In the early 90s Prozac was popular as the prescription mood-enhancing drug of choice.

It has recently occurred to me that the modern equivalent of Prozac is the iPhone. Feel like life is out of control? Get an iPhone and your life will become organised, planned and diarised. Struggling to maintain relationships? The iPhone will co-ordinate and synchronise your contact methods of choice (mobile, email, Twitter, Facebook, SMS) and ensure that your contacts are kept neatly sorted and accessible 24/7.

I’m far from being the world’s most tech-savvy person (no comments from you thanks Meredith) and I’m not really into gadget-envy. I don’t have wireless internet or an iPod, we don’t own a Playstation or Xbox and we have only just acquired a Wii. My mobile is ancient and is a hand-me-down from my sister-in-law, quite possibly because she was embarrassed to be seen in public with me with the prehistoric handset I used to have. (Dude, seriously. That thing marched out of the Ark holding hands with an abacus. – Meredith)

That having been said, I must confess that the idea of an iPhone appeals to me and I have been contemplating why that is. I think that it is the idea (obviously planted subliminally by the iPhone marketing gurus) that owning this marvel of modern technology will transform me from slightly chaotic suburban mum to a super-gadget wielding organisational paragon with perfect children, an immaculate home, and sufficient free-time to socialise with my equally tech-improved friends.

In the interest of scientific enquiry, I would love to find out if the addition of an iPhone to my handbag would work this miraculous transformation. Unfortunately, my husband isn’t tuned in to the same subliminal marketing channel that I am and he has steadfastly ignored my subtle and not so subtle hints that an iPhone is just what I need to become a more emotionally balanced and efficient member of society.

If anyone wants me to conduct a social experiment on the psychological benefits of iPhones on middle class mothers, please feel free to donate an iPhone and the appropriate service contract. I promise to mention your name in a footnote in my report.

What about you? Have you succumbed to the lure of the iPhone? Have you noticed improvements in your emotional and psychological wellbeing since your iPhone entered your life? Does it give you a warm, fuzzy feeling when you hold it close?

If you don’t have one, have you simply been holding out for the arrival of iPhone 3.0 or are you just not interested? Do you prefer to get your psychological props the old fashioned way with good diet, plenty of sleep, healthy relationships and adequate exercise? Do you secretly harbour a feeling of iPhone envy?

I think I must be very susceptible to subliminal advertising. Particularly when it comes to food. Often when I’m watching TV and a character is eating something, my reaction is “Mmm I want some of that”. I made cupcakes during the Masterchef cupcake challenge, but I think emulating TV chefs is fairly common. This goes deeper.

If a movie cop is eating a donut, I want a donut. I have sent my husband out for chocolate while watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. A recent weekend spent watching Zane Lamprey’s hilarious drinking show Three Sheets had me sourcing a recipe and ingredients for Jamaican Jerk Chicken. If a trendy New Yorker so much as walks past a hot dog vendor, I want a chilli dog. I don’t like chilli dogs! Brad Pitt munching his way through Ocean’s 11 near killed me with cravings. I even want a nacho hat like Homer, and yes, I want to sing “Nacho Nacho Man” while eating it.

Even reading books can trigger the cravings. Just this week I made a pot of broccoli and cheddar soup – a recipe I only discovered after reading The Devil Wears Prada a couple of years ago. It’s not even a major plot point, but the idea so appealed to me, that I immediately had to try it. Now every now and then I will make it again, and every single time I think “this would be so much more perfect if I had it in a takeaway cup like that girl did in the book”. I can’t tell you the character’s name, but I can remember the soup.

So – am I alone in this, or do others also get hungry watching and reading about people eating? What’s your most memorable book or movie food scene?

So as many of you may have heard, Australian food icon Vegemite is bringing out a new version. Now it may not be obvious, but with all the Big Issues , Susan and I tend to fall dramatically on opposite sides of the fence. And what issue could be bigger than Vegemite?! Despite our tolerant live-and-let-live acceptance with which we approach our differences in the Topics You Do Not Discuss When Invited To Tea with the Queen, this one brought out the worst in us, as this email exchange from yesterday will highlight:

From: Susan

SUBJECT: They are changing vegemite

Blog Entry by Deb DownUnder

This is so wrong. Will Twitter this with great indignation.

@thinkthinkers: Kraft “New Vegemite” = V+cream cheese. R we 2 lazy 2 spread butter+V on toast? SW

From: Meredith

Hold your horses. Are they changing it completely, or are they bringing out a new vegemite product? I think it’s obviously the latter – since they’re asking for a new name.

I have no problem with this.

@ thinkthinkers: Meredith says “take a chill pill” as new Vegemite just a new product. Will still sell old Veg. The sky is not falling, Chicken Littles! MF

Susan:

Why are they mucking around with Vegemite? Combining it with cream cheese? This is weird and un-Australian. You should be shipped out to make more room
for the kind of clear thinking people we need to have in this country to prevent these kinds of decisions being made in the future.

I am very disappointed in you.

Meredith:

Sounds delicious to me! I love veg and cream cheese – on a bagel – mmmmm! I embrace change, for I am not a Stick-in-the-Mud, but a new trend adopter!

Susan:

New trend adopter? That is just your way of putting positive spin on your inability to remain loyal to an Australian institution that has served this country well for decades. You say “trend adopter”, I say “disloyal and fickle”.

Meredith:

PUT CREAM CHEESE IN THE VEGEMITE AND THE TERRORISTS WIN!!!!!!!

Susan:

I have outed you on Twitter as a person who harrasses a friend for having values. You should hang your head in shame.

@thinkthinks: Meredith is sending me hate-email because I said Vegemite+cream cheese (in the same jar) sounds gross. A real friend would not do this. SW

Meredith:

I may have just compared you to Kochie on twitter for bringing “unAustralian” to the party. There should be a term for this – like Godwin’s Law

@thinkthinks: Mmmm – veg. & cream cheese schmeared on a bagel. S bandied about the “unaustralian” word. Should I start calling her Kochie? MF

Susan:

We are talking about Vegemite here, my friend. How could you not use the term “unAustralian” to describe someone who is happy, nay relishes the fact, that they are meddling with something so iconic.

I weep for you in your misdirected delusions.

Meredith:

Every geek knows that V2.0 is always better than the original. Australians are just so slow it took us 80 odd years to bring out the software upgrade.

Susan:

Now you’re dissing Australian ingenuity and creativity? Is there no end to your lack of National Pride?

From here the brouhaha turned into a melee, and there may have even been fisticuffs. Note that in the heat of battle Susan turns to her Big Book of Big Words for the Self-Righteous, while Meredith throws schoolyard insults and smiley-faces. We fight dirty, people.

So how do you feel about Vegemite bringing out a new flavour? A gross insult to our National Pride, or just a marketing strategy that might actually taste OK? Will you try it or will you staunchly refuse to touch it? If you are not Australian (as opposed to “unAustralian”), have you ever tried Vegemite and do you think we are quite mad for caring so much because “that black stuff tastes like what’s under a horse’s toenails”?

In the past couple of weeks I have had to write two notes for school, one late note (we arrived 5 minutes after the bell) and a note to excuse my daughter from sport.

I apparently made the children’s teachers smile by writing “disorganised mother” as the reason we were late. In the past, on the rare occasions that we have needed to write a late note, I have threatened to write “disobedient children” as the reason. That hasn’t amused the kids at all.

I know it’s showing my age, but does anyone else remember the 70’s sitcom Welcome Back Kotter? My recent note-writing activity brought it to mind, especially Epstein’s frequent letters to excuse him from school activities that were always signed “Epstein’s Mother”.

I was also thinking back on some of the interesting excuses friend’s used at school to get out of sport and other school activities.

One friend who attended regular ballet classes was excused from weight training activities with sport because she might damage her wrists, hands or feet (if she dropped them). Another friend was excused from attending a roller-skating activity because she had recently had a head cold and her mother said that she “still suffered from mild inner ear imbalance”. Of course it had nothing to do with her begging her mother to get her out of an activity she despised.

What about you? Have you ever written creative answers on your kids’ late notes and/or urged your parents to write dodgy notes to get you out of school activities when you were younger? If you are a teacher, what’s the most interesting or creative excuse/late note you have ever received?

Calling on the Blogosphere and the Twitterverse – I need your help!

For years now I have been hankering for jelly babies that taste like jelly babies used to taste when I was a kid. You know, when you’d go to the corner shop and carefully select “five of these and five of those” from the boxes under the glass and the shopkeeper would twist them up in a little white paper bag?

Lollies these days are all natural flavours and colours, except for those sour things that my kids like which I’m sure are made from an unholy alliance of sucrose and gunpowder.  I don’t know about you, but to me lollies are meant to taste fake. If I wanted fruit, I’d eat an apple. So my search for the perfect jelly baby goes on.

Here are my criteria:

Taste: sugary, synthetic -  like nothing that grows on a tree or bush!

Appearance: Bright colours, no powdered sugar (I’ve been directed to Bassett’s and their ilk before, and they’re just not what I’m after. I’m pretty sure Allen’s used to taste right, until they went all healthy on me. Damn you Allens -  denying my children’s right to massive sugar and chemical highs!!)

Texture: Soft and squishy, doesn’t stick in your teeth. Not chewy like gummi bears

There used to be a brand of lollies that started with a K and made big bags of jelly cats that tasted about right, but the brand name eludes me. I could only find them at the local Franklins when I was at Uni, so we’re talking early 90s.

If you can think of a brand, comment with the name and where I can get them! Susan is going crazy with my constant (seriously, it’s been years) harping.

In the past 24 hours I have become aware of just how pervasive the MasterChef Australia phenomenon has become. First my five-year old son turned to me and said “The profiteroles for his croquembouche are overdone. I think he will be sent home”. Then when Meredith realised she was sitting down to lunch today wearing a jacket and scarf, she gave me her best Matt Preston impersonation as she judged the pumpkin soup I had made for us to share.

Yes, that’s all it takes. A couple of hours of reality TV and a fake cravat and everyone thinks they’re a professional food critic.

MasterChef Australia has become part of family evening routine. The kids have their favourite contestants and sit on the edge of their seats in anxious anticipation whenever there is an invention or pressure test, team competition or elimination.

I think it’s great that the kids are learning about great food and getting an appreciation for just how difficult it can be to pull meals together. As for me, I am speechless that amateur cooks can create some of the amazing dishes that the contestants produce each week.

Of course, every silver lining has a cloud and mine is the disappointed look on the faces of my children when I serve a hearty meal of meat and three veg while they gaze longingly at the images of the open crab lasagne with crab bisque on the screen. Sorry kids. Not in this lifetime.

Are you addicted to MasterChef? Do you have a favourite contestant? How many more dishes do you think Chris will be able to cook based on beer? Do you dine on fine cuisine every night or do you simply muddle through preparing the evening meal as best you can without a quail, lobster or blood sausage in sight?

[It's Retro Day at thinkthinks.  This was originally published in 2006 at Just Humour Us]

We’ve decided it’s time for us to consider our future. After all, one day we may just grow up and we probably should have some plan in place just in case that happens.
M: Hey! I’m grown up!
S: You spent an hour in the sports store giggling about a piece of sporting equipment called a “large ball sack”
M: What’s your point?

So, we’ve decided to list our dream jobs – those we consider ourselves ideally suited for.

Chocolate Taster

Is the chocolate aesthetically pleasing, without bubbles or blemishes? Is there an early taste of cocoa, a hint of vanilla and a creamy finish to sooth the palate? Is the taste dark and exotic, light and refreshing, or sweet and stimulating? Who cares? We’re just happy to be paid to eat chocolate all day. Ah, does it get any better than this?

Body make-up artist

Brad Pitt needs his torso oiled for an impressive entrance in some action block-buster? We’re there, baby oil in hand, to do our part for the movie world. We have no desire to be in front of the camera or calling the shots as producer. We’re happy to perform those small, menial tasks, such as spraying mist onto Hugh Jackman so that Wolverine can look authentically sweaty after his work-out, just to be part of the glamour that is Hollywood.

Stand-in Bridesmaids

Had a falling out with all your sisters, friends and sisters’ friends? Just weeks to go to the wedding? Call us. We’re happy to frock up at a moment’s notice, foof your train, carry your bouquet and refill your champagne glass.

M: One for you, two for me, one for you, two for me.
S: Ah – you’re that bridesmaid, aren’t you?

We’ll talk to drunk uncles (as long as they’re not too grabby), deal with the DJ, and hold your hair back when you’ve over-imbibed on the doe show. And the best part is that although we scrub up OK for the photos with a bit of spack-filler makeup and a soft-focus lens, we’re not attractive enough to overshadow the bride. All for the low price of a meal of rubbery chicken or chewy beef and all the cheap red wine we can drink. Hey – we’ll do anything for a night away from the kids.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

With the influx of superhero movies over the past few years, sometimes a girl doesn’t know who to turn to in her moment of need. But who says I need to turn anywhere? Surely, as a modern woman of the new millennium, I have the ability to be a superhero all on my own. Mary-Jane Watson, Rachel Dawes and Pepper Potts need to take a good hard look at themselves.

Unfortunately superheroes seem to come in two forms – superhumans or insanely wealthy weaponmongers – of which I am neither. So it seems I have to harness my own superpowers. Luckily I have several.

Handwriting Power -  A graphologist’s nightmare – I can disguise my writing so that it looks like it was written by an elderly lady, a small child, a love-addled teen or a man about town. While useful for forging notes to the teacher back in the day, I’m afraid any practical applications of this power will have me tap-dancing across the fine edge of the law. This would probably get me kicked out of the Justice League.

Fluent in Accidental French – I managed to skip through my university French oral exams by pronouncing English words with a French accent. I call it the ‘Allo ‘Allo method. This plus my fluency in German means that I am also remarkably good at pronouncing European names properly the first time. Add in the handwriting power and I’d make an excellent Cold War spy, don’t you think? Hear that, Mr Bond? Once I get my hands on that time machine, I’m gunning for your job.

(As a side note, you can also get lucky in German exams and make up real German words by squashing together several shorter words which describe the word – e.g. Brustwarze = breast warts = nipples, Durchfall  = through fall = diarrhoea)

Uncanny Ability to Judge Volume of Liquids – Every time I have to measure a full, half, quarter, seven-nineteenths of a cup of liquid for a recipe, I pour without checking into the measuring jug, and never have to add more or tip any out. So if the world ever needs to be saved by precision liquid pouring, I’m your go-to gal.

Well, all this adds up to one awesome superhero. What about you? What’s your superpower?