Damn you, Yahoo!

I've just discovered that Yahoo! is closing down its Yahoo! Photos site in favour of its flashier sister Flickr. I have a Flickr account, but it has upload and bandwidth limits - and I really only started it so I could put a neat Flickr badge on this here blog.

I've always preferred Yahoo! Photos because it had no upload limits - in fact, many of our photos from last year's Big Overseas Adventure exist ONLY on Yahoo! Photos. It's not as pretty as Flickr, and has less features, but I actually liked the simplicity. I can't believe Yahoo! is doing this - especially since they appear to have bound me forever to their email service by launching free unlimited storage.

So now I'm appealing to you, gentle and tech-savvy readers - what the hell do I do with my photos?!?!

I have thousands of pics sitting on Yahoo! Photos that I now have to move sometime before October. I guess I'll have to individually download them to my computer first - can't say how much that task DOESN'T excite me - then I need to choose a new host.

Do I continue with Flickr? Try Photobucket? (I think I may already have registered an account with them - I've signed on for so many things on the net) Look elsewhere? I like having them easily accessible on the net (saves my hard drive too), but maybe I just need to scale that back. And I really, really DON'T want to have to pay for a service.

Any hints or tips you could offer would be MUCHOS GRANDE.

Gracias, GirlClumsy.

Publicity hoy!

Woo-hoo! We have our first piece of publicity for the Briz Improv Fest, and may I say, it's a frickin' great one.

Comedy of Terrors

Or, you can check out page 43 of today's Courier-Mail (the 'Today' section).

Well done to the fabulous Comic Mummy - despite my role as publicity person for the fest I actually had nothing to do with this great effort at all. Although I like to think my media release may have helped...

For those of you who are keen for improv (and really, that should be ALL of you), the festival launch is on THIS Sunday, May 27 at UBER in West End. Doors open at 6pm, show starts at 6:30pm. For just $10, you'll get to see both Impro Mafia's hilarious 'Iron Improviser' show, as well as the debut performance of 'Jenny Wynter is: Self-Indulgent', a one-woman show combining stand-up, improvisation and music.

Get along and support the Briz Improv Fest!

Pants

I wolfed down some crumbed calamari and chips for lunch today - mmm, healthy I know.

Once finished, I did what most right-minded and bloated adults do - I undid the top button on my trousers.

I made a mental note to do it back up before the media conference, but did I remember?

Of course not. And then I went into a Premier Pete media conference.

Well, at least I was sitting down for it. And I was wearing cute new pink-and-black underpants, so if anyone had seen anything, at least it wouldn't have been too bad.

Sometimes, I think the meaning of my existence is to make other people feel better about their own lives.

Dam dry and hard Labor

What an awfully big Thursday that was.

You may have heard of the Western Corridor recycled water pipeline - one of the big "water grid" projects that will apparently "drought-proof" South-East Queensland. Well, on Thursday our illustrious leaders, Peter Beattie and Anna Bligh, headed out to Esk to have a look at at some pipe-laying work.

They (as well as a few TV and print journos) got to go by chopper. I got to to take the news truck for a nice drive in the country. One-and-a-half hours after leaving Brisbane, I arrived at the construction site, just outside of Esk. It's been ages since I've been up in that part of the world, and I'm glad I had the foresight to pop my camera in my equipment bag when I left home.

Behold! The once mighty Wivenhoe Dam. This isn't even the worst, cracked up bit of it. This is on the southern end, near a bunch of spillways. Still, as I drove past a picnic ground I remember visiting as a kid, I couldn't help but marvel at the distinct lack of dam-y-ness about this dam. It was more like a rather large pond.

It sure is dry country up there.









I've always found petrified trees intriguingly spooky. Even in bright sunlight, there's something goosebumpy about them. As you drive through the country, you often come across fields full of them, like naked sentries lifting their arms to the sky in supplication, as if rain could miraculously bring them back to life, as well as the dry ground around them.

I got back to the office around 3pm, and worked for a few more hours. I found a media release advising of a Labor party fundraiser that night at the Convention Centre, and in a move designed to make me feel like a bit more of a political reporter rather than actually accomplish anything of journalistic value, I decided to go.

After a trip home to change out of my dusty Esk-visit clothes and grab a bite to eat, I got Greg to drop me off at the Convention Centre.

Behold! Our Most Illuminated Leader, resident funnyman and proud dog-owner, Peter Beattie (Despite all the things he is, P.B. is not God. He keeps telling us this whenever the drought is mentioned. Apparently we would know if Pete was God, because he'd make it rain. So stop asking, will you?).

His name's still Kevin, he's still from Queensland, and he's still here to help.

Despite a minor war of words breaking out between Kev and Premier Pete earlier that day about Beattie's plans to reform and amalgamate local councils, it was all love and goodwill by dinnertime. I had thought there might be some fireworks, or at least a major policy initiative, or some resolution on the ongoing "What do we do with AWAs?" saga... but no, it was just an ALP love-in.

So that was my Thursday. I got to sleep, like I so often have this week, around 1am. Friday has been also rather exhausting, although I did get my car serviced, a long-overdue task I can now tick off my ever-lengthening checklist. Now what was that thing I needed? Oh yeah...sleep...

The Candyman

In which, Girl Clumsy details the Rescue of a Bad Day by an Encounter with a Lovely Gentleman.

I had a SHIT of a day at work today.

Oh, there were the usual self-remonstrations about my current role as political journalist ("Useless! I'm useless!"), but today's problems were in fact real, not just me making mountains out of molehills. They were real, and all directly attributable to my work lap-top computer.

Ever since the damn thing was passed to me in a journo-to-journo rite of passage, it's been giving me trouble. Editing audio is the main problem; it either doesn't play it at all, or it plays, then stops, and scratches, and stops again, then bursts into double speed. It's hard to cut grabs of our Illustrious State Leader when he sounds like Mickey Mouse on helium.

Anyway, the problems were so chronic today, and so frustrating, I wound up in tears on the phone not only to the journos back at the newsroom (I was based in the city all day), but to our head tech, who was - unbeknowst to me until I called - on holiday at Fraser Island. Whoops. Still, he did well to deal with my hysteric rantings. You may ask why said tech has not repaired problems before now. Well, it hasn't been for a want of trying on both our parts. But the laptop is like a trained monkey - it performs perfectly for its master (ie, the tech) when it's in the studio, but out on the road with a boorish technophobe (ie, yours clumsily), it's harder to control than Hugh Heffner at a "Viagra-and-Naked-Girls" party.

Once I'd officially downed tools (and profanities) this evening, I decided only a vast amount of junk food would rescue my bad day. With no junk food in the flat, I drove out to Toombul Coles to stock up on Pepsi Max and Cheezels. Toombul Coles is not the nearest Coles to me, but it is near another venue that I wanted to visit.

Tom's Confectionery Warehouse.

I had two reasons for wanting to visit this magic place - a Brisbane institution. As part of my publicity work with the Briz Improv Fest, I had suggested the idea of selling lollies on performance nights, and had been perculating the idea of talking with Tom for a while. It also seemed like a good opportunity to hunt down some of the few remaining Red Tulip Easter eggs, now sadly gone from supermarket shelves for another year. Little did I know how successful I would be on both counts!

I only found Tom himself as I was leaving the warehouse, unloading some cartons from the back of a car. I introduced myself, and asked him first about the recent post-Easter robbery. Poor guy - he had a safe containing tens of thousands of dollars stolen overnight on Easter Monday - a good deal of his holiday takings. Tom has been really shaken up by it - mostly because he's been in business at Hendra for 25 years, and has only ever had one minor burglary before. He thought he'd done all the right things - installing security doors and grills on the windows, closed circuit cameras, encoded door passes, the lot. But they still got in, and it's left a deep impression on Tom.

Like most people who are robbed, Tom didn't deserve it. For Tom is a top bloke. And I'm so glad I got the chance to chat to him tonight.

I asked him to run me through buying lollies for resale, which he could have done standing outside the store as we were. But instead, he took me into the shed opposite the warehouse, which is one of his production sheds. I hadn't realised how big the business was, but SIX of the buildings around the shed open to the public are Tom's. The one we went into was - the lolly factory. Where the lollies get stored and mixed together and packed.

He kept apologising for "boring me".

"You don't understand, Tom I'm in a lolly factory. Life doesn't get any better than this!"

He showed me the bag making machine, and the lolly sorter, and the printer that can print your own logo on your order of lollybags. Imported machinery, costing over one hundred thousand dollars. Much of his business comes from doing corporate orders - companies that give away lollies to their employees or children for special occasions, or charities hoping to raise funds. He showed me samples of the different sizes of bags. We stood surrounded by boxes of chocolates, and snakes, and Minties and everything nice, and Tom told me about starting his business as a popcorn-making firm back in 1966. "Captain Corn" brand popcorn is still made on-site, but these days he only makes the coloured variety, and he no longer supplies it to the major supermarkets, as their demands for smaller margins wasn't worth the business.

I spot a stack of Red Tulip crates, and tell him about my obsession with the Easter-time-only brand of chocolate. He dutifully grabs about eight of the eggs, and puts them into a box for me. For free.

"Samples, see? You're a potential customer, we've got to look after you!"

We stood at the door to the shed, and Tom told me about the changing nature of the business. The confectionery side only began in 1982, as a sideline to the popcorn. As that floundered, the lollies biz took off. But it's cost Tom. He divorced about ten years ago, unable to pull back from the business his whole life's been built upon. There was no bad feelings between us, he says of his wife, it's just she wanted to live a different kind of life. "I was very generous, though, in the settlement." He says he misses his beautiful old house at Cleveland, although it's not clear if this was a casualty of the divorce. I didn't want to pry, and wasn't in fact prying. Tom was just happy to have a chat, even though he did say he normally wasn't given to rabbiting on about himself. That was what he said when I suggested he'd be a fascinating radio interviewee, anyway.

The cruellest irony for me came with an astonishing revelation: Tom's a diabetic.

Type 2, diagnosed about ten years ago. He tries to manage it, but eating right and exercising isn't easy with his working hours (the store is open 8am-9pm every day except Christmas Day). He's on six different pills a day, the same amount as his beloved dog, Pepe.

Take a moment to consider that - Tom, the Candyman, King of the Confectionery Warehouse. Can't have sugar.

Our conversation ended about an hour after it had begun, there in the carpark of the Confectionery Warehouse. I had been held captive by this lovely man, and his stories of building up a business, and seeing it through despite professional and personal hardships along the way. We all have problems, and sometimes they can seem overwhelming - even if it is just a dodgy lap-top computer playing up on you. But having a chat to Tom was a wonderful tonic to my bad day and bad mood. The simple joy of talking with a man who's had his fair share of ups and downs, but is still plugging away, still giving it his best, worked better than any massage or meditation.

Tom wants to retire soon, but he also wants to expand the business.

At the very least, he's hoping to holiday at Maroochydore in a unit that allows small dogs.

-Girl Clumsy

Readers who love chocolates, sweets and popcorn should definitely visit Tom's Confectionery Warehouse. Have a chat to Tom if he's there. You won't regret it. Just don't ask for Red Tulip Easter eggs - they're mine!

Daleks feel like Dancing

This is what happens when you put a bunch of Doctor Who geeks in a room with toys. Enjoy.



Thanks must go to Dr Jon, the owner of Dancin' Red Dalek and Small-But-Belligerent Black Dalek. The Gold Dalek is all The Wah's. Dalek Sec was unavailable for comment, but we assume "Exterminate" would be in there somewhere.

Workers! United! Will Never Be Defeated!

Prepare yourself for another Clumsy Tale of misadventure!

I actually had a one-on-one interview with Kevin Rudd this morning, as part of the Labour Day march through Brisbane. That's right - me and Kev, arm-in-arm, fighting The Man.

Well, maybe not. Anna Bligh, Sharan Burrow, Grace Grace, Wayne Swan, Paul Lucas, Clem Jones (in a van) and several tens of thousands of others were along for the stroll. On a fairly muggy day too, I might add.

I figured - in the wake of my disastrous and nerve-wracked attempt to talk to the Prime Minister - that if I could talk to Rudd before he becomes the Prime Minister (when, if, whatever you like), then I won't be nervous to talk to him if/when he is the Prime Minister. That's my theory anyway - we'll have to wait and see if it actually works.

The march kicked off halfway down Wharf Street just after 10am, with Kev & Co. up front, following the band as they turned onto Turbot Street and headed off through the Valley towards the final destination - the RNA Showgrounds.

After watching several TV journos shove microphones and cameras in Kev's ruddy face, I did a test run by grabbing Anna Bligh for a quick chat about tomorrow night's federal budget: "What do you want for Queensland? Do you think Peter Costello will throw money at us, given we're a crucial federal election battleground?" etc etc. That went well, so around the turn into Brunswick Street I spotted a camera-free Rudd and switched my mic on to record.

"Hi, Mr Rudd, Natalie from 4BC..."

"Hi Natalie from 4BC."

"Just wondering if I could ask you about..." and so on.

Got a few questions in, and didn't sound too much like a complete nonce, which was really the object of the exercise. Kev mostly wheeled out "responses prepared earlier", so I was never going to get a big bombshell statement, but he was still very pleasant. After saying thank you and moving to one side, I got stopped myself by one of his media people, who was friendly enough, but seemed to be a bit nervous that she was unable to monitor every word Kev was uttering. Fair enough too, I suppose. Everything out of the big federal pollies' mouths these days is recorded; they can't burp without it being included in a transcript.

I lost track of Kev & Co. on the way into the RNA Showgrounds - I was busy doing a cross and trying to find some chanting for background effect. It seems the chanting was less enthusiastic this year; more sporadic. It was at this point a friend of mine named Steve popped out of the Rail, Tram & Bus Union group, and came over to see what I was up too. I may have misheard him due to the Highland bagpipers who passed by at that very moment, but I could have sworn he said they were here mostly for the free alcohol.

Hmmm.

I headed into the showgrounds and parked my behind in one of the covered grandstands for a while, which unfortunately meant I was on the other side of the stadium to where Rudd got up to have a yak around 11:30am. Cue your humble Girl Clumsy running to the nearest speaker and standing on a concrete barrier in an effort to get the mic closer to the sound. Dangerous territory indeed. I couldn't help but notice that the bloke standing in front of the barrier, slightly below my elevated position, was indigenous activist Sam Watson (he has a very recognisible hat). I figured I'd better not fall, or I risked causing An Incident. There's just too much irony in a pasty white chick squashing a black man for me NOT to be completely embarrassed.

My computer predictably cacked itself as I was trying to file a story for midday, so after some re-jigging and a file by phone, I headed back out to the stage area to see if I could find ACTU President Sharan Burrow, whose speech I missed. I was lucky on that count for two reasons: one, I found her; and two, I found her quite suddenly, yet managed to avoid physically knocking into her. After that I headed into the maze of white tents to find the Media, Entertainment and Arts Alliance stall. I promptly relieved them of a sausage-in-a-bun and a Diet Coke, which was very welcome after spending an hour surrounded by the whiff of frying onions.

After a brief reunion with the aforementioned Steve (opened can of XXXX in one hand, yet-to-be-opened can of XXXX in the other), as well as a catch-up with a more long-lost friend (known to the ages simply as "Doof") - I headed back into the grandstand for a cross with programs. That short and sweet task done, I decided to head back along Wickham Terrace to the flat, so I could pick up my car and head out to the studio.

And so I find myself reminiscing over my day of action. Keep in mind - my overly large backside may have intruded into camera shots at several points along the marching route, so keep an eye on the TV news tonight. There's a chocolate bar in it for anyone who spots me!