Sydney Parking

What's a girl to do?

As you well know, we're driving the entire family down to Sydney (with some timely gigs and sanity stops along the way) but already the dilemma has arisen: what to do with the CAR?!

That is, we're staying with my auntie in Glebe, which, last time I stayed there, greeted every street-parked car with a smashed in windscreen and a coat of graffiti. Now, now that I'm not into turning everyday items into works of art (this is how I justify the horrific state of my house), but...I would like the option of being actually able to transport the family home after all the Sydney stuff is said and done.

So...I'm turning to you, my blogging buddies! Should we:

a) resign ourselves to circumstance, park there anyway and hope for the best;

b) smash the windscreens and paint up the car ourselves, in a cunning tactic of reverse psychology (or mechanical homeopathy, depending on how you look at it);

c) fork out hefty dollars for an actual safe car-park;

d) cancel the tour and drive to Cairns;

e) other.

Oh, by the way, if you have any actual legitimate way of helping us out with this dilemma, please do drop me a line at contact@jennywynter.com Ta.

Okay, okay, I'll spill the beans already!

You guys.

You and your enthusiasm, your encouragement and your insatiable urge to flatter...one of these days my head's just going to inflate so much I'll be needing my very own ozone layer. So please, for all of our sakes...stop now.

So for those of you who asked (thanks rn_buffoon) the gig went very nicely indeed. Particularly considering that I rocked up feeling so frighteningly fatigued that for a moment I doubted my ability to actually make it through. But...enough whingeing. As usual, the adrenalin kicked in and got me through - man, if only they could bottle that stuff. Oh hang on, they can. But sorry to say, I'm really not the 'stab a needle into my heart' kinda gal.

Anyway, back to the point: there was a very broad mix of people - a massive turnout, actually - artists, kiddies aged from 2 upwards, grandparents, parents, people who fit into all of the above categories and everything in between. Needless to say, I kept it clean, even substituting relatively cleanities like 'making love' to 'getting friendly' - those of you who've seen me perform Dole Queue Girl will know what I'm talking about. The rest of you: consider your curiosity piqued.

Had a great time, brought a few people onstage for a bit of a chat (including two of the CUTEST little kiddies ever, one of whom wore a tuxedo on his top half and jeans on his bottom) and then proceeded to make up a few songs based on my interview findings - including classics such as "It Ain't Easy Painting Boxes" (apt, given the awards ceremony was for artwork which people had painted on City Council traffic signal boxes).

Then right at the end of the night, I unleashed Mrs Sorenson for her first ever public appearance (well, since she first came on-stage in a play I wrote years ago...but that's a whole other story I'll share another time) where she read a closing poem to all the artists. And Cath from Artforce, who organised the whole gig, has already requested a copy of said poem to put up on their website. Ah, Mrs S...I just love her. And yes, Huggies, I will post some video footage of the old bird online soon, I promise.

The highlight of my night though, was when I was off-stage and an adorable little girl in a polka-dotted dress and light brown big-tails, probably about the same age as Ella, came up and tugged at my shirt. She looked up at me with her enormous brown and hugely sincere eyes and whispered something.

"What was that?" I knelt down so I could hear her.

She spoke slowly, softly and deliberately:

"You're a very nice singer."

Now if that doesn't rock the world, then the world just ain't worth rockin.

Stuck for Inspiration

Hmmmm...it's not like me to be stuck for words, but I'm afraid today I am. Maybe it's just cos my throat is sore and thus I'm a little out of sorts and nervous that it'll hold out for my gig tonight! AAGH!

Tonight's going to be interesting - I'm MCing the Artforce Awards, a Brisbane City Council initiative whereby members of the community paint their works of art on the Traffic Signal Boxes. I've been given the full go-ahead to be as creative, musical and crazy as I want in my entertaining duties, so I'm rather excited. Particularly as I've decided to unleash ZZZ's increasingly popular Mrs Sorenson in person!!!

We shall see...

But until then, it's adieu from me and my tonsils.

Wish us both luck, won't you?

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Hot Date

So last night Tim and I had our first hot date in way too long. Slap, slap, slap! (Sorry, just having a little tustle with my wrists).

Then, mid-date, something a little weird happened.

Picture us: strolling through the markets at Southbank. Suddenly, from behind us, a shriek...

Woman: Aaaah! It's the comedian!

Friend of woman: Oh my God!

We turn around to check out the action - turns out there's four ladies. For the sake of ease, let's call them Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha.

They walk up to us. This hasn't really happened before - I mean, I've had people recognise me, but not in a 'oh my God!' kinda way. I don't really know whether to smile and just keep walking or stand there to soak it up. I look at Tim for help. He just smiles and holds my hand: we opt for the middle way - standing but slowly backing away.

Samantha: We saw you a few weeks ago at the Comedy Club!

Charlotte: YOU (pointing) were hilarious!

Me: Thanks so much.

Miranda: We were the ones down the front!

Me: Oh.

Samantha: You know, with the Elmo toy!

Me: Oh yeah! I remember you now... (I actually did.)

(Meanwhile, they're being so loud that people nearby are starting to stare, wondering what the fuss is about. I look to Tim: he's just standing looking smug. He tells me later that he loved feeling like a rockstar)

Carrie: (grabbing my arm) Oh, just let me touch you!

(Okay, NOW I'm officially getting freaked out.)

I smile, mutter something about feeling like a complete feral tonight - which they chuckle very loudly at - and then we back away into the night.

Tim: So did you love that? I would have loved that.

Me: Yeah, I guess.

I start to giggle uncontrollably.

Me: That was so surreal.

It takes me almost an hour to stop shaking.

Comedy tour, JAM, Cinema a la Hitchhiker, Melbourne Comedy Fest, CDs and the glow.

My apologies for the delay between blogs - the upside of this is that I've been quite busy in the real world. Well, not really an upside so much as an irrefutable fact.

So here you go, a concise update of breaking news:

- I'm feeling rather overwhelmed with the amount of stuff to tie up and work out before heading off on tour. It's only TWO WEEKS (approximately: who can be bothered with details?) away. Part of me is completely excited at hitting a new comedy scene and hanging with the fam, the other part is terrified at the prospect of coming back in need of shock therapy.

By the way, if you are keen on checking out more on the tour, please check out www.jennywynter.com There's fresh news and gigs - Wyntertainment is becoming a way of life.

- am hugely hugely enjoying jamming comedy stuff with my mates, Marc & Ash, in a top secret and extremely classified comedy operation known 'officially' as JAM. Stay tuned...

- I have FINALLY finished the editing of the improv feature film demo DVD Cinema a la Hitchhiker - WOHOO!!! I mean, I actually finished it quite a few months back, but then technology being technology - and Jenny being Jenny - I had a couple of things to fix up, plus have actually laid down the musical sound-track. So...fingers crossed this project should be tied up and ready to make its way out into the world to seduce investors with shameless...uh....seduction.

- am currently making big decisions for 2007, including whether to do the Melbourne Comedy Festival thing (which up to this point I've been gung-ho on) or just save the money and put it towards going to Edinburgh Fringe in August. That way I could also get a round-the-world ticket (if you're spending the $$ you might as well add on a couple more hundred and do the whole shebang) and put my show on in New York & LA on the way back. I need an advisor so badly it hurts!!

- my first CD should be ready within the next couple of weeks - not sure if I'll be sorted to sell them online by then, but they'll definitely be in the Festival Shop at Woodford and online as soon as I can sort it all out. Ah. Sometimes I feel like every day is just another 'to-do' list.

...and this news just in:

- I've started to glow.
















From front left: Ash, Brad, the CM and Mezza, aka the improv troupe formerly known as "A Streetcar Named Whatever"

Whaddya know? I like the tikes.

I'm just loving the kids at the moment. Which is damn pleasant.

You see, thanks to day-care day changes (some of which is my own doing, some of which just comes down to good old-fashioned lack of vacancies), I now only have one, that's right, ONE child-free day per week. Or, to put it another way, I have at least one child with me for six days of the week.

The hugest up-side of this is that the kids' behaviour has improved immensely, thus making them a LOT more fun to hang with- plus I find myself actually enjoying the more relaxed start to the mornings, where we can laze in bed (well, more accurately, I laze in bed while they tear the house to pieces, but at least I've trained them to tear it to pieces with some consideration on the noise front) and ease our way into the day. Yes, much much nicer than the whole running-out-the-door-with-toast-stuck-up-my-nostrils-to-make-it-to-daycare-by-9.30-and-not-be-exposed-for-the-incompetent-parent-I-am type start.

And...shock horror! We're actually having fun together. Yesterday, for instance...I finally made cut-out cookies with Ella, something I've been procrastinating since she discovered the ability to grip. And it was fun! Sure, the actual cookies crumbled to pieces cos domesticity and I are like Michael Jackson and Lisa-Marie Presley: never meant to go together. BUT... the whole 'mummy/daughter bonding' thing? Big tick.

I never thought I'd be one of those mummies, you know, "motherhood is so fulfilling, tra la la la" and so on - on the average day the only thing I am filled full with are thoughts of escape - but lately, despite myself, I'm really digging my kiddlies. (Now I've said that, of course, I've probably jinxed myself - they'll probably break into my room tonight and rub snot all over my sleeping bod.)

But for now. Little Homies = Pretty Cool.

That's the upside.

The downside? I've never felt so exhausted in my entire l-

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Whaddya know? I like the tikes.

I'm just loving the kids at the moment. Which is damn pleasant.

You see, thanks to day-care day changes (some of which is my own doing, some of which just comes down to good old-fashioned lack of vacancies), I now only have one, that's right, ONE child-free day per week. Or, to put it another way, I have at least one child with me for six days of the week.

The hugest up-side of this is that the kids' behaviour has improved immensely, thus making them a LOT more fun to hang with- plus I find myself actually enjoying the more relaxed start to the mornings, where we can laze in bed (well, more accurately, I laze in bed while they tear the house to pieces, but at least I've trained them to tear it to pieces with some consideration on the noise front) and ease our way into the day. Yes, much much nicer than the whole running-out-the-door-with-toast-stuck-up-my-nostrils-to-make-it-to-daycare-by-9.30-and-not-be-exposed-for-the-incompetent-parent-I-am type start.

And...shock horror! We're actually having fun together. Yesterday, for instance...I finally made cut-out cookies with Ella, something I've been procrastinating since she discovered the ability to grip. And it was fun! Sure, the actual cookies crumbled to pieces cos domesticity and I are like Michael Jackson and Lisa-Marie Presley: never meant to go together. BUT... the whole 'mummy/daughter bonding' thing? Big tick.

I never thought I'd be one of those mummies, you know, "motherhood is so fulfilling, tra la la la" and so on - on the average day the only thing I am filled full with are thoughts of escape - but lately, despite myself, I'm really digging my kiddlies. (Now I've said that, of course, I've probably jinxed myself - they'll probably break into my room tonight and rub snot all over my sleeping bod.)

But for now. Little Homies = Pretty Cool.

That's the upside.

The downside? I've never felt so exhausted in my entire l-

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Poor Britney

Oh boy. This is probably old news to some, but I have only just stumbled across it: a quite private (no, not in that way) home movie of Britney Spears.

Watching it, I went from perplexed to amused to guilty - there comes a point where you feel like you shouldn't be watching, but then you just can't help yourself. In fact, I feel a little bit bad about even contemplating sharing it.

But obviously not too bad.

Conversations of the Day

***
Me: "You're gorgeous, Ella."
Ella: "Don't call me gorgeous."
Me: "Do you know what gorgeous means?"
Ella: "What?"
Me: "It means 'beautiful.'"
A huffy sigh.
Ella: "Alright, call me gorgeous, then."
***
Tim: "Cay-man!"
Caleb: "I not Cay-man. I Super-man!"
***

Oh and the full version of "One Night in Labour" is now online - if you want to check it out, the pleasure is all mine. No, really.

One Night in Labour (full version)

Obsessions

I've realised that yet again, comedy has become more than a fun thing I enjoy - it's become an obsession. It's like every minute of the day I'm looking for punch-lines, making notes for material, improvising songs on my head...in short, I can't find the off-switch.

Oh, and speaking of which...

Comedy for a cause. Dig it.

Come along (if you're in Brisbane: for those of you in Canada and USA...no pressure)

So yes, comedy. It's quite an enjoyable obsession, but then I suppose that's the nature of them, isn't it?

My hubby has long been flitting from obsession to obsession himself, the latest one (though it has been a recurring issue for many years now) being chess.

So comedy and chess. Both running rife in this household, and both probably pretty harmless when you compare them to the obsessions you could have.

But I'm curious - what are you guys obsessed with? Is it a problem for you, or do you just accept - and embrace - them?

Okay, time to fess up

So about this 'worst drought in history' we're having: it's all my fault.

Every time I do my washing you see, every freaking time, the heavens start rumbling in preparation for their downpour. And this year, well...I haven't been doing a lot of washing.

Well, that's not entirely true. I've been doing a LOT of it, just not frequently. I'm more of the 'save it all up and then do twelve loads in a day' type mummy.

I know, I know, genius.

And each and every one of my wash-a-thons has been rewarded by a storm. Including today. Thus here I sit, a near-full blog entry upstairs, a near-empty washing pile downstairs and big grey clouds brewing in the background.

So to Brisbane, Toowoomba and all you others contemplating drinking your own sewage thanks to the water crisis...I apologise heartily.

I will try to do better in 07.

Gallantry is Back

So we're back in action: phone's working, internet's working, communications are back on track.

As is gallantry.

Tonight, you see, I let the little needle on the petrol metre slip that little bit too far (what can I say? I like to live on the edge) and next thing you know, the car's slowing to a halt in the middle of Highgate Hill.

In my sleep-deprived stupour, I somehow resist the urge to fall into a blithering pile of messiness - after all, I have no desire to be arrested as a traffic hazard - and instead pop the boot, get out of the car, call instructions to Ella and pull out the pram in preparation for the trek down to the petrol station.

Next thing you know, a rather nice looking RAV pulls up beside me, out of which a rather nice looking man - complete with British accent - leans, saying "Need a hand?"

*Note to reader: from this point on said rescuer shall be referred to as James Bond.

"Uh, I've just run out of petrol," I stammer, still wrestling with the pram.

"Hmmm..." says James, then points his finger down towards the local station and raises his eye-brows as if to say "it will be open, yes?"

"Yes!" I say a little too delightedly, then tone it down. "I think it's still open."

James flicks on his indicator without missing a beat. "You stay here. I'll be back."

Hasta la Vista, Baby.

Okay, sorry, wrong popular culture reference.

I sit back in the car, relieved - not only has my Good Samaritan saved the day but the kids are actually dealing with this hiccup with uncharacteristic cool.

Minutes later, James Bond returns, does his thing with the jerry-can, (while I stand by making lame jokes and thanking him profusely), refuses to accept any money for his expenses incurred and then disappears into the night with a smile and a beep.

Well, okay...just a smile.

And for a moment, I think, if it weren't for me being sweaty and stinky from a full day out, if it weren't for the car being full of so much crap it's a virtual drowning hazard, if it weren't for the hubby at home and the two kids trundled in the back-seat...this coulda almost been romantic.

Whoa I'm still alive...

I've always wanted an excuse to quote Eddie Vedder in context.

And that was it.

Rest assured I am still very much alive and kicking - unlike my internet access. Thank you for the overwhelming number of e-mails querying my whereabouts. Net resuscitation shall commence today and hopefully we'll find a pulse sometime this afternoon.

Until then, it's adieu from me and this overpriced net cafe.

x

Because it's Friday

I'm taking a leaf out of my mate Gempires blog (translation = blatantly ripping off the idea) and doing a Good Weekend style interview. Why not? It's almost the weekend and hopefully it will be good.

My earliest memory is…sucking on a bottle of Coke. No wonder my teeth are screwed.

My first relationship was…with Christopher at kindergarden. We used to fully pash and everything (as a movie geek from birth I was well educated in the art of open-mouth kissing) until I dumped him for lifting up my skirt during our affection-sprees. Then I got in trouble from my kindy teacher for making him cry.

I wish I’d never worn…oh boy, where to begin? There was the bubble skirt with polka-dots, there was the Kylie-style hat with the top cut off to make way for the hair, and let's not even mention the fluoro two-piece (bike pants and boob tube) that clipped together with braces...yes, please...I have worked very hard to suppress all that so let's keep it that way. Moving on.

My mother told me…to marry your best friend, cos a best friend won't hurt you but a lover will. She also told me to avoid crowded places in Melbourne in case of terrorist attacks; I quote "especially the mall."

I wish I had…a little leprechaun following me everywhere whose mission on earth was to massage my back and feet.

My most humiliating moment was…just yesterday, actually, when in an attempt to play 'good mummy' I decided to play soccer in thongs (note: don't do this, people). One minute Ella's kicking me the ball, the next minute my thong's all twisted (note to Americans: I'm talking about the shoe-variety) and the minute after that, I'm spreadeagle...in front of our entire local cricket club AND on a patch of prickles, nonetheless. My hands and arms are still covered in red blotches. So the moral of the story: don't bother trying to ease your mummy-guilt. It can only end in pain.

At home I cook…as little as possible.

My last meal would be…an all-you-can-eat buffet, cos then I could just keep on eating and delay impending death. Sure, I'd look like Moby Dick, but I would be alive, honey.

I’m very bad at…making popcorn. No kidding, it burns 100% guaranteed, even when I actually stay in the kitchen.

When I was a child…I wrote blatantly plagiarised versions of other people's books (I remember a particularly tittilating version of "Winnie the Pooh and the Blue Balloon" or something) and actually got good marks for them. This was back in grade two, when plagiarism was just considered part of learning, I guess.

The book that changed my life is…How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie. My mum gave it to me when I was eight. (There's an entire hour of comedy right there, I know it!)

It's not fashionable, but I love…Kylie.

Friends say I am…happy.

The song I’d like played at my funeral is...the theme from The Muppet Show. Oh, and "Won't You Be My Koala?"

If only I could…stop shamelessly self-promoting.

The last big belly laugh I had was…two nights ago, with my improvised comedy mates Ash and Marc - we've been doing some comedy jams and filming them (they'll be coming online soon!) and both those dudes make me laugh so hard I come home feeling like I've born a small child.

What I don’t find amusing is…childbirth. While I'm in it, that is. Afterwards...what a riot!

I’m always being asked…if my improvised songs are actually made up on the spot. They are.

If I wasn’t me…I'd be...you? What a nonsensical question. Gees, doesn't anyone take things seriously round here?

At the moment I’m listening to…the sound of my hubby bumbling through the house. Oh, and lately I've been listening to a wicked chick from Sydney called Melanie Horsnell - we interviewed her on Zed earlier this year and I think her album just rocks!

My favourite work of art is…my kids. (Betchya didn't see that one coming)

If I were a car I’d be…a Volkswagen Beetle with roof-racks. Big ones.

I often wonder...if I should stop wasting my time blogging and actually get some freakin work done.

Well aren't you guys a lovely bunch!

One day, one DAY, I tell you(!) after blogging about it and somehow the "Won't You Be My Koala" clip is at number one, ONE, I tell you(!) on FameWave.

Oh, YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You really are too much.

Anyway, so this isn't just another shameless self-promoting post (who, moi?) allow me to switch to 'self-obsessed Jenny' and share with you my day in a nutshell:

- woke up far too early to make it to my first ever chiropractic appointment. Any scepticism I had about chiropractors disolved within minutes. I won't go on, because what am I? A Chiropracevanglist? I think not. But...it was cool and I eagerly await being straightened up to a point where I can lift my hefty son without my legs going numb.

- made the stupid move of starting to watch a borrowed LOST DVD during the kids nap-time, then of course, couldn't stop watching by the time they'd woken up. So, I set them up with some crayons, paper, a bowl of water and a fluffy toy (mother of the year, eat your heart out) and polished off the entire DVD. But now I just feel lazy and in suspense.

- am trying to muster up the motivation to actually do something productive with the kids this afternoon that might make me feel like a better mummy. This may be tough though, as both dinner and our overflowing laundry are beckoning...

Stay tuned for more exciting adventures in domesticity! Will the action never end?

200 Posts Old!

What a momentous occasion!

And it's my little sister's 25th b'day: happy quarter century, Ang!

And...not more importantly, but still worth mentioning, my improvised solo from Las Vegas is now online at FameWave - so if you feel so inclined, even if you've seen it before, please pretty please won't you visit it and give it a rating? Preferably a nice one, but you know...I'm not fussy.

Check it out by clicking here.

And happy 200 posts to all Comic Mummy readers - I love both of you dearly.

The Next Chapter

So my hubby is soon to graduate. That's right, after four years of slaving away, he will finally be a teacher, hugely employable (we hope) in each and every corner of the world.

Two words: THANK GOD.

He started uni literally two weeks before Ella was born you see, and I'm just so thrilled to think that the screams I let out during labour will finally be surpassed in volume by the screams I'll be letting out at graduation. Woo-bloody-hoo!

Not that we haven't enjoyed the novelty of raising two kids on a student income. Not that it's not empowering to realise that if you were stranded on an island, you would be okay so long as you had potatoes.Not that it isn't romantic to be given library books for Valentine's Day (hey, that was actually super practical, don't knock it til you've tried it).

But...four years later: we're kinda over it.

So here we are, bracing ourselves - in a gleeful way - for the next chapter of our lives. Our kids are getting more independent (and more fun to be with!) every day, so combining that with finally living above the poverty line is so appealing that I may just burst into song. In fact, I think I shall. Excuse me.

Proof that I've gotta work a bit harder at this whole 'life balance' thing...

Caleb (as I'm tucking him into bed): "Do doe pig?"

Translation = "You go gig?"

**

Cue violins.


Oprah - where the hell are you when I need you?

Three Cool Things

1. I have entered the world of education, dear friends, in the form of an improv workshop (part of the deal with the grant) whereby I'm sharing heaps of the stuff I learned in the US with my fellow comics, improvisers and other interested parties. And...I'm LOVING it! It's so awesome to work with people who want to be there. Plus I've realised that on top of all the stuff I learned improv wise in the states, I've also learned a ton about how to actually teach it. Bonus? I think so.

2. My review of 31 Circus Acts in 30 minutes is online here (under the "Theatre" section).

3. My reviews of Michael Pollock's musical improv books are online here. Yes they're gushy, but hey, every word is true. What can I say? The guy is my hero. So...nyahdinyahdinyahnyah.

I used to be a little ambivalent about Saturdays, but now I think they rock.

Elation!

I love these guys - they're funky and friendly and full of phat funk. (I don't even know what that means, but let's just go with it.)

And their poster just arouses the groove within: heck, I'm feeling groovy pieces of groove I didn't even know were groovable.

So...either check 'em out or check you out.

Dawg.

Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam!

So you open your e-mail, all innocent like, delete the billion or so e-mails that are quite obviously spam, but then every now and then one slips through the cracks.

One from "Erica" with a subject title like "re: meeting up next week?"

One that actually makes you think for a second, 'hang on, maybe I do know an Erica, and maybe we did talk about meeting up next week?'

One that sucks you into the illusion that you might actually be speaking with a friend.

So you open it, only to find...CAN'T GET IT UP? OUR NEW WONDER MEDICATION WILL FIX ALL YOUR BED-TIME PROBLEMS! GIVE HER EVERYTHING SHE'S EVER DREAMED OF! SHE'LL BE THANKING YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You recoil with a shriek, searching for that elusive damn delete button, until the little over-friendly message from a 'pal' has disappeared from sight, leaving you bruised, battered and trying to catch your breath.

'Erica' - you suck.

The Next Comedy Tour: with family in tow

I just realised that I haven't even told you about the next crazy adventure that's coming up - in mid-November, the entire family (that's right, Tim, me, the kids and our sleep deprivation) are going on the road for the next wacked out comedy tour.

AAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Whether that's a scream of excitement or horror, only time will tell.

Our ultimate destination is Sydney - namely cos I'm doing a writing internship on The Glasshouse plus some stand-up gigs - but we will be pacing ourselves with stops and shows at Nimbin (where I'm performing again at the Blue Moon Cabaret), Byron Bay, Bangalow, Forster and wherever else a gig might stick its sweet little head up along the way.

Three things are for sure:

1. It will be madness.
2. It will be unpredictable.
3. It will be blogged.

Ella's Version of an Ultimatum

"Mummy, either you take me to the park now, or I'm going to give you a big fart."

Where, oh where did I go wrong?

Who said TV was bad?

Well, whoever you are...you obviously haven't had the week I've had.

Frankly, TV can rock. And here's some reasons why:

Without television...I would never have been able to sit back and enjoy the thrill of introducing my little tikes to The Sound of Music. "Brace yourself kids," I said, tucking us all up under my favourite funky doona in preparation for their first ever viewing of my all-time favourite childhood movie, "this is a momumentous occasion." And aside from flashing back to my bitter disappointment at Julie Andrews' failure to reply to an impassioned fan letter, it was.

Without television...I would never have been able to sit back and enjoy my latest (and late!) comedic discovery of Wallace and Gromet. The "Were-Rabbit" movie aroused a chortle factor of 'serious', just as the first half of this sentence aroused a tosser factor of 'beyond help'.

And finally, without television...the low-cost babysitter would be but a myth.

An awkward moment

So I was at a pitching workshop today, which was pretty cool - I learned a rather chunky amount about how to best pitch your film/tv projects. All forty-one of us then got up and 'pitched' our projects to the panel with a strict two-minute deadline.

Mine went okay - the first sixty seconds went great guns but then I got a little preoccupied with squeezing a ridiculous amount of info about the concept into the final minute, the irony being that in the process I completely forgot to include two crucial points I'd been beating myself over the head with beforehand (I believe my exact coaching prompt to myself was "Now say whatever you want, but for heaven's sakes, just make sure you mention XXXX!!!!")

Oh dear.

So I had absolutely no delusions that my pitch would be chosen to go onto the next 'round' (it was a kinda workshop/competition, you see) - but perked up right before they announced the winners, when an older guy and fellow pitcher nudged me on the shoulder:

Old dude: "I just wanted to tell you, you did very well."

Me: "Oh, thank you."

Old dude: "If I was a producer with lots of money, I'd fund yours."

Me: "Oh thanks, that's very nice of you."

Old dude: "Yours is the Christmas show, isn't it?"

Awkward pause.

Me: "No."

Old dude: "It's not?"

Me: "No, no."

Me pointing to the twenty-something girl in front of me (who, might I point out, looked NOTHING like me at all).

Me: "I think you mean her."

Him: "Oh, I'm so sorry."

Me wondering if I'd feel the same way if he'd come up, patted my belly and said "Wow, congrats on the baby!"

Him nudging the girl on the shoulder.

Him: "I just wanted to tell you, you did very well. If I was a producer..." etc

Him strolling off, catching my eye again.

Him: "I'm sorry about that."

Me: "No, no, it's cool. At least I got an anecdote out of it."

Thank God for blogging, huh?