We the jury

An old saying goes that the only people exempt from jury duty are lawyers and the insane.

Well thankfully I am neither. Last week I had the dubious pleasure of serving jury duty. This means that out of everyone on the electoral roll, I was one of 60, 000 Victorians who are selected each year to perform this civic duty.

The selection process – “empanelling”

The process of empanelling is mostly random and aims to select and unbiased jury who are reflective of the civic values of society. If you are on the electoral roll then guess what? Chances are you will be called at some stage of your life. You have much better odds of being chosen to serve jury duty than of winning tattslotto.

Just because you are called for jury duty does not mean you will serve on a jury (for a variety of reasons which I’ll go into later). You may defer your summons, as I did initially, for a variety of reasons including having a prepaid holiday or being a primary carer for dependants.

On the day

Entering the county court is akin to going through security at the airport; there’s a fair bit of argy bargy to ensure you are not smuggling in sharp objects or explosives into the building.

All potential jurors sit through a dated introduction video where we are told that having a lawn bowls grand final is NOT a valid reason for excusing yourself from jury duty.

When there is a court case that needs a jury, 30 names are drawn from a box. These 30 people then troop up to the court room to meet the judge, lawyers for the prosecution and defence, and to get a glimpse of the accused. There is another random selection, this time of 12 people. The accused has the right to “challenge” up to 6 of these 12 without stating a reason.

Once empanelled you are given secure access passes to enter the building by a concealed entrance. This enables you to avoid the media packs that hover outside the front door whenever there is a juicy case. Alas my case was not so juicy, and I was not granted my five minutes of fame.

Cone of silence

It should go without saying but as the judge patronisingly reminded us every day, we were NOT to discuss the case with anyone but our jurors inside the jury room. This was to prevent us being swayed by non-evidence. My unwillingness to disclose anything however did not prevent comments from friends such as: “he’s obviously guilty as night and night” and “hang the bastard”...

Summary

I was in court for 7 days – a bit longer than the average trial. The hours were very reasonable: 10.30am-4.15pm excluding weekends and including a lunch break for at least an hour each day.

Overall the experience was an interesting learning opportunity. I can’t say that I’d like to do it again as it too much of a life disruption, but maybe I’ll be ready to serve again when my exemption expires in 3 years time.

Giving up on prince charming

Most girls are conditioned from childhood to expect a prince charming to lead us to our happily ever after. Since this is an unrealistic and potentially harmful fantasy, I thought it would be useful to put together a bit of a guide to help us manage our disappointment.

While I have written this article from a female perspective, this fantasy is by no means limited to women seeking a prince charming. If you yourself are a prince charming waiting for a domestic goddess to float into your life and do your ironing, then get real!

Here are the hard facts:

1.       You may meet prince charming, but he’s not guaranteed to be interested in you!

• Have you lived your life to the full or have you been sitting on the couch eating ice-cream waiting for your prince charming? Wouldn’t you rather go out with someone who has a good circle of friends, a variety of hobbies, life experiences and a good career? Get off your arse blobbo. Put down the spoon. Stop waiting for your life to change and start living.

2.       Prince charming isn’t perfect

• There is no such thing as a perfect guy. Are you perfect? No! All humans are flawed, and that’s what makes relationships so worthwhile. Who wants perfect anyway. Perfect is boring!
• Putting unrealistic ideals on any person in a relationship will only lead to disappointment. When I was in my first relationship I expected doors to be opened for me and the whole royal treatment – boy was I in for a shock. Odds are a 21^st century Australian male won’t open a door for you. He will buy you a beer though (or the first round at least...).
• Even if you do find someone you think is perfect, his charms may wane after a few years. It’s very likely that your prince charming’s pet lizards or his stamp collection will start to grate on your nerves.

3.       Prince charming / aka your future husband wont just appear out of the blue

•  He’s not just going to knock on your door and say “hey princess, I see you’ve been waiting for me on the couch. Let me join you. Oh I see you are in your PJ’s... no matter, you look sexy just how you are”. I used to dismay that I wouldn’t find the ‘man of my dreams’ just living down the street. Only old people live on my street. And most of them are married.

4.       Prince charming won’t solve all your problems, financial or otherwise

• One of the most charming things about Prince charming is his title. He is a prince, he’s made of money. Many girls still hold the view they will ‘marry well’ and this will set them up financially for life. This head-in-the-sand approach will only lead to impoverishment. Don’t rely on anyone for your finances but yourself!
• One person cannot be the panacea for all your ailments, it is too much to ask for.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not suggesting that we all give up on love. On the contrary, I am saying that love and a happy relationship is entirely possible (if not probable) WHEN you give up on the idea of Prince Charming. Set yourself free from this idea, and you never know who you will meet.

For The Empire

The history of man is the history of warfare.

Over 200,000 Australian men died during World War One. There were so many men who perished that there was a generation of women who died unwed. Think of the children who were not born! Think of the inventors, great minds and world changers among them. No doubt the world would be a very different place if the war had not happened.

I will tell you a story about an Australian family during WW1, a typical story in many respects.

Mr. And Mrs. George Mackay of Bendigo had four children: Molly, Eric, Murdoch and Dawn. Dawn was the only member of the family to have children of her own, and I am her direct decent. Both her brothers were drafted into the Infantry Brigade and both managed to survive Gallipoli yet each died later, Murdoch on the western front in Poitiers. Molly lived until her late 90s but like many women of her generation, never married.

Murdoch finished the then equivalent of year twelve when he was just 14. He was 16 when in 1607 he began studying law at Melbourne University, as a resident of Ormond college. He obtained several prizes, honours and scholarships throughout university, and at the age of 20 was awarded his master of laws as he obtained first class honours for the fourth straight year, and won the University scholarship and the Supreme Court Judges’ exhibition.

Admitted to the bar at 21, Murdoch began practising. Three years later he 1915 he appeared in his first High Court Case. Murdoch was married a week before he sailed to war.

Major Mackay was just twenty-five and a half when he fell in the fight for Pozieres Ridge. He had been on active service for over fifteen months and had not been a day absent from duty through sickness or any other cause. When he was killed he was in perfect health, which his mental and physical powers unimpaired.

When Murdoch was killed, his father published a memoir which he entitled “For the Empire”. In it is an unemotional eulogy, which simply states the accomplishments of Murdoch before he was sent to war. Also contained in the booklet sized memoir are printed copies of letters that Murdoch sent from the front, as well as testimonials from fellow soldiers and friends.

In his book ‘The Happy Warrior’, James Burns describes Murdoch thus:

“His bright spirit still tenants the hearts of those who love him. He remains with us as on that day we bade him farewell in all the pride and glory of his young manhood. Age cannot wrinkly his brow nor mar the youthful brightness of his face, sickness cannot now despoil him; he lives imperishably fair, crowned with the garland of immortal youth. And not only to those who love him does his life remain as a perpetual enrichment. In all life laid down at the call of duty there is something imperishable, because sacrificial. He lives in the case for which he laid down his life. We are debtors to him, and to all those gallant sons of the Empire, who for our defence hold not their lives dear to themselves. No life, however humble, thus given, is given in vain. The spirit of it lives in all that is noblest in a nation’s life, and remains a perpetual inspiration to generations yet unborn.”

Even if Murdoch had survived the war I know he would be dead now. But I can't help but feel sad that I will never know him. He died younger than me.  It seems so tragic that he wasn't able to come back to Australia and resume his life, have a career, have children, have grandchildren. His history just stops, in France, in 1917. 

Reading the testimonials and Murdoch’s letters gives me a clue to his personality. In a letter to his family from the front in Murdoch mentions his desire for a return to a normal life;

“my dearest ambition has always been centred round a happy home life rather than in outstanding success in any other direction....I am not taking any but an optimistic view of my present lot, and when this hateful war is over may I be spared to indulge my desire for a quiet and peaceful and very happy home life...”

Murdoch wrote the following just before he was sent to France:

While in France, my family and I took a trip to Posiers (about 2 hours north of Paris) in search of where Murdoch is buried. At the grave site we paid our respects. We laid a poppy next to the grave that marked his name. My father and I walked up to a gardener who was busy keeping the memorial immaculate. Not a blade of grass is out of place. Dad thanked him in English, with tears in his eyes.

There is one other plaque that bears Murdoch’s name- that is at Ormomd college at The University of Mebourne where he was a law student.  After ww1 the people at Ormond had grace to commemorate the study where each past student roomed before they were sent off to their deaths. This serves as a reminder of the boys these soldiers were before they died as men far away in a foreign place.

French for dummies

Wouldn't it be great if you could learn a language by osmosis? That somehow, purely by being in a place, you could absorb foreign words through your pores? As you slept the words would seep into your skin until you were dreaming in another language... If only...

Alas, just being in France has not resulted in me being able to speak French. After 3 days here I am no better than I was a week ago. Yesterday I was able to order various pastries at the boulangerie fairly well (aided by the universal language of pointing and holding up the number of croissant required using my fingers). I came unstuck when I had to ask for pan sans glutain (gluten free bread). They didn't have any, it seemed, and the instructions where I might obtain some were a little trop rapide (too fast) for me to comprendre.

So it seems that like anything worth achieving, learning a language takes effort. That is unless you are a typical 4 year old, who is experiencing advanced prefrontal cortex development. Apparently when this area of the brain develops, children are more easily about to control what language or symbol to attribute to an idea. * Lucky little buggers.

Tragically, I did actually study French at school for 8 years. It was compulsory from prep to year 8. I was even quite good at some point, getting into the finals at the Alliance Francais speaking competition where I recited a poem by Paul Eluard. I abandoned the French language in year 9 in rebellion against my then teacher Mr Dowling. What can I say? I was tired of irregular verbs and singing of the many changing colours of Leon le chameleon. 

Somehow despite my years of compulsory French education, I know more French from listening to the band Art Vs Science (S'il vous plait ma cherie aller tomber la chemise!) and Christina Aguilera (voulez vous coucher avec moi).

In the week before I left to go on my trip I hastily scrubbed up my Francais by listening to Michelle Thomas audio lessons. I was intrigued by the concept of no study, no memorisation, no homework! It sounded effortless to me so I gave it a go. The lessons are really very good, but my plan of listening to all 8 hours of lessons twice over before I left fell by the wayside. Despite my lack of effort I found the lessons very useful and would recommend them to anyone. 

Fortunately around 60% of English words are French. You just need to change the endings and the pronunciation. Par example:

Words in English ending with -ible and -able are the same in French.

possible à possible

table à table

Words in English ending in -ent and -ant come from French. They have the same spelling and the same meaning.

different àdifférent

importantà important

Words in English ending in -ary become -aire in French.

necessary à nécessaire

Voila! You can now speak French.

*Language acquisition of children, http://www.helium.com/items/365752-childrens-ability-to-learn-language, May 30 2007

Loyalty in a cup: the tribal nature of coffee drinking

“Vittoria! Comme stai?” Greets a smiling Italian as she stamps my loyalty card.

“Victoria, ca va? Medium today?” asks a dreadlocked Frenchman.

With three languages in one transaction, you would be forgiven for thinking I am at some sort of international trade fair. I’m actually just at my local coffee place, Nashi, getting my daily soy flat white.

Like many Melbournians, getting my morning coffee has become a bit of a ritual. As you walk into your ‘local’ and are greeted by name, you can’t help but feel welcome. I believe there is a certain smugness you are entitled to when your order is remembered without you having to utter a word. It is a reminder that you are a VIP, a status earned purely for showing up every day.

“Here you go Vittoria. Ciao!” Chirrups Marina, the friendliest Italian I’ve ever encountered.

Taking my prize I sip at the golden liquid. It is smooth and creamy with the familiar kick of caffeine. Ahh those first few sips are the best. I cradle the warm takeaway cup in my hand as I make my way back to the office. All around me people do the same, clutching their coffee and taking furtive gulps as if they are drawing on a lifesaving force. We each hold different coloured cups, each colour representing another cafe, another tribe. I am of the Nashi tribe. I have a brown cup.

What drew me to Nashi was the fact that they use Vita-soy and not Bonsoy. What kept me returning was the friendliness and the proximity to my office. If the barista’s change however, I would consider changing too. Within 5 mins walk from my office I estimate there to be no less than 14 places where I could get my coffee fix, and that doesn’t even include the Nespresso machine we have IN the office.

I wasn’t always a “soy flat white”. For years I was a “skinny latte” (that’s a “skim latte” for you Sydney siders). I made the switch to soy after receiving the devastating news that I was lactose intolerant. After the initial shock wore off, I got used to the taste of soy milk and joined a growing population of soy-milkers. Us “soy flat whites” are quite different from “soy cap” people, who prefer a dusting of chocolate on their coffee. I have a respect for “long blackers” or “espresso drinkers” but I actually don’t know many of them. They are hard-core coffee lovers who refuse to have the purity of the beans tainted by milk. Then there are “Chai latte” people who different all together. Pfft, please.

My coffee addiction started at university, but rather alarmingly, coffee drinkers are getting younger and younger. Walk into any Melbourne cafe and you will no doubt spot a yummy mummy with a fashionably dressed toddler who is sipping on a baby chino.

But coffee, like most addictions, is not cheap. If you spend $3 a day for coffee (usually more for soy milk), each work day you would spend around $780 a year. That’s a LOT of money for a hot drink. That is half the current market price of a gold bullion. Most of us think nothing of paying this. It has become socially acceptable, nay, normal behaviour to shell out this much. If you were less of a coffee snob and instead liked instant coffee (yuck!), for the same price you could purchase 55 jars of Nescafe Gold 500g, that’s around 27kg of coffee!

I have some friends currently participating in Live Below the Line. They are challenging themselves to live on $2 a day for 5 days to raise money and awareness for the Global Poverty Project. How they are going to do this I have no idea. But it most certainly means no coffee. Good luck to them I say! If you want to sponsor their efforts or get more info, check out https://www.livebelowtheline.com/me/hanzbot.

What's in a theme?

In this day and age there is one social phenomenon that cannot be avoided: a themed party.

What’s not to love about a themed party? A themed party is like playing dress-ups when you were a kid, except your mum doesn’t have vito power over your final outfit choice. Also, now you are of drinking age, it is much easier to ‘get in to character’ (or at least to forget who you are for one night).

Like with any good thing (ice cream, a holiday, a first kiss) the anticipation is what makes themed parties extra special.  Good outfits need time to prepare, so the lead up to a themed event can be an exciting time – especially the obligatory trip to Savers (or Opportunity/ 2^nd Shop). Then all is revealed on the night of the party itself, where you get to check out what people are wearing and see the effort they’ve put into their costume.

When hosting, themes are a must in my book, especially if the party is just a regular ‘house party’ of the ‘no particular occasion’ variety. Establishing a theme helps you set the tone of the event, and frames costumes and decorations. In the past three years alone I have thrown or co-hosted the following themed parties:

Blue Train - complete with Thomas the tank engine cups

Halloween – a broad brush costume theme, where people came dressed as scary things or just random things. For this particular occasion I chose to wear a Christmas Pudding outfit. Unfortunately the costume hire place had misplaced the custard neck decoration. This resulted in me looking less like a pudding, and more of a giant poo.

Mad Hatters Tea Party – I aimed for the queen of hearts but ended up looking a bit like a German beer wench. The costume might have been a size too small...

Onesie Just for Funsie – a good excuse to wear something I would never have the guts to wear in public.

Mathletes vs Athletes – had lots of fun painting a black eye on my face.

Mad Men – This was especially fun to decorate. We busted out the cocktail fountains, big boss lolly cigars and fads and had episodes of the tv show playing in the background.

Even my 21^st birthday was black-tie ‘with a touch of hawaii’. Although I have to admit that was more than three years ago.

Stuck for ideas for a themed party and not happy with one of the above? Don’t know why you would be as they were all great ideas...but here are some others I’ve attended in the past:

Politically incorrect (I wore a Gadafi T-shirt), famous couples (I was one half of the Julia/Rudd coupling), glapron (aka glamour apron), traffic light party (where going as an orange ‘just to be social’ is a sure way to get into an argument with your boyfriend, trust me, I learned the hard way). A Disney party, where I dressed as Princess Jasmine so I could wear pyjama pants. Other themed parties attended in the past, 20s, 60s, 70s, 80s (been to a few of these. My favourite outfit was a satin pink puffy dress with gigantic sleeves). Rock, Gangsta, crazy hats, Doctors and Nurses, German themed, Best of Britian, Olympics, When I grow up, Fluro, Nautical, Mafia, Wild Wigs, Jane Austen tea party, Under the Sea, Pirates of the Caribbean...

Impressed with my themed party creds? I certainly feel like I’ve now seen it all. But that is the great thing about a theme – you are only limited by your imagination, so the possibilities are endless.

Sadly however, it is inevitable that there will be a party guest that ‘forgets’. Not embracing a theme is just plain laziness in my opinion.  Don’t be a party pooper. If you are invited to a theme party, appreciate the effort your host has gone to and get dressed up!

A thousand paper cranes

Take a square piece of paper. Fold it into a triangle, then a diamond, then a kite, then a mushed kite, then another diamond, fold it again, twist, flip, turn and finesses. Hey presto! You’ve got yourself a paper crane.

 How do I know this? For the past few months I have been folding origami paper cranes. My goal is to get to 1000. An ancient Japanese legend promises that anyone who folds a thousand origami cranes will be granted a wish by a crane, such as long life or recovery from illness or injury. I intend to wish for good health for a friend of mine who is enduring a course of chemotherapy – and not for the first time in her life.

Before I continue I must give credit to my sister. Without her help I would still be around the 500 mark, cursing myself for having decided to do this. Our apartment has become a paper crane making factory. The coffee table is littered with hundreds of pieces of origami paper in green, orange and yellow. We first put the completed cranes in a salad bowl, and when that overflowed we put them in a tub.

Now I’m pretty good at maths, so soon after I started I realised that if I was going to finish this project anytime this year I would have to make more than one crane a day. I aimed for roughly 10 cranes a day, which I’ve pretty much exceeded as I got hooked on the TV show Revenge – turns out origami and TV watching complement each other nicely.

 I’m getting to a point where I can fold cranes in my sleep. I usually take a stash of paper with me wherever I go. I have folded cranes on the train, in church, over coffee, at work and on the walk TO work (making the best use of idle hands during my 4 minute commute).

Some of you might be aware of the story of Sadako Sasaki, a Japanese girl who was two years old when she was exposed to radiation from the atomic bombing of Hiroshima during World War II. Sasaki soon developed leukaemia and, at age 12, inspired by the Senbazuru legend, began making origami cranes with the goal of making one thousand. In the book Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes, she folded only 644 before her death; in her honour, her friends completed the rest and buried them all with her. There is a statue of Sadako at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum and to this day people leave strings of Senbazuru (1000 cranes threaded together).

When I finish I will likely make a senbazuru. I’ve also considered gifting them in a large jar/vase, or even framing them. I know it is not something that you can keep forever – they’d fade and look pretty shabby after a while.* I just hope that my gift conveys the message of “get well soon”!

* At the Peace Museum in Hiroshima they make recycled paper out of the thousands of cranes that are left at the foot of the Sadako statue.

These beautiful images were sourced from http://www.favim.com/ and http://www.flickr.com/