested in my query about what her favourite sauce is to eat with 'Spicy Bites'.
  • SO MANY SECURITY CAMERAS. Plus this weird dome thing on the ceiling. Recording device? Loudspeaker? 


  • Food was, as I'd been told to expect, 'fine'. Nothing I would go out of my way to eat again, but if I was on a roadtrip across the country and hungry, I would probably choose to put some of their food in my mouth over dying from starvation.


Conclusions:

  • Red Rooster is either a drug cartel or a not-very-good fast food chain.
  • If the latter, they somehow manage to stay in business, so regardless we have a mystery on our hands.
  • Large hanging orbs and security devices at every turn do not an inviting establishment make.
  • Nor does an arctic temperature.
  • Staff members who don't enjoy discussing condiments or appreciate my quaint cock-related humour are big fat downers and do not belong in customer service!
  • I have a degree in fine art... RED ROOSTER, CALL ME! I can help you choose jazzier artwork for your walls.
  • If I do get sued, I hope you all will chip in to bail me out.
  • ... please don't sue me.
  • ... do, however, feel free to hire me as your marketing guru, who will convert your image from 'suspicious' to 'delicious'. 
  • Do you see what I did there??? I used my marketing genius to make a rhyme that is both catchy AND patchy!
  • I'll stop now.

I hope you all enjoyed today's educational guide/ my latest conspiracy theory. I welcome your own tales of suspicious establishments...chicken-based menu optional.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Creeps at the Gym: An Illustrated Guide

  In case anyone had ANY doubt in their mind.... yes, I have been spending too much time at the gym lately. And yes, I am becoming my own special variety of gym creep...



#1: 'The Starer'


There are few things in this world more offputting than being watched. The Starer does not need to say anything, they don't need to do anything. It's their unknown thoughts and intentions that make it so goddamn creepy.

Gyms can be dangerous places for The Starer: there are mirrors everywhere. I am running on the treadmill. I have a funny feeling I'm being watched. I look up, around, scan the gym. Nope, can't see anyone. Then my eyes fall on the mirror a few metres in front of me.... and.....Bingo. 6 o'clock. Some dude standing behind me, staring at either the majesty of my sweat-dripping ponytail or my ass. Cool.

But this is ambiguous: perhaps I have sat in a brownie and have an unfortunate stain on my backside (it wouldn't be the first time). I am willing to give this fellow the benefit of the doubt and move on.

BUT! Sometimes The Starer is more undeniably creepy. Sometimes I am on the elliptical or something and the person on the machine next to me has their head fully turned - Exorcist style - to watch me as I huff and puff and sweat and drool. Drool? Oh, you better believe it.

Sometimes I will be stretching on a mat and somebody will come and sit down a few feet away from me. And...watch. Not do anything. Not even PRETEND like they're sitting there for a reason. Not even make vague, token gestures like trying to touch their toes or examining a skin growth on their leg. They just.....watch.

But perhaps the worst is when they stare from afar. That's when I feel the most vulnerable and powerless. When they're close by - when I can keep them in my line of vision - I feel safer, more in control. When they're moving around, watching from different distances, spaces, areas, angles, I feel like I'm in The Truman Show.... never sure what exactly they're seeing, but always aware of their eyes burning holes in my brownie-stained butt.


#2: 'The Snoop'


This is just one step before 'The Copycat' (see below). This is the person who feels like your speed, distance, calories burned, weight, level, or reading material is their business. Or even worth looking at. Let me tell you this: It is not that interesting. I have no secrets. I am reading National Geographic. It is level 9. Speed is 12km/hour. Weight is 35kg. I have burned 118 calories. I have travelled 3.2kms. You're welcome.

Keep your eyes on your own work. And while you're at it? INSIDE VOICES AND EAT YOUR GREENS.


#3: 'The Copycat'

 It makes me wonder just how far they'd go...

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. It's also among the sincerest forms of being a creep. 'The Copycat' is the climax of 'The Starer' and 'The Snoop'. It is where these two lesser forms of creep reach their peak.


Gym Copycat behaviour ranges from simply upping their treadmill speed to match the person next to them, all the way to following someone around the facilities, mimicking their exercises, stretches, and even mannerisms. 

One time, a woman rode a stationary bike next to me, increasing the level each time I did. If I took a break to stretch, she took a break to stretch. If I took a sip from my drink bottle, she did too. Nearing the end of my workout, I hung my towel (read: festering rag of sweat) around my neck. She got up, walked to reception, asked to borrow a towel, came back, AND HUNG IT AROUND HER NECK.*
* but hers was not at all sweaty, nor was it festering. Check-flippin'-mate, Madame Creepazoid.


This is obviously on the extreme end of the copycat spectrum, but it was also fairly harmless. What is more alarming is when people copy specific exercises/repetitions/weights, without considering that they may be individual/sport/whatever specific. What works for me is not necessarily going to work for you: it may not be in line with your goals or abilities at all. There is a fine line between learning by observation and just being a dumbass. One size does not fit all and blindly copying someone in the gym is potentially dangerous.


^^^^ Do you see what I did up there?? I legitimised my petty gripe by masking it as concern for their safety and wellbeing. This is true, but mostly you are just frikkin' weird and creepy. Stop it.




#4: 'The Sex Face/Noise Maker'


This is perhaps (perhaps...more on this later) the least maliciously creepy - it usually seems to be unintentional and purely impulsive. An uncontrollable reaction to intense physical exertion. Despite that, it is the most outwardly offputting - the gym behaviour that is probably capable of making the largest number of people possible feel really, REALLY uncomfortable. It's noisy, it's distracting.... and it's repulsive (unless you're equally creepy, in which case you might find it a turn-on).

The thing that is the most bothersome about Sex Face/Noise Makers is the possibility that it is not an innocent and uncontrollable behaviour, like a nervous tick. It's disturbing to think that they are, perhaps, deriving some sort of sexual pleasure from exercise, the gym environment, or their fellow gym-goers. With every rep, they appear more excited, more intensely focused, more.... aroused?

I am all for exercise as a feel-good outlet. But when I'm worried you're going to ejaculate all over the weights rack? That's creepy. And unsanitary.


#5: 'The Pervert' and 'The Pervee'

I'm sorry to stereotype, but it really is hard to imagine a pervert without a not-very-well-thought-out beard...

These two types have a beautiful and harmonious symbiotic relationship. The Pervert is at the gym to check out prospective mates, while The Pervee wants nothing more than to be checked out: they will often be found walking back and forth in front of a row or treadmills, or aimlessly wandering through the weights section, picking things up, putting them down again, touching things...waiting, waiting, waiting for somebody to noticeeeee themmmmmmm.

Given their primary objective is not to exercise, both Perverts and Pervees will often not engage in any actual physical activity, unless it helps their cause in some way.


Perverts will often temporarily take on the role of The Pervee, displaying impressive feats of strength, fitness, balance, or coordination, to ensure they are noticed. Once their victim has been hooked, they offer to share their techniques. A man at my gym is notorious for this: he does slightly unusual, borderline impressive exercises (with maximum attention-seeking noise) until he catches a young woman's gaze on him. He then offers to teach her. This allows an 'up close and personal' session - one where he encourages her to bend just so as he looks over her, surveying every angle and critiquing her form (while mentally critiquing her bra size). She politely thanks him, leaves, and he finds someone else to 'coach'.
[It's probably worth noting that when young men inquire about his workout, he is not at all interested in assisting: "Get a personal trainer, man. I'm not doing this for free."]

Pervees are also prone to using their workouts as a luring tool. They have a tendency to visit the gym purely to do exercises they could've done in their own homes. One girl at my gym walks in, places a yoga mat in a conspicuous place, and proceeds to twist and bend herself into a variety of compromising positions. Many of these involve her butt being elevated and directed at boys. Once she's got her fix, she leaves, never touching a single piece of equipment.

There are no gender rules with Perverts/Pervees: men and women are equally guilty of strutting, flexing, spying, giggling, smirking, bending, twisting, posing, and raising their eyebrows just so.

Provided BOTH types are present in a gym environment, harmonium is achieved. The Pervert perves and The Pervee is perved upon. Both are happy. Both have fulfilled their mission. 

However, when just one is left without an outlet, innocent bystanders are drawn in to the madness: you will find yourself either being sensually (creepily) winked at as you try to complete your set, or else you will be distracted while running on the treadmill, as a Pervee struts back and forth in front of you, shakin' their thang and desperate for someone to look at them. OH DEAR GOD, PLEASE JUST NOTICE MEEEEE.


#6: 'The Eating Disordered, Drug-Fucked Bodybuilder' 

This is way less of a joke than you might think. It hurts me to say that.


This probably affects gym staff more than attendees. I worked at a gym for 3 years, and my relationship with the competitive bodybuilders was a tumultuous rollercoaster of emotion and heartache. 

While they were 'bulking' they were outgoing, friendly and chatty. They were generally pretty cool dudes who perhaps had a wee bit too much spare time/a slight inclination toward masochism. But.. like...I'm not one to talk on that front. So let's just say yeah, they were generally pretty okay guys.

However, once they began 'cutting' - and their food consumption mimicked that of an infant - they turned nasty. They would throw tantrums, they were irritable. I worked quite a few long, all-day shifts, so I'd often be heating up my meals at the gym. The smell of foods - banned foods - was enough to send them into fits of rage.


They were hugely irrational and frantic, and it was sometimes pretty scary to watch them scream at an old lady because she wasn't using the water fountain quickly enough.

In part, their behaviour can be attributed to their plummeting food consumption and its effects on their mental and physical wellbeing. But I also heard many [almost definitely true] rumours of drug (steroids and amphetamines mostly) abuse. Moodiness + hunger + a barely functioning brain + drugs does not a happy combo make.


Once they were done with their competition, the spray tan wore off and we were left with just memories of the terrifying psychos they had become. They returned to their normal, relatively emotionally stable selves. Some of them even apologised for the way they'd acted. 
And so there were a few months of calm, before the next round of dieting began...


[I wrote an essay about the dieting practices of competitive bodybuilders for an anthropology class in university. I will hopefully dig it up and post it in the not hugely distant future. It FASCINATES (/repulses) me]


#7: 'The Territorial'


The Territorial is not necessarily the same as a hog. They don't necessarily have a monopoly on all gym equipment or feel like it's necessary to have every medicine ball in their possession, assembled around them like some kind of weirdass ancient runes/Stonge Henge creation.

Hog behaviour isn't really creepy. It's just selfish and annoying.

The Territorial, however, is creepy. They form strange attachments to particular items. Items that are property of the gym and available for anyone to use. The Territorial does not think in these fair and egalitarian terms. Oh no. That treadmill is theirs, that particular purple yoga mat belongs to them.

I notice this particularly when attending group fitness classes: they have formed some kind of weird, sweaty bond to a particular spin bike... it's not just a preference. They will leave the class if you refuse to give it up so they can use it (this has seriously happened to me. I thought I was gonna get punched out. Spin class warfare is a dangerous thing). In yoga, some attendees get really really mad if their particular patch of carpet (not a metaphor) is taken.

But it is important that you DON'T GIVE IN TO THIS KIND OF IRRATIONAL, CRAZY-PERSON BEHAVIOUR. I firmly believe that the gym is a microcosm of the wider world: if you let people behave in a scary, possessive, territorial manner in the gym, it's only a matter of time until they've decided that THAT TREE IN THE PARK IS THEIRS. And then they sniper-rifle your kid down as they try to climb it. Don't let that happen. Stand up to gym creeps. For little Billy's sake.


And so concludes today's lesson. I hope you've all learnt something. Such as "wow, I am actually a massive weirdo" or "wow, I should join a gym... there is endless entertainment there!"  Either outcome is one I can take pride in.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

The Internet According To Lizzi (or: Why We're All Ginormous Creeps)

As someone who spends a lot (like... a LOT a lot) of time on the internet, I also end up spending a lot of time thinking about it.

I wonder what will become of my blog, and of friends' blogs. Will we all continue to write? If not, will they stay online, as a kind of eternal memento of a period of our lives? Will we show them to our children? And our children's children? As we might old letters of photographs? Will my great-grandchildren cite my irrational menstrual fears in their school family history projects??

(click to embiggenate)

This is quite a nice thought, but hugely weird. It's incredible to think what the internet might be like in 20... 50... 100 years. I have high hopes that by the year 2075 everybody online will be able to spell correctly, pop-up ads will be completely eradicated, and all website colour schemes and fonts will be approved by a qualified graphic designer.

I like to think about the internet as a tangible thing. In my head, websites have distinct locations, positioned next to, above, below each other. In my brain, the internet is a giant, pulsing, living, ever-growing, interconnected universe.

(third star to the right and straight on to kitty videos!!!)

But this leads my mind to naturally progress to something bigger and scarier and potentially less metaphorical: if the internet is like a universe, then perhaps our universe is just some higher being's internet?!

(yeaaaah I'm not even gonna pretend I knew the names of all those galaxies. Thanks Wikipedia!)

Which means that our galaxies, stars, and planets could CRASH! They could be DELETED! They could become overwhelmed with traffic! They could get hacked!

This has made me paranoid and creepy. I feel like I'm in my own little intergalactic 'Truman Show.' Maybe somebody has subscribed to my life and checks in daily?? MAYBE SOME 47 YEAR OLD BALD DUDE WITH A POT BELLY AND SWEAT-STAINED SINGLET LOGS ON EVERY DAY TO JACK OFF TO ME MAKING BREAKFAST?!! Maybe my web-designers are gonna dramatically change my colour scheme any day now??? Maybe I'm eventually going to be maintained only by the income generated by GIANT UGLY BANNER ADS.

As you can probably tell, my life is hugely stressful. In an entirely 'brought it upon myself' kind of way. When I am stressed, I go on the internet.... I immerse myself in blogs and other people's lives. I admire website designs or scoff at them. I buy stuff.

And so I am soothed. If my life is just a sub-page in somebody's internet, then I'm sure as hell not going to give them anything good to look at. Yeah...watch me buy shoes online, you pervert. 

Besides, this means that with every click and scroll and bookmark and subscribe and delete, I am just creeping on someone else's universe. That's a perversely satisfying feeling.

And so the circle of e-life is complete. Hakuna matata. Now please give me a good explanation of a 'motherfucker' for little Gretel... I don't want to traumatise the poor child.

Monday, January 23, 2012

AN AMAZING AND FUN-FILLED DAY IN THE LIFE OF LIZZI. amazement and fun not guaranteed.

I'm not sure if I'm just a) really nosy and invasive, or b) lame, boring, and enjoy living vicariously through others. Either way, I LOVE snooping into the everyday details of people's lives. Which is probably why I enjoy reading blogs so much.... OH MY GOD YOU ATE A SANDWICH TODAY?! THAT IS THE BEST. OH MY GOD YOU WASHED YOUR HAIR LAST NIGHT?!?!? YOU ARE SO COOL.

So, based on the assumption that I surely can't be the ONLY one who enjoys reading about these things (please... tell me I'm not. I've grown accustomed to believing I have a scrap of cool left in me), I spent a day last week taking snapping pictures of the magical mischief and mayhem I got up to. Surprise!! There was no mischief OR mayhem!

I woke up, went outside, and was greeted by this face (sadly not my dog/rhinoceros.... but one day. ONE DAYYYY she WILL be mine!). Good day guaranteed.


My carmobile took me to work. It is full of sweaty old towels for the gym, water bottles, makeup, books, and a yoga mat that doesn't get used nearly enough.


I probably should've died taking this action shot.


I arrived at work - not dead - and sat at the MAGICAL WONDERLAND that is my desk. It has lots of pictures of baby animals, a kitten calendar, a rainbow slinky, and a WOLF CREEK sign, to deter any potential visitors who might want me to do work (unfortunately it has not been very effective to date... people still keep asking me to solve their problems. DON'T YOU PEOPLE REALISE I HAVE VERY IMPORTANT BLOGGING TO DO?!?!?!!).



I made myself a cup of (really terrible instant) coffee and munched on a banana. Lately my appetite hasn't been really kicking in first thing in the morning, so I don't tend to have much for breakfast when I first wake up (naughty, I know).



I organised/replied/deleted emails, then ate some strawberry-goo topped yoghurt (which looks revolting but is delicious) and some almonds and yoghurt-covered sultanas.


Then I went to a meeting. I didn't take photos of this, because I already creep out my colleagues enough.

Back at my desk, I like... did work. For several hours. I also spent some time looking out my window wishing the trees would do something exciting.


Once my stomach started growling, I made my way to the local shopping mall in search of lunch.

I saw some giant trampoline/bungee things, which were allegedly "FOR KIDS ONLY". The man running it said if they weren't busy, he would've let me on... except I was wearing heels and a skirt. I told him he was a prejudice shithead, then got him in a headlock and set his shirt on fire. One part of that story is true.


I also visited the pet store, to say hello to this little cutie.


I got my lunch to go and returned to work. Chicken schnitzel salad + a falafel/cous cous one underneath. I brought some bread from home and turned it into a open faced sandwich kinda dealy-o.



Then I ate an apple and did some more work. Dum dum dummmm.


Later, I felt my back and neck tightening up from all the sitting/typing/mindless staring at computer screen. I got out my TRUSTY BASEBALL for some impromptu massage.


Near the end of the day, I snacked on a deliiiicioussss almond/honey/apricot bar and a banana, and some more coffee....



.... before hitting the gym for some horrible/awesome elliptical-ising, abs-ing, and a spin class. As you can see, I am one of those people who always looks stylish and sexy while working out (though I was considerate enough to change my sweat-drenched shirt between workouts. I'd love to lie and say that wasn't necessary because I am a dainty and delicate girl who doesn't sweat..... but sadly not. I am revolting when I work out).




(for more of my pretty workout faces, see here)

Once I got home, I downed a smoothie (banana, vanilla protein powder, strawberries, chia seeds, honey, plain yoghurt), then went to shower. I did think about taking pictures of this, but ultimately decided that *~*~*~the mystery*~*~*~ would make me much more alluring to you. Right? Right.


Post shower, I used a very attractive mud mask on my face. Pretty!!


The absolute highlight of my day was dinner at one of my favourite restaurants, Rama's, where I've been going semi-regularly since I was a little kid. I forgot to take pictures of our entrees, so enjoy plate #1 of 78364734 of our mains. JUST LOOK AT ALL THE COLOURSSSS.


Came home stuffed (surprise, surprise), but in desperate need of something sweet. ANOTHER SMOOTHIE. This one was banana, blueberry, vanilla protein, plain yoghurt and a biiiig scoop of Nutella. Ohhhh yeaaaah.



The remainder of my night was spent on the couch, doing crosswords and doodling silly pictures and words.



With about a billion of these to keep me company. I know it's early in the year, but I'm gonna call it.... BEST PURCHASE OF 2012.


Once I had exhausted my almond supply, I did what any rockin' party animal young woman would do.... I put on my ridiculous floral frilly lacy ribbony Peter Alexander onesie (one day I'll snap some hot pics of that bad boy in action), took my crossword to bed, and dreamt of ridiculous things. Such as drawing on somebody's penis with a permanent marker. But that's another story for another day...

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Songs To Sweat To - volume 1

As promised a while ago, here's some some of my current gym/running/exercise playlist. I actually have about 14 different playlists... some targeted more at speed intervals, some meant for recovery pace runs, some for when I'm doing upper body weights, lower, etc etc etc. But here are a few tracks that serve me well most often. These songs are probably the only reason I'm even remotely fit (and I'm far beyond 'remotely fit' - so these must be working) - because lord knows at the moment my motivation to do anything physically exerting is at an all-time low, and the main perk of working out is that I get to listen to some killer music while I do it...before going home, eating a tub of ice cream, and crying myself to sleep. Not really. But it could happen.

My potentially devastating future aside, music is great! Let's listen to some music!! HERE WE GOOOOooo....


'Ize of the World' - The Strokes




Get ye to a spin bike. Verses = out of the saddle, moderate-high resistance. Chorus (if you can call it that..??) = sprints in the saddle, starting flat, gear up with each line. By the end, you should be barely able to pedal.


'Monster' - Kanye West (and chums)



This is perfect for any workout. I use it for running, weights, spin-biking. The key is that calling someone (even if it's just mentally) a 'motherfucker' or 'nigga' instantly makes you feel powerful, strong and/or amused. Either way, it's distracting. Which is also the main perk of Nicki Minaj's presence in this.... put on her 8736478 different voices, adopt her 3000048796734 different identities, and sing along. The other gym goers will also appreciate the distraction/entertainment, I'm sure.
 

'That's Not My Name' - The Ting Tings

 


You have two options. You can run to this song and you will LOVE IT. Or you can do the most kickass spin workout of sprints, jumps, and heavy in-the-saddle resistance. You will also LOVE IT. But you'll also probably hate me. But I don't mind. I still like you.

'Firestarter'- The Prodigy

 
Again, killer on a spin bike. I do a lot of hard jumps in and out of the saddle. But really, this is one of my favourite running songs... especially for hill sprints, using the "WEEEOOOHHH WEEYYEEHHuuuU" bits as jog-it-out recovery 
 
'Raspberry Swirl' - Tori Amos 

 
Running to this song is the best. It's also almost definitely about cunnilingus... possibly during mensruation. What's not to like?!
 
'Maybe You've Been Brainwashed Too' - New Radicals


 
This makes a great general jogging song. Or warming up. Or cooling down. When I'm making up my own one-woman spin classes, I use this as a recovery/spin track, because it's got a quick beat and doesn't really lend itself to a whole lot of hardcore exertion. It also provides some nice mental relief, because you can just focus on trying to figure out wtf the lyrics are.
 
 
 'Breathe' - The Prodigy 


 

In general, I am not a fan of treadmills. But every now and then I find them preferable to running outside. THIS IS MY ULTIMATE TREADMILL RUNNING SONG. Makes for some killer speed intervals.

'Sing for the Moment' - Eminem



Okay so it doesn't really matter what kind of exercise you do while listening to this... you can jog, you can beat up stuff, you can do yoga... you just need to pretend that you're in training to kill someone (or at least beat the shit out of them). You need to make up a whole new criminal identity for yourself, and live it convincingly for the next 5 minutes and 40 seconds. I find it helps to have your fists wrapped as though you're likely to punch something. If you have access to a mouthguard, wear it. Also spit a lot. Preferably on your mother.

'One Jump Ahead' - Aladdin


I don't use this for training... just for racing. If you are in any kind of race where you're allowed to carry an iPod/listen to music, make this your first song. What could be more inspiring than ESCAPING THE CORRUPT AUTHORITIES SO YOU AND YOUR PET MONKEY CAN EAT?! Nothing! If this doesn't move you, then you're a monster. And not a sexy Kanye West kind either.


There you go. Now go forth and have a sweat. I promise it'll be fun. And you'll feel like a gangsta. Or some kind of badass little street rat.... which is pretty much the same thing.

Sunday, January 15, 2012

If (read: when) I rule the world...

The other night I went to a lecture by David Sedaris in Melbourne. He, in addition to being my hero and role model, is probably my soulmate. Isn't that nice and convenient? Sadly, I suspect that I am neither his hero, role model, or soulmate. Nevertheless, I will pursue our relationship, which occurs between the pages of books, on the New York Times online, and in some pretty fucked up fantasies that involve me, him, and Anne Frank's house.

One of my favourite things he spoke about was a piece he wrote called 'If I Ruled The World', for the column of the same name in Prospect Magazine (his piece was never included, for a number of very understandable reasons). 

This got me thinking about my own dictator-esque aspirations, which I have detailed below. Please feel free to add your own in the comments.... I'd love to know your thoughts. So I can be prepared in the unlikely event you ever rise to power. You sick, twisted, psychopathic fuckers.


IF I RULED THE WORLD...

The following phrases will be illegal: 'time-poor', 'grammar Nazi' (it's actually just called 'not being fucking stupid'), 'anyways'. 'value-adding', 'man flu', and 'overrated'.

The little ticket machine at the boom-gates when you exit a carpark would say more interesting, personalised things. Instead of the screen displaying "COME AGAIN!" or "HAVE A NICE DAY!", they'd say "your ass is looking smokin' hot today" or "have you ever thought about going blonde?" or "don't worry... he was an asshole anyway."

Hooker/stripper shoes will be banned for everybody except hookers and strippers. And maybe the occasional costume party attendee.

Salad, bread, and a variety of condiments will come complimentary with any meal, at any restaurant. Substitutions/additions/alterations will be welcomed for any dish.

Deodorant would be mandatory for everybody. EVERYBODY. Including infants. When a child is born, they will be cleaned up, have a little roll-on wiped in their armpits, and THEN handed to their mothers.

Condoms will come in a more exciting variety of flavours, such as pecan pie, buttered popcorn, mashed potato and gravy, maple syrup and Nutella on toast. This, I hope, will increase condom use and help prevent STDs and unwanted pregnancies. Alternatively, it might just improve people's sex lives. As a generous and benevolent leader, I am happy with either outcome.

If hair is highlighted/streaked, its colours are not allowed to be more than two shades apart.  All of the below will be outlawed:


[MOTHERFUCKERS. What were you thinking? JESUS FUCK. You look ridiculous. STOP IT. And FYI I don't care if these people find this post and cry and get offended. In fact I HOPE they do. Because SOMETIMES BEING SAD IS ESSENTIAL TO NECESSITATE CHANGE/ENSURE YOU STOP HURTING MY EYEBALLS.]

When I rule the world, people will not be allowed to slowly meander on treadmills at the gym for more than 10 minutes during busy periods. At this point, you either need to pick up the pace/incline, or get off. Also on the topic of gyms, Top 40 stations may be played for a maximum of 2 hours per day.

Food prices will reflect the 'lifelong' cost of the food. Fresh fruit and vegetables will be made affordable, while junk food will be priced to reflect the burden their regular consumption will have upon the health system.

Workplace stationery cupboards will operate like a candy buffet - every month or so, you would be given a little bag which you can fill at your whim with goodies to take home.

NO MORE 3D MOVIES.

This strange development that is seeing 'totes' being accepted as a legitimate word will END IMMEDIATELY. The same applies for 'probs' and 'maybs'.

Ben and Jerry's will be more widely available in Australia.

Every radio station must play at least three of the following artists each day: James Taylor, Simon and Garfunkel (or their solo work), Billy Joel, Cat Stevens, Elton John, Don McLean and Leonard Cohen.

There will be no more of this 'banned foods' business in school canteens/cafeterias. I want my young subjects to learn decision making skills, not just have choices thrust upon them.

The plastic bag ban in my state will be revoked. However, you must have a license, stating that you are a responsible plastic bag user.

Acronyms that have evolved on the internet will remain on the internet - they will not make their way into daily speech. This includes, but is not limited to, CBF, TBH, FML and IMO.

Peanuts will not be banned in schools/workplaces. People with peanut allergies will be kept in isolation, emerging from their solitude at their own risk.

Everybody will have a daily complaining quota. 10 trivial items and 10 significant ones. That's it. Harsh penalties, fines, and jail time will result from exceeding your quota.

Eyebrows must be at least 0.6cm in width. Mobile phones must be turned off during sex. Cryptic crossword-ing will be a subject taught in schools. Animal cruelty will be more rigorously policed and punished. Disney movies will be released on DVD, available ALWAYS - no more of this 'limited release' bullshit.

You may not realise it now, but when I rule the world, you will all be infinity happier, healthier, and more prosperous. You'll also have better hair.

Sunday, January 01, 2012

Career aspirations.

There are few times of year that bring out 'what the fuck am I doing with my life?' feelings quite like New Year's Eve/Day. Even though I love my job, I sometimes get scared of being too complacent... so I start questioning whether I'm doing the right thing/what the alternatives might be, in case I find myself desperate for a change and/or get fired for inappropriate conduct.

I hope that by identifying my true talents and passions, I'll be setting myself up for a prosperous and happy future. So far, this is my list....

The Person Who Names Muppets
This probably doesn't have to be exclusively Muppets, but I think it might be a good avenue for my talents, given the recent film revival. I love naming stuff. My first cat was named Polyester. I also had pet mice named Frances and Gloria. And a kitten named Sylvia and a dog named Darcy. My two cats (who now sadly are a bajillion miles away living with my parents) are Alfie and Jeffrey. My next kitten (hopefully SOOOON) will be called either Lottie, Clover or Tinsel. I have dolls called Henrietta, Louisa, and Gretel. My first car was a Volvo named Sven. My current car is Gertie. My computer is Tallulah. My boobs are named Mary-Kate and Ashley. I hope to one day have a son named Stilton, and another child named Mizuno (gender irrelevant).

Words With Friends Loser For Hire
Feeling flat? Low? Like you're a good-for-nothing underachiever? Unsure of your strategic and reasoning skills? Your vocabulary? Why not play a game of Words With Friends against Lizzi for a small fee?!! Victory is guaranteed! You'll be feeling better about yourself in no time! 
(while I sit in the corner of my apartment, shaking and rocking and quietly crying to myself while clutching my degree in English and wondering what the fuck went wrong...)

Professional Eating Contest Competitor
I can out-eat all my friends and family. Not that I always DO (believe it or not, I am not a complete spanner and do realise that it's probably not particularly good for me), but the fact that I CAN is admirable. It's not as though I don't feel full or want to stop eating: it's just that I'm able to push past this point and keep going. This skill is fairly useless in my day-to-day life (except when I have a lot of food in my fridge that I'm worried will go off and don't want to waste), but I feel that if I entered the professional circuit, I could make some serious moolah.
(and/or die)

Magazine Advice Columnist
Note: I would NOT be a great in-real-life advice-giver. I do not have the patience to argue with people when they disagreed with my guidance. But in print? They can't fight back! Plus everything sounds much more authorative that way.... no one takes a word I say seriously when I speak in my whiney little girl voice, which is upsettingly Bindi Irwin-esque.
For the record, my advice would probably always be one of the following: 'harden up', 'stop being a dick', 'grow up' or 'get over it'. These four approaches will solve most of the world's problems, I think.

Crying Body Double
I imagine it must be quite difficult and exhausting for actors to sustain fake crying through hours of takes, so I figure there's probably a market here. Once I get crying, I cannot stop. And just about anything sets me off.....Video Killed The Radio Star and the Fireman Sam theme song make me tear up. The thought of homeless puppies and kittens turns me into a blubbering, wailing wreck. Don't even ask what I'm like during a break up. It's frightening. Given my talent for tears, I keep spoons in my freezer at all time, which I smush into my eyelids, because otherwise they're so puffed up and swollen that they impede my vision and I should not legally be allowed to drive.

Gym/Fitness Class Playlist Creator
Have you ever been to a gym? If so, you will probably be familiar with the bullshit they play. It is either a) terrible musically/lyrically, or b) uninspiring. Usually, it is a combination of a) and b). But it doesn't have to be this way! With better music, a visit to the gym would be a pleasure, not a chore! The world would be fit and healthy! The obesity epidemic would be cured! Diabetes and heart disease rates would plummet! And I believe that I'm the person to bring this revolution to the world. I am frighteningly good at choosing workout music. Sometimes I just run my own, one-woman spin classes at the gym... people occasionally come in wondering what's going on and commenting that they wish it was a REAL class. My unique mix of gangsta rap, Britney Spears, Tracy Chapman and the soundtrack from Cabaret makes for a killer sweat-session, let me tell you. I'll probably actually do a full post one day on my workout playlists, with handy-dandy suggestions of what to do while you listen to the best combination of songs your little ears have ever heard. Stay tuned!

Newborn Baby Butt-Slapper
I don't know if this is just a myth or something I saw on TV... but if doctors/nurses really DO smack the bums of newborns, then this is my calling. I LOVE spanking people. I have a hard time giving my loved ones a hug without a little sneaky butt-grab/slap. If I see somebody I know in the supermarket or at the petrol station, I sneak up on them and give them a good friendly wallop. They appreciate it... I think.

Telephone Sex Operator
I'd be terrible at this by "conventional standards", but I think I'd make up for it in creativity. My sexy spiels would be delivered primarily in rhyme. Poetry is romantic, which would add an extra element for the discerning gentleman who desires more than simply cheap, smutty trash. I'm certain of my success, with sexy little sweet nothings like "I want to feel your pulsing member/Erupt like blossoms in September/Your monstrous manhood makes me quiver/Call me 'Mistress Spunkrat' and I'll deliver."


Alternatively, I could be a career counsellor! Seeing as I clearly have such insight into the working world.

Bonus!!! because I hate posts without pictures because my attention span is TEENY TINYYYYY... here is a photo of me at my ACTUAL job... Yes, I always look this frightened/as though Ryan Gosling just took his pants off in front of me. Also, please note my rainbow slinky in the background.... yep, I love my job.


Oh, and my little workplace buddy...


CHARIZARD SAYS BYE CUTIEPIES.

ps. I finally jumped on board and got a Twitter account - @lizzingbeth. I have no idea if I'll really use it, but whatev. It's there as another stalking medium :)

Friday, December 16, 2011

PLEASE NOTE: it is not actually New Years Eve! Please put down that bottle of champagne and take of that ridiculous party hat, you fool.

Okay, soo I am prematurely eblogulating, but I know that I'll forget to do it closer to actual New Years Eve (which also happens to be my mother's birthday, so fingers crossed I'm too busy stuffing my face with cake to post a blog entry).

I wanted to do a 2011 recap... something profound and reflective, detailing the events of my year and how they fit into the grander picture of my life.

Sadly, my life is actually really, really boring. I don't have any exciting stories to tell from this year. I didn't do anything remarkable or life changing in 2011. I stayed in the same job. I didn't get married. I didn't even get knocked up! My friendship circle is more or less exactly the same. Any travel is limited to brief interstate work trips.

To be honest, I'm not upset by any of this. At all. But it doesn't make for very interesting reading. See? I'm always thinking of you guys.

But while 2011 has not been very exciting events-wise, I've felt more passionate and excited about stuff than I have for a while. 2011 has been a year of obsessions for me. I've become increasingly besotted with a number of things... most of which are insignificant and unexciting to anyone but me, but they're the things that have made my year fun, and inspired me, and got me pumped up for 2012.

K so.... divided into categories that pretty much sum up my entire life.


OBSESSIONS OF 2011


MUSIC


Fave songs:  'Did Me Good', 'Biggest Star', 'The Bank and Trust', 'Who Are You' and 'My Baby's A Dick'.



My living room dance sessions to 'Holy Moses' are out of control sexy.


PEOPLE

Courtney Stodden


I'm not proud of my obsession with this trainwreck of a human being. But her revolting facial expressions and airbrushed abs have earned her a special place in my heart. Not to mention her Twitter updates, which provide me with hours (okay... minutes... as I try to decipher wtf she's trying to say. Usually it's something like "I did a load of laundry today") of entertainment.

My Parents

(this drawing was from a blog post that never eventuated because I got lazy. Try to act surprised if I end up using it again)

Nothing makes you love your parents like rarely seeing them. Which is why my children will be kept in the attic and only brought out for brief moments at my whim.


FOOD

Instant Soups



I don't know why, but I somehow became besotted with these little packages of powdered sodium. Preferably not fully dissolved, to allow me to eat little chunks of the mixture solid. Yep... I am just asking for an early grave.

Caramel Popcorn

It started with a giant barrel of Poppycock purchased at Costco, and ended with me owning a popcorn maker, purely to enable the quickest, easiest creation of my own whacked out caramel/chocolate/nuts/marshmallow/sprinkles/m&ms/whatever popcorn concoctions. I have no regrets.

Gourmet Caramel Apples


I'd drooled over these on blogs for years, but had never been able to experience the magic until I discovered Applelicious, an Australian company. To make things even more serendipitous, they now also make caramel popcorn. God bless.

Dips on Pizza


 +

 

I no longer use tomato sauce as the base when I make pizza. Now, I use dips (yes, as in the substance you would usually serve with crackers, bread, corn chips, whatever). Please try it. It will change your life. (ANY type is awesome... trust me. I had my doubts about some flavour combos, but they have all rocked my world)


Protein Bars


This started because I found my usual 8963746 granola bars a day were simply not cutting it. I am a ravenous wildebeest and they just weren't satisfying enough. So I tried protein bars and got hooked. I know they're not great for you, so when possible, I try to go for the less artificial/super processed/full-of-fake-stuff variety. Sadly, Australia seems to be a bit behind the rest of the world in this, and there aren't a huge number that aren't 99% crap that I don't want to put in my mouth. If anyone wants to hook a sista up, I'd be down with that ;)

WEBSITES





I have nothing to say about these. Just go, read, watch, look, enjoy. Waste hours of your life that you'll never get back. I promise you, it'll be worth it. You probably weren't doing anything useful with those hours anyway.


EXERCISE

Elliptical Intervals


I know they are the most uncool, unhardcore, sissiest, lamest looking pieces of exercises equipment, but I LOVE the elliptical for smashing out some seriously badass interval workouts.The best bit is that, unlike running, I can sit my iPhone on the little tray thingy and watch amusing YouTube videos, while the other gym-goers anxiously watch me guffaw and choke on my water bottle.

Anything Tricep Related


......not that you'd know it from looking at me.


And that, my friends, is pretty much my year in a nutshell. I wish you all the best Christmas/politically correct holiday season EVER, and a new year that puts every other year to shame. I have high hopes and massive plans for 2012. Big, big smooches to you all.