Frogpondsrock...

Sometimes things just snowball and take on a life all of their own…

Welcome to my life. Nothing is ever simple. And I wouldn’t have it any other way really.

I am doing a class called creative concept development. The aim of this eleven week class is to allow us the freedom to develop an idea that is separate from our current work. An idea that will inform our future work practice beyond what we are doing now.

I have decided to make a  short film.

Initially I wanted to make a fishing film where “The Spouse” or David caught a trout. I wanted to have this film showcase the gorgeous natural beauty of Tasmania, the excitement and thrill of catching a fish and the release of the lucky fish back into the lake.

I wanted to send this film to my friends in Massachusetts as well as share it here, with you on my blog.

But…

I just couldn’t get rid of the idea that it was a little bit boring, that it was just a bit too safe. I justified it to myself by saying that it would teach me the skills that I needed to make the dragon egg film in february, learn to walk Kimmy and all that.

Whilst inside my head mutant zombie fish were lurking. Killer fish banging on my mind saying, “Let us out! Let us out!”

So on the drive home I let the killer zombie, mutant fish out to play.

“The Spouse” thinks I am mad but that is nothing new and after his sixth beer last night he agreed to star in my film and be killed by a mutant fish. YAY.

So the idea is this, a man is fishing in a beautiful seaside location when he catches a large fish, he lands the fish and as he bends down to pick the fish up it suddenly transforms into a mutant killer and goes for his throat. He tries to fight the fish off but to no avail and and he dies a gory death.

Problems kept on popping up but they were easily solved. I thought of making the killer fish out of papier-mache but Veronica thought the water might wreck the fish. I also needed an oil rig, a couple of explosions, some oily water, a soundtrack and I probably will need a bex and a good lie down.

Last night I bought four blow up dolphins, a giant sea horse and an octopus from ebay, I can make the oil rig out of lego, I am sure I can find an explosion online, though I wish I had some crackers. David has said he will compose the music for the film. If I need some scorched earth a neighbour down the road has been burning off and I will ask them if I can film their front yard.

This is going to be so much fun. What do you think? Do you want to watch my film as well? Do you have any suggestions?

I think a knighthood is well overdue.

I don’t read that many American blogs but the ones that I do read I love to bits. My most recent discovery is Kristen, who is an entertaining writer, obsessed with her flag widget and occasionally gives her children sugar donuts for breakfast. What is not to love?

My all time favourite American blogger though is Jenny the bloggess. I lurk over at the bloggess giggling my head off at her writing. I very rarely comment because she receives hundreds of comments and by the time I get there, there is nothing left to say.

This post made me giggle my head off and this post  made me leap out of lurkerdom and request a James Garfield card too.

This arrived in the mail the other day.

Look at the smiley face of James Garfield there, what an impressive boar he must of been.

So once I had stopped skipping around the house giggling like a loon and clutching my James Garfield card to my chest. I decided that James Garfield needed a knighthood.

I dug out a spare sword I had kept, just in case I needed to bestow a knighthood on anyone and I dubbed thee Sir James Garfield, Lord of the Stye.

Just in case you are wondering. I am definitely qualified to bestow this honour on James Garfield because I am good friends with a queen and he said go for it,be my proxy. So Jenny if you are reading this the paperwork is in the mail.

On a whim I decided to go and show my little piggies the recently knighted Sir James Garfield, Lord of the Stye.

From their reaction you would have thought that a rockstar had come to visit. There was much piggy squealing and snorting and in amongst the grunts of delight I gathered that Sir James would have been well pleased with his knighthood had he been around to actually enjoy it.

Sheep are responsible for climate change.

Dust off the barbies people it is time for a lambfest. Organic of course.

Apparently sheep are the cause of our global warming problems. The little woolly buggers are burping tonnes of methane into our atmosphere.

… if the methane produced by Australia’s 80 million or so sheep was reduced by just 10 or 15 per cent in the next decade, it would have “a substantial and also a long-term impact on our greenhouse gas emissions.”

All those climate sceptics in the Liberal party should be rubbing their hands together with glee. It is sheep that are the problem. Not the great big polluting industries at all. We dont have to worry about reducing our emissions.We can stop calculating our carbon footprints. We can just keep on merrily consuming away

All we have to do is get rid of the sheep. Or stop them burping at least.

Now where is that mint sauce?

I say the same things every morning.

I need a robotic stunt double to do the morning shift for me.I am sick of saying the same things over and over to my teenage son.If I had a robotic version of myself, I could take a nice little holiday and give my vocal chords a much needed rest.

Robo-Mum could be programmed to stand at the doorway of my teenager’s bedroom repeating, “Get out of bed, get out of bed now!” every five minutes from 6.45 am to 7’15.

Then Robo-Mum would casually follow the teenager to the bathroom door and start repeating,”Move away from the mirror, get into the shower” from 7.20 to 7.30. Once the water had been running for 5 minutes, Robo-Mum would start chanting,”Get out of the shower.That’s long enough and my personal favourite, Do you think water just falls from the sky?”

Still stationed at the bathroom door Robo-Mum reverts back to the, “Move away from the mirror” cry at 5 minute intervals until her tune will change to the more frantic chorus of, “Hurry up, breakfast is ready,you are going to miss the bus.”

Robo-Mum will be skilled at juggling all the normal morning demands and wont even bat a robotic eye,when informed that the teenager needs some obscure item from deep within a Brazilian rainforest cave for a science project right this minute. Robo-Mum will just magically pull the obscure item out of her arse along with unlimited amounts of ready cash.

I doubt that David would even notice that I had employed a robot to do the repetitive hurry ups, the clean your teeths and the you are going to miss the bus, phrases that I  say eleventy billion times every single fucking morning. Aaaaaaaaaaaaarggggh!! He might be a tad surprised at the money out of the robots arse trick though, because I am sure he thinks it grows on trees.

David can draw with his nose…

Well fancy that.

My son is a young man of many talents. Not the least of them being the ability to sometimes make me giggle when I am really pissed off with him.

I was giving David a rather long winded lecture and I was actually working myself up rather nicely into one of my Mother from Hell moods. David was filling up the wood box and so he was walking in and out of the house as I was ranting at him talking to him.

Here is my son midway through our conversation. He is fogging up the window with his breath and writing I heart Mum with his nose..

I threatened him with the camera and my blog and that just encouraged him to start making silly faces at me.

If I wasn’t worried about frostbite I might have written I heart David with my nose as well.