The Herald Sun paywall launched in March, and offered free 2-month passes. Any word on what’s happened now those have run out?
Strange dream: Woke up with the most enormous sideburns. Struggled to get them removed before having to go to work.
Another dream: Was invited to a very elaborate dinner party at Alan Kohler’s place, which in the dream was in Carnegie around the corner from where I used to live.
Another dream: Woke up to find the kids had re-arranged their bedroom. TARDIS-like, they’d managed to fit furniture into the room that in real life wouldn’t fit in there.
QR-codes in emails now? Really? What use would this be apart from on printouts? And shouldn’t we be discouraging printouts?
I felt like I was being a bandwagon jumper for buying a Beastie Boys the week after Adam Yauch passed-away. I even looked around and found something else I wanted to buy, to try and diffuse the judgement of the JB Hifi checkout person. Oh dear. In retrospect it’s a little like slipping a dirty magazine in between a bunch of nerd mags at the newsagent.
Perhaps the preface for everything on Twitter (indeed everything online) should be: “You may choose to disagree, but my hypothesis is this:”
Just had an interesting dream.
I dreamt that I woke up at 11:48am (according to the clock) today. (I’d intended to get up and out early, with a planned half-day at work followed by various errands before the shops shut for Christmas.) Somehow I’d slept through the alarm.
Despite it being late, I was very sleepy. I stumbled through the house and was surprised to find the washing machine running, yet I couldn’t recall having set it to run the previous night.
On the back porch I found my stepfather Peter, up a ladder looking at the drains (not unknown for him), but with suit trousers on (unusual). Nearby on a seat was a man who appeared at first glance to be my Uncle Frank.
Peter said he was urgently checking the drains, and that he’d also had to shut the water off. I replied that I’d need it on, as I was running really late and had to have a shower shortly. He said okay, he’d switch it back on.
Then I woke up in the real world. The clock was actually on 6:05am, about an hour before I usually get up. *Yawn*.
The stolen car dream
I was going to visit my old uni mate Brian (who actually lives in Florida, though I saw him a few weeks ago when he recently visited Melbourne again). In the dream, he was staying at my mum’s house in Hampton. I parked in the usual spot when visiting her, and dropped something off to him, then went back to the car to find it had been stolen.
I also noticed my key remote appeared to unlock a nearby dumped white Mercedes, which had been left blocking half the driveway.
Brian then appeared, with a very heavy bag full of gym equipment. I told him about the car having gone missing, and wondered which number you ring the police on (not the emergency 000 number, I guessed).
I walked with him up the road towards the station. He said he was going to the gym — I remarked it’s the same one my mum and her partner use.
Probable influences: Brian’s recent visit; my mum joining the gym; arrival of a letter from AAMI, probably the car insurance renewal; a Neighbourhood Watch newsletter arriving the other day noting the emergency number.
Neighbourhood Watch seems to be on the decline, which is kind of a shame. While I’ve never been to a meeting (they usually clash with other things), I think they do good work.
But every so often there’ll be some clanger in their newsletter. Our local one has faithfully printed the # 9 0 urban myth, as well as claimed that a mobile phone left with an uncharged battery could somehow call emergency numbers (confused I think with the fact that a mobile phone without a SIM card can do so).
They also claimed that dialling the emergency number could get through even where there’s no signal from any carrier, as if that magically convert your phone into a super-powered satellite phone (in truth, dialling emergency will hook into any phone company’s signal, not necessarily your own).
This week it suggested that people program the emergency 000 number into their mobile phones.
Uhh… I don’t think that’s a good idea. On almost every phone I’ve seen, it takes way more keypresses to retrieve a programmed number and then dial it than to simply press 0 0 0 [dial].
It is possible on my phone to program in a single key shortcut (eg hold down 1 to get voicemail), but I don’t think that’s a good idea either; you’d be in danger of pressing it down accidentally.
A dream from the other night. (I can’t normally remember them.)
I was on a bus; a big articulated bus. It stopped somewhere in St Kilda, and the driver got out to go to the toilet, but forgot to put the handbrake on.
We were on a slight incline, and the bus started to roll forward. Nobody else was paying much attention, and I was about two-thirds of the way back, so I moved forward to the controls, but by then the bus was moving faster, and it crashed into a parked, empty car, an old Datsun, and obliterated it.
I pulled the handbrake and the bus came to a stop.
In the investigations afterwards it became apparent that the car was a very old, restored vehicle, the pride and joy of the guy living where it was parked, who turned out to be an Aboriginal singer, a friend of Paul Kelly.
The media decided it was newsworthy, and prepared to interview me, but for some reason just beforehand, I had a haircut at a new hairdresser, who decided to get creative and gave me a lopsided, mod-type (big, boofy) haircut, which I was extremely embarrassed about.
Weird. As Marita said, it probably combined several of my interests into one big dream: PT, Paul Kelly, media. Not sure about the haircut!
Strange dream last night, with a surprising amount of detail.
Marita and I were travelling in Scotland. After visiting a remote village, we had to climb by a kind of rope-ladder thing back up to the railway station (which was on a very high metal bridge).
After getting on the train, it continued towards the Fourth Bridge, which someone remarked was named after Charles the Fourth, but that it only opened 26 years after his death.
Except of course in real life there has been no Charles the Fourth (at least in Britain), it’s actually the Forth Bridge and it’s named after the body of water it crosses: the Firth of Forth.
Later on we were in London with Isaac and Jeremy as well. A policeman was handing out cards of a wanted football (soccer) player, who was apparently expected to flee to the USA, as he had a US passport and citizenship. At this point I knew fully well I was in a dream, but seemed to be happy to go with it.
The other week, in one night, I had a trio of ridiculous dreams. So ridiculous that you half know it’s a dream, and it’s a ridiculous situation, but you keep on dreaming it anyway.
I’ve forgotten the first.
In the second, someone was knocking at my front door and trying to look through the frosted glass while waiting to be let-in, and I, then undressed and taking cover at the corner, kept calling out “Who is it?”, but they wouldn’t answer. You can’t actually see anything more than abstract shapes through my front door anyway. Ridiculous.
And in the third dream, my car (which has worked perfectly in the almost-year I’ve had it except for an electric window going kaputsky — ch-ching!) was behaving really sluggishly, and accelerating ludicrously slowly, especially up hills. Ridiculous.
Then last week in real life it started happening. On cold days, 5 degrees and below. Stalling. Shuddering. Sluggish. Blah.
See, life is full of gambles. I gambled my money away when I bought the car. I’ve gambled that it’s worth trekking across town to the dealer I bought it from every six months to keep the warranty up-to-date. Even though it seems like the warranty is worded in such a way that there are so many exceptions that they might never be liable for any repair costs.
So yesterday morning I woke at sparrow’s fart and headed out the door just after 7am, which is normally about the time I’m getting up, in a failed attempt to beat the traffic. At least I may have beat some of it; it took about 45 minutes to get to the dealer. I’m glad I normally avoid driving in rush hour.
Dropped it off for the six month checkup and so they could look at the stalling/shuddering.
The verdict? A bill of $245, of course — and that included no charge for the fault. On the one hand, just part of the exorbitant cost of personal motorised transport; on the other, quite low for a visit to the car dealer for a service.
According to the receipt (which is mostly made up of the usual mechanic gibberish) they checked the car’s computer history for misfires. Yes, apparently this humble 9-year-old Astra has a black box recorder. Apparently it gave them enough information to tweak things.
Just hope it worked. I hate those early mornings.
PS. Lunchtime: Rae has a rant about her drive to work.