I've always been a big fan of Christmas. I know it's commercial and only thinly connected to any real spiritual experience, but hey, when the hell else do you take any time at all to think about your fellow man, woman or child? Ever?
It's a testing time for brotherly love here in Sydney, as the whole world has now seen Sydney's soft underbelly of racial disharmony exposed on the TV news. What happened at Cronulla beach happens in microcosm around this city every day. People don't like people from other ethnic backgrounds. They don't like them because they don't understand them. They might even fear them a little, because they don't understand them. It's a nasty vicious circle.
I've had a young, white Australian male I worked with tell me once "we like Kiwis because you look like us". Geez. It's not even true. I don't look Maori. And this was not a guy you would call racist. He never made casual comments about other people and race, or used words like "wog" in a sentence. But on a quiet afternoon having a chat with me about sports and the myth about Kiwis at Bondi ... He drilled down to the guts of it. Racial discrimination is based on appearance, because that's how we can identify each other quickly. It's even faster than waiting to hear someone speak. Such a solid foundation for judging someone's character@!
It was a fascinating thing to be in Northern Ireland a few years ago and have everyone look at me twice once I'd spoken - they don't hear too many Australasian accents in Belfast. But more than that, that's how they tell who you are and where you are from. Your accent. Particularly if you are southern Irish. Or British. And judgments are made accordingly. It's absolutely crucial information to gather about a person in Northern Ireland, where people look mostly the same, but carry enormous baggage about religious differences.
Like me hearing a South African or Afrikaans accent. I'm going to assume there is a fair chance that person will be racially intolerant. That's ridiculous, but I know I do it.
Just to really force home the brotherly love "at Christmas" thing, the Sydney Morning Herald this morning has printed a story about a "racial tension map" devised by two Sydney academics. They have produced a map of Sydney which colour codes the racial tolerance around the city. I've written in earlier blogs about the uber-suburbia we have shifted to here in the inner-west. Now I find this area is also a red-necked pocket of racial intolerance. It shows up as a "red zone" on this map. So does the entire southern area of the city.
This map, of a city of 4 million people, covering a couple of hundred square kilometres, is based on interviews with .. wait for it ... 1800 people.
What a vast cross-section of the community they must have been. Our little pocket of Sydney could be tagged as a red zone based purely on the comments of one or two people. How useful. This is crazy science. I don't see what purpose it serves except to alienate parts of the city and its people further. And here's the local paper printing this junk on the day after Christmas!!!
It's no wonder people here hate each other and fight over beaches. The media is prodding them along and the community laps it up. And I don't play "the media" blame game often.
As for my Christmas day yesterday, we spent it very quietly here in the red zone. The first bottle of specially bought NZ bubbly I opened was flat, the flowers my grandma sent me didn't arrive and the meat pack we sent her didn't make it either. Just to really engrave the day in my memory - the barbeque caught fire. Very exciting. The thick clouds of smoke did not alert any neighbours or the fire department so I cleaned myself and the BBQ off and managed to produce a pretty good roast lamb out of it anyway. Quite pleased with self.
I don't think I did anything to improve Sydney's racial tolerance and brotherly love all day, but I didn't do anything to make it worse either. And that's something in this town.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Friday, December 09, 2005
Trans Tasman Irritation 2
Yesterday I finally got around to getting a NSW driver's licence.
My NZ licence was vaild till 2011 but I could not drive on it here. In fact Kiwis are supposed to get Australian licences within three months of arriving here. For everyone else it's six months.
When I get back to NZ with my NSW licence, I will be able to drive legally with it for a year. Then I will have to get another NZ licence cos the NSW people took my NZ one and put a big hole in it.
We've been here three years so I guess it was time I did the right thing - although we don't have a car and I've driven here about three times in three years.
More anomalies - the NSW licence only lasts for three years, and cost $100. An NZ licence lasts for 10 years and costs $45.
The place here in Sydney where you get your licence, the RTA, is absolutely packed all the time. The big office in the city has one of those machines where you take a number and wait. Like a Chinese takeaway. People get sick of it and leave. Yesterday morning I figured about 10 out of the 35 people ahead of me (at 9.30am) left before they were seen. A typically Australian wildly ineffective system.
On the upside, I did receive my new licence straight away, which is fantastic. They took the photo, took the signature, pumped out the little plastic square and away I went. But the thought of having to do that every three years!! No wonder people walk out.
Maybe I will get a car now. Get my money - and my time's worth.
My NZ licence was vaild till 2011 but I could not drive on it here. In fact Kiwis are supposed to get Australian licences within three months of arriving here. For everyone else it's six months.
When I get back to NZ with my NSW licence, I will be able to drive legally with it for a year. Then I will have to get another NZ licence cos the NSW people took my NZ one and put a big hole in it.
We've been here three years so I guess it was time I did the right thing - although we don't have a car and I've driven here about three times in three years.
More anomalies - the NSW licence only lasts for three years, and cost $100. An NZ licence lasts for 10 years and costs $45.
The place here in Sydney where you get your licence, the RTA, is absolutely packed all the time. The big office in the city has one of those machines where you take a number and wait. Like a Chinese takeaway. People get sick of it and leave. Yesterday morning I figured about 10 out of the 35 people ahead of me (at 9.30am) left before they were seen. A typically Australian wildly ineffective system.
On the upside, I did receive my new licence straight away, which is fantastic. They took the photo, took the signature, pumped out the little plastic square and away I went. But the thought of having to do that every three years!! No wonder people walk out.
Maybe I will get a car now. Get my money - and my time's worth.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Life in the Suburbs - It's All About Rubbish
I know I live in suburbia because when someone passes me on the footpath they say hello. They look a bit sheepish, but they say it.
Very few people walk anywhere, they all have cars, several of them. In fact you never actually see many people. They are cocooning. Just like Faith Popcorn said they would 10 years ago.
It's nice and quiet, but I'm struggling with a few issues. I'm struggling with my rubbish. I have discovered rubbish collection is a suburban artform. Here in this part of Sydney you get three enormous bins - red, green and yellow. And you put them out on the street in front of your house, on the right day, just like everyone else in the street. It seems to be some kind of secret code that everyone knows but it never gets talked about. Everyone who lives in the suburbs anyway. A true citydweller doesn't have to put bins out. Your rubbish goes down a shute and it's gone forever. Fantastic.
Luckily for me the cable tv guy came round on Thursday last week, and explained to me I'd put out the wrong bin. He also fixed the cable tv which is miraculous in itself. It appears I've been doing the wrong thing with my rubbish for a month.
I was under the impression you put all three bins out on rubbish day - Thursday. Would this not seem the obvious thing to do? Nah. As this very sensible cable guy explained, the green bin for garden rubbish and the yellow bin for recyclables are rotated, week and week about. That's why I've noticed some of my bins haven't been emptied. I wonder how long it would have taken me to figure this out on my own? Years probably.
I'm also a little disappointed none of my friendly - but distant - neighbours has popped over to take me in hand and explain it all. I expect they simply don't realise that it's possible to live in Sydney for almost three years without putting out a rubbish bin. I never did this in the city. I had no idea. They must think I'm nuts. Or very very stupid.
I referred to my mother for further instructions. She lives in Queensland but apparently they have a similar system. Amazing. I told her I was confused because the people in the next block had their green bins out, and they were emptied, but mine wasn't. I thought it meant the people in my street didn't have any "green" to put out. But she says no, what happens is the people around the corner are on another rubbish collection route and might have completely different days for collection.
My God it's so complex! The system itself is fantastic, much better to have these great big wheelie bins than the silly little blue bin we had for recycling in Wellington. Back home you go to sleep listening to the sound of the wind blowing your neighbour's little blue recycling bin down the bank beside your house. Smacking into the wall just outside the bedroom on the way down. Ah, the memories.
Of course the environmental side of the coin is the theory that if you give people big rubbish bins, they'll just fill them up. When they should be ploughing it all back into the earth. Or paying a lot of extra money to have it disposed of. I wish councils gave out compost bins. If I had one I'd use it. But I'm not putting one in a backyard I don't own.
That would be a great thing to make out of recycled plastic wouldn't it?
Very few people walk anywhere, they all have cars, several of them. In fact you never actually see many people. They are cocooning. Just like Faith Popcorn said they would 10 years ago.
It's nice and quiet, but I'm struggling with a few issues. I'm struggling with my rubbish. I have discovered rubbish collection is a suburban artform. Here in this part of Sydney you get three enormous bins - red, green and yellow. And you put them out on the street in front of your house, on the right day, just like everyone else in the street. It seems to be some kind of secret code that everyone knows but it never gets talked about. Everyone who lives in the suburbs anyway. A true citydweller doesn't have to put bins out. Your rubbish goes down a shute and it's gone forever. Fantastic.
Luckily for me the cable tv guy came round on Thursday last week, and explained to me I'd put out the wrong bin. He also fixed the cable tv which is miraculous in itself. It appears I've been doing the wrong thing with my rubbish for a month.
I was under the impression you put all three bins out on rubbish day - Thursday. Would this not seem the obvious thing to do? Nah. As this very sensible cable guy explained, the green bin for garden rubbish and the yellow bin for recyclables are rotated, week and week about. That's why I've noticed some of my bins haven't been emptied. I wonder how long it would have taken me to figure this out on my own? Years probably.
I'm also a little disappointed none of my friendly - but distant - neighbours has popped over to take me in hand and explain it all. I expect they simply don't realise that it's possible to live in Sydney for almost three years without putting out a rubbish bin. I never did this in the city. I had no idea. They must think I'm nuts. Or very very stupid.
I referred to my mother for further instructions. She lives in Queensland but apparently they have a similar system. Amazing. I told her I was confused because the people in the next block had their green bins out, and they were emptied, but mine wasn't. I thought it meant the people in my street didn't have any "green" to put out. But she says no, what happens is the people around the corner are on another rubbish collection route and might have completely different days for collection.
My God it's so complex! The system itself is fantastic, much better to have these great big wheelie bins than the silly little blue bin we had for recycling in Wellington. Back home you go to sleep listening to the sound of the wind blowing your neighbour's little blue recycling bin down the bank beside your house. Smacking into the wall just outside the bedroom on the way down. Ah, the memories.
Of course the environmental side of the coin is the theory that if you give people big rubbish bins, they'll just fill them up. When they should be ploughing it all back into the earth. Or paying a lot of extra money to have it disposed of. I wish councils gave out compost bins. If I had one I'd use it. But I'm not putting one in a backyard I don't own.
That would be a great thing to make out of recycled plastic wouldn't it?
Saturday, November 12, 2005
Sux
It can't be coincidence.
I'm not a believer in conspiracies generally, but this is getting beyond a joke. Four years I've lived in Australia, a struggling Kiwi just trying to get by and pay the bills. Some enormous bills too, because we live in Sydney with the rest of the First world's wealthier refugees.
In four years I've been issued with four phone numbers in this country, the most recent only four weeks back. ALL four numbers have had the number "six" in them. Or should I say "sux"?
It's a plot to make us Kiwis identifiable. They know the 'sux' is the last thing to go from your Newzild accent. The 'sux' hangs on long after the 'fush' has become 'feesh' and 'chups' are ... fries.
I can say "Stray-ya" like everyone else in Stray-ya. I can pronounce the name of the nation's cricket team captain using only half its consonants, with no spaces "Rrieypon'ing".
But while I still say 'sux', they can spot me.
It started way back in 1990 when we lived here for a year and our first phone number had a "sux, sux, fow-ve" in it. I remember phoning in a pizza delivery order and getting to the part right at the end where you give your number in case they need to call you back, and after I'd give the number the guy would ALWAYS say "Aw yura Key-we arna ya?" Everytime. And we ate quite a lot of pizza.
Oh yes. And here we are, 15 years later, back in Sydney, not ordering pizza anymore cos I'm allergic these days ... but still getting the "yura Key-we arn ya?" after EVERY recitation of my phone number. Although I admit these days we seem not to have to give out phone numbers so much. Maybe email has spared us. Maybe it's because most folks have clever little phones that remember the numbers without being told. I love that.
Oddly though I believe my accent is much stronger now, even after being here three years, than it was after only a year of living here way back in 1990. Is it possible that as we age we fall more heavily into our vocal speech patterns, and it doesn't matter what you hear around you, it's not going to change?
Or, and I like this theory much more, maybe it is that the Kiwi infiltration into Australia for decades and decades is having the effect of watering down the Australian accent? I can't pick the difference anymore between my accent and an Australian's, because theirs is milder? This isn't my theory, I've heard it said in linguistics circles. So it must be true. Although I think those circles are in NZ.
Anyway, we Kiwis can't take all the credit for the elimination or at least tempering of the ghastly Australian drawl. There are plenty of other people living here speaking all manner of weird languages. It all helps.
In a shop window today I saw a sign saying "We speak .. Italian, Mandarin" and then it had some other funny foreign language listed written in the correct alphabet, and I have no idea what language it was. It didn't look like Arabic, or anything European, or Asian. Next time I go past the shop I will go in and ask. There's no point living here if you don't learn from it.
This morning on the train a Chinese woman asked if the train stopped at a particular station. She was obviously visiting the area because she was trying to find the right page in the timetable while keeping her son under control, speaking to him in Chinese and me in English, virtually at the same time, as mothers do. I know Chinese, or Mandarin, are impossibly difficult languages to learn and I know English is just about as bad. I sat there on the train thinking how smart that woman must be that she can not only keep Chinese and English in her head but can try and actually read and understand a Sydney CityRail timetable as well.
I've always thought I should be able to speak at least one other language. I've felt stupidly monolingual when in the company of businesspeople from overseas. I was heartened to read an NZ news item recently quoting some language expert saying all New Zealanders are bi-lingual, because we absorb so much Maori just from the environment around us. It's certainly true that I know plenty more Maori than your average white Aussie knows of any Aboriginal language. I don't know any either. You just don't hear it. Certainly not in Sydney. Or on TV. Or the radio.
I remember causing a strange little incident at work one day here in Sydney (yes back when I had a job) by making the off-hand remark in a chat with a few workmates that I could sing the song "Run Rabbit Run" in Maori, if anyone wanted to hear it. The song was being used (the English version of course) in a commercial at the time and we'd been talking about the commercial, it was for Melbourne. I stopped the conversation dead. It was weird. I think I made them feel bad.
Oma Rapeti, oma rapeti, oma oma oma.
The last word on language: I saw a sign tacked to a power pole today that said "For Sale. Everything Must Gone".
I'm not a believer in conspiracies generally, but this is getting beyond a joke. Four years I've lived in Australia, a struggling Kiwi just trying to get by and pay the bills. Some enormous bills too, because we live in Sydney with the rest of the First world's wealthier refugees.
In four years I've been issued with four phone numbers in this country, the most recent only four weeks back. ALL four numbers have had the number "six" in them. Or should I say "sux"?
It's a plot to make us Kiwis identifiable. They know the 'sux' is the last thing to go from your Newzild accent. The 'sux' hangs on long after the 'fush' has become 'feesh' and 'chups' are ... fries.
I can say "Stray-ya" like everyone else in Stray-ya. I can pronounce the name of the nation's cricket team captain using only half its consonants, with no spaces "Rrieypon'ing".
But while I still say 'sux', they can spot me.
It started way back in 1990 when we lived here for a year and our first phone number had a "sux, sux, fow-ve" in it. I remember phoning in a pizza delivery order and getting to the part right at the end where you give your number in case they need to call you back, and after I'd give the number the guy would ALWAYS say "Aw yura Key-we arna ya?" Everytime. And we ate quite a lot of pizza.
Oh yes. And here we are, 15 years later, back in Sydney, not ordering pizza anymore cos I'm allergic these days ... but still getting the "yura Key-we arn ya?" after EVERY recitation of my phone number. Although I admit these days we seem not to have to give out phone numbers so much. Maybe email has spared us. Maybe it's because most folks have clever little phones that remember the numbers without being told. I love that.
Oddly though I believe my accent is much stronger now, even after being here three years, than it was after only a year of living here way back in 1990. Is it possible that as we age we fall more heavily into our vocal speech patterns, and it doesn't matter what you hear around you, it's not going to change?
Or, and I like this theory much more, maybe it is that the Kiwi infiltration into Australia for decades and decades is having the effect of watering down the Australian accent? I can't pick the difference anymore between my accent and an Australian's, because theirs is milder? This isn't my theory, I've heard it said in linguistics circles. So it must be true. Although I think those circles are in NZ.
Anyway, we Kiwis can't take all the credit for the elimination or at least tempering of the ghastly Australian drawl. There are plenty of other people living here speaking all manner of weird languages. It all helps.
In a shop window today I saw a sign saying "We speak .. Italian, Mandarin" and then it had some other funny foreign language listed written in the correct alphabet, and I have no idea what language it was. It didn't look like Arabic, or anything European, or Asian. Next time I go past the shop I will go in and ask. There's no point living here if you don't learn from it.
This morning on the train a Chinese woman asked if the train stopped at a particular station. She was obviously visiting the area because she was trying to find the right page in the timetable while keeping her son under control, speaking to him in Chinese and me in English, virtually at the same time, as mothers do. I know Chinese, or Mandarin, are impossibly difficult languages to learn and I know English is just about as bad. I sat there on the train thinking how smart that woman must be that she can not only keep Chinese and English in her head but can try and actually read and understand a Sydney CityRail timetable as well.
I've always thought I should be able to speak at least one other language. I've felt stupidly monolingual when in the company of businesspeople from overseas. I was heartened to read an NZ news item recently quoting some language expert saying all New Zealanders are bi-lingual, because we absorb so much Maori just from the environment around us. It's certainly true that I know plenty more Maori than your average white Aussie knows of any Aboriginal language. I don't know any either. You just don't hear it. Certainly not in Sydney. Or on TV. Or the radio.
I remember causing a strange little incident at work one day here in Sydney (yes back when I had a job) by making the off-hand remark in a chat with a few workmates that I could sing the song "Run Rabbit Run" in Maori, if anyone wanted to hear it. The song was being used (the English version of course) in a commercial at the time and we'd been talking about the commercial, it was for Melbourne. I stopped the conversation dead. It was weird. I think I made them feel bad.
Oma Rapeti, oma rapeti, oma oma oma.
The last word on language: I saw a sign tacked to a power pole today that said "For Sale. Everything Must Gone".
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Activities for the Unemployed No. 2
Mid-week horse racing! So you've got a bit of time on your hands during the week?
Well, here's a great day's entertainment - midweek horse racing. Yes, it's true, it will cost you, but if you stick to your budget you could manage on $50, here in Sydney anyway.
Sydney is the proud home of the lovely Royal Randwick racecourse. Randwick is a classy place and it does a good race day.
Midweek, it's kinda slow, so that's a good thing for us unemployed folk. It's good because they make it much cheaper to get in. Much cheaper than a Saturday at Easter, for example.
Here's a little comparison - gate entry at Flemington in Melbourne during the Melbourne Cup carnival is at least $50, more than $75 for a seat in the stand - the public stand. A member's ticket (if you can get one) will set you back more than $200.
In contrast, a Wednesday afternoon at Randwick in November costs $10 to get in, and another $10 to get in to the member's stand. To get into the Members you will have to tell them you belong to another racing club, and they will have to believe you. You are supposed to take your out-of-town member's pass with you as proof. It just so happens I do belong to a racing club in New Zealand, but had no pass with me yesterday at Randwick. I got in, I guess the accent and the NZ driver's licence helped. They are willing to believe because they need people to spend as much as possible because the crowd is so small.
When I first got to the course yesterday, there were more horses there than people.
Most of the time it will cost you a fortune to get into the Members at Randwick, so this is a good way to get in and have a look around, just to be able to say you've been there.
As for other spending: I bought a racebook for $5, but that's not essential. I bought hot chips, a coffee and one glass of bubbly, all of which are essential and cost about $15.
Then I spent $6 on a bet and made $20, and another $4 on a bet and made $12. This was a complete fluke and should not be taken as a general guide or indication of likely success.
It cost about $10 to get to the course and back on public transport.
So I didn't finish 'up', not quite 'even', but it was good fun. Randwick is a jewel in Sydney's crown, so when it's so much more accessible, and cheaper, take advantage.
Well, here's a great day's entertainment - midweek horse racing. Yes, it's true, it will cost you, but if you stick to your budget you could manage on $50, here in Sydney anyway.
Sydney is the proud home of the lovely Royal Randwick racecourse. Randwick is a classy place and it does a good race day.
Midweek, it's kinda slow, so that's a good thing for us unemployed folk. It's good because they make it much cheaper to get in. Much cheaper than a Saturday at Easter, for example.
Here's a little comparison - gate entry at Flemington in Melbourne during the Melbourne Cup carnival is at least $50, more than $75 for a seat in the stand - the public stand. A member's ticket (if you can get one) will set you back more than $200.
In contrast, a Wednesday afternoon at Randwick in November costs $10 to get in, and another $10 to get in to the member's stand. To get into the Members you will have to tell them you belong to another racing club, and they will have to believe you. You are supposed to take your out-of-town member's pass with you as proof. It just so happens I do belong to a racing club in New Zealand, but had no pass with me yesterday at Randwick. I got in, I guess the accent and the NZ driver's licence helped. They are willing to believe because they need people to spend as much as possible because the crowd is so small.
When I first got to the course yesterday, there were more horses there than people.
Most of the time it will cost you a fortune to get into the Members at Randwick, so this is a good way to get in and have a look around, just to be able to say you've been there.
As for other spending: I bought a racebook for $5, but that's not essential. I bought hot chips, a coffee and one glass of bubbly, all of which are essential and cost about $15.
Then I spent $6 on a bet and made $20, and another $4 on a bet and made $12. This was a complete fluke and should not be taken as a general guide or indication of likely success.
It cost about $10 to get to the course and back on public transport.
So I didn't finish 'up', not quite 'even', but it was good fun. Randwick is a jewel in Sydney's crown, so when it's so much more accessible, and cheaper, take advantage.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
More On Super - But Life First
It's been awhile - lots of stuff going on. There's nothing like shifting house to upset your life.
Finally got the internet back up and running, no thanks to that marvelous tribute to modern customer service - Telstra. They started out by telling me the house we were moving into did not exist, and things just got better and better from there. It's a 1950s semi. It's been on this planet longer than me.
A warning: if you let Optus rewire your connection, Telstra will wipe you from their books like you never were here. And if you move into such a place, it's going to mean a nice shiny new $200 connection for you! Which is tough in a rental situation. Plus another $150 (and a 10 day wait) to be connected to your ADSL provider.
Life's been a bit on the tricky side lately - lost my job, lost my cat and now an uncle has cancer. These things better happen in threes cos I've had enough dramatic life stuff to last me for at least 12 months.
I had a job interview last week but didn't get it cos they thought I would be bored. I love being bored! It's one of my favourite things. The money was really bad, so I was looking forward to being able to surf the net and IM friends for hours on end.
But on to more important things:
I have more info on getting Australian superannuation money out of Australia and back to NZ. I'm about to dislocate myself from a very big super fund, because it was a work one. I don't have an employer so it's easier to shift to a new fund - a bit less paperwork. So might as well take the opportunity.
There is also the possibility it will be easier to move the funds back to NZ from a smaller fund. This is just a theory BUT the rules are you have to apply to the super fund saying you are in "extreme" financial difficulty, and then they will let you have the money back in NZ. I was given the examples of "extreme" as not being able to afford to pay for a funeral or being about to have your house repossessed. One of those does seem a bit more extreme than the other, so I guess it's all in the way you express yourself.
My theory is very few funds - especially smaller ones - get many of these applications so I would guess the chances of getting your money back are higher from the funds with less experience of handling this sort of thing. So if you were thinking of changing to a small industry super fund, do it.
Another interesting aspect is what if the fund is a DIY? What if you manage your own fund? Do you have to apply to yourself to let yourself have your money back? The problem with this is managing your own fund is a significant undertaking, not for those of us who still count on our fingers.
The "extreme" hardship thing would only work once you were back in NZ too, so that would mean phone calls and chasing up from across the Tasman. Now that funds are portable, it's possible you could just keep shifting the money around until you found a fund that would let it go. I didn't ask but I also assume they don't care if it goes into another fund or not back in NZ. They seem to think once it's gone, it's gone.
Here's another theory, don't ask for all of it. It's possible it might be easier to get some of the cash - leave some of it behind. Say you suddenly needed NZ$20K because your daughter was picked up carrying dope in Singapore, the super fund would let you have NZ$20K if you left another A$10K behind in your fund.
If that was actually possible, then I think the whole issue of the civil rights of citizens in other countries starts to get very blurry. I already think the rules are much tougher for NZers than any other nationality here in Australia, and this is just another magnificent example.
I've just been reading about the Polish/Australian guy who ran away from Aus in the 80s with $1.5 billion that he owed to other people. Now he's happily making mega bucks in Poland and the Australian authorities can't touch him, because he's a Polish citizen. They are unlikely to extradite one of their own. He also has Australian citizenship.
So how come then they can 'touch' me!?? And my super?! Would I be extradited if I ran away to NZ with my super?!! Oh yes indeed. I'd be back here faster than you can say "Alan Bond".
Surely there must be someone in the New Zealand government who realises that ALL the Kiwis working in Aus who will eventually want to return home are NOT going to be able to bring home all those Australian dollars? It would be a great source of foreign investment for NZ.
I really hope there is someone in the NZ government somewhere who is battling away on this one, trying to get the Aussies to loosen up. Australian super fund and investment companies routinely buy up NZ ones. They already own most of the banks. What difference does it make to them if my super sits in the Australian fund or its NZ subsidiary? I would think the companies would actually make MORE money out of all the fees they charge when people shift funds.
So it must be an Australian government 'initiative' born out of the myth that NZers are a drain on the glorious Australian lifestyle. We just sit around drinking beer and smoking and filling up hospital beds and getting old. We don't do any work at all (especially me).
Did you know New Zealanders can't get the dole in Australia unless they are Australian citizens? Other nationalities can, just not Kiwis. But when we work here, we pay exactly the same tax as everybody else, and we have the same amount of super taken off us. And of course we can't have that either. At least, not until we make it to 65.
I'm going back to NZ to wait for that day.
Finally got the internet back up and running, no thanks to that marvelous tribute to modern customer service - Telstra. They started out by telling me the house we were moving into did not exist, and things just got better and better from there. It's a 1950s semi. It's been on this planet longer than me.
A warning: if you let Optus rewire your connection, Telstra will wipe you from their books like you never were here. And if you move into such a place, it's going to mean a nice shiny new $200 connection for you! Which is tough in a rental situation. Plus another $150 (and a 10 day wait) to be connected to your ADSL provider.
Life's been a bit on the tricky side lately - lost my job, lost my cat and now an uncle has cancer. These things better happen in threes cos I've had enough dramatic life stuff to last me for at least 12 months.
I had a job interview last week but didn't get it cos they thought I would be bored. I love being bored! It's one of my favourite things. The money was really bad, so I was looking forward to being able to surf the net and IM friends for hours on end.
But on to more important things:
I have more info on getting Australian superannuation money out of Australia and back to NZ. I'm about to dislocate myself from a very big super fund, because it was a work one. I don't have an employer so it's easier to shift to a new fund - a bit less paperwork. So might as well take the opportunity.
There is also the possibility it will be easier to move the funds back to NZ from a smaller fund. This is just a theory BUT the rules are you have to apply to the super fund saying you are in "extreme" financial difficulty, and then they will let you have the money back in NZ. I was given the examples of "extreme" as not being able to afford to pay for a funeral or being about to have your house repossessed. One of those does seem a bit more extreme than the other, so I guess it's all in the way you express yourself.
My theory is very few funds - especially smaller ones - get many of these applications so I would guess the chances of getting your money back are higher from the funds with less experience of handling this sort of thing. So if you were thinking of changing to a small industry super fund, do it.
Another interesting aspect is what if the fund is a DIY? What if you manage your own fund? Do you have to apply to yourself to let yourself have your money back? The problem with this is managing your own fund is a significant undertaking, not for those of us who still count on our fingers.
The "extreme" hardship thing would only work once you were back in NZ too, so that would mean phone calls and chasing up from across the Tasman. Now that funds are portable, it's possible you could just keep shifting the money around until you found a fund that would let it go. I didn't ask but I also assume they don't care if it goes into another fund or not back in NZ. They seem to think once it's gone, it's gone.
Here's another theory, don't ask for all of it. It's possible it might be easier to get some of the cash - leave some of it behind. Say you suddenly needed NZ$20K because your daughter was picked up carrying dope in Singapore, the super fund would let you have NZ$20K if you left another A$10K behind in your fund.
If that was actually possible, then I think the whole issue of the civil rights of citizens in other countries starts to get very blurry. I already think the rules are much tougher for NZers than any other nationality here in Australia, and this is just another magnificent example.
I've just been reading about the Polish/Australian guy who ran away from Aus in the 80s with $1.5 billion that he owed to other people. Now he's happily making mega bucks in Poland and the Australian authorities can't touch him, because he's a Polish citizen. They are unlikely to extradite one of their own. He also has Australian citizenship.
So how come then they can 'touch' me!?? And my super?! Would I be extradited if I ran away to NZ with my super?!! Oh yes indeed. I'd be back here faster than you can say "Alan Bond".
Surely there must be someone in the New Zealand government who realises that ALL the Kiwis working in Aus who will eventually want to return home are NOT going to be able to bring home all those Australian dollars? It would be a great source of foreign investment for NZ.
I really hope there is someone in the NZ government somewhere who is battling away on this one, trying to get the Aussies to loosen up. Australian super fund and investment companies routinely buy up NZ ones. They already own most of the banks. What difference does it make to them if my super sits in the Australian fund or its NZ subsidiary? I would think the companies would actually make MORE money out of all the fees they charge when people shift funds.
So it must be an Australian government 'initiative' born out of the myth that NZers are a drain on the glorious Australian lifestyle. We just sit around drinking beer and smoking and filling up hospital beds and getting old. We don't do any work at all (especially me).
Did you know New Zealanders can't get the dole in Australia unless they are Australian citizens? Other nationalities can, just not Kiwis. But when we work here, we pay exactly the same tax as everybody else, and we have the same amount of super taken off us. And of course we can't have that either. At least, not until we make it to 65.
I'm going back to NZ to wait for that day.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Bernie
Now this blog is a memorial.
Bernie died last week. I'm still so upset about it I don't really want to write anything here. But I said I would write every day and I haven't been here for a week.
Poor Bernie had diabetes. There was no way my grandmother could give him shots every day. So he was put to sleep by the vet. He was 14 years old. The cat, not the vet. Maybe 15.
When I got him from the SPCA - 13 years ago - the SPCA told me the guy who had brought him in had asked them to put the cat down. They didn't, and I met him when I went to take the "Pet of the Week" photo for the little paper I worked for. The SPCA lady was calling him "Bertie" after Engelbert Humperdinck. Poor cat!
So I went home and said to my husband "can we have a cat?" and he said "No". If only I had listened to him, I would have spared myself and my grandmother and the rest of the family the gut-wrenching feelings of losing a much-loved pet.
My poor grandmother now has to go on about her life without Bernie's company - and fairly demanding company at that. He literally gave her a reason to get out of bed in the morning. She had to get up and let him in, feed him and then let him out. And then let him back in again, cos he liked to be brushed at about 10, 10.30am.
There are lots of Bernie stories. I'll save them for another blog. Or two.
Bernie died last week. I'm still so upset about it I don't really want to write anything here. But I said I would write every day and I haven't been here for a week.
Poor Bernie had diabetes. There was no way my grandmother could give him shots every day. So he was put to sleep by the vet. He was 14 years old. The cat, not the vet. Maybe 15.
When I got him from the SPCA - 13 years ago - the SPCA told me the guy who had brought him in had asked them to put the cat down. They didn't, and I met him when I went to take the "Pet of the Week" photo for the little paper I worked for. The SPCA lady was calling him "Bertie" after Engelbert Humperdinck. Poor cat!
So I went home and said to my husband "can we have a cat?" and he said "No". If only I had listened to him, I would have spared myself and my grandmother and the rest of the family the gut-wrenching feelings of losing a much-loved pet.
My poor grandmother now has to go on about her life without Bernie's company - and fairly demanding company at that. He literally gave her a reason to get out of bed in the morning. She had to get up and let him in, feed him and then let him out. And then let him back in again, cos he liked to be brushed at about 10, 10.30am.
There are lots of Bernie stories. I'll save them for another blog. Or two.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
The Moths Are Back
I really don't like moths. Never have.
I mentioned this to my husband when we were out on our first date (because there was one climbing on the window behind him in the restaurant) and he thought this very amusing. Years ago he was given the nickname "The Moth" because of his habit of tapping on the windows of friends' houses with their lights on after dark.
Very cute I'm sure, but not enough to cure my life-long dislike of those furry unpredictable stalkers.
They are stalkers because they follow the light, and usually that's where I'm headed as well. And they are unpredictable. Flying around all over the place. You never know where they are going. And they are furry. I hate that.
Some really yucky moth incident must have happened to me when I was a child. Maybe I swallowed one by accident. I've blocked it out so I don't have to relive that trauma, but the fear of it happening again remains.
And now it's back.
Alarmingly we have been living in a flat for almost three years now, that holds some kind of attraction for the yuckiest moth of them all - the Bogong.
Bogongs usually live way out west of Sydney but when it starts getting too hot out there - right about now at the beginning of spring - they migrate to the mountains, where it's cooler and they hang out in caves til the heat goes away.
The Aborigines used to find them in the caves and knew they were a delicious summertime snack. Very nutritious too.
Well I wish someone or something was eating them now. Cos some of them get blown off course and instead of ending up looking for a nice mountain-top cave in the Great Dividing Range, they are walking all over my balcony on the 12th floor of an inner-city apartment.
And it gets worse. Someone stuffed up when they were fitting the sliding doors in the aparments on this building ... there are gaps at the top and bottom of the sliding part. The doors aren't air-tight - or even moth-tight. Yes, that's right, the horrible furry bastards can crawl into my living room, and bedroom, right through the doors. Yeah.
The first year we were here was a bad moth season - it starts in October. I didn't know about the doors then, so couldn't figure out where the hell all these moths were coming from. One day I came home and found about a dozen flying around. Nearly had a heart attack. I pulled out the vacuum cleaner and sucked them all up, then put the vac away in the cupboard. About an hour later I saw them crawling out under the door of the cupboard. Another heart attack. The vacuum spent the next week sitting out on the balcony.
Finally I spoke to the building manager about it and he told me to stuff paper towels in the gaps in the doors. Now this I am happy to do - except I know there are other people in the building who won't know any of this moth stuff. So there was a moth in here last night, because it came through from another apartment. It's dreadful really. I'm glad I don't own the place. The building manager told me it's worse for the apartments on our side of the building because of the direction the moths are coming from. Terrific.
I'm not the only person in Sydney who can't stand them. Bogongs get blamed for all kinds of bad stuff. When they come into the cities they are a "plague". They are a pest because they eat cauliflower. One of them supposedly landed on the breast of the woman singing the anthem at the Sydney Olympics - but moth specialists say it wasn't actually a bogong. Too bad, the rest of us prefer to think it was.
The Bogong (Agrotis infusa) is almost completely brown and quite big for a moth - about the size of a 20 cent piece, sometimes bigger. This is a good website http://linus.socs.uts.edu.au/~don/larvae/noct/infusa.html
Although why people want to actually spend time studying these things .. I don't know.
I read somewhere else that Australia has about 20,000 different kinds of moths and only about half have been given official scientific names. Doesn't surprise me! Although it would be a great fundraising opportunity for some smart university - charge people money to have a moth named after them.
No thanks.
I mentioned this to my husband when we were out on our first date (because there was one climbing on the window behind him in the restaurant) and he thought this very amusing. Years ago he was given the nickname "The Moth" because of his habit of tapping on the windows of friends' houses with their lights on after dark.
Very cute I'm sure, but not enough to cure my life-long dislike of those furry unpredictable stalkers.
They are stalkers because they follow the light, and usually that's where I'm headed as well. And they are unpredictable. Flying around all over the place. You never know where they are going. And they are furry. I hate that.
Some really yucky moth incident must have happened to me when I was a child. Maybe I swallowed one by accident. I've blocked it out so I don't have to relive that trauma, but the fear of it happening again remains.
And now it's back.
Alarmingly we have been living in a flat for almost three years now, that holds some kind of attraction for the yuckiest moth of them all - the Bogong.
Bogongs usually live way out west of Sydney but when it starts getting too hot out there - right about now at the beginning of spring - they migrate to the mountains, where it's cooler and they hang out in caves til the heat goes away.
The Aborigines used to find them in the caves and knew they were a delicious summertime snack. Very nutritious too.
Well I wish someone or something was eating them now. Cos some of them get blown off course and instead of ending up looking for a nice mountain-top cave in the Great Dividing Range, they are walking all over my balcony on the 12th floor of an inner-city apartment.
And it gets worse. Someone stuffed up when they were fitting the sliding doors in the aparments on this building ... there are gaps at the top and bottom of the sliding part. The doors aren't air-tight - or even moth-tight. Yes, that's right, the horrible furry bastards can crawl into my living room, and bedroom, right through the doors. Yeah.
The first year we were here was a bad moth season - it starts in October. I didn't know about the doors then, so couldn't figure out where the hell all these moths were coming from. One day I came home and found about a dozen flying around. Nearly had a heart attack. I pulled out the vacuum cleaner and sucked them all up, then put the vac away in the cupboard. About an hour later I saw them crawling out under the door of the cupboard. Another heart attack. The vacuum spent the next week sitting out on the balcony.
Finally I spoke to the building manager about it and he told me to stuff paper towels in the gaps in the doors. Now this I am happy to do - except I know there are other people in the building who won't know any of this moth stuff. So there was a moth in here last night, because it came through from another apartment. It's dreadful really. I'm glad I don't own the place. The building manager told me it's worse for the apartments on our side of the building because of the direction the moths are coming from. Terrific.
I'm not the only person in Sydney who can't stand them. Bogongs get blamed for all kinds of bad stuff. When they come into the cities they are a "plague". They are a pest because they eat cauliflower. One of them supposedly landed on the breast of the woman singing the anthem at the Sydney Olympics - but moth specialists say it wasn't actually a bogong. Too bad, the rest of us prefer to think it was.
The Bogong (Agrotis infusa) is almost completely brown and quite big for a moth - about the size of a 20 cent piece, sometimes bigger. This is a good website http://linus.socs.uts.edu.au/~don/larvae/noct/infusa.html
Although why people want to actually spend time studying these things .. I don't know.
I read somewhere else that Australia has about 20,000 different kinds of moths and only about half have been given official scientific names. Doesn't surprise me! Although it would be a great fundraising opportunity for some smart university - charge people money to have a moth named after them.
No thanks.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
Bad Days
A few years back I spent a bit of time in hospital, I was sick for awhile. Had to go through a bit of yucky stuff ... not really life-threatening, just scary. You keep your perspective because there is always someone in hospital worse off than you.
I know from back then, that when times are tough, there are good days and there are bad days. Oh yes it is a cliche, but I didn't really know what it meant until I got sick. There were days when I just wasn't firing. And there's nothing you can do about it when they happen. That's a 'bad day', plain and simple.
I had one yesterday. It went from average at about 10am, to bad by 12.30. I even shed a few tears at about 2pm. I didn't want to write here yesterday cos I knew I would be shitty and horrible.
A couple of things lead up to it. Number one I went out for a drink with my former workmates the night before. They were nice. Too nice. I don't want to hear how upset they are. The cynical part of me thinks they are not just upset for me, that I was made redundant, they are upset for themselves.
Let's be honest here, the first thing you think when someone is made redundant at your work is "shit what if it happens to me?" not "oh my goodness, how dreadful for 'x'. That comes second. Especially if the workplace is known to be 100% dysfunctional anyway.
And then I feel guilty for thinking that way about them.. They do care. I know that. And then I feel sorry for myself - they still have jobs. What a mess!
So there was them being nice on Thursday night, and then a recruitment consultant was nice to me yesterday morning. Not only did this company email me after I'd submitted my CV online to them, but the consultant talked to me when I called up and was really helpful and positive. I was totally floored. Just over 99% of those people really are no fun to deal with. This woman was the recruitment industry equivalent of finding out someone has handed in your lost wallet to the police. And it still has money in it.
Another thing - my lawyer hasn't called me about taking action about my old company, I've called her but she's not returned my calls. And to top it all off nicely, my husband and I had a fight about the size of the crowd at the parade in the city yesterday. How dumb is that???!!
Suddenly I found myself feeling so angry with absolutely everything I couldn't even answer the phone.
It's that 'seven stages of grief' thing again isn't it? Trouble is I seem to have gone through all seven, now I'm going back through them again!
Maybe you keep going through the seven stages over and over until you don't feel them anymore. Yeah.
Time to get some perspective from somewhere. Maybe I should pretend I'm back in hospital. That could be weird. I'll walk around the flat wearing only a sheet with a gap all the way up the back. I'll pulp up all my food and eat it off a large plastic tray. I'll wake myself up by shining a torch in my face at 6am.
Yeah that'll work fine.
I know from back then, that when times are tough, there are good days and there are bad days. Oh yes it is a cliche, but I didn't really know what it meant until I got sick. There were days when I just wasn't firing. And there's nothing you can do about it when they happen. That's a 'bad day', plain and simple.
I had one yesterday. It went from average at about 10am, to bad by 12.30. I even shed a few tears at about 2pm. I didn't want to write here yesterday cos I knew I would be shitty and horrible.
A couple of things lead up to it. Number one I went out for a drink with my former workmates the night before. They were nice. Too nice. I don't want to hear how upset they are. The cynical part of me thinks they are not just upset for me, that I was made redundant, they are upset for themselves.
Let's be honest here, the first thing you think when someone is made redundant at your work is "shit what if it happens to me?" not "oh my goodness, how dreadful for 'x'. That comes second. Especially if the workplace is known to be 100% dysfunctional anyway.
And then I feel guilty for thinking that way about them.. They do care. I know that. And then I feel sorry for myself - they still have jobs. What a mess!
So there was them being nice on Thursday night, and then a recruitment consultant was nice to me yesterday morning. Not only did this company email me after I'd submitted my CV online to them, but the consultant talked to me when I called up and was really helpful and positive. I was totally floored. Just over 99% of those people really are no fun to deal with. This woman was the recruitment industry equivalent of finding out someone has handed in your lost wallet to the police. And it still has money in it.
Another thing - my lawyer hasn't called me about taking action about my old company, I've called her but she's not returned my calls. And to top it all off nicely, my husband and I had a fight about the size of the crowd at the parade in the city yesterday. How dumb is that???!!
Suddenly I found myself feeling so angry with absolutely everything I couldn't even answer the phone.
It's that 'seven stages of grief' thing again isn't it? Trouble is I seem to have gone through all seven, now I'm going back through them again!
Maybe you keep going through the seven stages over and over until you don't feel them anymore. Yeah.
Time to get some perspective from somewhere. Maybe I should pretend I'm back in hospital. That could be weird. I'll walk around the flat wearing only a sheet with a gap all the way up the back. I'll pulp up all my food and eat it off a large plastic tray. I'll wake myself up by shining a torch in my face at 6am.
Yeah that'll work fine.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Super
Ok so I seem to have struck a nerve talking about Kiwis getting their super out of Aus.
Yes Ed, last time I worked here, 15 years ago, I took my super with me back home when I left. It was about $500!! After a year's worth of toil over a hot keyboard.
Not this time .. at least, will find out. It's more like $5K now and I don't wanna wave it goodbye when we get on the plane home next year.
It's true I certainly have the time to explore this further right now and it will do me good to be using my brain. Because I'm sure it's going to get weird. I fear it will involve complicated equations about tax and things.
Whatever, it's got to be worth doing if there is a way to get the money back to NZ. It's no use having money sitting here because you can't borrow against it in NZ. It just sits here and costs you money.
ON a completely different subject .. I was just interrupted by a young man calling on the phone to tell me he was doing a "survey" about internet use. And when he eventually got to the part about saving me money on my mobile phone ... I said thanks but no thanks. Now I've made a few cold calls in my time so I always try to be nice, but firm. This guy used the line "but can I just say one thing" and then he told me about saving money ... and I said 'NO' and than he said again 'but can I just tell you one thing" ... and I waited and he said "you have a very beautiful voice"!!
Good try! I don't think I ever used that line myself. Didn't work tho. I'm not buying yet another mobile phone plan, no matter how nice I sound on the damn phone!
PS. And no, I will not be providing audio clips of my voice on this blog. Although, podcasting might be fun ...
Yes Ed, last time I worked here, 15 years ago, I took my super with me back home when I left. It was about $500!! After a year's worth of toil over a hot keyboard.
Not this time .. at least, will find out. It's more like $5K now and I don't wanna wave it goodbye when we get on the plane home next year.
It's true I certainly have the time to explore this further right now and it will do me good to be using my brain. Because I'm sure it's going to get weird. I fear it will involve complicated equations about tax and things.
Whatever, it's got to be worth doing if there is a way to get the money back to NZ. It's no use having money sitting here because you can't borrow against it in NZ. It just sits here and costs you money.
ON a completely different subject .. I was just interrupted by a young man calling on the phone to tell me he was doing a "survey" about internet use. And when he eventually got to the part about saving me money on my mobile phone ... I said thanks but no thanks. Now I've made a few cold calls in my time so I always try to be nice, but firm. This guy used the line "but can I just say one thing" and then he told me about saving money ... and I said 'NO' and than he said again 'but can I just tell you one thing" ... and I waited and he said "you have a very beautiful voice"!!
Good try! I don't think I ever used that line myself. Didn't work tho. I'm not buying yet another mobile phone plan, no matter how nice I sound on the damn phone!
PS. And no, I will not be providing audio clips of my voice on this blog. Although, podcasting might be fun ...
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Trans-Tasman Irritation
At the best of times, it annoys me, but right now it really pisses me off.
New Zealanders constantly compare themselves to Australians and conditions in Australia. I hate it.
Australians get paid more, Australians drive bigger cars, Australians all have plasma TVs, Australians pay less tax ... on and on it goes.
I don't know where it comes from and I certainly haven't conducted any research of my own, but a lot of these statements are completely without foundation. They must be. I just don't see people in Australia - as a whole - enjoying a better life style. And I see a lot of people much worse off than you see in NZ.
The single one thing that is better in Australia, than in NZ, is the weather. And that's only if you like it hot and clear and don't mind sitting in air-conditioning for hours.
The constant comparisons are foolish and at best, unhelpful. At worst it is destructive and it undermines the efforts of New Zealanders, in New Zealand. It might even have something to do with the brain drain - young people actually think it is better to be in Australia. They hear these mythical comparisons all the time as they grow up.
Now I am not someone who regularly blames "the media" for misrepresenting or highlight issues that would otherwise not get attention. In fact I'm the opposite. Usually I'm the one saying, 'it's not the media, they just write what they see'. But in this case, I can't help thinking it is too easy for journos to run out the "Australia is better' angle, on just about any story.
New Zealand is constantly comparing itself to the rest of the world, always looking for reliable benchmarks. Do we have enough superannuation savings? Do we have better after-school childcare? Do we have safe hospitals? Do we have higher property taxes?
I know from my time as a journalist it makes sense to use comparisons in a story like that, so it has relevance to the reader. You can decide if you really think our lack of savings is a bad thing, if only three other countries in the world save more, per head. Maybe our mental health system isn't so bad, if we spend more on mental health, per head, than any other country in the world?
That I understand. What peeves me is the media - and the general population - use Australia as a benchmark for everything! It's like saying everything in Australia is better so we should compare ourselves to where they are at.
Here's a newsflash - they ain't better.
Here's an example: Did you know it is impossible for a mature student to get into a university in New South Wales? It doesn't matter what your marks are, or how much money you've got. There are no places. You can not get an education. You don't hear about that in NZ. I was a mature aged university student in NZ. I have a degree because my country let me get one.
I've just finished reading a story in the NZ media about retirement savings. It's about how NZers are saving less. Various economist types are saying that Australians save more, and the super system in Australia is better. It's just not that simple!
For a start it's compulsory in Australia. At least 9% of your pay disappears before you even see it. Into a super fund. Very recently the system has changed so you can choose which super fund your money goes to. Up until now the employer decided. Of course there are people now wandering around with at least half a dozen super funds on the go, cos they have changed employers and not shifted over their super.
These are not the kinds of people who will now fill out all the forms and do all the research and move their super into one place. So straight away the system starts to magnify itself. Huge companies are now sitting on ever growing piles of cash, basically given to them - no questions asked - by law. And the person who actually owns the cash can't get it til they are 65.
And of course all those little accounts have fees and charges on them ... it's a great scam for your average finance company or bank.
And as for the "employer contribution" this is pretty much non-existent in the circles I move in. Occasionally you see a job advertised where the employer kicks in another couple of percent, but the salary is usually lower to off-set the higher contribution. And you can say, 'actually I would like to be paid all that money now please, cos I want to invest it myself' but it involves setting up your own investment fund ... and the advice from all the super advisors is that it's too hard. They would say that wouldn't they!? And it is hard, because the government doesn't want to have to monitor them. It would require yet another government department of say 1000 people!!
And there's a nice little catch for us Kiwis. You can't take the money when you leave. I'm struggling to find anyone who can advise me on this, but what I do know is that we can't take our super when we go back to NZ. It stays here, sitting in a fund with fees coming off it every year, til we are 65. I've heard a rumour it is possible to shift it back to NZ - to another super fund - but I can't find any info about this. The search continues.
Next time I get pissed off about this "But in Australia ... " thing I will write here about property taxes. And the great "better pay" myth. And the Kyoto Protocol. And Baxter Detention Centre. And racism. And burning coal for electricity. And Medicare.
One day NZ will grow up, and we won't need to measure ourselves anymore. We will look back at people like David Lange and we will know we have always been strong enough to say what we think and work together to figure out what is best for us.
I fear that day is some way off.
New Zealanders constantly compare themselves to Australians and conditions in Australia. I hate it.
Australians get paid more, Australians drive bigger cars, Australians all have plasma TVs, Australians pay less tax ... on and on it goes.
I don't know where it comes from and I certainly haven't conducted any research of my own, but a lot of these statements are completely without foundation. They must be. I just don't see people in Australia - as a whole - enjoying a better life style. And I see a lot of people much worse off than you see in NZ.
The single one thing that is better in Australia, than in NZ, is the weather. And that's only if you like it hot and clear and don't mind sitting in air-conditioning for hours.
The constant comparisons are foolish and at best, unhelpful. At worst it is destructive and it undermines the efforts of New Zealanders, in New Zealand. It might even have something to do with the brain drain - young people actually think it is better to be in Australia. They hear these mythical comparisons all the time as they grow up.
Now I am not someone who regularly blames "the media" for misrepresenting or highlight issues that would otherwise not get attention. In fact I'm the opposite. Usually I'm the one saying, 'it's not the media, they just write what they see'. But in this case, I can't help thinking it is too easy for journos to run out the "Australia is better' angle, on just about any story.
New Zealand is constantly comparing itself to the rest of the world, always looking for reliable benchmarks. Do we have enough superannuation savings? Do we have better after-school childcare? Do we have safe hospitals? Do we have higher property taxes?
I know from my time as a journalist it makes sense to use comparisons in a story like that, so it has relevance to the reader. You can decide if you really think our lack of savings is a bad thing, if only three other countries in the world save more, per head. Maybe our mental health system isn't so bad, if we spend more on mental health, per head, than any other country in the world?
That I understand. What peeves me is the media - and the general population - use Australia as a benchmark for everything! It's like saying everything in Australia is better so we should compare ourselves to where they are at.
Here's a newsflash - they ain't better.
Here's an example: Did you know it is impossible for a mature student to get into a university in New South Wales? It doesn't matter what your marks are, or how much money you've got. There are no places. You can not get an education. You don't hear about that in NZ. I was a mature aged university student in NZ. I have a degree because my country let me get one.
I've just finished reading a story in the NZ media about retirement savings. It's about how NZers are saving less. Various economist types are saying that Australians save more, and the super system in Australia is better. It's just not that simple!
For a start it's compulsory in Australia. At least 9% of your pay disappears before you even see it. Into a super fund. Very recently the system has changed so you can choose which super fund your money goes to. Up until now the employer decided. Of course there are people now wandering around with at least half a dozen super funds on the go, cos they have changed employers and not shifted over their super.
These are not the kinds of people who will now fill out all the forms and do all the research and move their super into one place. So straight away the system starts to magnify itself. Huge companies are now sitting on ever growing piles of cash, basically given to them - no questions asked - by law. And the person who actually owns the cash can't get it til they are 65.
And of course all those little accounts have fees and charges on them ... it's a great scam for your average finance company or bank.
And as for the "employer contribution" this is pretty much non-existent in the circles I move in. Occasionally you see a job advertised where the employer kicks in another couple of percent, but the salary is usually lower to off-set the higher contribution. And you can say, 'actually I would like to be paid all that money now please, cos I want to invest it myself' but it involves setting up your own investment fund ... and the advice from all the super advisors is that it's too hard. They would say that wouldn't they!? And it is hard, because the government doesn't want to have to monitor them. It would require yet another government department of say 1000 people!!
And there's a nice little catch for us Kiwis. You can't take the money when you leave. I'm struggling to find anyone who can advise me on this, but what I do know is that we can't take our super when we go back to NZ. It stays here, sitting in a fund with fees coming off it every year, til we are 65. I've heard a rumour it is possible to shift it back to NZ - to another super fund - but I can't find any info about this. The search continues.
Next time I get pissed off about this "But in Australia ... " thing I will write here about property taxes. And the great "better pay" myth. And the Kyoto Protocol. And Baxter Detention Centre. And racism. And burning coal for electricity. And Medicare.
One day NZ will grow up, and we won't need to measure ourselves anymore. We will look back at people like David Lange and we will know we have always been strong enough to say what we think and work together to figure out what is best for us.
I fear that day is some way off.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Side Effects
One of the nastiest side-effects of redundancy is an immediate lack of cash flow.
When I lost my job, it halved the amount of cash coming into our household. This means we will have to cut back. Although I've noticed another odd side-effect of not having a job, is that I spend less money. I eat almost all my meals at home, which is about twice as many as I ate at home a month ago. This is Sydney - that saves a lot of money. I don't buy coffee anymore either.
And I haven't bought drinks. Funny thing, but I needed to drink a lot more alcohol when I was working back at "that place". I used to be a big fan of 'Monday Night Drinks'. Getting through even one day, after being away for two, required an alcohol softener.
As John Irving says in his latest book, "it was a good job to lose". I'm starting to realise this more and more.
With the halving of the income comes the need to find another place to live. This was already on the cards before, now it's just become something I have to do, sooner rather than later.
Looked at a place on Saturday. It was fine. Would be perfectly ok. But I didn't like it. So I'm not taking the first thing I see. That's a huge step for me.
I didn't take the first job I was offered either ... I appear to be becoming a lot wiser, or at least more patient. Shit I must be getting old!
One of the main reasons I didn't like the place was because it didn't have a dishwasher. I like having a dishwasher. My husband said 'we don't need a dishwasher'. He doesn't.
The place had a pool as well but it was a bit exposed and looked a bit dank. The building we are in now has a pool and I've used it many times, but I wonder if I would use one that was outside surrounded by a block of about 50 flats.
The search continues. I've noticed these places seem to go very fast too, so when I get the hang of the competitive battle for an apartment I might be better equipped to handle the competitive battle for a job.
When I lost my job, it halved the amount of cash coming into our household. This means we will have to cut back. Although I've noticed another odd side-effect of not having a job, is that I spend less money. I eat almost all my meals at home, which is about twice as many as I ate at home a month ago. This is Sydney - that saves a lot of money. I don't buy coffee anymore either.
And I haven't bought drinks. Funny thing, but I needed to drink a lot more alcohol when I was working back at "that place". I used to be a big fan of 'Monday Night Drinks'. Getting through even one day, after being away for two, required an alcohol softener.
As John Irving says in his latest book, "it was a good job to lose". I'm starting to realise this more and more.
With the halving of the income comes the need to find another place to live. This was already on the cards before, now it's just become something I have to do, sooner rather than later.
Looked at a place on Saturday. It was fine. Would be perfectly ok. But I didn't like it. So I'm not taking the first thing I see. That's a huge step for me.
I didn't take the first job I was offered either ... I appear to be becoming a lot wiser, or at least more patient. Shit I must be getting old!
One of the main reasons I didn't like the place was because it didn't have a dishwasher. I like having a dishwasher. My husband said 'we don't need a dishwasher'. He doesn't.
The place had a pool as well but it was a bit exposed and looked a bit dank. The building we are in now has a pool and I've used it many times, but I wonder if I would use one that was outside surrounded by a block of about 50 flats.
The search continues. I've noticed these places seem to go very fast too, so when I get the hang of the competitive battle for an apartment I might be better equipped to handle the competitive battle for a job.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Suing the Bastards
Isn't the internet grand?!
I love it. This afternoon I've been reading up on the Industrial Relations Commission and I've downloaded one of their forms. I'm all set to go now when my lawyer gets back next week and we go to work on my old employer. Bastards.
The law says I have the right to compensation if their decision to make me unemployed was "harsh, unjust or unreasonable". And I reckon it was. Mainly because it was very sudden and there was a distinct lack of interest in finding me something else, despite the fact I'd worked there for two and a half years in a sales role, and there were sales positions available. Classy people.
Anyway it's going to cost money but hopefully they will be encouraged to soothe my pain with enough to pay off the lawyer and maybe give me enough left over to invest in a new computer.
This one does okay but it's struggling under the weight of our new iPod and the digital camera.
Right now I'm listening to the mighty Wellington Lions trying to beat those evil men from Canterbury in the New Zealand provincial rugby competition. It's a top-of-the-table clash, and even more importantly it's a Ranfurly Shield game. Real important.
I wish I could watch it, but I guess I should be grateful I can even hear it!!
Internet radio is not perfect tho .. I have to suffer through some longish silences.
13 minutes to go. Canterbury's ahead. Come one Wellington, get the bastards.
I love it. This afternoon I've been reading up on the Industrial Relations Commission and I've downloaded one of their forms. I'm all set to go now when my lawyer gets back next week and we go to work on my old employer. Bastards.
The law says I have the right to compensation if their decision to make me unemployed was "harsh, unjust or unreasonable". And I reckon it was. Mainly because it was very sudden and there was a distinct lack of interest in finding me something else, despite the fact I'd worked there for two and a half years in a sales role, and there were sales positions available. Classy people.
Anyway it's going to cost money but hopefully they will be encouraged to soothe my pain with enough to pay off the lawyer and maybe give me enough left over to invest in a new computer.
This one does okay but it's struggling under the weight of our new iPod and the digital camera.
Right now I'm listening to the mighty Wellington Lions trying to beat those evil men from Canterbury in the New Zealand provincial rugby competition. It's a top-of-the-table clash, and even more importantly it's a Ranfurly Shield game. Real important.
I wish I could watch it, but I guess I should be grateful I can even hear it!!
Internet radio is not perfect tho .. I have to suffer through some longish silences.
13 minutes to go. Canterbury's ahead. Come one Wellington, get the bastards.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Activities for the Unemployed No. 1
Visit An Art Gallery
There's something about wandering around in an art gallery that makes you feel ... smart. You have the right to be there. Your opinion of the art is as valuable, or valid, as the next person's.
And usually it's quite cheap, probably free, therefore making it an ideal activity for the unemployed.
Sydney is blessed with a bunch of public art galleries, and of course a pile of pretentious swanky ones as well, in places like Woollahra (posh eastern suburb). A Google search on "woollahra art gallery" returns 22,000 results.
Of course there's nothing to stop you popping into a bunch of posh eastern suburbs galleries and pretending you have $5K to spend on a picture of ... yes, well whatever it is. Something "topographical". Two pieces of wool stuck to a white canvas with red enamel paint and bird feathers around the edges. Lovely. Just right for the landing on the second staircase, just underneath the Aboriginal bark painting series.
In reality, the art gallery visit is about expanding one's mind, and distracting it. Useful pursuits for the unemployed, when your ego's been shattered by restructuring and rejection. You can still appreciate art. And it just hangs there, doesn't care who you are or what you do. Some of it challenges you to approve of it, other pieces try to make you love them.
Like a pile of resumes on the recruitment consultant's desk - some are better than others and the selection of the "best" is entirely subjective.
There's something about wandering around in an art gallery that makes you feel ... smart. You have the right to be there. Your opinion of the art is as valuable, or valid, as the next person's.
And usually it's quite cheap, probably free, therefore making it an ideal activity for the unemployed.
Sydney is blessed with a bunch of public art galleries, and of course a pile of pretentious swanky ones as well, in places like Woollahra (posh eastern suburb). A Google search on "woollahra art gallery" returns 22,000 results.
Of course there's nothing to stop you popping into a bunch of posh eastern suburbs galleries and pretending you have $5K to spend on a picture of ... yes, well whatever it is. Something "topographical". Two pieces of wool stuck to a white canvas with red enamel paint and bird feathers around the edges. Lovely. Just right for the landing on the second staircase, just underneath the Aboriginal bark painting series.
In reality, the art gallery visit is about expanding one's mind, and distracting it. Useful pursuits for the unemployed, when your ego's been shattered by restructuring and rejection. You can still appreciate art. And it just hangs there, doesn't care who you are or what you do. Some of it challenges you to approve of it, other pieces try to make you love them.
Like a pile of resumes on the recruitment consultant's desk - some are better than others and the selection of the "best" is entirely subjective.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Knowing
To start the redundancy story from the beginning, it makes sense to start with the premonitions.
There were two. One was mine, the other was my friend MD's dream. Or nightmare?
Sometime in the middle of August I saw a guy interviewed on morning tele about his book "Fat, Forty and Fired". He's a Englishman who came to Australia for the good life, got himself a high-powered advertising job, and then was made redundant. Unlike me, he had a fair bit of warning and a huge payout. Also unlike me he had four kids and a wife, and had to tell all his employees they were redundant also.
So I went out and actually bought the book. About a week before I was made redundant myself. I hadn't even started reading it. Have now!
Now I think "damn, I could have written "Fat, 39 and Fired"!
The second premonition I found out about, the day after "R Day". I had made plans to visit a former work mate, to see her new baby, on the Saturday after I was laid off. It was very hard to front up not just to my friend, but to the two workmates I went with. They are great women, they were very good for me.
At about this time I was starting to feel physically quite ill, I'd had no sleep and had taken rather a large amount of Arnica drops! But there was no way I was going to miss seeing MD's baby! Gorgeous creature she is too.
Turns out my friend had dreamt I was made redundant. About a week earlier. This made us all shiver. Apparently she's done this sort of thing before. I never remember my dreams, and I'm often thankful for that. But this was weird. Now I wonder if I would have wanted her to tell me or not? If we'd been still working together, she easily could have.
When she told me I said "What happened next?"! Spooky.
There were two. One was mine, the other was my friend MD's dream. Or nightmare?
Sometime in the middle of August I saw a guy interviewed on morning tele about his book "Fat, Forty and Fired". He's a Englishman who came to Australia for the good life, got himself a high-powered advertising job, and then was made redundant. Unlike me, he had a fair bit of warning and a huge payout. Also unlike me he had four kids and a wife, and had to tell all his employees they were redundant also.
So I went out and actually bought the book. About a week before I was made redundant myself. I hadn't even started reading it. Have now!
Now I think "damn, I could have written "Fat, 39 and Fired"!
The second premonition I found out about, the day after "R Day". I had made plans to visit a former work mate, to see her new baby, on the Saturday after I was laid off. It was very hard to front up not just to my friend, but to the two workmates I went with. They are great women, they were very good for me.
At about this time I was starting to feel physically quite ill, I'd had no sleep and had taken rather a large amount of Arnica drops! But there was no way I was going to miss seeing MD's baby! Gorgeous creature she is too.
Turns out my friend had dreamt I was made redundant. About a week earlier. This made us all shiver. Apparently she's done this sort of thing before. I never remember my dreams, and I'm often thankful for that. But this was weird. Now I wonder if I would have wanted her to tell me or not? If we'd been still working together, she easily could have.
When she told me I said "What happened next?"! Spooky.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Silver Lining
It's time I took this blogging thing a bit more seriously.
And as luck would have it, I find myself right now with a great deal more time on my hands. I'm time-rich and cash-poor - the ideal place from which to start a long and rewarding relationship with blogging.
I was made redundant very abruptly three weeks ago - August 26 to be exact. Yes it was a huge shock. Didn't see it coming, no warning, no announcements, nothing. Just "thanks, but goodbye". All very weird and honestly, I guess I'm still working through it now. The therapeutic benefits of blogging are about to be tested.
I haven't felt like writing about it til now, and really, I've been too busy.
For about a week it looked like I was going to get another job virtually straight away - I would have started today. But I changed my mind and turned them down. A friend said I was just on the rebound - like a boyfriend! Good analogy.
Anyway plenty of time over the next days, weeks, months for my dissection of this "turning point". Stick with me, I fear it's going to be quite a long ride, maybe a little bumpy, but if nothing else it will make me sit down and write every day.
That's the goal, to write every day. Not much. Just enough to keep the brain lining up the words in my head and the fingers tapping them out. Long enough to make myself think about what it is I'm actually doing with all this time, and come away at the end of every 24-hour block knowing I've at least achieved one of the things I set out to do today.
I might not go to the gym. I might not email my mother or call my grandmother. I might not cook my husband a meal. But I will write something. Every day. Right here.
This is my silver lining.
And as luck would have it, I find myself right now with a great deal more time on my hands. I'm time-rich and cash-poor - the ideal place from which to start a long and rewarding relationship with blogging.
I was made redundant very abruptly three weeks ago - August 26 to be exact. Yes it was a huge shock. Didn't see it coming, no warning, no announcements, nothing. Just "thanks, but goodbye". All very weird and honestly, I guess I'm still working through it now. The therapeutic benefits of blogging are about to be tested.
I haven't felt like writing about it til now, and really, I've been too busy.
For about a week it looked like I was going to get another job virtually straight away - I would have started today. But I changed my mind and turned them down. A friend said I was just on the rebound - like a boyfriend! Good analogy.
Anyway plenty of time over the next days, weeks, months for my dissection of this "turning point". Stick with me, I fear it's going to be quite a long ride, maybe a little bumpy, but if nothing else it will make me sit down and write every day.
That's the goal, to write every day. Not much. Just enough to keep the brain lining up the words in my head and the fingers tapping them out. Long enough to make myself think about what it is I'm actually doing with all this time, and come away at the end of every 24-hour block knowing I've at least achieved one of the things I set out to do today.
I might not go to the gym. I might not email my mother or call my grandmother. I might not cook my husband a meal. But I will write something. Every day. Right here.
This is my silver lining.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Getting Paid to Write
It probably goes completely against the philosophy of blogging, but I've set up an off-shoot of this blog for some of the columns my husband writes for his work - GT in Sydney.
It is also probably a breach of NZPA's copyright but I'll be very apologetic when they call.
Greg's a real life proper journalist who writes particularly freely, and quite well, about rugby, racing and beer. Those of you familiar with the "average Kiwi bloke" will recognise these as some of the most significant and long-standing pastimes of New Zealand males. He can even write about other stuff, in fact he wrote about Chinese dissidents in one of his recent columns but his Mum told him "we don't know any of these people". Which is very true.
He does drink wine too - is a great fan of Central Otago pinot noir.
His writing gets printed in papers and goes on websites and stuff in NZ, but I wanted to have my own record of what he's been writing, especially while he is posted here in Australia. The stuff I like, anyway.
He actually even received his first "hate email" this week, from someone who basically had a go at him for repeating discussions verbatim he'd picked up from talkback radio. To set the record straight, I can verify that GT does not spend much time listening to talkback. When I go into his office he's always got the racing channel on the tele. No radio.
L.
It is also probably a breach of NZPA's copyright but I'll be very apologetic when they call.
Greg's a real life proper journalist who writes particularly freely, and quite well, about rugby, racing and beer. Those of you familiar with the "average Kiwi bloke" will recognise these as some of the most significant and long-standing pastimes of New Zealand males. He can even write about other stuff, in fact he wrote about Chinese dissidents in one of his recent columns but his Mum told him "we don't know any of these people". Which is very true.
He does drink wine too - is a great fan of Central Otago pinot noir.
His writing gets printed in papers and goes on websites and stuff in NZ, but I wanted to have my own record of what he's been writing, especially while he is posted here in Australia. The stuff I like, anyway.
He actually even received his first "hate email" this week, from someone who basically had a go at him for repeating discussions verbatim he'd picked up from talkback radio. To set the record straight, I can verify that GT does not spend much time listening to talkback. When I go into his office he's always got the racing channel on the tele. No radio.
L.
Sunday, May 22, 2005
South Seas Paradise - Shushhh! Don't Tell Anyone
We are just back from 10 days in the Cook Islands. Get out your maps - that's somewhere near Fiji, about half way give or take a couple of hundred miles between New Zealand and Hawaii.
And it is everything you would expect in your average Pacific Island ... white sand, palm trees, warm and tropical weather. We loved it. Especially the island of Aitutaki in the Aitutaki lagoon .. population 1100. Just a few of the treats tourists like - a couple of good bars and a couple of good restaurants, one or two shops, and the rest is just walking on the beach, lazing by the pool etc.
You hire a car without signing a form, the same person serves you in two different stores and you go to church on Sunday just to hear the singing - from the entire congregation not just the choir.
Don't go there.
L.
And it is everything you would expect in your average Pacific Island ... white sand, palm trees, warm and tropical weather. We loved it. Especially the island of Aitutaki in the Aitutaki lagoon .. population 1100. Just a few of the treats tourists like - a couple of good bars and a couple of good restaurants, one or two shops, and the rest is just walking on the beach, lazing by the pool etc.
You hire a car without signing a form, the same person serves you in two different stores and you go to church on Sunday just to hear the singing - from the entire congregation not just the choir.
Don't go there.
L.
Poor Bob
My brother and his wife have just had their first child.
They also have two Jack Russell terriers in the family. The older dog has a reputation in our family for being a handful at the best of times. At the worst of times he's a damn pain in the ... backyard.
This is the dog that ate the crackers off the table at Christmas. The dog that throws his body against the French doors outside the spare room when he knows you are in there trying to sleep. The dog who gets up behind you on the sofa and eats your hair. The dog who looks you square in the eye when you tell him to go outside and he carefully puts his body behind you and the doorway, and won't budge. The dog who won't go outside until you throw grapes out into the backyard for him to chase. He's ... full on.
And he didn't get what was going on when the baby arrived. He was jumping up, trying to play ... just generally going nuts. Now we've all heard of this before, that thing where dogs don't like new babies ... so my brother and sister-in-law weren't surprised to find they had a bit of a problem on their hands.
So they did what modern folk do these days - they brought in the dog psychologist. He calls himself the Dog Whisperer or something like that. They had an intense five hour session with the whole lot of them, my brother and sister-in-law included, trying to set the dog some new guidelines. This doesn't mean just training the dog .. it means retraining the people as well. I bet the dog psychiatrist doesn't exactly say that, but that's what he's thinking!
It all has something to do with the dog thinking he's the leader of the pack and not accepting authority.
And the "treatment"? Well it includes nobody being allowed to look the dog in the eye or use his real name. The family's going around calling the dog Bob. And apparently it's working. "Bob" has been a model family member and no longer spends his days running around the house like a lunatic.
Sounds to me like the dog whisperer should be expanding his range. I might start calling a few people at work Bob. You never know ...
They also have two Jack Russell terriers in the family. The older dog has a reputation in our family for being a handful at the best of times. At the worst of times he's a damn pain in the ... backyard.
This is the dog that ate the crackers off the table at Christmas. The dog that throws his body against the French doors outside the spare room when he knows you are in there trying to sleep. The dog who gets up behind you on the sofa and eats your hair. The dog who looks you square in the eye when you tell him to go outside and he carefully puts his body behind you and the doorway, and won't budge. The dog who won't go outside until you throw grapes out into the backyard for him to chase. He's ... full on.
And he didn't get what was going on when the baby arrived. He was jumping up, trying to play ... just generally going nuts. Now we've all heard of this before, that thing where dogs don't like new babies ... so my brother and sister-in-law weren't surprised to find they had a bit of a problem on their hands.
So they did what modern folk do these days - they brought in the dog psychologist. He calls himself the Dog Whisperer or something like that. They had an intense five hour session with the whole lot of them, my brother and sister-in-law included, trying to set the dog some new guidelines. This doesn't mean just training the dog .. it means retraining the people as well. I bet the dog psychiatrist doesn't exactly say that, but that's what he's thinking!
It all has something to do with the dog thinking he's the leader of the pack and not accepting authority.
And the "treatment"? Well it includes nobody being allowed to look the dog in the eye or use his real name. The family's going around calling the dog Bob. And apparently it's working. "Bob" has been a model family member and no longer spends his days running around the house like a lunatic.
Sounds to me like the dog whisperer should be expanding his range. I might start calling a few people at work Bob. You never know ...
Monday, March 21, 2005
Sydney's Royal Easter Show
Sydney Easter Show - it's a BIG day out.
Sydney's Easter Show is a full-on event. Many of the locals don't bother cos it's just too ... much. The crowds, the money and the travel to get there. It used to be held in the city but now it's held at Olympic Park, about 40 mins by train from the city, and the whole site is huge. By the end of the day your feet feel like you've competed in a couple of Olympic events.
This year I went with my friend Janelle, who had not been before. She said the whole thing was a lot more impressive than she expected, well organised and with an enormous choice of stuff to see and do.
But we both agreed it would be a nightmare if you had kids in tow ... and expensive. I forked out for a Darrell Lea chocolate show bag ... always worthwhile. Janelle bought a show bag that came with a singlet top - and then disappeared into the ladies to put it on! Very handy show bag.
I have been told the whole "show bag" phenomenon is entirely Australian. These days there is an entire pavillion with more than 250 bags available .. full of all kinds of junk. Everything from chocolate and lollies to toilet paper!
And there's all that other rural show stuff .. animals and rides and candy floss and woodchopping. No chainsaw sculpture tho - that must be a Kiwi thing!?
I enjoyed it, but alas AGAIN missed the pig diving. I missed it last year because it was cancelled due to rain, and this year the place was full by the time we got there. Next year I must see the little pigs diving into the pool. Watch this space.
I got a photo of another pig. But it's not the same.
L.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Bitching About Time At Work
Today we got a note from the boss reminding us of what our hours of work are supposed to be.
IE it was a big fat signpost telling us she thinks we are not working all the hours we are supposed to .. and we aren't covering lunch breaks properly.
This of course only serves to piss everyone off and start yet another round of discussion about what hours we all actually do work, and how we thought we did a pretty good job of covering considering we are understaffed right now. As usual.
We also wondered how it is that we never know what hours she and our immediate boss keep - let alone where they are when they leave the room. I guess they don't have to say.
It just reminded me of some line I read in a management textbook sometime once - if you treat people like children they will act like children.
It is all very disheartening. And downright irritating.
Our supervisor is a guy who arrives after everyone, and leaves before everyone. He lives about a million miles away and has a train trip home that takes more than an hour. Poor baby. Buy another house!
As my dear old Dad would have said "don't tell me your problems!"
Exactly.
IE it was a big fat signpost telling us she thinks we are not working all the hours we are supposed to .. and we aren't covering lunch breaks properly.
This of course only serves to piss everyone off and start yet another round of discussion about what hours we all actually do work, and how we thought we did a pretty good job of covering considering we are understaffed right now. As usual.
We also wondered how it is that we never know what hours she and our immediate boss keep - let alone where they are when they leave the room. I guess they don't have to say.
It just reminded me of some line I read in a management textbook sometime once - if you treat people like children they will act like children.
It is all very disheartening. And downright irritating.
Our supervisor is a guy who arrives after everyone, and leaves before everyone. He lives about a million miles away and has a train trip home that takes more than an hour. Poor baby. Buy another house!
As my dear old Dad would have said "don't tell me your problems!"
Exactly.
Monday, March 07, 2005
How Close Can Your Boss Get?
Tell me what you think your "personal space" is.
Where does it start and end?
Last week my boss came up behind me as I was sitting at my desk, placed his hands on my shoulders and leaned forward so his head touched mine. He then made a fairly uncomplimentary comment about something I had done in a recent staff meeting, and pulled away again.
It was extremely yucky. There was nothing particularly sexual about it. I'm not saying I was harassed ... it just wasn't right. He came into my personal space and I guess I felt it was disrespectful.
And yeah, sure it didn't help that he was making a criticism. I think he thought he was doing me a favour by telling my quietly, instead of telling the whole room.
Do you think I'm being too sensitive? What happens when people who are "touchy" think it's okay to touch people who are not?
Where does it start and end?
Last week my boss came up behind me as I was sitting at my desk, placed his hands on my shoulders and leaned forward so his head touched mine. He then made a fairly uncomplimentary comment about something I had done in a recent staff meeting, and pulled away again.
It was extremely yucky. There was nothing particularly sexual about it. I'm not saying I was harassed ... it just wasn't right. He came into my personal space and I guess I felt it was disrespectful.
And yeah, sure it didn't help that he was making a criticism. I think he thought he was doing me a favour by telling my quietly, instead of telling the whole room.
Do you think I'm being too sensitive? What happens when people who are "touchy" think it's okay to touch people who are not?
Friday, February 25, 2005
Pain & Pills
It is probably highly unadvisable to write one's first blog under the influence of migraine pills.
The incidence of bad spelling, grammar and typos will be high. I've already been back twice to correct typos.
But there's something about a computer screen that dulls my pain. This is very weird and I don't think it's been widely discovered and documented by medical science. They hate stuff like that. Although my doctor did tell me today some people get headache relief from coffee, as I have, but I've never bothered to trouble a doctor with that kind of anecdotal medical misadventure information before. Now they are telling me. Third correction.
I shoudl go back to lying down now. Just in case my boss is also home sick and reading blogs online to relive her pian.
The incidence of bad spelling, grammar and typos will be high. I've already been back twice to correct typos.
But there's something about a computer screen that dulls my pain. This is very weird and I don't think it's been widely discovered and documented by medical science. They hate stuff like that. Although my doctor did tell me today some people get headache relief from coffee, as I have, but I've never bothered to trouble a doctor with that kind of anecdotal medical misadventure information before. Now they are telling me. Third correction.
I shoudl go back to lying down now. Just in case my boss is also home sick and reading blogs online to relive her pian.
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