What’s with all the lime green being used in corporate colours nowadays? Did Boost Juice start that trend? Is it the power colour for 2006?

Other sightings: The CD case for iPod Shuffle; Australian Tax Pack 2006.

Now for a bit of controversy.

I really enjoy doing footy tipping, and indeed watching it can be quite entertaining. Love a bit of kick-to-kick in the park.

But footy, for real? Nup. I reckon it’s a mug’s game(*). As much as I might make fun of the Americans and their super-armour-padded version of football, I can appreciate that they’re trying to avoid injuries. Footy is not a low-risk game. Fundamentally it’s a game that is punishing to the body.

And then there’s the collisions. Despite precautions, serious injuries abound. Just a few weeks ago Collingwood’s Blake Caracella wound up with a severe neck injury. Apparently James Hird has suffered just about every injury imagineable. And occasionally there are deaths.

A fascinating article in the Good Weekend a few months ago (probably not online, even if I could remember the title) looked at where professional football players go to once they retire. For many by the ripe old age of 30 or 35, their football careers are over, and they have done permanent damage to their bodies — a stark contrast to the fit healthy young men they appear to be when playing.

The result so many of them seem to end up with is not something I’d wish on anybody. There are far less punishing sports around, and it all makes me rather thankful that my kids aren’t that interested in playing footy beyond the occasional kick.

And those who play, well hopefully they enjoy it. But even more importantly, I hope they know the risks, and act accordingly.

(*)Admittedly I’m a natural sloth, and don’t participate regularly in any organised sport.

(This is a second go at this picture, which didn’t quite get the long row of cabs I’d been hoping for. I can probably find longer if I try.)

PS. Maybe I have a fascination for pictures of rows of things. Like garbage bins.

The bigwigs in retailing have talked about this for ages.

Last week I tried out the funky new self-checkout computermachines at Big W at QV. Why queue to have someone serve you, when you can serve yourself?

It’s a bit like a combination of using one of those price checker scanner things, and an ATM. You scan each item, and it tells you to put them into the bag as you scan. When you’re finished, you tell it how you’re paying, and use a card or cash to do so. Then you take your change and receipt, and walk out with your purchases.

Freaky.

So what, I wondered, was to stop you just walking out with stuff? I asked the guy standing by to help people, and he confirmed my suspicions: the magnetic doo-dah that sets off the alarms gets de-magnetised as you scan/place in bag. There’s probably some powerful magnetic forces around that area, since you don’t have to specifically rub the item on a pad like you see in some shops.

The process certainly saved some time, and the kids were most impressed. “That is so cool”, remarked Isaac.

Not so cool, of course, is the reduced numbers of staff required to run the place if more people start using them. But with the choice being to queue for ages for a checkout person, or do it yourself, as with ATMs 20-25 years ago, I suspect people will gradually adapt. It’ll be interesting to see if it spreads to other shops so readily.

The other day I found a coathanger sitting on top of the hedge at the front of my house.

Not one of those wire coathangers used by drycleaners, but a metal and plastic one like you might get when you buy a coat. Perfect condition.

Odd place to find such a thing, I thought.

Attempted explanations welcome.

I might not have blogged about it, but I’ve had dreams before about having to be somewhere semi-unexpectedly, and running late.

Last night’s was that (matching reality) I had to be somewhere today by 11am, out of my usual routine. In the dream, I woke and found every single clock in the house not working due to a power outage overnight. Everything flashing 12:00. Turned on my mobile phone and found it was very nearly 11am, thus a big rush to get showered and dressed and out.

PS. The other day I noted Isaac sitting at the computer, reading all my dream blog entries, and laughing his head off. Nice to know they’re amusing to my offspring, at least.

It was the winter solstice on Wednesday, and there’s been cold weather to match it this week.

In Australia, we claim winter starts on the 1st of June. In many other countries, they say it starts on the solstice. By my reckoning, being the shortest day, it should actually be the middle of winter.

I was pondering if one could gauge global warming via some kind of domestic measurement, such as how many days each winter one’s car is frozen over. Seems like less days this year than last, but I think last year I was living in a particularly cold part of Carnegie.

A gas bill arrived the other day. I’d been wondering how big it might be, with the central heating running in the colder months. The graph in the bill, showing average daily usage, says it all:

Because I moved, this bill doesn’t show a figure for last year. A quick review of my old gas bills indicate average daily gas use at the old house peaked at 158 MJ in August 2004.

As a parent, I know one of the worst things is unwanted parenting advice. As such, it’s generally a topic of conversation I avoid like the plague — even in my blog when it’s directed at nobody in particular.

But this has been bugging me, so just this once I will offer my opinion on something: You shouldn’t lie to your kids. By all means be selective with what you explain to them, simplify concepts, tell them you’ll explain something later/when they’re older, but don’t lie. They’re smart, they’ll figure it out one day.

And especially, don’t lie when disciplining them. Whatever you do, don’t threaten them with something you’re not prepared to follow-through on. If you do, they’ll soon know exactly how to play you, to get what they want, and how to behave the way they want with impunity.

Every so often, I’ll see someone breaking this rule. Example: last week on a train, a mum was telling her young son not to run around the carriage. The kid obviously wanted to know why. She could have just said she wanted to keep an eye on him, or whatever, but she made up some lame excuse which patently wasn’t true. (I wish I could remember precisely what it was now). The kid obviously picked up that, and queried it. I didn’t hear it all, but an argument ensued, at some point she got fed-up with the backchat and threatened to smack him.

Smacking, of course, is severely out of fashion in many western countries. I don’t know how many people do it nowadays, but I’ve never done it. Apart from the fact that I consider it to be heading down the slippery slope of violence towards your children, I simply don’t think it works. Time-out has always been my preferred option, at least at home. Positive re-inforcement (aka bribes) and their withdrawal is also a good one.

Would this mother smack her kid publically on a train, probably leading to yet more noise?

No. She didn’t do it. The kid carried on playing up. I bet he does that all the time. Of course I’m not saying she should have smacked him; I’m saying she never should have threatened it in the first place.

A guy I used to work with said a couple he knew always had problems with their kids for the same reason. But when he went to babysit, the kids knew he wouldn’t take any crap. They knew that “No TV” meant “No TV” for the rest of the evening, rather than just the next five minutes until the parents’ will was broken. And so they behaved well for him.

I’ve tried never to tell my kids something I wouldn’t hold them to. A ban from the computer will be enforced. Time-out for X minutes (X = age in years + 1) is timed properly, generally using the microwave countdown timer.

And as they grow older, they know what’s expected of them, and it’s becoming steadily rarer that they even need telling off.

That’s my opinion. Your mileage my vary.