Sunday Stealing: Ten Random Questions

It's time to get the questions out of the way. I've had a good day. I managed to finish the cleaning project at the temple, which has taken me five days (spending two hours a day there, because if I did it in one shot I would have gone mad.) I saw a not so good play last night, a good one today and the washing dried on the line. Oh, and after five days, they've fixed the hot water. Life is good. 

Now I just need to get myself a job (Hopefully the interview I've got on Monday goes well.)

Anyway, here are this week's questions, brought by Sunday Stealing.

1. What was the last gift you received?

It was my birthday a few weeks ago. I received a voucher for a local bookshop and a voucher for a local cinema chain. I think that's all I received this year. This is fine, I want for nothing. 

2. Who did you last hang out with?

I went for dinner and the see a play with Jay last night. Jay is also my gym buddy, so I see a bit of her. 

3. Do you often lose the remote?

Yes, but it's normally found under my knitting or on my messy desk. 

4. When did you last check Facebook?

About five minutes ago. Checking on a friend who's in a body building competition. 

5. Are there scented candles in the room you're in?

Yes. Quite a few with different scents. I'm burning my green one at the moment. Burning green candles is a witch trick for bringing in abundance. 

6. Next time you leave the house, where will you be going?

That will either be early tomorrow morning to go to the gym, or a little bit later to go and meet Blarney at the cinema where we're going to see The Social Reckoning. It all depends if I can get myself out of bed in the morning. 

7. Do you know anyone named Steven or Stephen or Steve or Stevie?

Ah yes, I do. Steven is the child of an English friend of mine, who was named after the Australian Cricketer, Steve Waugh. I know a couple of Stephens - one is one of a partnership, Richard and Stephen. I had a Stephen who was my boss in a recent contract. I also know a couple of Steves - I'm not sure of their spelling, but I'm sure one is a Greek Stephanos - the other, I'm not sure. Oh, and there is Steve the builder at the site across the road. Most Stevens/Stephens/Steves are middle aged engineers. 

I don't know any Stevies.

8. Which do you prefer: macaroni salad or potato salad?

Look, I like both. A good home-made potato salad is gold - but am very fold of the pasta salad that you get at the supermarkets over here. It's glorious and addictive. 

9. Do you have an ice maker in your refrigerator door?

No. Too expensive, needs to be plumbed in - and I rent. My fridge is far more utilitarian. 

10. When you woke up this morning, did you get up straightaway or lounge a bit?

I'm a ditherer in the morning, especially now as I'm 'between jobs'. But I was up and about around 9 this morning after some doom scrolling. 

Today's song:

Theatre Review: Eliza

The Play: Eliza by Tom Holloway

The Theatre: Southbank Theatre

The Company: Melbourne Theatre Company

Runtime: One hour 30 minutes

Until: 31 October

Stars: 2.5

I've had a full subscription with the MTC for many years. Every year, of the ten plays, there will be a couple which you adore. They stay with you. They're fantastic. Then there will be four or five which you enjoy - not to the same extent as the great ones, but they're still good. Then there's one or two you will have to dig deep to find things you like. And one will have you wanting to leave at the interval. 

Eliza is the play I wish had an interval. It's an hour and a half that I'm never going to get back. 

This just didn't do it for me. I get what they're trying to do, but nah. Sorry, didn't work for me. A play about AI. Yeah, it's a bit fraught to begin with. They say it's a psychological thriller. Me, I was bored. It was a talkfest with characters you couldn't get into. It's called Eliza from the references to Pygmalion and the morphing of Eliza Doolittle from a flower-seller to a lady. In this case, Eliza is a computer program changing into generative A.I. 

The MTC describe this as follows: 

"Dr Joseph Weizenbaum (Dan Spielman), a brilliant professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, carries the trauma of a childhood fleeing Nazi Germany. When he begins testing a new computer program designed to simulate talk therapy – using details of the private life of his secretary Becky (Manali Datar) – the lines between code and connection begin to blur.

The project is lauded by his research assistant (Hamish Michael) and his colleagues, but as wider interest in his breakthrough intensifies, Weizenbaum begins to question the true cost of his innovation.

As society grapples with the ethics of rapidly advancing and increasingly invasive technologies, director Paige Rattray (Black is the New White) delivers an urgent and unnerving depiction of the birth of AI."

Although there were others in the audience who gave this a standing ovation, I was glad to get out of the auditorium. For me, the story fell flat. Sure, it's early in the season, but I was bored. Working in I.T.  I could see what they were trying to do, but it fell flat. The three actors gave this there best, but for me, it didn't hit. There were too many Orwell references, ad infinitum. It was circular. Sure, we know now the joys of generative AI, and this was the start of it, but this was trying to do too much with too little. 

I did like the set. I did like that the stagehands came out for applause at the end of the night. I like the murmuration light show about three-quarters the way through (which went on a bit too long) but yeah, this one was not for me. 

Some obviously liked this a lot more than Jay and I did (Jay slept for most of the first act). I was struggling to stay engaged. 

Just because it didn't hit for me doesn't mean others won't like it. However, I can't recommend this. There are better things on and around Melbourne at the moment. 

Today's song:

Caveat Emptor

 I'm wising up to the insidious nature of online subscriptions.

Buy something. Get signed up for a subscription which you barely know you're doing. Forget about the subscription. Get stung for an amount of money you hadn't budgeted for. Get stuck with a service or product you don't want or need. 

Today's case in point - Adobe. I don't have an Adobe licence. I don't mind paying for a limited licence for a short time, like today, when I needed Adobe to make some changes to a PDF file. This isn't something I do often, but rather than find a sub-par online cheap fake, I may as well sign up for a week's trial for a dollar. Makes sense to me. My document gets updated quickly and easily with the good software, then the licence goes away. 

WRONG

They've also signed me up for a monthly subscription, not only for the Adobe suite, but their AI offering too. 

I just need to fix a document. Sheesh. A ten-minute job. They want me to pay $30 a month for the Adobe, and another $12 a month for the AI. 

Thankfully, it was caught in time. Once I'd done the task, I logged back into the Adobe website, cancelled the two subscriptions, made sure I had emails saying the subscriptions were cancelled, and then breathed a sigh of relief.

It just seems more and more vendors are signing you up for these subscriptions. The Adobe crew were thankfully very upfront about the subscription. Not every purchase is like that. Often the first thing you know that you've been signed up for one of these subscriptions is when the funds come out of your account. 

Caveat emptor - buyer beware. 

Today's song:

One Week, Three Authors

 One of the best gifts I've ever received is a voucher for the Wheeler Centre. "The Wheeler Centre?" you ask. It's a hub dedicated to books, ideas and writing, where writers and their audience can connect. Just must sort of place. 

The voucher was a regift - my friend's daughter received it from her work, she gave it to her mum, and her Mum passed it on to me - for which I will be eternally grateful.

What nobody tells you is that writers are great people who tell fantastic stories and can talk underwater with a mouth full of marbles. The Wheeler Centre regularly puts authors in conversation with other writers, who sit down and chew the fat, normally about the author's new book and the themes within. 

Every time I come away from these sessions absolutely blown away, not only by the ideas, but the generosity extended by the authors. Most times I'll come away from with a book as well. I mean, it would be rude not to. Besides, it's not hoarding if it's books. 

So, this last week, I ended up using the last of this voucher. Last Tuesday was the talk at the Town Hall with Magda Szubanski. Last Thursday was the launch of Carrie Tiffany's new book, The Lady with the Dog, in conversation with Helen Garner. Last night I got to see Andrew O'Hagan talk with Marieke Hardy about his new book, On Friendship - a series of essays on the subject. 

What gets me is how generous these writers are. They delve into their own lives, their ideas and their processes. They provoke thoughts and emotions. They inspire and entertain. They make me feel like I can write a book too. 

I've already written about Magda Szubanski's wonderful session at the Town Hall. She is a true legend and icon. 

Carrie Tiffany is an old teacher of mine. Her writing is amazing. Like Claire Keegan, the Irish writer, she writes small books with a huge impact. Being in the same room as Helen Garner is also very special. They launched the book with the snap of a Scotch Finger biscuit. Very Carrie. Very cool. It's always good to connect with other writers.

Andrew O'Hagan is a Scottish writer from great Glasgow. I could sit and listen to him for hours. His latest book, On Friendship, is a collection of essays on the greater theme of friendship. O'Hagan appears to be a man very skilled at friendship. He spoke of many friends, of how making people feel seen, of holding presence, of being there, and friendship's ability to morph, grow and disappear is unique to all friendships as one of the wonders of the world. It was a wonderful talk. 

I bought a copy of his last novel, Caledonian Road. I've read a couple of his books - Mayflies, which looks at the end of a special friendship, is a great, thought-provoking read. As he was doing a signing, I popped up. May as well say hello, and thanks for his wonderful work. 

"It's lovely, to meet you," he said as he held out a hand.

"And you, though we have met before."

"Yes, you were here at a writer's festival 25-years-ago. I was volunteering and I drove you from the hotel down to the venue. You were texting Zadie Smith. You're one of my best author stories." (This goes down with being stuck in traffic with David Malouf and saying to Graeme Blundell that my father would be very pleased I got to drive around Alvin Purple.)

O'Hagan exudes the air of the incredibly decent man. 

I walked away, inspired, and happy. 

Today's song: 

No Hot Water

The curse of our block has struck this side of the driveway. 

It came as a text message from my downstairs neighbour yesterday morning. It appears someone finally looked into the faint gas smell you'd occasionally detect in the stairwell.

"Hey Pand, they've shut off the hot water. It seems whoever did the recent repairs botched it and we're lucky the whole thing didn't blow up."

Joy. 

When you think about it, we're spoiled. Generations, eons even, have done without hot water. I know that my grandparents would have had to manually heat water daily for bathing and other household jobs. 

We've just gone soft. I've gone soft. The hot water in this flat has always been good and reliable. There was no notice that the hot water service might blow up the units. 

Regardless, it's been over 24 hours since we've had hot water in the flat. I've got very good at boiling the kettle. The dicky bird bath, as my mother used to call it, has become my best friend.

Thankfully, it's not too cold at the moment. Filling up the bathroom sink with hot water, give yourself a sponge bath, when quickly rinse off with the cold before giving yourself a wipe over with the last of the warm water. It's not ideal, but it does the job. 

There's always a shower at the gym. 

I might be able to bum a shower off friends. 

We've just received the following from the body corporate: 

So, there's nine flats without hot water. Mine is one of them. 

Speaking to the downstairs neighbour, it once this has all passed the committee, this probably isn't going to happen until sometime next week. 

I just have to remind myself that I'm lucky to be off work, I have an active gym membership, understanding friends and a working kettle. Also, as a tenant, I don't have to pay for this. 

I tell myself it's a first world problem. But an annoying one, for somebody who normally showers twice a day. 

Today's song:

Lists

I am part-Virgo, therefore, my life revolves around lists. I'm also ADHD, which means if it doesn't make the list, there is a good chance the activity will fall into the ether, never to be seen again, and even then, it might not get done. 

The lists have different ranks of importance.

There's my daily must-do list which is in place while I'm between jobs:

• An hour of exercise
• An hour of job hunting
• An hour of cleaning / spring cleaning / household chores
• And an hour of writing

It means things fall into a routine and I feel like I've accomplished something. 

With the cleaning there's the ten things rule - can I list ten things that I've done, or put away, or sorted out. It's amazing how much can get done this way (I'm on thing number five at the moment). 

I've got list of things that need to be done at the temple. While I'm off and we're between cleaners, I may as well get paid for doing the job - it's well overdue - and it's a big job:

• Bathroom floors (upstairs and down)
• Clean the toilets (5 in all)
• Clean the sinks in the bathrooms
• Dust all the surfaces in the bathrooms
• The kitchen floor
• The kitchen surfaces. 
• Mop the stairs. 
• Mop out the dining rooms.
• All surfaces in the dining room
• Hoover the temple (downstairs)
• Dust all of the seats in the temple (and there are lots of them)
• Hoover the temple (downstairs)
• Dust all of the seats in the temple (and there are lots of them)
• Hoover the office.
• Dust the office. 

And I know I've forgotten something - however, being fizzy of brain, I've not got to this yet, mainly because the procrastination that comes from my brain asking:

• Where do I start? 
• Do I maybe do certain rooms at a time? 
• What am I going to listen to while cleaning?
• Is my bluetooth speaker charged up? 
• What if somebody is trying to get me? 
• Should I do this in one day or spread it over a couple (there is not rush)
• What about parking? 
• Will this blow up my hoover?
• Does this mean I can get something from the bakery down the road? 
• And how do I stop the side quests which might have me sitting in the office doing ritual?

Putting all of this down has helped a lot. I've done the job hunting today, I'm seeing Cleo the trainer tonight and I've done a heap of washing and ironing, so I'm well down the list. I've also:

• Contacted the estate agent about the roaches
• Rage-baited the cat
• Read some of my novel (while rage baiting the cat)
• Whined about the fact the hot water has been turned off and having to take a dicky bird bath
• And thought about walking down to the chemist. 

The between jobs thing is exhausting. 

But I've got my lists. 

Today's song: 

The AI Interview

Interviewing is hard enough. Interviewing for a computer screen is diabolical.

As a part of my daily looking for work effort today had me firing off an email to a contact a friend had provided, sent in a couple of applications to jobs that seemed half suitable and procrastinated about this online video interview.

Yes, this is my scatter gun approach to finding work, but you never know when your CV might get in front of the right person giving you an opening into the right job. 

But I procrastinated about the video interview. I took down the recycling. I went for a long walk. I read my book. I did some crochet. And I avoided the looming 9 p.m. deadline for this interview. I'd only had three passive-aggressive emails to do the bloody thing. 

(Okay, I'll admit, I'm not overly enamoured with the company - but this is good for the interviewing skills). 

I finally got back from my walk, I showered, brushed out my hair, put on a bra and sat down in front of the computer. 

Sure, I get why some companies want to do their preliminary interviews this way - stock questions, you get to do what I call the 'two-headed check" making sure that whoever is in front of them is basically presentable. However, it's very impersonal. You're introduced to the process by an AI generated talking head, then you get on with the questions - on which you're given between one and three minutes to answer.  You also get to chance to review and re-record, if necessary. 

If I'm honest, it's probably not the job for me - mainly the sector is one I've not worked for - not that this stops me for applying. At the end of the day, it's an experience and if I get through to the next round, we'll see what happens. 

Regardless, this isn't my favourite way of interviewing. It's incredibly impersonal. You can't ask questions. You don't build a rapport with the people you have to win over. Sorry, it's not for me. 

Anyway, onwards I say. I'll be working soon. The right thing will come along. All will be well. 

I keep reminding myself that I've only been 'between jobs' since Wednesday evening. 

Today's song: