I love watching people put on their makeup but that’s just me. Anyway Cassandra’s a trooper. I could never do what she’s done.  I delete all the photos I don’t like.  And I suck at putting on makeup.

See what you can learn from her.

To my father, Spam was canned ham. To my daughter, it’s naughty, annoying email. Here are 21 more expressions which mean something totally different to him than to her.

Tweet
To my father: what a bird says.
To my kid: what Kim Kardashian says.
Pre-game
To my father: the period before the actual game began.
To my kid: drinking before the actual drinking begins.
CD
To my father: ‘certificate of deposit,’ a financial product that once earned interest.
To my kid: what parents used to listen to music on before iTunes.
Stream
To my father: running water in the woods. (Later in life, the efficiency of his bladder to evacuate.)
To my kid: what gets Justin Bieber performing on her computer screen.
Like
To my father: a positive sentiment, generally about a person, place or thing.
To my kid: a “button” (on Facebook) expressing one’s vote of agreement.
Text
To my father: the original words of something written or printed.
To my kid: phone message made up of the letters OMG, LOL & WTF.
Junk
To my father: the stuff in one’s attic.
To my kid: the stuff in one’s pants.
Chat
To my father: what you do in person with friends.
To my kid: what you do on a computer with buddies.
Social network
To my father: friends and neighbors with whom you actually hang out.
To my kid: people you “know” on Facebook and Twitter, most of whom you’ve never met.
#
To my father: number sign
To my kid: hashtag
Roaming
To my father: What the buffalo did on the range.
To my kid: Excessive phone charges, paid by parent.
Swipe
To my father: to steal.
To my kid: what you do with a credit card, also paid by parent.
The shit
To my father: what a dog left on the sidewalk.
To my kid: something awesome.
The bomb
To my father: Hiroshima.
To my kid: also something awesome.
Reality
To my father: the state of things as they actually exist.
To my kid: TV shows that bear no resemblance to the state of things as they actually exist.
The Jersey Shore
To my father: The beach where Jersey people went in the summer.
To my kid: A “reality” show featuring halfwits exhibiting bad behavior.
The situation
To my father: A state of affairs.
To my kid: Asinine guy with great abdominals, exhibiting bad behavior.
Digital
To my father: A thermometer.
To my kid: An entire way of life, dude.
Weed
To my father: what grew on the lawn.
To my kid: what the kids bring to school.
Get Busy
To my father: To occupy yourself.
To my kid: To occupy yourself having sex.
Cougar
To my father: Large wild cat preying on deer.
To my kid: Older wild woman preying on younger men.
Muffin top
To my father: Top of a muffin.
To my kid: Fat role around the waist.
Gangster, now as “gangsta”
To my father: Al Capone.
To my kid: Fifty Cent (aka “Fitty”).
Fifty
To my father: 50.
To my kid: The new 40.
Sick
To my father: Physically ill.
To my kid: Fantastic.
Ill
To my father: Physically sick.
To my kid: Also fantastic.
Ecstasy
To my father: A trance-like state of absolute euphoria.
To my kid: A pill, to produce a trance-like state of absolute euphoria.
Energy Drink
To my father: Coffee.
To my kid: Red Bull.
Vietnam
To my father: Horrendous war.
To my kid: Wonderful tourist destination.
Crib
To my father: Where a baby sleeps.
To my kid: Where a rapper sleeps.
ED
To my father: Talking horse of old TV show (“A horse is a horse, of course of course…”)
To my kid: Erectile dysfunction (“Seek immediate medical attention for an erection lasting over four hours.”)
Wicked
To my father: Very bad.
To my kid: Very good.
Train wreck
To my father: A train that was wrecked.
To my kid: Lindsay Lohan

Can you think of any more? Image

This is my weekly column from the

Can you touch type? Kudos. Big merit to you. Well it would be a big merit if you were completing the 100 Point Behaviour Test for Teenagers formulated in 1953 by Dr George Crane.

I’ve always thought touch-typing to be a necessary skill. Not sure that it contributes to the worth of a 2011 teenager though. Actually I wish I had the skill of fast texting that all teenagers inherit at birth. The skill that lays dormant and festering through childhood and then manifests itself in a frenzy of thumb tapping to sent out at lightning speed searching messages like “wazzup” on their thirteenth birthday. Me, I use the keyboard on my phone to send the equally searching but beautifully punctuated “How are you?” Fortunately (for my street cred) I have abandoned the emicon. That was a very lame period of my life.

Anyway back to the meritorious behaviour of the 1953 teen. Regular church attendance will score you ten merits, but showing racist behaviour—well that gets you a big demerit of five points. But being a racist is nowhere as bad as “illicit sexual relations” which earns the horny teen a whopping twenty demerit points. Let this be a lesson in moderation to you young people.

OK, I know you’re just dying to know other ways that the 1953 teen could redeem themselves. So here’s an incomplete list: play a musical instrument, sing in a choir (I’m sensing a theme), has operated a newspaper route , teach a Sunday school class, asks to be excused when leaving the table early, depends on the alarm clock to get up instead of mamma, knows how to swim and wipes toothpaste specks from the mirror. That’s a diverse list of requirements.

The list of demerits is equally varied. The errant teen: flirts while on a date or is a “two timer”, cheats at school, fails to clean the comb after using it, is grumpy or caustic in the morning and accepts foolish dares to please others (planking on railings anyone?).

Anyway in the interests of recapturing my lost youth, and the absence of any willing teenagers prepared to tell me the truth, I conducted the test on myself. I’ll tell you now I fell down on all the church and prayer stuff and the profanity bit and that whole thing about drinking alcoholic beverages and gambling. I also failed on all the musical merits. I did try singing in a choir, once, and I was so bad that they asked me to do the big smile and mouth the words. This suggestion has been repeated when I sing karaoke.

I did excel at the household chores though. I regularly take the garbage out without nagging, I can prepare an entire meal on my own and I know how to swim. I never stick gum under the table and have stayed away from home for a week. Whew—at least I got some in the positive column.

Anyway I’ve totted up my score and let’s just say I failed. Apparently I have the emotional intelligence of a kindergartner. The children of 1953 must have been very virtuous, or maybe this test is a crock.

Does Guitar Hero count as playing a musical instrument? Image

This is my from my weekly Gen X Girl column in the Townsville Bulletin’s Savvy magazine.

Have you noticed that children, especially babies, are the new black? They’re everywhere. Once upon a time celebrities used to accessorise their outfits with gigantic handbags and saucer-sized sunnies but now they just casually sling their offspring across their shoulder and away they go.

Take the newest Beckham progeny, Harper. Posh Beckham has carted that one to every fashion event since it was born two months ago. I naively assumed that was because the baby was a girl and Victoria was trying to imprint fashion on it’s brain, but I think it may have been more about saying “see this is why I was fat. I can produce my own baby so nah nah to the rest of you who take the easy way out and adopt from Zanzibar”. But maybe I’m being judgmental. Victoria went through a lot for that baby. Slipped a disc, had to wear flats for a day. Poor pet.

Anyway Harper was really taken with New York Fashion Week. It’s true, Mrs B said so. “We went to Prada yesterday and she love it. It was as if she was saying, ‘Mummy, I’m home’.” It was probably just wind.

See I’m thinking it’s not the female offspring thing that is part of it. Celebrity stylist Rachel Zoe drags her poor infant son to the opening of an envelope. There is he is, poor little Skylar (promise I did not make that up), dolled up in his Cartier blankie sitting in the front row of London Fashion Week. So who’s going to grow up with a very pronounced lisp?

Suri Cruise, Tom’s little angel, has a wardrobe worth more than the GDP of the USA. This five year old has handbags from Gucci, high heels from Prada and discreet Burberry lining in all her coats. I this OK for a child? I think not. She wears red lipstick, blush and a surly demeanour. I feel like pushing her in a sandpit, but she wouldn’t know what to do.

How about Tavi, Vogue editor Anna Wintour’s new bestie? Tavi—that sounds exotic doesn’t it—all Russian with attitude. Well the attitude’s there, but that’s probably because she’s a teenager. Yes, one the of the most influential fashion bloggers in cyberspace is a 15 year old with four years of experience on board. Yep, she started when she was 11.

It’s not only the fashion world where children are making their mark because celeb offspring are big in the world of entertainment. And they don’t come much bigger than Willow Smith, the most annoying child on the planet. Not only is Willow an irritating person, but she is responsible for the world’s most annoying song I Whip My Hair Back and Forth. Actually I’m cranky at myself for mentioning that song because now I will spend the rest of the week singing the stupid thing.

Willow’s happy with the song’s success though saying she’s pleased all that hard work has paid off. Oh sweetie, you’re 11. You don’t know what hard work is you obnoxious brat. Go back to school and learn your algebra.

Another thing:  Check out Suri Cruise’s burn book.  Sort of seems wrong to laugh at a child but it’s very, very funny. Image

I’m really into Foxtel’s new series, My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. So much stuff going on that I never, ever imagined could really happen in 2011.

We Aussie’s don’t really know that much about gypsies other than they read fortunes and Johnny Depp played a misunderstood one in Chocolat. How’s that for a big, fat gypsy stereotype.

Well modern-day gypsies are something else. And their wedding dresses. I’ll be frank–they don’t border on, they are, ridiculous. Take for instance the pink number worn by a non-gypsy girl marrying into a gypsy family. It was pink, the skirt was wider than the girl was tall, it lit up like a Christmas tree and had moving fake butterflies. I actually sat with my hand held in horror over my mouth. That is till the woman who made the dress turned up with a fire extinguisher in case the whole thing when up in a big melted puff of polyester. That made me laugh.

Communion dresses take on the same vein with it normal and acceptable to fake tan a six-year-old. Perhaps these gypsies should branch out into child pageants. They’ve got the get up for it. They even change after the ceremony to a pole-dancer’s outfit that is quite creepy to watch. They get their dance on too. Shakira is a role model.

Anyway there are some things other than their poor dress sense that have truly shocked me. Here are some of them.

• Grabbing: where a gypsy boy attacks a girl and takes her somewhere private so that he can kiss her. I hope it is just kissing–it looked more like attempted rape to me. This is an acceptable practice. It’s how boys meet girls. Charming.
• Domestic violence: is an accepted practice in gypsy communities as dependent women see it as their lot in life.
• Domestic drudgery: women do no work outside the caravan which make them reliant on their men. See above.
• Education: is not a necessity for girls who are usually taken out of school when they are 11 or 12. They are needed at home to assist with domestic duties.
• Marriage: a girl is usually married by 16 with much fanfare, big dresses and big cakes. Groom is met by the process of grabbing.
• Alcohol: it’s OK for boys of 11 to drink alcohol–encouraged really. Probably gives them a bit of courage for grabbing and domestic violence when the.

Anyway I’ve gone from finding the first episode absolutely hilarious to being a little disturbed by the next one. I’m guessing the gypsies aren’t terribly impressed by how they’ve been portrayed.

Watch and see what you think. Image

Humbling? Yes, yes, yes. You can read Alice’s blog by clicking here. Her bucket list follows.

Some of Alice’s Bucket List

• To make everyone sign up to be a bone marrow donor
• To swim with sharks
• To go to Kenya (I can’t travel there now but I wanted to)
• To enter Mabel in a regional Labrador show
• To have a photoshoot with Milly, Clarissa, Sammie and Megs
• To have a private cinema party for me and my BFFs
• To design an Emma Bridgewater Mug to sell for charity
• To stay in a caravan
• To have a purple Apple ipad but I’m not really allowed to put that on here and mum is trying to borrow one
• To be a dolphin trainer (I can’t do this one either now)
• To meet Take That
• To go to Cadbury World and eat loads of chocolate
• To have a nice picture taken with Mabel
• To stay in the chocolate room at Alton Towers
• To have my hair done if they can do anything with it
• To have a back massage
• To go whale watching Image