Listing

I write lists. Shopping lists. Wish lists. To-Do-Today lists. To-Do-This-Month lists. Just-Do-It lists. Lists that masquerade as other things. Lists drawn as ideas maps. Lists in the round. If I do it, want to do it, or have done it, it’s on a list somewhere.

At the moment, there are six lists on my office wall. Looking at them is like looking at a portion of my brain, splattered onto A4, although slightly less gory. There’s an ideas map for a course I’ll be convening this summer. A list of my responsibilities for another summer course I’ll be involved with. Tutorials times, rooms, and essay due dates for the first year course that I’m teaching semester. A list of seminars I’m going to be running for a masters course, to prompt me to find some relevant readings. ANU principal dates. And, last but not least, a list of monthly targets I’ve set for my PhD thesis.

I never meant to have this many lists occupying wall space in my office. After all, isn’t the purpose of a list to collate information into the one place, efficiently, economically, putting all the pieces of the puzzle into their correct places? Theoretically, yes. But in reality, my lists seem to breed, one list begetting another, until suddenly my office is decorated with blu-tacked pieces of scribbled-on and crossed-out pieces of paper.

I looked at this disorder this morning, and, after momentary frustration, laughed. Because this tendency to write lists is one half of a symbiotic relationship with another tendency of mine: I love to cross things off. Is there a better feeling than running a thick, heavy pencil line through that particularly bothersome task that is now, in the words of a certain opposition leader, dead, buried, cremated? Or doodeling loopy biro circles over a list-task you did and enjoyed?

I write so many lists so that I can give myself that little moment of satisfaction, that feeling of a job, if not well, at least competently, done, and the restoration of some sense where there was previously befuddlement. And all triumphs of sense over befuddlement, in my humble opinion, ought to be celebrated.

A School For Gifted Youngsters

Have you seen X Men: First Class yet?

If not, do yourself a favor and go see it. Kitty Gilfeather and I treated ourselves to a late night showing this Friday and, although the only seats we could book were neck-straining close to the screen, it was two and a bit hours of fantastic.

I’ve adored the X-Men series, eagerly awaiting the release of each installment, and spent a large part of Saturday re-watching them as a necessary self indulgence (it was cold and blustery in the Capital, and I’d already went for an early morning walk and yoga session –indulgence justified). I was also a fan of the animated TV series as a child, and passed many an hour concentrating super hard in order to achieve Jean Grey levels of telepathy.

More than Jean or any of the other mutants, though, it was Professor X who fascinated me. Along with Misses Honey and Clavel, Professors Lupin and Dumbledore, and many inspiring real life ladies and gentlemen, Professor X and his School for Gifted Youngsters has shaped my attitudes towards education.

Indeed, sometimes I cast myself as the Professor X of my own imaginary School for Gifted Youngsters. And, in light of a couple of thousand words on teaching I am supposed to be writing (and am procrastinating against by writing this blog), I’ve been wondering what my own School for Gifted Youngsters would be like.

For starters, it would be open to all who wanted to learn, regardless of capability, because even the most capable student in the world won’t achieve anything if they don’t want to. There’s nothing worse or more soul destroying than a class of students who don’t want to be there.

Having said that, though, my school would be staffed by men and women with superpowers – not like Storm and Jean and Cyclops, but men and women with superpowers to make people want to learn. Powers of compassion, of understanding, and of love. And also by men and women who would work together as a team – to defeat Magnito, sure, but to also pick up the slack when things and people go pear shaped.

A very hairy and very shirtless Hugh Jackman would prowl the school grounds (I’m serious about this one).

And speaking of grounds, my School for Gifted Youngsters would, like Professor X’s, be housed in a building that inspires, surrounded by clean air and trees, to remind my Gifted Youngsters that there are things bigger and more permanent than themselves and their problems.

But also, my school would teach that their problems, hopes and fears, just like the mutations of Professor X’s students, could be used to make things better, for themselves and for everybody else. And that they alone were responsible for making this choice.

I’d also insist on ties for the boys, and neat blouses and skirts for the girls. But perhaps that’s an overindulgence of some megalomaniac tendencies???

Top Ten

It’s been yet another busy week here for Ms Entwhistle – I know, I know, we’re all busy, so there’s nothing new or exciting in my busy-ness. But, some wonderful things have been happening this week, so I thought I’d share some glimpses and snippets of my week with you, in the hopes that you are faring similarly well.

#10 – Sumatran Organic Fair-Trade (also slightly sanctimonious) Coffee. I ran out a couple of weeks ago, and couldn’t get myself to Jindebah Coffee until late this week just passed – but this magnificent coffee is so worth the wait and the journey to the deep south.



#9 – Marking First Year Essays. For a couple of reasons, I’ve ended up teaching a lot more than I intended this semester, hence a large part of my business. This means I get to mark 75 of each assessment task, and there are four assessment tasks in the course that I teach. I’m not doing the math because it’s going to scare me, but if you want to do it, go right ahead. This week I marked the first piece of assessment, and, as always, I’m thrilled by the effort that my little firsties have put into their work. Yes, marking is a headache, literally and metaphorically, but it also makes me smile.

#8 – Macaron Day. On Saturday, MamaK, Tessy Halberton and I had a girls’ afternoon making macarons. Whilst they are our first attempt, and, like the first year essays mentioned above, have a long way to go before they are perfect, they still taste rather magnificent.



#7 – The End Of Fieldwork. Yes, folks, it’s over. Specifically, it ended at 3am at an unnamed fieldwork location, and I was supremely glad. Particularly as The Dreamboat, acting the role of BIG HE MAN PROTECTOR, willingly stayed up all night, and surrendered the wee small hours of his twenty sixth birthday to doing something no one in their right mind would do. Which brings me to wonderful thing six…

#6 – The Dreamboat’s Birthday. Dreamboat turned 26 on Friday, and, although we were both whacked from a hard night’s observing, it was still a lovely day. Happy birthday darling, I’m glad you liked your present, even if I dropped it and it doesn’t quite work properly anymore – incidentally, does anyone know of a barometer repairer?

#5 – Autumn Barbecues. For the Dreamboat’s birthday lunch, we packed an impromptu BBQ and headed out to Cotter Bend reserve. It’s one of my favorite places in the whole world, especially at this time of year. I would have taken my camera to snap some shots to share with you all, but I thought better of it, as I want you all to go yourselves – the golden leaves and musky-earthy smell of the lichen is worth the windy road.

#4 – Lemons (and one lime) In My Kitchen. Don’t they look cheerful? They remind me of sunshine every time I see them.



#3 – Sunday Yum Cha. I promise I will never leave it ten years between drinks with Yum Cha, because it’s so much fun. Especially when you go with a group of ten people. Especially when you can chat about fabulous bargain fashion with friends you hadn’t caught up with in a while. Especially when there’s a giant Lazy Susan to twirl food on. Especially when you discover that friend whitebait is like fish and chips combined in the one foodstuff. Especially when you try tripe and are pleasantly surprised.

#2 – Fabulous Vintage Dresses. I scored two this week – one from the fifties and one from the seventies. There are so many fantastic vintage clothes sellers popping up around the place, there isn’t an excuse not to get amongst it.




#1 – Frogs. But the most wonderful thing of all this week? Victoria and Albert, our new green tree frogs. Yes, they are named after the royals. Yes, they did keep Dreamboat and I awake with what we think were mating calls (which, strangely enough, sounded like a bird-squawk). Yes, I did wake up in a terrible panic and had to check they were still breathing (I was worried they’d frozen to death).



Oh, but aren’t they just darling?

Reciepies That Keep On Giving – Part One: Stovetop Magic Brownies

One of the things I’m really excited about branching out into with this blog is recipes. I love to cook, and loved to do so before it was trendy. Ok, that was a hipster moment, but I’m willing to deal with that because this is 100% truthful. Watching Junior MasterChef with my housemate, Virginia Boots, I can’t help but be a little put out that cooking is now what all the cool kids are doing. Cooking is what I used to do all weekend, every weekend, when I was small, and it certainly wasn’t cool. Often, it was with Mama-K, but other times, it was by myself, mucking around with flour and sugar and butter. I guess that’s a point of difference between my childhood cooking and the childhood cooking depicted on Junior MasterChef – no expensive or flashy ingredients, but lots of good, honest, floury fun.

And in the spirit of good, honest, floury fun without expensive or flashy ingredients, here’s my first recipe in my series of Recipes That Keep On Giving – Stovetop Magic Brownies. My idea about posting the occasional Recipe That Keeps On Giving is a chance to showcase some of my favorite and most frequently cooked things. Not because they are the fanciest, but because they are the easiest, most economical, are always well received, adjust up and down to feed a crowd or just yourself, and, more often than not, freeze, defrost and transport beautifully. They’re kind of my kitchen’s best and fairest players.

This brownie recipe is fairly new to my regular rotation, but it certainly meets all the criteria for a Recipe That Keeps On Giving. Having played with other brownie recipes and not being particularly happy with the results, especially when the outlay on ingredients is taken into account, I was very pleased with the results this recipe yielded with minimal effort or expenditure. Originally, it came from ‘She’s Leaving Home’, lovely cookbook by Monica Tapapgia (AKA, Monica From Playschool, if you grew up in the 90s like I did…). However, I’ve simplified the methodology, and adjust a few ingredients – enough so that I feel justified in changing the recipe’s name. I call these Stovetop Magic Brownies because all the mixing is done in a single large saucepan, on the stovetop, and they are magical because…THEY DON’T CONTAIN ANY ACTUAL CHOCOLATE ! Although I’ve had arguments with The Dreamboat and his housemate, Jordan Hawthorne, about whether cocoa powder, a principal ingredient in this recipe, counts as ‘chocolate’ or not – I maintain it doesn’t, Jordan and Dreamboat maintain it does – what we can all agree on is that these brownies are amongst the richest, moistest, and chocolatiest we’ve ever tasted, semantics aside.




Stovetop Magic Brownies

Makes approximately 24 medium brownies, depending on how you slice it.

350g Salted Butter
140g Cocoa
675g (yep) White Sugar
6 Eggs
250g Plain Flour
3 Tablespoons (yep) Vanilla Extract
200g Chopped Nuts (Although I never really bother…)
1. Preheat oven to 150 degrees Celsius. Line a lamington tray, or other largish, deep sided, square or rectangular dish with baking paper, or grease generously with butter. This temp might seem quite low for brownies – it is indeed, and it’s one of the variations I made on the original recipe. I’ve found, at the suggestion of Sam from Amore Cakes’ cookbook (check out her brilliant chocolate almond cake next time you’re at the Epic farmer’s markets!) that all manner of things have a better taste and consistency when cooked at a lower temperature for a slightly longer time, these brownies being no exception.
2. In a large saucepan, begin melting the butter over medium heat. When your butter is about half melted, add in your cocoa powder, and stir occasionally with a wooden spoon, being careful not to let the cocoa/butter mixture burn, until almost all the butter is melted and the mixture is dark and glossy.
3. Turn off stove, but leave saucepan on the element to make good use of the radiant heat. Add in the sugar, and stir until thoroughly combined. I like to add the sugar whilst the mixture is quite warm, as it seems to help it integrate into the mixture more quickly.
4. Now, add in your eggs. At this point I like to switch to a balloon whisk, but I’ll leave the choice of weapon to you. Mix until smooth. Stir in the vanilla essence.
5. Finally, carefully add the flour (and nuts, if you are using them), bit by bit, so that you don’t have too many flour splashes to clean up.
6. When everything is incorporated, pour mixture into your prepared tray, and let it settle out. I never bother trying to make a groove in the middle with the back of a spoon to ensure even rising, but if you would like to do that, you can. I’ll just judge you from afar.
7. Bake for approximately 40 minutes, or, more importantly, until the middle of the brownie doesn’t smooch in when you touch it.
8. Slice brownie in the tin about ten minutes after cooling and dust with extra cocoa or icing sugar, if that takes your fancy. Leave the brownie in the tin until entirely cold, if at all possible, to get the best and moistest result.

And there you have it. Last week, I made a triplicate batch of these for my first years, to celebrate the last tutorial of semester. Needless to say, they soothed the pain of talking about exams no end. Ah, the devine power of a Stovetop Magic Brownie. I think this rather bad photo captures how I feel about them…

Revere, Not Fear

This Thursday, ten am, I teach my first tutorial. This is a moment that, as many of you will no doubt know, I have been looking forward to for quite some time. So, understandably, my chief concern is:


WHAT TO WEAR????

A part of me….heck, no, actually all of me, loves wardrobe firsts. Scientists say that scent is the most evocative sense of all – and, as a fragrance devotee, I certainly don’t underestimate the significance of the olfactory. Perhaps I’m a few steps up the evolutionary ladder, however, because for me, the sartorial is the sense that is most evocative of a particular time, place and moment. Whether it’s first dates, first days of school or uni, or the first time I saw the Sex and the City movie, the outfit I wore is encoded with more sensory memories than anything else associated with the event. Indeed, no matter how hard I try, my navy silk Saba frock will always and forevermore be known in my head and in my heart as The Lifeguard Dress – but perhaps that’s a story for another time. Likewise, yellow and green ribbons always evoke my first day of kindergarten, just as black cardigans bring to mind my first day at uni and the lovely German exchange student who chivalrously returned it to me after I’d abandoned it in my haste to leave the lecture theatre and have a cry in the ladies from COMPLETE NERVOUS EXHAUSTION – again, story for another time. I think perhaps you are getting the idea though – for me, clothes are the defining sense-memory of important events in my life.

For this reason, I’m understandably a little bit hung up about what to wear this Thurs, as my first ever teaching gig will no doubt rank as a keynote day in my life. Professionally, it’s the first actual step down the actual path of what I actually want to do with my actual life in the actual world of actual work. Personally, it’s an important marker of growing up – that the university trusts me, perhaps erroneously, with the little kiddies because they think the munchkins might be able to do some good learning with me. Little old me! Shucks.

Also, as was pointed out to me during a training session last week, we’re in the front line, the trenches (I’m direct quoting, not elaborating), with the students, in the battlefield that is the Australian National University (the bit about the battlefield was an elaboration on my part but it’s nonetheless fitting to extend the metaphor, don’t you think?). According to our instructor, our role as intellectual capitalists, extracting the most brain labour out of the student masses (switching to Marxist metaphors now) means that tutors need to inspire FEAR in their students – not a lot, but enough to keep them one step ahead of a boot up the backside.

Pedagalogicaly, this whole fear thing doesn’t sit too well with me. Yes, I want my students to take me seriously and do as I ask, to get their essays in on time (HA) and to be interested and engaged in the course materials (HA. HAHA. HA). But I’m not necessarily comfortable with deliberately making them afraid of me. After all, as we are continually told, we are their first point of contact with the university – an institution that is scary and alienating enough as it is, never mind my pathetic attempts to instil fear in my students.

It was over a slightly burnt but nonetheless elegant supper (caramelized onion tart and salad) with MiMi Goss that we hit upon the strategy I will employ in my tutorials. Rather than getting the kids to FEAR me, I will instead be aiming to have them REVERE me. Aside from being a nice little rhyme, replacing the fear with revere fits much more nicely with my attitude to teaching. Instead of making the students scared of what I might do if they don’t comply with my direction, I shall instead compel them down the path of good behaviour, critical engagement with the literature, and punctual submission of essays with my own fabulousness as the primary motivator.

When I look back over my little life, it’s the teachers who I’ve wanted to be like, who I’ve admired, worshiped – whom I have revered - that I’ve learnt the most from. All I can remember about the teachers I was afraid of was that I was that I was afraid of them – not the knowledge that they imparted.

So, having worked out my preferred pedagological position from a veritable Karma Sutra of positional options, all that remains is to find the perfect outfit - the outfit that inspires reverence, rathe than fear, indifference, or, worst of all, giggles.

Trouble is, every person has a different take on what this outfit should be. MiMi suggests curve hugging glamour, with clever accessoriation: Sookie Compton and Tara Samson, my new housemates, suggests kooky colour and layers respectively, for reasons of approachability and practicality. Zsuzannah Verona thinks that black and neutrals are a bad idea, and give off an impression of being a part of the staid academy rather than someone forging a new path: Kitty Gilfeather, on the other hand, thinks that black and white with lots of interesting texture and great jewellery sends the message that I’m to be respected as well as liked.

So much good advice, from so many trusted sources, makes for one confused prospective tutor.

Thus, it is in the spirit of collaborative sharing of knowledge and insight that I open the question to you, dear reader. On this most important day in my life – what should I, and should I not, wear?