2009: a pace oddity (part 1)

"I'm sorry Dave, I'm afraid I can't do that"

-John Cook

So, I got back to the city from my country (ancestral) home recently and arrived at a house just in time to catch the last hour and a half of 2001: A Space Odyssey. I’ve seen some trippy films late at night on SBS but this one, if not taking the cake, atleast eats a slice before licking out the figurative icing bowl. (the one about the catholic monks who go on a road trip with some woman also took a slice).

Anyway, my intention is not to go on about obscure films here, but to think-out-loud about the year to come and how it will be different to this one. Admittedly it is only mid November, but, let’s face it, I have something like four blogs “in production” just now and the likelihood of this one being done by January isn’t good.

To really comprehend why I feel a bit foreshadowed by the year to come you really must know some things about the years past. At the moment I am looking back on nearly twenty-one years of unemployment. I have done “work” in bits and pieces, mostly in the form of education or the odd bit of volunteering or farm work for the folks, but never anything that constitutes a job. For the sixteen years previous to and including this one I have been a full time student, thirteen in school and three at uni, and that doesn’t even count kindergarten.

(about two months later – late January, 2009)

But this year is different. This year I am not a full time student. As a matter-of-fact, I am not even part time according to Centrelink (those who pay students, old people and the unemployed alike). My measly three units in the first semester don’t live up to their expectations. What’s more I have a job. ME! A JOB! It’s true to say that I haven’t actually officially worked yet, but I have a name tag and pay book.

(about four months later - mid May, 2009)

Time to finish this blog off. It doesn't reach a climax, but I suppose that, in an odd way, that's appropriate. The long anticipated changes spoken of above, he work, the uni, the life, none of them are an end to one thing or the beginning of another. They're just the ongoing continuation. The constant is still there (God and his saving work in my life). The semi-constants also remain (family, clothing etc.).

It's just a change of pace.

John

P.S. I guess the real pace oddity is this blog.

Fifty First Days

"Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
The glorious Sun uprist:
Then all averred, I had killed the bird
That brought the fog and mist."
- John Cook

Did you ever see the film "Fifty First Dates"? It starred Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore. Sandler's character tries desperately to make Barrymore's fall in love with him but, here's the twist, Barrymore has short term memory loss and forgets him every day. The only way to make her remember him is to make her fall in love with him every day for fifty days. Every day he is faced with the frustration of re-doing all the work he did yesterday and, seemingly, never making any ground. Stuck in square one. At least, that is how I think it went. I've never actually seen it. There are two points that I want to make here. The first is that Barrymore is a really strange name. It's almost like, back when people were making their names, one guy called himself Barry and his neighbour was one of those people who always has to be a bit better than the Jones's (or Barry's in this case). The other point is that I am facing a very similar predicament to the good Mr. Sandler except mine is about work, rather than women.

My desire to finally pull my own weight in this world, combined with an impending end to my pile of cash (money in the bank, to be more accurate), recently forced me to seek employment (oh yes, and centrelink helped). Being mostly qualified as a nurse I am automatically completely qualified as a carer. I applied for a number of positions and finally, after interviews and such, have secured employ from two employers. Both are staffing agencies that provide nurses and carers to places that need a shift filled. For those who know the lingo, I am an agency carer.

Over this last two and a half weeks in my new role I have been sent to seven nursing homes and hostels. Each time is a new first day at work, and each carries its own set of unique, yet somehow familiar, complications. "Where is the facility?" "Where is the linen/skip/sluce/resident?" and one of my personal favourites "why has this resident only got the sort of pads that require undies over top, and yet no underwear?" (I encountered that one whilst caring for eleven residents on my own for the first time). A good example of a complication is finding the darn place. The other day I had an early shift (starting at 7.00am) at a place. I turned down the road that I thought I had to and turned off at the first lights as I knew I should and stopped at number 55A as I had been instructed. I got out of the car with five minutes to spare and went up to the place. There was no sign in front of it, and no sign is not a good sign, but it was a very big house so there was a good chance that it was the place. I went to the front door, noting on the way that there was a bucket of fire wood on the veranda. "Odd", I thought, "surely fires are a safety hazard for old people".

Getting closer to what could only be described as the most intimidating door I have ever seen (big, hard wood monster with an enormous brass knocker (so it turns out there is more than one way to describe it)) my fears were partially assuaged by the discovery of a fairly standard nursing home door bell (a white block with a larger-than-average grey button). Filled with the kind of confidence that one has when facing a grizzly bear with a small knife, I rang the bell. For a few minutes there was nothing and, owing to the fact that I was rapidly getting towards believing that I was very late, rather than just late, I rang a few more times and eventually used the brass knocker. A few more minutes passed and then, finally, a poor (although, considering the house, also rich) man wearing a dressing gown and looking a mite disgruntled answered the door.

Filled with the kind of confidence that one has when facing a grizzly bear and having just discovered that the knife is actually plastic and a spoon, I said,
"Is this number fifty five?"
"Yes."
"and it's not a nursing home?"
"no."
"you're quite sure?"
"yes."

I panicked, I drove up and down the street, cursing my own stupidity at not putting the emergency numbers for my boss into my phone. I checked 155 and 355 but neither was anything more than a house. Finally I passed the Bible College of South Australia and, with a sinking sort of relief, I realised my mistake. I had turned onto the wrong road, meaning that I had also turned at the wrong set of lights and, though I had stopped at 55A, it was not the 55A I was looking for.

But here's the thing, I am approaching this whole business from the wrong angle. You see I am not just a carer who has a lot of first days. I am an agency carer, and as such I am learning a set of skills that other carers never need. Every shift I get more flexible, more capable in a wider variety of environments. Each day I get better at getting to know residents and co-workers quickly and efficiently. Every morning shift I get acquainted with a whole new set of shower complications and every evening forces me to create a new way to get a new person to believe me when I say that it is eight thirty and time for bed. I am uncomfortable, but I am changing.

That's all my thoughts (sort of) for now,

John

P.S. I think this might be becoming a themed blog. Every time I write a new and interesting blog (well, new anyway) I seem to write another one which follows the theme. For instance, this blog and the one preceding it both draw their names from movie titles. And my first two blogs were both about advertising. Just making an observation.

2009: a pace oddity (part 2)

“Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again?”
-John Cook

You will almost certainly have no recollection of "2009: a pace oddity (part 1)". This probably relates to it never having been posted. In November last year I wrote up most of the entry in word on a computer which was not connected to the internet. It was a really clever piece (well, it seemed it at the time) about how the coming year (this year) was going to be really different and complicated. Getting a job, only part time studying and thinking a lot more about the future. I had, that night, watched 2001: a space odyssey, which somehow related I think.

Anyway, just incidentally, I would like to say that I told you so, it looks like I was right. Although, I guess I didn't.

Hmm.

A.C.T. 1: Scene 1

Well, as you may or may not have guessed from the title I am in Canberra in the Australian Capitol Territory (A.C.T., hence the title). I stand satisfied, or perhaps more accurately sit uncomfortable, at the end of my first day in the city (also hence the title). It has, on the whole, been an eventful day. A very (very) kind friend of mine took me to the airport at five O' Clock this morning. Although we got there before 5.30 this had no influence over the fact that my plane left at 6.35, leaving a good hour for luggage drop-off, toilet stuff and general meandering.

The flight, oh the flight. The plane roared along the runway, and then soared out over the ocean, covering the intervening distance in seconds, regardless of its minor enormity. Everything became smaller much faster than I had expected. And then we passed into the clouds. Excluding the frostbite and hopelessness I imagine that this was much like the phenomenon known as "white out" in the polar regions. And then a vast landscape was spread before me. Great mountains, deep valleys and caves so large that they could hold the dragons of mythology, all made of a vapour so thin that I had just been immersed in it and was still able to see wisps of it coming from the engine. Yes, the clouds were my favourite bit. Can you tell that I am a first time flyer? Oh, and also, the landing was a bit disconcerting. I had not realised they were so bumpy.

Window Seat

Well, after a beautiful flight, on which I was glued to the window like a child who has discovered an exhibit marked "lethal vipers and mongooses" at an otherwise boring zoo, and three breakfasts (pre-flight, mid-flight and post-flight) I spent the rest of the day war memorialisin', being lost in a shopping centre or just meandering with my colleagues. Oh yes, did I mention, I'm in Canberra for a conference of Evangelical Students called SPRTE. I am now accepting entries for my "guess the acronym" contest (prize to be advised) (Clue: 'P' doesn't stand for Paladin) (OK, so that's not actually a real clue).

Canberra Fire Hydrant: Oddity

Well, I suppose that's that. My apologies for this blatant narrative of my day. No great insights here.

John

am I an advertising critic?

"I want these (pineapples) juiced and on my desk by three."..."I'm trying to run a highly professional business here"
-John Cook

Unfortunately I think it might be true. By the time I have finished here I will have written two (whole) blogs, both solely devoted to the issue of advertising. In fact I may well be a critic of health-industry-related advertising by the look of things. My beloved readers, along with the rest of you (if indeed any of you exist), will be happy to know that this entry will not be an absolute angry-rant-session. Quite to the contrary, I will be telling you about the few ads that I genuinely like. (I'm kind-of going for the canceling out effect after the severe cynicism of the last post).


First off we have a pleasant little trailer for a film called Sunshine. The trailer is about the most dramatic thing that I have ever seen, we're talking more than Neighbours here. The music, which is probably a significant contributing factor to the heart-stopping intensity of this short, was originally written for the second Lord of the Rings film but was not used in the end. Since then everyone and their dogs and their dogs' favourite chew toys have been using it for trailers. It didn't actually make it into the film. In some ways the film was not a let down. It was just as intense as the trailer made it out to be with a grand total of __ creative ways to die covered. My personal favourites were: incinerated by the sun, frozen in space and then incinerated by the sun, stabbed to death by an over sunburnt religious wackjob and leg crushed in ships computer and then frozen to death in coolant. Oh yeah, and who could forget (except me, just then) the main character being blown up in slow motion (resulting from the time dilation caused by the sun's intense gravity) by a nuclear bomb the size of RHODE ISLAND! (Or somewhere like that). Actually, now that I think about it the film wasn't actually that good, I came out a bit disturbed. But that just adds to the brilliance of the trailer in convincing me to go see it. Anywho, here it is in all its tense forcefulness:



That ad was OK, but this one absolutely blew me away. This is the ONLY advertisement that I have ever looked up on the internet simply because I thought it was nice. The cinematography is stunning and yet heartbreaking, kind of reminiscent of the Eric Bana film Romulus my Father, but it's the music that really gets me. When I was on my second year country nursing placement I did a number of late shifts on which there wasn't much to be done. One of the enrolled nurses would often sit in the patient's sun room and watch television and every time this ad came on I would lean against the disabled hand rail and think of home so far away. What can I say, I'm a sap and a sucker for mournful beauty, but I earnestly believe that the maker of this ad should win some sort of award. Anyway, turn up the volume and prepare to look off into the distance and think of better days, here it is:


Well, that should do it for now. I know that I promised to make this post more general and helpful than the last but I think we all knew better didn't we?

Until next time you wayward travelers of this internet, Cheerio,

John

("signs")

P.S. If anyone knows what the song in that ad is, I will be very grateful to know and will probably spend the next week trying to find the CD.

P.P.S. There was also this ad. It's amazing, hilarious to the extreme. I think the producers were sitting around the office discussing the ad and it went something like this:
Jim: "Hi Tim. Hey, you know that advert we are supposed to be making?"
Tim: "Yes Jim?"
Jim: "Well I was thinking, we couldn't decide which stunt to use, right?"
Tim: (with some uncertainty) "I suppose..."
Jim: "Well, why don;t we just use all of the stunts!"
(long, long pause)
Tim: "well..."
Jim: "Great! It's decided then"
so on and so forth

Anyway, here it is.

Concerning Trolleys

I promised in my last blog to write a more general entry on the purpose of this whole shebang. That wasn't entirely accurate. Instead, I have chosen to rant on about shopping centres and how annoying they are. Sorry. So, I went to Foodland yesterday with my sister to help her do their "big shop" (the weekly acquisition of most of the food needed for the next seven days). Her housemates, who love expensive and difficult to find food, had added some items to the list such as pesto, walnuts and artichokes. Would you believe it, they were all fairly expensive and, you guessed it, exceedingly difficult to find. To add to the fun we had chosen a trolley that was difficult to steer, occasionally swerving in he most awkward direction, generally when you least expected it. The whole charade took approx one-and-a-half to two hours. Fun, in the context that being slowly torn to shreds by dingoes with gingivitis is also fun. Hmm.

Today I went back to Foodland to buy supplies for a large breakfast tomorrow. Yesterday's trolley was bad, todays was hell-on-wheels, though perhaps more hell-on-circular-objects-that-serve-no-purpose.

advert's, drugs and the berlin wall

"The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources"
-John Cook

Alright, contrary to the title, I do NOT intent to write this entire entry about drugs. And, many may be disappointed to know (if indeed they have read this far), the drugs that I will write about are legalised, albeit prescription, drugs. Infact, I'm probably going to jump topics a bit. Oh... gosh, I need to go do a drug round (I'm a nurse (well, student-nurse)). How Ironic. I'll be back.

Ok, where was I? Oh yes, drugs. I recently had the joy of writing an essay on the topic of pharmaceutical company ethics. It was perhaps the closest thing to fun I have ever had in pursuit of the academic side of my studies. One of the topics I covered was advertising, and since the essay I have been constantly noticing the plethora of ridiculous ads for miracle-cures for everything. You get some good ones on television, such as the prostate one with the guy and the dripping tap and ALL THOSE uncomfortable winces, and I'm sure I've seen some good ones in the papers, but if you want really hillariously over-the-top drug advertising, you can't go past the MIMS. (I tried to find out what MIMS stands for, but the book itself doesn't say, the web-page is equally un-helpful and the google definitions say that MIMS is "an American rapper from Washington Heights, Manhattan").

The MIMS Is the book that appears on every hospital drug trolley in Australia. It is the source of all information for nurses and doctors on every drug, and every name of every drug (because each one has at least three). I guess it makes sense then that it is the place that drug companies really let loose with the ads. Who better to advertise to than the people who write the prescriptions? One of my favourites features a picture of an apparently golden, excessively muscley topless man with the word "power" in big letters next to him. It's for Lipitor, a drug used to treat high cholesterol and high blood pressure, apparently side effects may include jaundice (yellowing of the skin) and insanely-huge-muscles (I kid).

However, by far my favourite is Olmetec. Olmetec is a blood pressure medication, and the advertisement reads "TARGET BP. KNOCK IT DOWN". The picture background, spanning over half a page of the drug guide, is that of the Berlin wall being knocked down. I kid you not, a direct connection is being drawn between lowering your blood pressure and the fall of oppressive government, the collapse of the iron curtain, and German reunification. WHAT!??!!? So, if one was to read a bit far into it, the oppressed East Germans are comparable with people suffering high blood pressure, the wall (and, by extension, the Communist regime) is equated with high blood pressure? Well, makes sense to me.

Now I did mention at the beginning of this rant that I would talk about something other than drugs. I lied. Sorry, it's getting late and I have patient-notes to write. My next blog (if indeed it ever happens) will hopefully be more of an attempt at introducing myself and the reason (if there is one) for this blog, but until then, you wayward internet traveller, cheerio.

John