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I went into the David Jones Food Hall last night and was greeted by stacks of Christmas chocolate. IN SEPTEMBER. See, this is what happens in a country without Halloween and Thanksgiving to act as Christmas levees.

Idol: I have to say, the bloom is definitely off the Lisa Mitchell rose for me. I can even pinpoint the moment it happened. It was at the start of the first eviction show Monday night, when all twelve of them were doing the big group sing. I was interested to see how some of the non-traditional contestants would deal with the whole “cheesy jazz choir” aspect of it. To my surprise, Bobby Flynn was right in there, bopping away like a maniac. I love Bobby. Towards the end of the song I thought, “Where the heck did Lisa go?” And there she was in one quick shot, clearly not singing and obviously just over the whole thing. It was quintessential bershon. And you know what? I thought to myself, “Whatever, young lady. If you’re too cool to participate in the big cheesy group sings, you shouldn’t have auditioned in the first place.”

Steve Irwin fans are suspected of “revenge attacks” against stingrays. That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.

Today’s Retail Tale of Horror
A lovely little old lady came in with a crocheted batwing sweater (That’s not The Horror, but it was definitely its own Kind of Horror) and she was worried that the cuffs she was knitting wouldn’t go around her arm. She was knitting them on straights and obviously they wouldn’t then bend to allow her to try it on. And while I surprisingly do not possess any Rain Man-like skill that allows me to instantly generate a scale 3D mental model of a knitted garment from a flat piece, I did have the wherewithal to suggest that she slip the stitches onto a piece of scrap wool. Shocking, I know. So I left her to do that, only to discover a few minutes later that she A) can’t see and B) can’t knit, and had dropped stitches left and right. So I spend the next twenty minutes fixing it all up for her again. No biggie; I should’ve done it myself from the start instead of thinking I was going to get away easy. (Did I mention I’m not really supposed to be working in the shop much anymore?) Anyway, The Horror was in the conversation she subjected me to while I fixed it. I sat there fixing her knitting while she regaled me on the problems of living on a fixed income, why the government should clamp down on immigration, the nefariousness of the hairdresser for charging extra for a blow-dry, the pointlessness of World War II (The Queen herself is German, you know!), and lastly… how she was off to get her toenails cut, because she’s got the double-whammy of rheumatism and tough toenails, and how thankfully there is some charity organization that cuts old people’s toenails for them for free. Did you know that? Because I didn’t.

I’m horrible in these situations. We get people like that in the shop all the time, people who are obviously lonely and just want someone to talk to. I’m not a bartender though and it’s not part of my job. So I alternate between feeling sorry for them and feeling annoyed at the wasted time… and then I feel guilty because God knows in forty years I’ll probably be an old woman rabbiting on about my aches and pains to craft store employees who couldn’t care less myself.

I too am now obsessed with the idea of seeing an F1 car race upside-down. Come on, Mythbusters!

On Friday the Snook took me out to The Vanguard in Newtown to see one of his favorite bands, The Backsliders. I’d never been in there before. It was so cool! An extremely tiny blues bar filled with cosy little candle-lit tables, great food, and fantastic music. We were doing the “dinner and a show” thing and ended up having a full-on three-course meal with cocktails, wine, and dessert. (The only thumbs-down was my Szampan cocktail. I thought it tasted like a Texta*.) I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed hearing live blues. This was like the bizarro version of my favorite London blues bar… and in a lot of ways, it was superior. Good food. Good service. Clean bathrooms. And the #1 reason – no smoke! I highly recommend it.

* Texta is Australian for “Magic Marker.”

The End of the Story
I had my final visit with Dr. Chin tonight so we could wrap up the extra-special episode of House that my mystery stomach ailment had become. I think he was as relieved as I was to finally have the answer. Treatment is to keep taking Nexium for the next six weeks so my stomach can heal, and then to NEVER TAKE IBUPROFEN AGAIN. Seriously. That’s what he said. This damage will heal up, but I’ll always have a sensitivity to it. (Actually the damage was probably done a long time ago.) I’m also not supposed to drink alcohol. Uh-huh. I told him I’d do my best to cut back. Not that I’ve ever been a big drinker… but you can pry my Chardonnay out of my cold, dead hands! (And besides, I need something to fill the void left by Diet Coke.) Seriously, though, thanks for all the sympathy and kind words. I really appreciated it.

Shovelglove: The Sledgehammer Workout. I went to that site expecting it to be a joke – An exercise routine that involves swinging a sledgehammer around your living room? – but it’s actually really cool and thought-out! They have little videos and a messageboard and everything.

Idol Declaration: Women of Australia, you can have your Dean Geyer and your Ricky Muscat. I am firmly on the Bobby Flynn Love Train. That song was freakin’ amazing. I knew he could do the ballads, but I had no idea he could do rock like that. I’m still shaking my head in disbelief. Cold Chisel? Really?? I swooned. Now I’m off to convince the Snook to grow back the ‘fro…

Two fabulous crafty finds today: How to Knit a Princess Leia Wig, and How to Build a Tiki Bar. Sweeeeet.