Ipswich is building the first Japanese Teahouse in Queensland in the Nerima Gardens -a small(ish - by Qld standards) enclosure in the very freakin large Queens Park.
That's kinda cool. A bit of kimono-zen-calmness is always good to soak up. Maybe this will be somewhere that one might be able to go on an utterly brain-numbingly dull and hot Saturday morning in order to escape the litany of suburban mediocrity and lawnmowers. Some green tea, perhaps some music. The gardens in which is is currently being constructed are lovely and beautifully landscaped with a mix of Australian natives and Japanese classics.
So I enquire.
Once it is built, there will be an official opening ceremony in early November with Japanese ambassadors and a Tea Master. Well that's a bit fancy-pants! Sounds good, so I ask if I can come. No Way. The opening ceremony is by invitation only - no plebeians allowed, no public at all. Oh, I see.
I further enquire, "After the formal proceedings there's bound to be some kind of public element or opportunity. That's what I meant. Can I please come to that?"
"No. There is no public event."
"Oh. So it will just be open to the public after the formal ceremony."
"No," Gives me a look like I am an irritating idiot, "after the ceremony it will be locked up. It's a very special place, you can't just let people into it willy-nilly."
"Right. I get it. So there's just going to be certain days or special events that it is open for the public. Like a museum."
"No. It. Will. Not. Be. Open. To. The. Public."
"Message received and understood. Thank you for your time."
WTF?
This construction is a function of the Sister-City relationship with Nerima in Japan (what are they getting I wonder? - a backyard barbie setup? Maybe a pool with a faux-Balinese shade house?) but there's neither inclination nor resources for integrating it into the "existing cultural fabric" of the area. So why the fuck is it really getting built?!
The cynic in me says so that:
a) It is a "first" and therefore secures the formal ceremony (and therefore press)
b) It is a "first" and therefore secures bragging rights
The chirpy, positive one inside me says - "Don't be so quick to judge! You don't know the whole story! There may be a whole team of people working away on a culturally rich and socially rewarding series of exchanges and events that will happen around this eagerly awaited facility and it is just that they can't officially be announced yet! It could still really work out to be great!"
Maybe she's right. I shall have to wait and see. In the meantime, I can go and visit the garden and see if I can peer into the construction site. I'll take a thermos of green tea and maybe that collection of Japanese Sci-fi I've been planning to re-read. Riley and I will have our own freakin tea ceremony. No kimono required*.
* Unless you use kimono in the direct or literal meaning of "things to wear" in which case, yes, I will be clothed. Riley will be sporting his fur - summer length.
Showing posts with label Trash City. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Trash City. Show all posts
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Elemental Questions
The second front of the dust storm that enveloped most of the eastern seaboard this week has passed through. 75 000 tonnes of dirt every hour she dropped at her peak. That's impressive, and to use the older meaning of the word - awesome.
Which is to say that today is dusting, mopping, vacuuming, washing, and generally tidying day. It is days like this, when I realise there is far far too much stuff in my house. And each of those little surfaces is now dirty, and each of them needs a particular type of attention, and none of them have a clean place to be set down once they have been done. If I think about it like a great big puzzle, I'll get through it - or at least far enough through today that I can finish off or give up at my leisure another time. If only one could clean in this way with fire. There would be no reticence on my part to engage, however fire doesn't quite work that way, especially not against earth, so I shall have to persevere with water and air.
I went to see a play yesterday - The Trail of the Catonsville Nine - with thanks to The Monthly. Not only is it the best magazine in Australia, but as a subscriber you can sometimes win treats. The play is being presented here as part of the Brisbane Festival and without the email from the Monthly, I wouldn't even have known there was a BF on, let alone got out of Trash City for the day to participate. It is about 9 people who were put on trail for burning American draft office records during the Vietnam War. They felt profoundly moved to this act of civil disobedience and this play is set in the courtroom with just the 10 actors moving around to play all parts. Really marvelous and I encourage you to see it if the opportunity arises where you are.
One of the questions the play raised for me is "Are we complicit each time we do not speak up or step up to act for justice, for life?" There's a lot of argy bargy that could be done about what exactly "justice" might mean, and even for some contexts "life" and my intention now is not to wiffle about semantics - but to look at the bigger essence. Do we as a community - do I - still believe that there is justice? That life is sacred? Elements of this play were confronting as the characters talked of their commitment to equality for all, of their personal works to bridge poverty and education gaps between the haves and the have nots. The setting of this play might be historical but actually these remain urgent, contemporary issues and Australian issues too, not just American, or African, or Whereverian.
There was one line that tied this experience back to the reading I've been doing on Black Barty, and it was where Father Berrigan said in his statement (and I'm paraphrasing slightly) "I have lost faith in the institutions of this country. The law does not look after the people." He was referring to the illegality of the USA entering into the conflict and that somehow the President seemed above the law. Well if the President is above the law - what good is the law? The foundation of the democratic model has been undermined. And more - I remembered the East India Company, I thought of the ramifications of what probably seemed like a good idea at the time - creating a new kind of entity that would have standing and identity in and of itself in front of the law - The Company. Perhaps with hindsight, this is one of the moments where the interests of these new breed of "people" - Companies - overtook the interests of human people. The law certainly looked after their interests in this instance, but not of humans.
We are in the middle of a revolution and it can be hard to see for the haze, and think for the noises and baying. I wonder if the Companies will come through this revolution intact and stronger or if the machines will short-circuit that entire logic and power structure. I'm feeling a little depressed about it, but that's just my natural pessimisim and the fact that I've not yet had breakfast. I'm sure after some eggs and coffee I'll feel more hopeful about our democratic and governmental institutions re-vitalising the sanctity of human life, honouring thoughtful debate, flexibility and the fact that we're all on this ship together. Otherwise, it looks like fire will get a chance to clean after all.
Which is to say that today is dusting, mopping, vacuuming, washing, and generally tidying day. It is days like this, when I realise there is far far too much stuff in my house. And each of those little surfaces is now dirty, and each of them needs a particular type of attention, and none of them have a clean place to be set down once they have been done. If I think about it like a great big puzzle, I'll get through it - or at least far enough through today that I can finish off or give up at my leisure another time. If only one could clean in this way with fire. There would be no reticence on my part to engage, however fire doesn't quite work that way, especially not against earth, so I shall have to persevere with water and air.
I went to see a play yesterday - The Trail of the Catonsville Nine - with thanks to The Monthly. Not only is it the best magazine in Australia, but as a subscriber you can sometimes win treats. The play is being presented here as part of the Brisbane Festival and without the email from the Monthly, I wouldn't even have known there was a BF on, let alone got out of Trash City for the day to participate. It is about 9 people who were put on trail for burning American draft office records during the Vietnam War. They felt profoundly moved to this act of civil disobedience and this play is set in the courtroom with just the 10 actors moving around to play all parts. Really marvelous and I encourage you to see it if the opportunity arises where you are.
One of the questions the play raised for me is "Are we complicit each time we do not speak up or step up to act for justice, for life?" There's a lot of argy bargy that could be done about what exactly "justice" might mean, and even for some contexts "life" and my intention now is not to wiffle about semantics - but to look at the bigger essence. Do we as a community - do I - still believe that there is justice? That life is sacred? Elements of this play were confronting as the characters talked of their commitment to equality for all, of their personal works to bridge poverty and education gaps between the haves and the have nots. The setting of this play might be historical but actually these remain urgent, contemporary issues and Australian issues too, not just American, or African, or Whereverian.
There was one line that tied this experience back to the reading I've been doing on Black Barty, and it was where Father Berrigan said in his statement (and I'm paraphrasing slightly) "I have lost faith in the institutions of this country. The law does not look after the people." He was referring to the illegality of the USA entering into the conflict and that somehow the President seemed above the law. Well if the President is above the law - what good is the law? The foundation of the democratic model has been undermined. And more - I remembered the East India Company, I thought of the ramifications of what probably seemed like a good idea at the time - creating a new kind of entity that would have standing and identity in and of itself in front of the law - The Company. Perhaps with hindsight, this is one of the moments where the interests of these new breed of "people" - Companies - overtook the interests of human people. The law certainly looked after their interests in this instance, but not of humans.
We are in the middle of a revolution and it can be hard to see for the haze, and think for the noises and baying. I wonder if the Companies will come through this revolution intact and stronger or if the machines will short-circuit that entire logic and power structure. I'm feeling a little depressed about it, but that's just my natural pessimisim and the fact that I've not yet had breakfast. I'm sure after some eggs and coffee I'll feel more hopeful about our democratic and governmental institutions re-vitalising the sanctity of human life, honouring thoughtful debate, flexibility and the fact that we're all on this ship together. Otherwise, it looks like fire will get a chance to clean after all.
Saturday, September 05, 2009
A Short Reprive
Today an acquaintance here in Trash City said, whilst browsing a cookbook, "I mean, who's ever heard of some of these things?! Blood Oranges?! They made that up!!."
And although I said, "No, they're real, and particularly good for juicing" I thought something else entirely.
I dreamt last night that I was possessed by a length of galvanised chain that turned into a snake that both poisoned me and became me. So I was at once dying and my own killer.
There was a bit more too it, but thankfully I woke and there was rain on the roof - a very welcome sound - and I realised I was very hot under the covers. The dream was hard to shake off, especially as my leg that was hurting in the dream was very painful in real life. I got back to sleep after a while but the sensations and memories of the dream kept coming back throughout today.
Interesting, don't you think, for that theme to be so clear in a dream at this time?
And although I said, "No, they're real, and particularly good for juicing" I thought something else entirely.
I dreamt last night that I was possessed by a length of galvanised chain that turned into a snake that both poisoned me and became me. So I was at once dying and my own killer.
There was a bit more too it, but thankfully I woke and there was rain on the roof - a very welcome sound - and I realised I was very hot under the covers. The dream was hard to shake off, especially as my leg that was hurting in the dream was very painful in real life. I got back to sleep after a while but the sensations and memories of the dream kept coming back throughout today.
Interesting, don't you think, for that theme to be so clear in a dream at this time?
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Enlightenment from Band T-Shirts
I was just thinking that I would tell you about my time ITRW1 over the last few days, given that I've had a 4 day long weekend. Some of that time was spent implementing project "Cheerful" by going to the QLD GOMA to see the exhibition "Optimism" and to a concert (concert doesn't seem the right word for 6 bands over 8 hours, but neither does "festival" fit anything where Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds are headlining) and then a large amount of time doing very normal things (took out the rubbish, started trying to make a picture of a giant octopus -as you do when you have a bit of time, went to dinner in Ipswich, and yes, we were the only people in the place on a saturday night at 8pm!, set up my new second-hand computer which won't boot up *sigh*, tidied, messed, washed, dried. Dull as dishwater. Literally).
I'm still processing some of the art/music experience. It was a very big day. I was going to root through it all and find some nugget of insight about public entertainment, give a little review of the event, share something pithy about the ecology of band t-shirts that were on display, maybe mention that I deliberately rationed myself to a max of 2 text messages to any person I felt compelled to say something to while there .... but either I'm not going to make enough sense of it and how I felt about it or in some important way I wasn't really there.
Isn't that weird?! If I'm not the one living my life - than who is?! Is the real me off in a different probabilistic 'verse having a much better ITRW experience and I'm just keeping this seat warm? Of course, scientifically that's hard to substantiate2 so Occam's Razor4 would suggest something else is the true cause. Buddha tells me that this is the experience I'm having and I better come to grips with it. Strangely enough, it was a T-shirt on a tall lanky man who walked past me many times to fetch beers that has, in hindsight, untangled this knotted skein of transcendental angst. His shirt said, "Don't just listen to the music, feel it". Feel it. Hmmmm. Feelings .....
Feelings happen in the body, and I spent that time here. In my mind.
I was watching everything, noting, cataloguing and analysing it, thinking about ways to capture it ... not experiencing it. OHH!! (sound of light coming on) Gee whiz. Of course. What a drongo. Feelings might be important to project "Cheerful". I get it. Figured that one out all by myself. Ok, well there's a good heads-up for next time. Good thing I didn't get too committed to that idea of actually being busy in another probabilistically linked universe hey!!
1." In The Real World "
2. i.e. I borrowed that concept from a SF book and it has no Scientific basis AT ALL3, but it's a great story, you should maybe have a look at it - Anathem by Neal Stephenson. If you're going to steal - steal from the best.
3. Maybe a little in some little backwater of time/physics that I haven't got to or understood (that's not narrowing it down) so I can't say definitively that there's none at all, but, you know, it was fiction, and he normally footnotes really cool real things. So if it is real, don't hold it against me, but it's like, massively unlikely. That's all I'm saying.
4. I meant this is the newer and slightly less accurate sense, but in reading this reference, realised that both are applicable in this instance. How fortuitious! Also, here's a good example of where a mass usage, although incorrect, has already modified the primary meaning of the phrase. Inexorable! Another good reason to keep hold of those precious, printed copies of the OED with word histories in them!
I'm still processing some of the art/music experience. It was a very big day. I was going to root through it all and find some nugget of insight about public entertainment, give a little review of the event, share something pithy about the ecology of band t-shirts that were on display, maybe mention that I deliberately rationed myself to a max of 2 text messages to any person I felt compelled to say something to while there .... but either I'm not going to make enough sense of it and how I felt about it or in some important way I wasn't really there.
Isn't that weird?! If I'm not the one living my life - than who is?! Is the real me off in a different probabilistic 'verse having a much better ITRW experience and I'm just keeping this seat warm? Of course, scientifically that's hard to substantiate2 so Occam's Razor4 would suggest something else is the true cause. Buddha tells me that this is the experience I'm having and I better come to grips with it. Strangely enough, it was a T-shirt on a tall lanky man who walked past me many times to fetch beers that has, in hindsight, untangled this knotted skein of transcendental angst. His shirt said, "Don't just listen to the music, feel it". Feel it. Hmmmm. Feelings .....
Feelings happen in the body, and I spent that time here. In my mind.
I was watching everything, noting, cataloguing and analysing it, thinking about ways to capture it ... not experiencing it. OHH!! (sound of light coming on) Gee whiz. Of course. What a drongo. Feelings might be important to project "Cheerful". I get it. Figured that one out all by myself. Ok, well there's a good heads-up for next time. Good thing I didn't get too committed to that idea of actually being busy in another probabilistically linked universe hey!!
1." In The Real World "
2. i.e. I borrowed that concept from a SF book and it has no Scientific basis AT ALL3, but it's a great story, you should maybe have a look at it - Anathem by Neal Stephenson. If you're going to steal - steal from the best.
3. Maybe a little in some little backwater of time/physics that I haven't got to or understood (that's not narrowing it down) so I can't say definitively that there's none at all, but, you know, it was fiction, and he normally footnotes really cool real things. So if it is real, don't hold it against me, but it's like, massively unlikely. That's all I'm saying.
4. I meant this is the newer and slightly less accurate sense, but in reading this reference, realised that both are applicable in this instance. How fortuitious! Also, here's a good example of where a mass usage, although incorrect, has already modified the primary meaning of the phrase. Inexorable! Another good reason to keep hold of those precious, printed copies of the OED with word histories in them!
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
You Might be a Qlder If....
Next Sunday will mark the two year date for my move to Queensland. Two Years. 731 days. It feels like a lot longer than that.
I remember thinking through the plan in lots of years, One year for this and this, two years for this, and maybe five in total, max and thinking, "yeah, that's do-able. How hard can it be?! A few years of inconvenience is not such a big price to pay."
That was the voice of inexperience. That was the voice of someone who has played strategic games often enough to grasp the need for room/time to maneuver, but who has had all experiences of social and cultural deprivation fade into softness from the passage of time. Going without by choice in Sydney for a month is very different to going without for two years because even if you try and hunt it down there's nothing to be had locally.
This has not been my only learning. I have had a while now to observe the locals from my camouflaged blind and based on actual events and overheard conversations, I can now present to you the top 10 possibilitites that you're a Queenslander...
You Might be a Queenslander If:
10. You can have a normal shower in under 3 minutes with or without a timer. You would use the full 3 minutes if you needed to wash your hair.
9. You don't own a winter coat and wonder why people do (surely a pullover is enough?).
8. You think Brisbane is all grown-up now.
7. You have 'good' thongs for going out in (for when you really think you should probably wear shoes).
6. You've considered wearing formal beachwear to your court hearing.
5. You went to Sydney once (for a weekend) but didn't like it.
4. You think it is perfectly natural to operate your whippersnipper/mower/chainsaw/anglegrinder whilst wearing thongs or even just bare feet.
3. You exclusively drink Fourex beer, and consider all southern beers (such as, say VB) to be "gay."
=2. During a 42 degree day you've thought it would be a good idea to get some mowing done (and been surprised that you died of heat stroke/coronary attack).
=2. After a wild storm you've thought it would be a good idea to help the SES by 'tidying up' those fallen power lines.
1. You decorate with maroon.
Oh yes. My time here has been well spent.
I remember thinking through the plan in lots of years, One year for this and this, two years for this, and maybe five in total, max and thinking, "yeah, that's do-able. How hard can it be?! A few years of inconvenience is not such a big price to pay."
That was the voice of inexperience. That was the voice of someone who has played strategic games often enough to grasp the need for room/time to maneuver, but who has had all experiences of social and cultural deprivation fade into softness from the passage of time. Going without by choice in Sydney for a month is very different to going without for two years because even if you try and hunt it down there's nothing to be had locally.
This has not been my only learning. I have had a while now to observe the locals from my camouflaged blind and based on actual events and overheard conversations, I can now present to you the top 10 possibilitites that you're a Queenslander...
You Might be a Queenslander If:
10. You can have a normal shower in under 3 minutes with or without a timer. You would use the full 3 minutes if you needed to wash your hair.
9. You don't own a winter coat and wonder why people do (surely a pullover is enough?).
8. You think Brisbane is all grown-up now.
7. You have 'good' thongs for going out in (for when you really think you should probably wear shoes).
6. You've considered wearing formal beachwear to your court hearing.
5. You went to Sydney once (for a weekend) but didn't like it.
4. You think it is perfectly natural to operate your whippersnipper/mower/chainsaw/anglegrinder whilst wearing thongs or even just bare feet.
3. You exclusively drink Fourex beer, and consider all southern beers (such as, say VB) to be "gay."
=2. During a 42 degree day you've thought it would be a good idea to get some mowing done (and been surprised that you died of heat stroke/coronary attack).
=2. After a wild storm you've thought it would be a good idea to help the SES by 'tidying up' those fallen power lines.
1. You decorate with maroon.
Oh yes. My time here has been well spent.
Friday, July 04, 2008
"Use Your Baby Bonus to Buy a Plasma!"*
I guess it had to happen at some point.
I can almost see the entire picture now, sometime in the future, in a cluster of plastic chairs filled with sullen, shifty people in dark colours, there I am. The recovering advertisers support group. The first step is to acknowledge you have a problem.
But that's the future. Right now, what I have is a sneaky addiction to learning about advertising. Oh sure, I learnt semiotics theory in uni (and used it in part to do a Nietzschean analysis of Batman), I've written academic essays on the portrayal of motherhood, I've skimmed through copy-writing books and screen writing books and watched the odd documentary here and there about design or typography. We've all been there ... it's recreational use only.
To state the obvious - the signal to noise ratio in modern life (even in a total backwater like Trash City) is horrendous. Thank-you Brain for filtering so much of it out. In the last week or so I have asked for the filters to ease back a little to I can see it all again, and it is everywhere. Really all over the place. Walls, Streets, rooms, flashing , bleating, radio - I don't even need to mention the TV do I?! Why do this to myself? Well, The Client wants a lot more advertising than they did when I started. Before, they just wanted some promotion, some press releases, some web copy. Nice, low key pull-stuff. Now, now they want branding and positionals and targeted ads and direct mailers that aren't letters. Shit that I, frankly, just don't understand and have spent some effort to avoid up to now.
Ok so the library card is getting a flogging, and I am learning some things including jargon. I have no qualms about learning jargon - I use it on the client whenever I feel the bullshit quotient needs adjusting. Jargon often means I can do the common-sense thing that I suggested in the first place, but the cool/official sounding jargon for it makes it all sound very upmarket and professional. So instead of sending a group a personalised letter, we will send them "A direct mail "feel good" response initiator to a targeted demographic utilising below-the-line best-practise." I'm clearly making stuff up there, and I'm laying it on as an example. Those of you reading with any background in actual marketing will know how that barely even makes sense. But wow! Can you believe how clients lap it up!? So jargon is a great tool when used sparingly/ lathered around like jelly.
It is slow-going to pick up how to critically read these things from a capitalist/product point of view rather than from my existing (almost second nature) dissident political POV. Perhaps that is what is addictive - this feeling of "insider secrets revealed!" One of the first books I read was written in about 1910 (I'm falling in love with ebooks too - another thing I never thought would happen!) and it is pretty much all still there, and in his intro he was "capturing these time-proven methods" etc. Hi-Larious!
Will I use this power for the greater good? Or will I, like the fuckarsebaby boomers, just sell out and get loads of cash and drive a Kompressor? oooh, a Kompressor. So sleek, so powerful....
NO! I work for an art gallery goddammit! I will lull stupid bogans into bringing their snot-nosed brats in for edifying art encounters! YES! And if it takes shouting FREE! in all the material, well so be it. I'm not above a gratuitous sausage sizzle either. Don't start me. I've sunk so low now that an alley cat would avoid eye contact.
* Actual sign seen in local TV retailing store
I can almost see the entire picture now, sometime in the future, in a cluster of plastic chairs filled with sullen, shifty people in dark colours, there I am. The recovering advertisers support group. The first step is to acknowledge you have a problem.
But that's the future. Right now, what I have is a sneaky addiction to learning about advertising. Oh sure, I learnt semiotics theory in uni (and used it in part to do a Nietzschean analysis of Batman), I've written academic essays on the portrayal of motherhood, I've skimmed through copy-writing books and screen writing books and watched the odd documentary here and there about design or typography. We've all been there ... it's recreational use only.
To state the obvious - the signal to noise ratio in modern life (even in a total backwater like Trash City) is horrendous. Thank-you Brain for filtering so much of it out. In the last week or so I have asked for the filters to ease back a little to I can see it all again, and it is everywhere. Really all over the place. Walls, Streets, rooms, flashing , bleating, radio - I don't even need to mention the TV do I?! Why do this to myself? Well, The Client wants a lot more advertising than they did when I started. Before, they just wanted some promotion, some press releases, some web copy. Nice, low key pull-stuff. Now, now they want branding and positionals and targeted ads and direct mailers that aren't letters. Shit that I, frankly, just don't understand and have spent some effort to avoid up to now.
Ok so the library card is getting a flogging, and I am learning some things including jargon. I have no qualms about learning jargon - I use it on the client whenever I feel the bullshit quotient needs adjusting. Jargon often means I can do the common-sense thing that I suggested in the first place, but the cool/official sounding jargon for it makes it all sound very upmarket and professional. So instead of sending a group a personalised letter, we will send them "A direct mail "feel good" response initiator to a targeted demographic utilising below-the-line best-practise." I'm clearly making stuff up there, and I'm laying it on as an example. Those of you reading with any background in actual marketing will know how that barely even makes sense. But wow! Can you believe how clients lap it up!? So jargon is a great tool when used sparingly/ lathered around like jelly.
It is slow-going to pick up how to critically read these things from a capitalist/product point of view rather than from my existing (almost second nature) dissident political POV. Perhaps that is what is addictive - this feeling of "insider secrets revealed!" One of the first books I read was written in about 1910 (I'm falling in love with ebooks too - another thing I never thought would happen!) and it is pretty much all still there, and in his intro he was "capturing these time-proven methods" etc. Hi-Larious!
Will I use this power for the greater good? Or will I, like the fuckarsebaby boomers, just sell out and get loads of cash and drive a Kompressor? oooh, a Kompressor. So sleek, so powerful....
NO! I work for an art gallery goddammit! I will lull stupid bogans into bringing their snot-nosed brats in for edifying art encounters! YES! And if it takes shouting FREE! in all the material, well so be it. I'm not above a gratuitous sausage sizzle either. Don't start me. I've sunk so low now that an alley cat would avoid eye contact.
* Actual sign seen in local TV retailing store
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Not Quite Neighbourly
The "Cult Film" mini project for work is happening. It's not for ages yet, but you have to get things nailed-down (spontaneity is for artists, not galleries) in advance so promotion can be booked, and staff can get used to seeing it on the horizon. There's a little hiccup with one of the Councillors having booked one of the nights for some lame event where they hand out certificates to whoever turns up. Might not be able to get out of that .... have to see.
KS and I have been circling mentions in the local paper of "Bookmarks of Excellence" being given to children who do craft at the shopping centres during the school holidays. There's something basically wrong with telling a general population that they're 'excellent' all the time, that their city is the best, that they're 'leading the way'. It's delusional apart from anything else!
Rather than get caught up on the many "quirks" of Trash City, I want to tell you a little about my new stalker. Anna.
Anna is my new neighbour (replacing Merv who Mowed), and has been transplanted from an Eastern Bris suburb - so she's a long way from her friends. She's moved to Trash City because her dutiful daughter is concerned for her safety (and the DD's response time should there be an emergency) now that Anna is in her winter years. So she has some time on her hands. And windows. Time to look out of windows. And a front porch as most of the houses in our suburb do. A front porch (rather than a back one) to add to that sense of 'community' - where everyone can 'watch out for each other'. Literally.
She has had a very interesting life - being raised in China in a Russian school (so although she's Australian, she has a heavy Russian accent). She and her husband started their family overseas and there were a few stories about trains and border crossings with babies and bags going missing, and no food and so on which made for an astonishing 45 minutes listening. She has two cats and a dog just like Riley ("only she is proper breed!") called Poppy. She's kind, friendly and always up for a chat. ALWAYS UP FOR A CHAT.
I realised last night as she sprung upon me out of the dusk as I darted from my car to the front door and started relating the activities of Rumi during the day, and how her two cats responded to this, and how great it was that one of my new shrubs was flowering, and how I had been at work a long time today and how I must be tired and she should be going, except that it would be best for me if I cooked a big meal on sundays and froze it in portions and then i wouldn't have to cook each night, just heat up my meal and it's much better that way, which is how she does it, in an enamel pot, they're the best kind and I nodded and tried to smile and it dawned on me. I am just not made for this suburban life. I am a crap neighbour. I have no interest in who is doing what to who over in number 13, or what number 15 thinks of it, and is trying not to say, nor why number 12 has so many people living there, or what they think they're doing with that great big boat, nor why Mrs Number 18 was in hospital recently, or if the people at number 11 are still the same ones who had the big drug bust or are there new people there now.
I DON'T CARE.
I say g'day, I offer to bring bins in if people are going away, I'll swap cuttings or dog-sit. That's kind of it for me. I've expanded that to being the loose-dog-pound-ringer and I'm done. I didn't realise that a yard would come with such a high cost. I also thought that fences would absorb more sound. There you go - wrong again.
KS and I have been circling mentions in the local paper of "Bookmarks of Excellence" being given to children who do craft at the shopping centres during the school holidays. There's something basically wrong with telling a general population that they're 'excellent' all the time, that their city is the best, that they're 'leading the way'. It's delusional apart from anything else!
Rather than get caught up on the many "quirks" of Trash City, I want to tell you a little about my new stalker. Anna.
Anna is my new neighbour (replacing Merv who Mowed), and has been transplanted from an Eastern Bris suburb - so she's a long way from her friends. She's moved to Trash City because her dutiful daughter is concerned for her safety (and the DD's response time should there be an emergency) now that Anna is in her winter years. So she has some time on her hands. And windows. Time to look out of windows. And a front porch as most of the houses in our suburb do. A front porch (rather than a back one) to add to that sense of 'community' - where everyone can 'watch out for each other'. Literally.
She has had a very interesting life - being raised in China in a Russian school (so although she's Australian, she has a heavy Russian accent). She and her husband started their family overseas and there were a few stories about trains and border crossings with babies and bags going missing, and no food and so on which made for an astonishing 45 minutes listening. She has two cats and a dog just like Riley ("only she is proper breed!") called Poppy. She's kind, friendly and always up for a chat. ALWAYS UP FOR A CHAT.
I realised last night as she sprung upon me out of the dusk as I darted from my car to the front door and started relating the activities of Rumi during the day, and how her two cats responded to this, and how great it was that one of my new shrubs was flowering, and how I had been at work a long time today and how I must be tired and she should be going, except that it would be best for me if I cooked a big meal on sundays and froze it in portions and then i wouldn't have to cook each night, just heat up my meal and it's much better that way, which is how she does it, in an enamel pot, they're the best kind and I nodded and tried to smile and it dawned on me. I am just not made for this suburban life. I am a crap neighbour. I have no interest in who is doing what to who over in number 13, or what number 15 thinks of it, and is trying not to say, nor why number 12 has so many people living there, or what they think they're doing with that great big boat, nor why Mrs Number 18 was in hospital recently, or if the people at number 11 are still the same ones who had the big drug bust or are there new people there now.
I DON'T CARE.
I say g'day, I offer to bring bins in if people are going away, I'll swap cuttings or dog-sit. That's kind of it for me. I've expanded that to being the loose-dog-pound-ringer and I'm done. I didn't realise that a yard would come with such a high cost. I also thought that fences would absorb more sound. There you go - wrong again.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Because it's on
I'd had such hopes for the "antiques and collectibles fair day" that I was ready to be faced with many choices and competing desires. I was armed up with a little bit of cash, and ready to have to do some appraising and make a difficult decision of how best to deploy it for overall pleasure on the day.
What was actually available was ... lacklustre. A bit dull, very nana. Not much chop. Well, in the end I picked up another typewriter (a funky two-tone Remington 315 'portable') bringing it to just 2 Remington's an Olivetti and an Underwood (still pretty modest and I am *not* calling it a collection, I just like typewriters, and yes, nearly all of them work, but the ribbons are pretty faded) and an owl clicker. A clicker - you remember those pressed metal toys, where there was a body and then a little stub of metal on the back that you'd depress and let go, depress and let go and it would go "KL-ICK!, KL-ICK!" yes? Well, I paid an OUTRAGEOUS sum for one of those. I don't think it was outrageous, but Mellie (who is visiting with her dog-nephew Jinx) *screamed* when I said $8. Jeeze. Yes, we all had them when we were kids, but they got destroyed, chucked out, lost. Anyway, given that the only other thing I was interested in there was $255 (and incomplete! The lady let me take a photo of it which she seemed confused about) I think I got out very lightly and it was still cheaper than a film and a choc-top.
Once again confirming my theory that things in Ippy are generally well attended not out of the oft touted "community spirit" nor out of any particular interest, but simply *because*they're*on*. We'll go to anything around here just to have a look. That's right. Just because there's nothing better to do and we're all a tiny bit sick of the inside of our own houses.
I'm not complaining, I'm just saying how it is. Same thing today - Million Paws Walk. Can easily give the RSPCA money any day, but went along for the social outing. Riley doesn't even like other dogs. He certainly does not like being around hundreds of dogs he hasn't personally approved to attend, many of whom may bark without his express permission. None the less, off we went into the howling wind and sat around getting red ruddy cheeks, knocked around by massive bodies on short leashes, enduring ridiculous commentary of the Frisbee Dogs team (?! I kid you not) and getting sick on horrid, expensive coffee. Euch. But there you go. That's two events I've been looking forward too. Ah. [shakes head]
So here we are. It's early Sunday afternoon. I'm going to have a nap. Possibly for hours. Then I'm going to write (or at least type up some of the masses of notes I have, there's always editing time later!), and for dinner I shall have toast. Wonderful. See - no need to go out again for weeks, possibly months now.
What was actually available was ... lacklustre. A bit dull, very nana. Not much chop. Well, in the end I picked up another typewriter (a funky two-tone Remington 315 'portable') bringing it to just 2 Remington's an Olivetti and an Underwood (still pretty modest and I am *not* calling it a collection, I just like typewriters, and yes, nearly all of them work, but the ribbons are pretty faded) and an owl clicker. A clicker - you remember those pressed metal toys, where there was a body and then a little stub of metal on the back that you'd depress and let go, depress and let go and it would go "KL-ICK!, KL-ICK!" yes? Well, I paid an OUTRAGEOUS sum for one of those. I don't think it was outrageous, but Mellie (who is visiting with her dog-nephew Jinx) *screamed* when I said $8. Jeeze. Yes, we all had them when we were kids, but they got destroyed, chucked out, lost. Anyway, given that the only other thing I was interested in there was $255 (and incomplete! The lady let me take a photo of it which she seemed confused about) I think I got out very lightly and it was still cheaper than a film and a choc-top.
Once again confirming my theory that things in Ippy are generally well attended not out of the oft touted "community spirit" nor out of any particular interest, but simply *because*they're*on*. We'll go to anything around here just to have a look. That's right. Just because there's nothing better to do and we're all a tiny bit sick of the inside of our own houses.
I'm not complaining, I'm just saying how it is. Same thing today - Million Paws Walk. Can easily give the RSPCA money any day, but went along for the social outing. Riley doesn't even like other dogs. He certainly does not like being around hundreds of dogs he hasn't personally approved to attend, many of whom may bark without his express permission. None the less, off we went into the howling wind and sat around getting red ruddy cheeks, knocked around by massive bodies on short leashes, enduring ridiculous commentary of the Frisbee Dogs team (?! I kid you not) and getting sick on horrid, expensive coffee. Euch. But there you go. That's two events I've been looking forward too. Ah. [shakes head]
So here we are. It's early Sunday afternoon. I'm going to have a nap. Possibly for hours. Then I'm going to write (or at least type up some of the masses of notes I have, there's always editing time later!), and for dinner I shall have toast. Wonderful. See - no need to go out again for weeks, possibly months now.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Some Nurture from Nature
The cold snap has receded leaving it its wake confused trees.
It still gets to about 25 degrees during the day, and the sun is strong enough to burn, but this morning all of the Gadagi trees along Toongarra road had half-turned their leaves to brown. I sometimes wonder if there’s any part of the tree that can reflect on how hard it’s working today because of a pre-emptive autumn response? On the other hand, if they aren’t going to start feeling Autumn now that it’s May (when it technically started in March!) then I don’t know when they will! Maybe some deciduous trees don’t mind a short winter. For some reason, I seem to think that as they’re adapted to it, in some way they want it to be a proper winter. I adapted for snow – bring it on!!
No normal chance of snow here, but you know what I mean. It’s cool enough in the mornings to need a cardigan and prefer long pants. I could do with a much longer walk before leaving for work, but we only have time for between half an hour and an hour. Having said that about the snow, I wonder if we’re going to see more of the “super cell” storms that happened over the summer (one of which was in Roma and resulted in hail so thick it looked like snow, where the next town out didn’t even get a shower)? I ask knowing the answer already – almost certainly. We’re far enough into our climate change slide that even in the super-quick response that is possible (but we as a nation have not yet decided to undertake) it would take years for the likelihood of “super cell” storms to subside.
The weather here is so fine otherwise – it’s hard to remember that the earth is still turning, but the sun has swung around to a completely different side of the house in the mornings and sets over a different roof, so that keeps me in step. Last night was perfect for looking at the sky. This is the real reason that I want to get an outdoor banana-lounge – the stars. Trash City isn’t as good for it as Ma&Pa’s farm, but it’s still pretty dim (lights wise in this instance) and the milky way is such a glory. Like a long walk, there’s something very calming in a long starbath.
It still gets to about 25 degrees during the day, and the sun is strong enough to burn, but this morning all of the Gadagi trees along Toongarra road had half-turned their leaves to brown. I sometimes wonder if there’s any part of the tree that can reflect on how hard it’s working today because of a pre-emptive autumn response? On the other hand, if they aren’t going to start feeling Autumn now that it’s May (when it technically started in March!) then I don’t know when they will! Maybe some deciduous trees don’t mind a short winter. For some reason, I seem to think that as they’re adapted to it, in some way they want it to be a proper winter. I adapted for snow – bring it on!!
No normal chance of snow here, but you know what I mean. It’s cool enough in the mornings to need a cardigan and prefer long pants. I could do with a much longer walk before leaving for work, but we only have time for between half an hour and an hour. Having said that about the snow, I wonder if we’re going to see more of the “super cell” storms that happened over the summer (one of which was in Roma and resulted in hail so thick it looked like snow, where the next town out didn’t even get a shower)? I ask knowing the answer already – almost certainly. We’re far enough into our climate change slide that even in the super-quick response that is possible (but we as a nation have not yet decided to undertake) it would take years for the likelihood of “super cell” storms to subside.
The weather here is so fine otherwise – it’s hard to remember that the earth is still turning, but the sun has swung around to a completely different side of the house in the mornings and sets over a different roof, so that keeps me in step. Last night was perfect for looking at the sky. This is the real reason that I want to get an outdoor banana-lounge – the stars. Trash City isn’t as good for it as Ma&Pa’s farm, but it’s still pretty dim (lights wise in this instance) and the milky way is such a glory. Like a long walk, there’s something very calming in a long starbath.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Shifting
The weather is shifting. The wattle trees down in the big park have all decided it's time to flower. It's been about 7 degrees below average over night last night, and feels like it's heading that way tonight too. Even the cat in his giant snow coat has moved from the open window sill he normally prefers to an unclaimed part of the bed. Cool weather for a change, and it's dry, very dry. You can almost feel the air crackling, and everything is sharp with static.
Part of the highway to ma & pa's farm started just peeling away a while back, and it's just getting worse and worse. Ma said that the guys in the roads department explained that it's something to do with the water content of the bitumen when they made that part - too dry and it never sets right. Plus it's been dry since they poured it, apart from that flood that came through, and i can't help but wonder if that's why those old mines are shifting this week and cracking up the streets and houses down in raceview.
Those of us who can't fly tend to feel a bit anxious when the ground starts falling out from under us.
Part of the highway to ma & pa's farm started just peeling away a while back, and it's just getting worse and worse. Ma said that the guys in the roads department explained that it's something to do with the water content of the bitumen when they made that part - too dry and it never sets right. Plus it's been dry since they poured it, apart from that flood that came through, and i can't help but wonder if that's why those old mines are shifting this week and cracking up the streets and houses down in raceview.
Those of us who can't fly tend to feel a bit anxious when the ground starts falling out from under us.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Politics anyone? (Rated: MA)
Are you interested in politics? Well now, let me see if we agree what we're talking about here (English - such a sloppy language).
If we're talking about the bastard child of vigilante justice and corrupt management masquerading as leadership and patriotic paternalism, then yeah, we're probably on the same page, and my quick, accurate and honest answer is "no way". Am I addicted to it in the way of cheezy soaps and sleazy lying two-timing boyfriends - "way!".
It's my dirty secret, I don't think I'm worth a good life any more than the next sad, overweight, brain dead tv-addled moron. And I'm right. I get what I deserve, and I'm getting a lot of politics. And a new season of Biggest Looser - 6 nights a week. Alternated with "Big Brother". Right there in the juxtaposition of those two titles tells you all you need to know about the state of our country and it's info-tainment mindset. It's ok, you don't need to ask - yes I do feel dirty and hate myself for it. But that's the beauty of self-hatred, it's a perfect cycle, leading directly to self harm, self sabotage and indulgence in reckless behaviour - like reading the newspaper, watching the TV or just believing any guy when he says he'll call you.
I'm not even feeling especially bitter today, just bored with being bland, and sick up to the back pass with living in the suburbs. What fucking shit-holes we make for ourselves, and then squabble over the price of buying into them like sarky ill-mannered little rats. Ignorant, angry rats, gagging to hole-up somewhere and gnaw away at the wiring and stray dog kibble. Breeding as fast as we can so it's our bigoted, bored offspring tunneling away into the next natural area of our dwindling stockpile and roaming the streets bored and jacked up on cheap drugs and subsidised petrol looking for a new abuse to amuse for a few minutes. As long as it's not those icky fuckin rats from over the water. In the immortal words of Ms J: Fuck that shit.
Ex-xactly.
So, here I am. Sending out to you from the impacted colon of the arse of Australia. Since the Roman senate, politics has been about paying off the noisiest interests and distracting the dimmest or least powerful interests. The only fracture in this process at the moment - sport disappearing off the free-to-air. Bring back our circus! Riiiiiight. Not the creeping corporatisation of our public services, not the preventable diseases and deaths from reckless driving or the huge amount of money we as a country piss away in corrupt defence contracts or "lost" armaments, or the fact that our literacy levels are heading towards the same levels as Nelson's approval rating. No, we're pleasantly distracted by Guillard's haircut (or lack thereof) and the liberal party failing to grow a new head.
Well I don't have any answers. I'm part of the problem and I know it. I am disillusioned, cynical and fed-up. I've got more than half of my life in front of me - almost enough time to make sure that if I work 'hard enough' I can "self-fund" my decrepitude. Gee, thanks. It's not like I can even plan to do the reasonable thing and top myself when the time comes. That's been outlawed. Good thinking guys. And can anyone give a real reason for the criminalisation of self-responsibility in one's end days that isn't soft wet hand-wringing? No? I didn't think so.
I'm no more interested in politics than I am interested in the practise trepanning to relieve back-ache.
If we're talking about the bastard child of vigilante justice and corrupt management masquerading as leadership and patriotic paternalism, then yeah, we're probably on the same page, and my quick, accurate and honest answer is "no way". Am I addicted to it in the way of cheezy soaps and sleazy lying two-timing boyfriends - "way!".
It's my dirty secret, I don't think I'm worth a good life any more than the next sad, overweight, brain dead tv-addled moron. And I'm right. I get what I deserve, and I'm getting a lot of politics. And a new season of Biggest Looser - 6 nights a week. Alternated with "Big Brother". Right there in the juxtaposition of those two titles tells you all you need to know about the state of our country and it's info-tainment mindset. It's ok, you don't need to ask - yes I do feel dirty and hate myself for it. But that's the beauty of self-hatred, it's a perfect cycle, leading directly to self harm, self sabotage and indulgence in reckless behaviour - like reading the newspaper, watching the TV or just believing any guy when he says he'll call you.
I'm not even feeling especially bitter today, just bored with being bland, and sick up to the back pass with living in the suburbs. What fucking shit-holes we make for ourselves, and then squabble over the price of buying into them like sarky ill-mannered little rats. Ignorant, angry rats, gagging to hole-up somewhere and gnaw away at the wiring and stray dog kibble. Breeding as fast as we can so it's our bigoted, bored offspring tunneling away into the next natural area of our dwindling stockpile and roaming the streets bored and jacked up on cheap drugs and subsidised petrol looking for a new abuse to amuse for a few minutes. As long as it's not those icky fuckin rats from over the water. In the immortal words of Ms J: Fuck that shit.
Ex-xactly.
So, here I am. Sending out to you from the impacted colon of the arse of Australia. Since the Roman senate, politics has been about paying off the noisiest interests and distracting the dimmest or least powerful interests. The only fracture in this process at the moment - sport disappearing off the free-to-air. Bring back our circus! Riiiiiight. Not the creeping corporatisation of our public services, not the preventable diseases and deaths from reckless driving or the huge amount of money we as a country piss away in corrupt defence contracts or "lost" armaments, or the fact that our literacy levels are heading towards the same levels as Nelson's approval rating. No, we're pleasantly distracted by Guillard's haircut (or lack thereof) and the liberal party failing to grow a new head.
Well I don't have any answers. I'm part of the problem and I know it. I am disillusioned, cynical and fed-up. I've got more than half of my life in front of me - almost enough time to make sure that if I work 'hard enough' I can "self-fund" my decrepitude. Gee, thanks. It's not like I can even plan to do the reasonable thing and top myself when the time comes. That's been outlawed. Good thinking guys. And can anyone give a real reason for the criminalisation of self-responsibility in one's end days that isn't soft wet hand-wringing? No? I didn't think so.
I'm no more interested in politics than I am interested in the practise trepanning to relieve back-ache.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Mules Film
The last few days I've had a chance to meet a couple of local animators and learn about their project. I have never had much exposure to people making stop-motion animation. Everyone knows the basic idea - moving characters/props a fraction at a time, a frame at a time to build up a moving image. It more common I think to see claymation.
Anyway to see the short 20 seconds or so that come from 2 days (or more!) of shooting is inspiring! They are also handcraft all the puppets, all the props and sets. It truly is an enormous creative undertaking! They started making the film in 2004 and so far have made 47 minutes of footage. It sounds so slow and painful, but talking to them about it, they describe it as a liberation to no longer worry about their actors and finding the right set or the money to rent things. They have huge bags of toys they use to make props with, as well as molding the puppets themselves. They shoot with a digital SLR, frame by frame (yes, they hand made their camera dolly too) and it all happens in a shed near the Ipswich Cemetery!
If you're interested you can find out more than you ever imagined there was to know at their online journal. It's meeting people like Miles and Julie that is the most rewarding part of my job.
Anyway to see the short 20 seconds or so that come from 2 days (or more!) of shooting is inspiring! They are also handcraft all the puppets, all the props and sets. It truly is an enormous creative undertaking! They started making the film in 2004 and so far have made 47 minutes of footage. It sounds so slow and painful, but talking to them about it, they describe it as a liberation to no longer worry about their actors and finding the right set or the money to rent things. They have huge bags of toys they use to make props with, as well as molding the puppets themselves. They shoot with a digital SLR, frame by frame (yes, they hand made their camera dolly too) and it all happens in a shed near the Ipswich Cemetery!
If you're interested you can find out more than you ever imagined there was to know at their online journal. It's meeting people like Miles and Julie that is the most rewarding part of my job.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Status: Denied
The Company's New Year resolution was to withdraw net access to Facebook. Ah well, it had to happen sooner or later. You could almost feel the slow drag each morning as hundreds of slightly bored and disaffected staff started to idly log-in and check their buds, super-poke someone or upload some more fun-in-sun shots from the weekend at Wet'n'Wild or the Caxton.
Our new staff member who started this Tuesday looked at me incredulously "What do you mean you can't access any web email or networking?!"
"I *know*!" I said. "Stuck here in every way."
I meant to write yesterday, but I went to my boss's office to ask a single question (that needed a yes/no level answer) and lurched out gasping over 2 hours later with about 5 pages of action points. So, work has picked up again and things are quite busy. That's good really. Instead of it being hump day and me trying to find a way to motivate myself, it's already the end of Thursday. Excellent!
Roll the dice, get paid, pass Go, collect $200.
In other news, I am fascinated with Corey and his unfolding melodrama of the Myspace open party. What a modern moment! The publicity, the posed shots, the inarticulateness, the fuming parents copping flak for having such a dickhead for a son and/or for having left him unattended with an internet account. Hi-Larious! Almost as good as the storm this week in Trash City papers over a local being charged $10 for a chicken and salad sandwich at the new shopping centre. No really - it made the front page!! Plenty of finger-pointing in the Letter to the Editor sections too, I can tell you.
"You have to laugh," I tell myself "but don't try satirising it!"
Reality is plenty strange enough right now.
Our new staff member who started this Tuesday looked at me incredulously "What do you mean you can't access any web email or networking?!"
"I *know*!" I said. "Stuck here in every way."
I meant to write yesterday, but I went to my boss's office to ask a single question (that needed a yes/no level answer) and lurched out gasping over 2 hours later with about 5 pages of action points. So, work has picked up again and things are quite busy. That's good really. Instead of it being hump day and me trying to find a way to motivate myself, it's already the end of Thursday. Excellent!
Roll the dice, get paid, pass Go, collect $200.
In other news, I am fascinated with Corey and his unfolding melodrama of the Myspace open party. What a modern moment! The publicity, the posed shots, the inarticulateness, the fuming parents copping flak for having such a dickhead for a son and/or for having left him unattended with an internet account. Hi-Larious! Almost as good as the storm this week in Trash City papers over a local being charged $10 for a chicken and salad sandwich at the new shopping centre. No really - it made the front page!! Plenty of finger-pointing in the Letter to the Editor sections too, I can tell you.
"You have to laugh," I tell myself "but don't try satirising it!"
Reality is plenty strange enough right now.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Formalising an Accent
Name?
Jayke.
J-A-K-E?
nah - J-A-Y-K-E.
pause...
Aussie Bogan parents huh?
Yeah, 'fraid so.
Poor bastard. Next!
Jayke.
J-A-K-E?
nah - J-A-Y-K-E.
pause...
Aussie Bogan parents huh?
Yeah, 'fraid so.
Poor bastard. Next!
Friday, October 12, 2007
Pie Culture
Ipswich embraces much of what I remember being left behind in the 70s. Utes, thongs, chicko rolls, dodgy moustaches, and the pie. Bogan chicks getting off on V8s.
Maybe suburbia has been like this the whole time and I’ve just been ignorant. In that case, ignorance really is its own kind of bliss. Maybe the pie from out of the back of a ute on the side of the road has appeal. Handy – roads are long here. Quicker - Maccas drive through queues are killers. And filling – no one here seems to caught up on nutritional fine print!
The names are right out there too “Big Dad’s Pies” a local franchise going strong. “Joe’s Pies” – calling it how it is.
If you like meat, this is the town for you. Gotta fight for a decent lettuce, but meat from here to kingdom come.
Maybe suburbia has been like this the whole time and I’ve just been ignorant. In that case, ignorance really is its own kind of bliss. Maybe the pie from out of the back of a ute on the side of the road has appeal. Handy – roads are long here. Quicker - Maccas drive through queues are killers. And filling – no one here seems to caught up on nutritional fine print!
The names are right out there too “Big Dad’s Pies” a local franchise going strong. “Joe’s Pies” – calling it how it is.
If you like meat, this is the town for you. Gotta fight for a decent lettuce, but meat from here to kingdom come.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Storms Forecast
This month is really getting away from me.
I've got until friday to get our next quarterly brochure proofed and signed off. I don't really write anything, I'm the in-between person. Not quite senior enough to be editing or making any real decisions. The type-it-up and send it back to the designer, person. Not glamorous, no. Not fulfilling, no. Slightly appreciated and well-paid. These things will do. Tomorrow is the 'send it to all the stakeholders for their approval of their bit' day, and we'll see if the preliminary approvals I got from each of them will hold good. Let's hope so.
Dull isn't it.
I didn't mean to start talking shop. There's been awesome thunder and lightening storms. Very little rain in them, and a bit of hail. Some areas have been devastated - others completely untouched. Everywhere is humid and horrible. Peter was grazing his cows in the long paddock this morning, and as we rolled through them, I saw how bony and tired they all are. His cattle, like ours, are near to death from hunger and creeping malnutrition. If we can squeeze two drops of water out of these storms we'll be grateful for it. In that context, print deadlines don't really mean that much.
I unpacked a few boxes tonight. After nearly a year in storage, it's a wonderful surprise to unearth so many beautiful things and wonder where I will put them all. The kitchen cupboards aren't quite finished yet, and somehow I haven't yet stepped over the threshold of putting anything into the built-ins. Maybe it's the lack of a bed. A home isn't really anchored until you're sleeping there. Until then it's a camp kitchen with an indoor loo. Still, my camp kitchen and indoor loo now have an owl or a Buddha in nearly every room. An eclectic pairing I grant you. It will just get better from here. The lovely Mel arrived today with hand-me-down couches. My vision of a lounge room that can comfortably seat 12 has finally been realised - sadly just about a thousand kloms from any of the usual groups of 12 that I can assemble! A success of its own kind nonetheless.
Street Gossip tells me that the horrid Bogans from Hell over in number 13 (no really!) have already gotten their eviction notice, so there won't be too much more excitement soon (read Police and GBH). "Gosh", says I "that's jolly good news". The folks in 15 had set up their lawn chairs at the fence-line for an uninterrupted view of the moving weekend. Glad to be that entertaining whilst doing nothing but carry boxes in and rubbish out.
For no reason other than it has been the main way I spend my leisure hours these past weeks, I tell you that I am still watching the TV series ROME on dvd. It is brilliant. Really. Bloody. Brilliant. This is my third spin through and it's still growing on me. The dvd extras are wonderful and bring out more and more of the value in the series. Don't get me started on Titus Pullo or Mark Antony. I will gibber, and that is never cool.
I've got until friday to get our next quarterly brochure proofed and signed off. I don't really write anything, I'm the in-between person. Not quite senior enough to be editing or making any real decisions. The type-it-up and send it back to the designer, person. Not glamorous, no. Not fulfilling, no. Slightly appreciated and well-paid. These things will do. Tomorrow is the 'send it to all the stakeholders for their approval of their bit' day, and we'll see if the preliminary approvals I got from each of them will hold good. Let's hope so.
Dull isn't it.
I didn't mean to start talking shop. There's been awesome thunder and lightening storms. Very little rain in them, and a bit of hail. Some areas have been devastated - others completely untouched. Everywhere is humid and horrible. Peter was grazing his cows in the long paddock this morning, and as we rolled through them, I saw how bony and tired they all are. His cattle, like ours, are near to death from hunger and creeping malnutrition. If we can squeeze two drops of water out of these storms we'll be grateful for it. In that context, print deadlines don't really mean that much.
I unpacked a few boxes tonight. After nearly a year in storage, it's a wonderful surprise to unearth so many beautiful things and wonder where I will put them all. The kitchen cupboards aren't quite finished yet, and somehow I haven't yet stepped over the threshold of putting anything into the built-ins. Maybe it's the lack of a bed. A home isn't really anchored until you're sleeping there. Until then it's a camp kitchen with an indoor loo. Still, my camp kitchen and indoor loo now have an owl or a Buddha in nearly every room. An eclectic pairing I grant you. It will just get better from here. The lovely Mel arrived today with hand-me-down couches. My vision of a lounge room that can comfortably seat 12 has finally been realised - sadly just about a thousand kloms from any of the usual groups of 12 that I can assemble! A success of its own kind nonetheless.
Street Gossip tells me that the horrid Bogans from Hell over in number 13 (no really!) have already gotten their eviction notice, so there won't be too much more excitement soon (read Police and GBH). "Gosh", says I "that's jolly good news". The folks in 15 had set up their lawn chairs at the fence-line for an uninterrupted view of the moving weekend. Glad to be that entertaining whilst doing nothing but carry boxes in and rubbish out.
For no reason other than it has been the main way I spend my leisure hours these past weeks, I tell you that I am still watching the TV series ROME on dvd. It is brilliant. Really. Bloody. Brilliant. This is my third spin through and it's still growing on me. The dvd extras are wonderful and bring out more and more of the value in the series. Don't get me started on Titus Pullo or Mark Antony. I will gibber, and that is never cool.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Dullsville, thy name is Ipswich
OK. This is it. My last night as a free-wheeling, happy-go-lucky bohemian type with no debts, no responsibilities and nowhere to live.
By this time tomorrow I shall burdened and shackled to an odious mortgage. Haunted by the towers of formal papers and hounded in my dreams by the marching column of compound interest I shall wither away into an ever-narrowing dullness. My only conversation will be of painting, furniture or food coupons.
Or, it could be really good. Don't really know.
One thing is certain, Riley doesn't want to leave the farm. Cruel of me to even ask him to give up his ute, his spot in the sun, and especially the wallabies - dead or alive, he loves them all.
"Riley," I say to him "we all have to make sacrifices in this Brave New World." and he wags his tail and runs to my father.
C'est la vie, eh?!
By this time tomorrow I shall burdened and shackled to an odious mortgage. Haunted by the towers of formal papers and hounded in my dreams by the marching column of compound interest I shall wither away into an ever-narrowing dullness. My only conversation will be of painting, furniture or food coupons.
Or, it could be really good. Don't really know.
One thing is certain, Riley doesn't want to leave the farm. Cruel of me to even ask him to give up his ute, his spot in the sun, and especially the wallabies - dead or alive, he loves them all.
"Riley," I say to him "we all have to make sacrifices in this Brave New World." and he wags his tail and runs to my father.
C'est la vie, eh?!
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Friday, August 03, 2007
Three Magpies on a Branch
They warbled me awake and the dawn was golden on the gum's pale branches. I like the mornings here when the breeze sighs through the leaves and a birdcall can sit on the air.
August opened with the first calf of the season. A tiny little thing seen from the bathroom window, cavorting around in the fog on wednesday morning. Ma and I stood and watched - a lovely moment. Of course being the beginning of August meant that July was done, and we could look back and say "not a single drop of rain fell on our property during the month of July". We wouldn't say it, not out loud anyway. We all know it. We live and live and live with it. So apart from the newly painted house, we're a thousand shades of brown now. Even the brown is looking browner, drier, paler. Deader.
Mum is acting pretty confident that it's going to rain next week, but I think she's either full of shit, or hopeful to the point of being criminally insane. I mean I hope she's right, but I left off how her reason for this rock-solid belief was that she could "feel it in her waters." We don't have any waters. That's the point. You've got no water to feel it in woman!! Had she said "I can feel it in me whisky bladder" I would have put money on it.
Other great news (it's all about me) is that it looks like I'll be able to work towards a film program here next year. I know that's vague, but trust me - that's nearly 6 weeks of pained discussions to get to the position where we've agreed what it is NOT to be, when it is not to be, and that we will discuss at a later time what it should be a lot more like, and who we want to come. This is a solid win! I also took away from this meeting the implicit understanding that this could get to within a chook's tooth of happening and get cancelled/completely co-opted. That also is just how things are here. Despite sounding like a horrible meeting, in a sad, Ipswichian way, i believe it is all actually a desire to protect me from innocently harming myself, and really a sign of trust and expectation in me and my abilities.
Or a setup. We'll see.
August opened with the first calf of the season. A tiny little thing seen from the bathroom window, cavorting around in the fog on wednesday morning. Ma and I stood and watched - a lovely moment. Of course being the beginning of August meant that July was done, and we could look back and say "not a single drop of rain fell on our property during the month of July". We wouldn't say it, not out loud anyway. We all know it. We live and live and live with it. So apart from the newly painted house, we're a thousand shades of brown now. Even the brown is looking browner, drier, paler. Deader.
Mum is acting pretty confident that it's going to rain next week, but I think she's either full of shit, or hopeful to the point of being criminally insane. I mean I hope she's right, but I left off how her reason for this rock-solid belief was that she could "feel it in her waters." We don't have any waters. That's the point. You've got no water to feel it in woman!! Had she said "I can feel it in me whisky bladder" I would have put money on it.
Other great news (it's all about me) is that it looks like I'll be able to work towards a film program here next year. I know that's vague, but trust me - that's nearly 6 weeks of pained discussions to get to the position where we've agreed what it is NOT to be, when it is not to be, and that we will discuss at a later time what it should be a lot more like, and who we want to come. This is a solid win! I also took away from this meeting the implicit understanding that this could get to within a chook's tooth of happening and get cancelled/completely co-opted. That also is just how things are here. Despite sounding like a horrible meeting, in a sad, Ipswichian way, i believe it is all actually a desire to protect me from innocently harming myself, and really a sign of trust and expectation in me and my abilities.
Or a setup. We'll see.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Tidy Up
Well hey there compadres!
There's loads of little things to tell you all about. First of all, thank you to everyone who's sent me a message of any kind in support of pulling through the last few weeks. The GBS is now battling the prednisolone/salofalk and I think loosing. The side effects (mostly I get very restless and only slightly cranky - so hard for other people to tell there's any difference really) of the drugs have been more manageable this time as the dose wasn't as high and got stepped-back more quickly. The new doctor seems thoughtful and intelligent and I'll be seeing a new specialist soon. I like the idea that I am assembling a "crack" (sorry about any arse puns that make their way into this post) team of brave and compassionate souls all fighting for a better world. Yes, I have been reading too much Harry Potter.
That reminds me. HOW GOOD IS BOOK SEVEN?!?!!! No Spoilers here - don't be concerned. I really enjoyed it, and yes I know there's many points of discussion about what a better book/series might be... but I am living with the experience I am having, not the one I think I ought to have - and that has to go for books, comics, movies and transport options too. We'll talk later, I'm sure.
Major Family Moment on the weekend. After months of planning and preparation (mostly by my very able and forthright sisters) Ma & Pa's poor white trash shack of house has been transformed into a sunflower bright butterfly house. OMG. Isn't it amazing what eleven people, hundreds of dollars of paint and about 16 litres of tea can achieve?! The shock-troops arrived on saturday morning around 9am (yes, I was just getting up and had jammies and gritty eyes) and had a full first coat of paint on the place by lunch. Huge. I offered (wisely I thought at the time) to stay out of the way (my uncle and cousins are professional house painters) and to do the catering. What an undertaking. Imagine the logistics of serving and provisioning eleven hungry folk for morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, morning tea and lunch. I will never be intimidated by Christmas again! Many thanks to Sis2 for sporadic assistance, a warm haven for the night and a restful breakfast before re-entering the fray. Ma is delighted with the outcome and we're all pleased it's over. In a happy way.
The portugese tarts were ok. The pastry was a wreck (i measured a key ingredient incorrectly and turned it from flaky pastry to shortbread - no one seemed to mind) but the custard totally made up for it. This is the *best*ever* custard and well worth the time it takes to assemble. I will be trying the custard in a vanilla slice-type environment to see how I go with store pastry (as we have a huge bag of passionfruit to use).
Today I have sent away an application for a regional writers scholarship through the Queensland Arts Council. If I get it, it means 3 weeks at a writing retreat in Varuna. I have applied once before for a mentorship there - it's a brilliant setup in the Blue Mountains. I don't want to get too excited, I don't even know how long it takes for them to decide and everything, or how many people apply for this. But just putting together the material for the application was actually a brilliant process and very worthwhile. It helped me to get back on track for my writing goals for the rest of the year. Light a stick of incense for me - I'll keep you informed.
Finally, it seems to have taken years, but Beowulf, Stardust and His Dark Materials: Golden Compass are all about to hit the big screens. What a glut! YAHOO!!!!
Just make sure you go read the books first. Really.
(Yes, the Hearney translation of Beowulf - through Faber, oh, I think Penguin bought out Faber... just go to the library ok!).
Really finally... Crazy Clark's has closed down across the road from my office window. Out of no-where friday was their last day. What a trash and desolate place the Ipswich "CBD" is now with more vacant shops than filled ones. This is the natural predatory order of things in the capitalist jungle. Perhaps this culling will allow some sunlight in and some new things to take root. I live in hope.
There's loads of little things to tell you all about. First of all, thank you to everyone who's sent me a message of any kind in support of pulling through the last few weeks. The GBS is now battling the prednisolone/salofalk and I think loosing. The side effects (mostly I get very restless and only slightly cranky - so hard for other people to tell there's any difference really) of the drugs have been more manageable this time as the dose wasn't as high and got stepped-back more quickly. The new doctor seems thoughtful and intelligent and I'll be seeing a new specialist soon. I like the idea that I am assembling a "crack" (sorry about any arse puns that make their way into this post) team of brave and compassionate souls all fighting for a better world. Yes, I have been reading too much Harry Potter.
That reminds me. HOW GOOD IS BOOK SEVEN?!?!!! No Spoilers here - don't be concerned. I really enjoyed it, and yes I know there's many points of discussion about what a better book/series might be... but I am living with the experience I am having, not the one I think I ought to have - and that has to go for books, comics, movies and transport options too. We'll talk later, I'm sure.
Major Family Moment on the weekend. After months of planning and preparation (mostly by my very able and forthright sisters) Ma & Pa's poor white trash shack of house has been transformed into a sunflower bright butterfly house. OMG. Isn't it amazing what eleven people, hundreds of dollars of paint and about 16 litres of tea can achieve?! The shock-troops arrived on saturday morning around 9am (yes, I was just getting up and had jammies and gritty eyes) and had a full first coat of paint on the place by lunch. Huge. I offered (wisely I thought at the time) to stay out of the way (my uncle and cousins are professional house painters) and to do the catering. What an undertaking. Imagine the logistics of serving and provisioning eleven hungry folk for morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, morning tea and lunch. I will never be intimidated by Christmas again! Many thanks to Sis2 for sporadic assistance, a warm haven for the night and a restful breakfast before re-entering the fray. Ma is delighted with the outcome and we're all pleased it's over. In a happy way.
The portugese tarts were ok. The pastry was a wreck (i measured a key ingredient incorrectly and turned it from flaky pastry to shortbread - no one seemed to mind) but the custard totally made up for it. This is the *best*ever* custard and well worth the time it takes to assemble. I will be trying the custard in a vanilla slice-type environment to see how I go with store pastry (as we have a huge bag of passionfruit to use).
Today I have sent away an application for a regional writers scholarship through the Queensland Arts Council. If I get it, it means 3 weeks at a writing retreat in Varuna. I have applied once before for a mentorship there - it's a brilliant setup in the Blue Mountains. I don't want to get too excited, I don't even know how long it takes for them to decide and everything, or how many people apply for this. But just putting together the material for the application was actually a brilliant process and very worthwhile. It helped me to get back on track for my writing goals for the rest of the year. Light a stick of incense for me - I'll keep you informed.
Finally, it seems to have taken years, but Beowulf, Stardust and His Dark Materials: Golden Compass are all about to hit the big screens. What a glut! YAHOO!!!!
Just make sure you go read the books first. Really.
(Yes, the Hearney translation of Beowulf - through Faber, oh, I think Penguin bought out Faber... just go to the library ok!).
Really finally... Crazy Clark's has closed down across the road from my office window. Out of no-where friday was their last day. What a trash and desolate place the Ipswich "CBD" is now with more vacant shops than filled ones. This is the natural predatory order of things in the capitalist jungle. Perhaps this culling will allow some sunlight in and some new things to take root. I live in hope.
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