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.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
The Great Cull
Having set a date (no matter how randomly) for delivering a project, one's energy seems to magically align to making that happen. Why don't I use this power for good more often?
Finally I am able to face the 3 or 4 (I don't even really know how many there are!) folders of notes, drafts, versions (at least 3 distinct versions, not including the original sci-fi dystopia version!) and scribbles, hopes and fakes that make up the "file" of this work in progress. I have been kidding myself that it's "pretty much all there" for quite some time now, allowing hope and denial to take the place of clear-eyed editing. Having spent Monday night critically appraising the existing computer files (ack! so make that 5! folders of stuff) I realise that there is a lot of work ahead of me. Proper work, not collating or finessing or polishing, or the other hand-waving that I will try and get away with before I do anything requiring mental horsepower. I think, with my Realistic Hat on that I will be keeping less than 10% of the guff that I have, and that I am at First Draft stage rather than the hopeful Second Draft I posited earlier this week.
Rather than being depressed by this (as I have been in the past when the hand-waving hasn't worked) I feel invigorated. Scared of still producing nothing but crap come August, but keen to give it a go. There's nothing to lose.
Finally I understand that there's nothing to lose in trying to make this thing. Oh. Oh wow.
No really, wow. I can only get better (!), I can only make myself happier by working on this thing. There are very few things I would rather do with my time, and (call me crazy) it might all go well and be good. Woah!
I know I'm talking it all up more than showing you the goods this week. It's not that I don't want to share with you, it's that there's masses of culling going on and not yet enough (read: any)new stuff. Tonight will be new stuff time (I will alternate culling and writing so that there's some chance for the old stuff to grow and the new stuff to not be too swamped). Even this degree of deliberate focus is very very new for me, and intimidating. I write on-demand at work, but that is very functional and practical material. This experiment tonight may be wobbly-time. Anyway, if all goes to the Optimistic Plan can expect to see some samples here in June/July.
The once-deserted fairly landscape down in the new estate is overrun with building goblins now. Men in high-vis yellow and orange or high-risk tans swarm over the mess of concrete slabs. Wooden skeletons of rooms and roofs are massing themselves and sitting over the top of the oddly truncated plastic tubes that stick out of the slabs like the severed arteries of ossified giants. It's a cacophony of nail guns, oaths and earth-moving equipment. I find it a bit much for my 7am, but Riley is intoxicated with the variety of smells and activities. We compromise and go there every 2 or 3 days for the morning walks, and I try and keep my gaze averted to the trees over the gorge, rather than risk accidentally seeing a workman piss against his own truck again.
Finally I am able to face the 3 or 4 (I don't even really know how many there are!) folders of notes, drafts, versions (at least 3 distinct versions, not including the original sci-fi dystopia version!) and scribbles, hopes and fakes that make up the "file" of this work in progress. I have been kidding myself that it's "pretty much all there" for quite some time now, allowing hope and denial to take the place of clear-eyed editing. Having spent Monday night critically appraising the existing computer files (ack! so make that 5! folders of stuff) I realise that there is a lot of work ahead of me. Proper work, not collating or finessing or polishing, or the other hand-waving that I will try and get away with before I do anything requiring mental horsepower. I think, with my Realistic Hat on that I will be keeping less than 10% of the guff that I have, and that I am at First Draft stage rather than the hopeful Second Draft I posited earlier this week.
Rather than being depressed by this (as I have been in the past when the hand-waving hasn't worked) I feel invigorated. Scared of still producing nothing but crap come August, but keen to give it a go. There's nothing to lose.
Finally I understand that there's nothing to lose in trying to make this thing. Oh. Oh wow.
No really, wow. I can only get better (!), I can only make myself happier by working on this thing. There are very few things I would rather do with my time, and (call me crazy) it might all go well and be good. Woah!
I know I'm talking it all up more than showing you the goods this week. It's not that I don't want to share with you, it's that there's masses of culling going on and not yet enough (read: any)new stuff. Tonight will be new stuff time (I will alternate culling and writing so that there's some chance for the old stuff to grow and the new stuff to not be too swamped). Even this degree of deliberate focus is very very new for me, and intimidating. I write on-demand at work, but that is very functional and practical material. This experiment tonight may be wobbly-time. Anyway, if all goes to the Optimistic Plan can expect to see some samples here in June/July.
The once-deserted fairly landscape down in the new estate is overrun with building goblins now. Men in high-vis yellow and orange or high-risk tans swarm over the mess of concrete slabs. Wooden skeletons of rooms and roofs are massing themselves and sitting over the top of the oddly truncated plastic tubes that stick out of the slabs like the severed arteries of ossified giants. It's a cacophony of nail guns, oaths and earth-moving equipment. I find it a bit much for my 7am, but Riley is intoxicated with the variety of smells and activities. We compromise and go there every 2 or 3 days for the morning walks, and I try and keep my gaze averted to the trees over the gorge, rather than risk accidentally seeing a workman piss against his own truck again.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Back at Work
Hello mundanity, thy name is Monday.
I promise to leave off on the NG thing now for a good long time (today he has some excellent suggestions today on approaching a second draft which sound very useful although as someone who writes longhand, my suggestion to myself is to get a typist on staff. oooh staff, how good would that be?!).
Another tip I've just thought of, is don't try and start a new life, new schedule, new resolution on a Monday. Really, anytime from Tuesday through even until probably Sunday afternoon is giving yourself a much better chance at things. Less pressure, less chance of getting completely body-slammed by other things. I never used to have this problem, well, let me re-phrase that. I haven't had this problem since the last time I was a monday to friday working stiff. When you work in service industries and performance industries, the Monday Issue doesn't really exist, doesn't have the same sting to it. There's just working days, and, if you're lucky, days off (or Orf, as we say in Qld). So as I'm very grateful to have regular days orf, I'll shut my trap.
I got the quote wrong yesterday. How embarrassment. It's meant to read "Action will remove the doubts that theory cannot solve." Sure, I was close, but there's no prize for second (why do people say that? Has anyone told the Olympics? They could save, like, a trillion yen on medals if they don't need to do the silver/bronze thing). Yen? That's Japanese! Shit. Hang on ....
That would be "Renminbi" in denominations of Yuan. My apologies.
In other news, I've randomly selected Tuesday 26 August 2008 as the release date for the next thingo*, which will be called "Parched" (thereby shortcutting one of the usual concerns of the second draft) (note also the clever use of a Tuesday). This date is subject to some change, but not much! Which means I must now digitus extractus and get all the little scribbley-bits typed up and looking like official paper. Scary exciting.
* book. I meant book, but felt too superstitious to say it, twitchy today. Too much tea.
I promise to leave off on the NG thing now for a good long time (today he has some excellent suggestions today on approaching a second draft which sound very useful although as someone who writes longhand, my suggestion to myself is to get a typist on staff. oooh staff, how good would that be?!).
Another tip I've just thought of, is don't try and start a new life, new schedule, new resolution on a Monday. Really, anytime from Tuesday through even until probably Sunday afternoon is giving yourself a much better chance at things. Less pressure, less chance of getting completely body-slammed by other things. I never used to have this problem, well, let me re-phrase that. I haven't had this problem since the last time I was a monday to friday working stiff. When you work in service industries and performance industries, the Monday Issue doesn't really exist, doesn't have the same sting to it. There's just working days, and, if you're lucky, days off (or Orf, as we say in Qld). So as I'm very grateful to have regular days orf, I'll shut my trap.
I got the quote wrong yesterday. How embarrassment. It's meant to read "Action will remove the doubts that theory cannot solve." Sure, I was close, but there's no prize for second (why do people say that? Has anyone told the Olympics? They could save, like, a trillion yen on medals if they don't need to do the silver/bronze thing). Yen? That's Japanese! Shit. Hang on ....
That would be "Renminbi" in denominations of Yuan. My apologies.
In other news, I've randomly selected Tuesday 26 August 2008 as the release date for the next thingo*, which will be called "Parched" (thereby shortcutting one of the usual concerns of the second draft) (note also the clever use of a Tuesday). This date is subject to some change, but not much! Which means I must now digitus extractus and get all the little scribbley-bits typed up and looking like official paper. Scary exciting.
* book. I meant book, but felt too superstitious to say it, twitchy today. Too much tea.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Manic Inspiration
It is official, Neil Gaiman is very possibly the nicest author alive.
I haven't met any dead authors, so I couldn't say otherwise, and I'm wary of hyperbole after this week, and you might be tempted not to believe me if I just say nicest person (although I think he must be right up there in the running) and actually, to my shame, I haven't met very many International Authors of Intrigue and Excitement. But of my whole life experience, and all my book gossiping, I can tell you with the utmost lack of authority, that Neil Gaiman is very possibly the nicest author alive. So there.
At the event at Kino, he signed himself nearly into oblivion. How very tired he was, how very sore his hand became, and yet, person by person, he had a smile and a quip and maybe a little drawing. Maybe I could say that Neil Gaiman has whatever the antithesis of hubris is. I'd love to know if there's a word for that. Something that covers humility, good humour and being clever.
It was inspiring to be involved in this event, and I have to confess, I did double-dip and go to "D's" the next day (in my defence, I waited until right at the end! I didn't want to cheat any first-timers!) for another hello. It does sound a little odd to be hounding the poor man across the city, but as wisdom seemed to drip from his pen, I thought it might be a good idea to be near the pen often ... well as often as possible without being pushy.
You see, I can't write like Neil, or like Jane, or like Cory, or Gibson or Le Guin, or Stephenson, or Shute or Rumi or Scott Card or any of the other dozens of inspiring authors whose stories and tales and imaginations I adore. I just write like me.
For ages I've been really down about wirting like me, and have made no effort to find out what might be good about that. I've been blind to my pictures and deaf to my voice. Hence the big gap in publishing projects, and the pulling-teethness of my "oh I want to write, but my writing is so bad I shoudn't inflict it on anybody until it is much much better" whining and prevaricating! Blah Blah Blah.
It never occured to me that real-life International Authors of Intrigue and Excitement might have had that feeling too. Someone put a question into the fishbowl about the themes in the stories and I'm going to paraphrase heavily here now (until Mez gets the tape out of the box and onto the interwebs) because Neil says something *like* "Actually I write a story and then read it and go 'oh, angels again'." and ka-ching a little light goes on in my head. I *know* I've heard generic-people say stuff like that before, or at least read it in a book, but it never hit a big gong before!
So there it is. Action will resolve the doubts that theory cannot solve. There's fresh hope and motivation. So much so that I'm telling anyone who'll listen that Publishing Project #2 will be done for August 2008.
Since Tuesday night, it's been a manic week of inspiration, of ideas and of clarity about what's needed, and what can be let go. I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to go through this experience, and want to thank all the generous actions that put me into the place where I could hear that message.
I thank the loving friends who arranged the flight, and all the people who've encouraged me (from dodgy drafts, through the blog and also through Trojan Moments), I thank the store for letting me be involved, and I thank Neil who cares about even the last person in the queue.
I haven't met any dead authors, so I couldn't say otherwise, and I'm wary of hyperbole after this week, and you might be tempted not to believe me if I just say nicest person (although I think he must be right up there in the running) and actually, to my shame, I haven't met very many International Authors of Intrigue and Excitement. But of my whole life experience, and all my book gossiping, I can tell you with the utmost lack of authority, that Neil Gaiman is very possibly the nicest author alive. So there.
At the event at Kino, he signed himself nearly into oblivion. How very tired he was, how very sore his hand became, and yet, person by person, he had a smile and a quip and maybe a little drawing. Maybe I could say that Neil Gaiman has whatever the antithesis of hubris is. I'd love to know if there's a word for that. Something that covers humility, good humour and being clever.
It was inspiring to be involved in this event, and I have to confess, I did double-dip and go to "D's" the next day (in my defence, I waited until right at the end! I didn't want to cheat any first-timers!) for another hello. It does sound a little odd to be hounding the poor man across the city, but as wisdom seemed to drip from his pen, I thought it might be a good idea to be near the pen often ... well as often as possible without being pushy.
You see, I can't write like Neil, or like Jane, or like Cory, or Gibson or Le Guin, or Stephenson, or Shute or Rumi or Scott Card or any of the other dozens of inspiring authors whose stories and tales and imaginations I adore. I just write like me.
For ages I've been really down about wirting like me, and have made no effort to find out what might be good about that. I've been blind to my pictures and deaf to my voice. Hence the big gap in publishing projects, and the pulling-teethness of my "oh I want to write, but my writing is so bad I shoudn't inflict it on anybody until it is much much better" whining and prevaricating! Blah Blah Blah.
It never occured to me that real-life International Authors of Intrigue and Excitement might have had that feeling too. Someone put a question into the fishbowl about the themes in the stories and I'm going to paraphrase heavily here now (until Mez gets the tape out of the box and onto the interwebs) because Neil says something *like* "Actually I write a story and then read it and go 'oh, angels again'." and ka-ching a little light goes on in my head. I *know* I've heard generic-people say stuff like that before, or at least read it in a book, but it never hit a big gong before!
So there it is. Action will resolve the doubts that theory cannot solve. There's fresh hope and motivation. So much so that I'm telling anyone who'll listen that Publishing Project #2 will be done for August 2008.
Since Tuesday night, it's been a manic week of inspiration, of ideas and of clarity about what's needed, and what can be let go. I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to go through this experience, and want to thank all the generous actions that put me into the place where I could hear that message.
I thank the loving friends who arranged the flight, and all the people who've encouraged me (from dodgy drafts, through the blog and also through Trojan Moments), I thank the store for letting me be involved, and I thank Neil who cares about even the last person in the queue.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Welcome & Intro to Neil Gaiman at Books Kinokuniya, Sydney, 6may08
Welcome one and all to Books Kinokuniya.
We’re very honoured to be hosting this author event tonight. Bookstores exist to facilitate the connection between readers & writers, and when we have a chance to do so in person it is an opportunity to celebrate our relationship & to reflect on the richness of our world.
Our guest this evening has recently been introduced (at a function similar to this one) as a God. I’m not sure how you [Neil] feel about that – but I found it a hard act to follow! I don’t know about you guys [audience] – but I’ve read a few stories about Gods, and they tend to scare the willies out of me! So rather than risk the ire of the Gods, I’d like to introduce a Champion.
Tonight is a precious chance to welcome our Champion Bard here to our hearth and hear his new story told in his voice, to have his wisdom answer our questions and to pay our respects in person. And this visit is no small gift.
That he gives so often and so much of himself – through his blog, the interviews & touring, the signings and the polite and patient answering of questions, is a marvel. And then there are the stories. The constant writing of stories that seem to gush and tumble from him in a glorious abundance. The stories that mean so much to all of us that we re-read and push on our friends. They have been recognised in all the modern ways – with awards and with the solid-state of energy so widely recognised – with money.
Maybe not enough money, sure, but the money’s starting to happen – yeah? [Neil].
So ladies and gentlemen I ask you to look now to our travelling Bard whose renown grows with every engagement. A Champion for the life of the imaginations for reading as riches, for humanity, love terror and humour.
Please make a really huge noise and much much applause for Mr Neil Gaiman.
We’re very honoured to be hosting this author event tonight. Bookstores exist to facilitate the connection between readers & writers, and when we have a chance to do so in person it is an opportunity to celebrate our relationship & to reflect on the richness of our world.
Our guest this evening has recently been introduced (at a function similar to this one) as a God. I’m not sure how you [Neil] feel about that – but I found it a hard act to follow! I don’t know about you guys [audience] – but I’ve read a few stories about Gods, and they tend to scare the willies out of me! So rather than risk the ire of the Gods, I’d like to introduce a Champion.
Tonight is a precious chance to welcome our Champion Bard here to our hearth and hear his new story told in his voice, to have his wisdom answer our questions and to pay our respects in person. And this visit is no small gift.
That he gives so often and so much of himself – through his blog, the interviews & touring, the signings and the polite and patient answering of questions, is a marvel. And then there are the stories. The constant writing of stories that seem to gush and tumble from him in a glorious abundance. The stories that mean so much to all of us that we re-read and push on our friends. They have been recognised in all the modern ways – with awards and with the solid-state of energy so widely recognised – with money.
Maybe not enough money, sure, but the money’s starting to happen – yeah? [Neil].
So ladies and gentlemen I ask you to look now to our travelling Bard whose renown grows with every engagement. A Champion for the life of the imaginations for reading as riches, for humanity, love terror and humour.
Please make a really huge noise and much much applause for Mr Neil Gaiman.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Warm Hearts
It's truly autumn here in Sydney. The trees have turned and the days are cold. When the sun is hidden by cloud the guts fall out of the day. The evenings set their chill well before the light has gone, but I am just not feeling it. There's been so much love and laughter since I arrived that I am still in a bubble.
Last night was a great catch-up in what felt like a private bar (oh *yeah* it's monday!) and L&A have opened their home to me yet again (it feels like home here) and then a long leisurely brunch with perfect eggs and perfect company in the person of the eternally effervescent Mellie down at Coogee. Footballing superstars stolling past our cafe were just wallpaper to a beautiful couple of hours. The ocean was flat, still and clear in a weird silence, but blue! Blue like your heart has sung it into being!
So it's just 3 hours now until the big NG event starts.
I'm going to go into lockdown and reach for something simple and clear.
Yes, simple and clear. Less is more.
Yes indeedy, no need for showboating, this is all about warm hearts.
Last night was a great catch-up in what felt like a private bar (oh *yeah* it's monday!) and L&A have opened their home to me yet again (it feels like home here) and then a long leisurely brunch with perfect eggs and perfect company in the person of the eternally effervescent Mellie down at Coogee. Footballing superstars stolling past our cafe were just wallpaper to a beautiful couple of hours. The ocean was flat, still and clear in a weird silence, but blue! Blue like your heart has sung it into being!
So it's just 3 hours now until the big NG event starts.
I'm going to go into lockdown and reach for something simple and clear.
Yes, simple and clear. Less is more.
Yes indeedy, no need for showboating, this is all about warm hearts.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Remembering Neil Gaiman at Kinokuniya Sydney in 2005
I have let myself be totally over-excited this week about seeing Neil Gaiman at Books Kinokuniya on Tuesday (now only 2 sleeps to go!). In fact I've embraced my nerdy fandom and revelled in it. I've re-read American Gods, I've re-read vol 1 of the Absolute Sandman, and I'm now reading Fragile Things. I've been dipping into Hanging Out with the Dream King and just letting it all absorb into me. This might sound a bit childish and indulgent, but I assure you I have two quite sound reasons.
One, I am terrified of being deeply uncool when the time comes and sounding like a wacky, possibly dangerous psycho-lady. I am not a psycho lady (certified) and would really prefer to have my wits about me. Hence this week of gushing to whomever would listen and jumping up and down when I think no-one is looking. Moving it through the system, so to speak.
Two, it's fun.
Yeah, fun. Deal with it.
Why am I such a fan of Neil Gaiman? I can't confidently say in a concise way. I'm really hoping that by Tuesday night something coherent will coalesce because just rambling and raving is not going to set the tone well at all. In no particular order, here are some of the reasons:
he writes stories that are exciting and satisfying, he's funny, he shares things about himself and seems to trust that this will enrich his life rather than hurt him, he's a loving dad, he writes great stories, he has a very warm smile and is present (not distracted or checking his watch) when he's talking to you, he is interested and therefore interesting and he has badly-behaved hair that adds to his charm all the more. Plus he writes, and writes and writes and writes. He is inspiring and inspired.
See? Still gushing quite a bit. The last time Neil was at Books Kinokuniya was 20 July 2005 (2 years, 9 months and 16 days ago as of next tuesday night .... but who's counting?) and I didn't have a blog then, so I'm going to put the intro I did then into this post. I only had about 4 hours notice that I would be doing it, and as we'd been working towards it in the store for weeks, I was in an almost trance-like state by the time it happened. I'm told it was a great introduction! Thankfully I had my preparation notes to read later. I think it was considered good on two counts - one it was very short - two it was not the usual horrific list of awards and cliches and was delivered with absolute passion and a winning smile. You can get away with a lot if you smile. Anyway, here it is.
Welcome Speech to Neil Gaiman 20Jul05
Distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen, Sprites, Elves, Faeries, Demons, Trolls, Fans, bemused onlookers, and staff, welcome to Kinokuniya Sydney!
Today is proof that sometimes, wishes do get granted, that dreams do come true. That one day, Heroes from far & exotic lands may indeed pass through our very own village on their way between glories. They may bestow upon those of us who line the streets to cheer them, a sign, a word, a smile - and in that moment we are all woven together.
For booksellers, it is a particular pleasure to see authors & readers in one place - a joyful & sacred experience. Our honoured guest today has won so many awards & written so many books it would be beside the point to list them. Most importantly, he has reached into each of us through his stories, and with myth, with humour, with compassion & curiosity he has invited our hearts & minds to thrum.
Please, I invite you to make welcome, Mr Neil Gaiman.
One, I am terrified of being deeply uncool when the time comes and sounding like a wacky, possibly dangerous psycho-lady. I am not a psycho lady (certified) and would really prefer to have my wits about me. Hence this week of gushing to whomever would listen and jumping up and down when I think no-one is looking. Moving it through the system, so to speak.
Two, it's fun.
Yeah, fun. Deal with it.
Why am I such a fan of Neil Gaiman? I can't confidently say in a concise way. I'm really hoping that by Tuesday night something coherent will coalesce because just rambling and raving is not going to set the tone well at all. In no particular order, here are some of the reasons:
he writes stories that are exciting and satisfying, he's funny, he shares things about himself and seems to trust that this will enrich his life rather than hurt him, he's a loving dad, he writes great stories, he has a very warm smile and is present (not distracted or checking his watch) when he's talking to you, he is interested and therefore interesting and he has badly-behaved hair that adds to his charm all the more. Plus he writes, and writes and writes and writes. He is inspiring and inspired.
See? Still gushing quite a bit. The last time Neil was at Books Kinokuniya was 20 July 2005 (2 years, 9 months and 16 days ago as of next tuesday night .... but who's counting?) and I didn't have a blog then, so I'm going to put the intro I did then into this post. I only had about 4 hours notice that I would be doing it, and as we'd been working towards it in the store for weeks, I was in an almost trance-like state by the time it happened. I'm told it was a great introduction! Thankfully I had my preparation notes to read later. I think it was considered good on two counts - one it was very short - two it was not the usual horrific list of awards and cliches and was delivered with absolute passion and a winning smile. You can get away with a lot if you smile. Anyway, here it is.
Welcome Speech to Neil Gaiman 20Jul05
Distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen, Sprites, Elves, Faeries, Demons, Trolls, Fans, bemused onlookers, and staff, welcome to Kinokuniya Sydney!
Today is proof that sometimes, wishes do get granted, that dreams do come true. That one day, Heroes from far & exotic lands may indeed pass through our very own village on their way between glories. They may bestow upon those of us who line the streets to cheer them, a sign, a word, a smile - and in that moment we are all woven together.
For booksellers, it is a particular pleasure to see authors & readers in one place - a joyful & sacred experience. Our honoured guest today has won so many awards & written so many books it would be beside the point to list them. Most importantly, he has reached into each of us through his stories, and with myth, with humour, with compassion & curiosity he has invited our hearts & minds to thrum.
Please, I invite you to make welcome, Mr Neil Gaiman.
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.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Silences & Secrets [dull, self-indulgent post. No need to read, really]
I've been having trouble writing lately, and after a bit of reflection, I realise it's because I don't tell enough emotional truth.
When I don't acknowledge the depth of my feelings and hopes, I am clamping down on who I am in a way that doesn't actually benefit me, or anyone around me. I keep quiet about stuff, I tell myself a sanitised version of things. I'm not saying I should be in some kind of uncontrolled verbal-diarrhoea-type-state, but that effectively I'm spending a lot of my time in that wide and expansive place that has so much room for so many of us - De Nial. I keep my own secrets from myself so well that over time I forget them. I hold my opinion so quietly that after a while it fades away. While non-attachment is generally a good thing, I haven't been doing it right - my non-attachment has been a barely disguised form of giving up. That's not good.
I thought about this when I was watching New Amsterdam. One of the things I like about John is that he stays authentic to himself - he tells the truth. He lives his life, and accumulates and looses, relationships, knowledge, stuff, love, family. If the people around him paid attention to what he says, they'd soon figure out his secret, but most of them don't. This is the privacy we have in the modern world - disinterest. Is there a cost? Sure there is! He's treated like a nutter by most of his colleagues, but he holds this in balance with the freedom of living his own truth.
The cost in my life from trying to control everyting from changing, or being lost, or forgotten or hurting has been to slowly ossify in a set of behavious that I never really wanted, but seemed like a good compromise at the time. This is what makes my writing stilted and slightly forced, and quick to dry up - because the price of control is a closed, entropic system, slowly leaking energy towards stasis.
I guess that it effects other parts of my life, but I can't really see them. I can only see it through the prism of this one frustration. Everything else in my life I seem to fatalistically accept as my lot. This systemic link to my own (previously useful survivial) behaviours and the current broader state of impasse has slowly emerged in front of my mind like lemon juice on paper under heat - I swear it wasn't there a minute ago! But now that it is, I better make a copy of it before it fades (trap for the new players with the lemon juice thing!) and make a move.
When I don't acknowledge the depth of my feelings and hopes, I am clamping down on who I am in a way that doesn't actually benefit me, or anyone around me. I keep quiet about stuff, I tell myself a sanitised version of things. I'm not saying I should be in some kind of uncontrolled verbal-diarrhoea-type-state, but that effectively I'm spending a lot of my time in that wide and expansive place that has so much room for so many of us - De Nial. I keep my own secrets from myself so well that over time I forget them. I hold my opinion so quietly that after a while it fades away. While non-attachment is generally a good thing, I haven't been doing it right - my non-attachment has been a barely disguised form of giving up. That's not good.
I thought about this when I was watching New Amsterdam. One of the things I like about John is that he stays authentic to himself - he tells the truth. He lives his life, and accumulates and looses, relationships, knowledge, stuff, love, family. If the people around him paid attention to what he says, they'd soon figure out his secret, but most of them don't. This is the privacy we have in the modern world - disinterest. Is there a cost? Sure there is! He's treated like a nutter by most of his colleagues, but he holds this in balance with the freedom of living his own truth.
The cost in my life from trying to control everyting from changing, or being lost, or forgotten or hurting has been to slowly ossify in a set of behavious that I never really wanted, but seemed like a good compromise at the time. This is what makes my writing stilted and slightly forced, and quick to dry up - because the price of control is a closed, entropic system, slowly leaking energy towards stasis.
I guess that it effects other parts of my life, but I can't really see them. I can only see it through the prism of this one frustration. Everything else in my life I seem to fatalistically accept as my lot. This systemic link to my own (previously useful survivial) behaviours and the current broader state of impasse has slowly emerged in front of my mind like lemon juice on paper under heat - I swear it wasn't there a minute ago! But now that it is, I better make a copy of it before it fades (trap for the new players with the lemon juice thing!) and make a move.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Frack Me
Dogs and Sci Fi - they just bring people together.
A pretty social and crafty weekend, mostly with the Sisters. It's great having two sisters - it makes for three of us which is a good mischief number, and every now and then when we cackle over something dreadful, I feel a faint shudder of Macbeth fog rolling over some poor guy's back somewhere.... nahahahahahahahaaaa!
Anyway, we made resin fridge magnets (cool and toxic!), I made mustard pickles (I don't know why ok, and I already gave it all away), I won the b'day poker tournament (go me! With a flush no less!!), I threw more old crap away (hurrurah!), and I decided to visit the dog park on the other side of town that Yvj takes her two to.
I love the acceptance of dog parks. I imagine that perhaps this is what AA meetings are like, at least for the dogs. You just are who you are. You're into balls, or you're not. You run or you don't. Whatever. It's all cool. Of course the humans are more fraught. However, I had left on my fab-o "Frack Me" T shirt (purchased over the ever loving interweb) and this opened up an unexpected conversation about Sci Fi with a dalmatian owner. There you go. He recommended a few things, I threw a few suggestions into the mix, we patted dogs (apparently he bathes his dogs in the shower with him, and yes, uses the wife's shampoo on his favourite hahahahahahahaa). Turns out we like very different Sci Fi, but it was a pleasant social conversation interspersed with a running commentary from Yvj for my benefit on all the locals and their humans as they arrived. Quite the scene happening over there!
Back at Chawton, the pace has been pretty languid. I'm reading Lama Sura Das (letting go of the person you used to be) and my favourite quote from it today is "Let go or get dragged". Hi-larious. It's vying for quote of the book along with "Don't just do something, sit there!". Who knew buddhists made their own meditiating jokes? It's a revelation.
I slap my own thigh.
There's loads has happened.... um.... yeah ok, new neighbours. There's a kinda weird vibe and possibly 4 cats, so I'm not looking too closely at that side of the fence these days. Also, working bee at Chawton - the family came over on good friday and OBLITERATED all the problem trees (including "pruning" the mulberry tree to being 3 stumps about 2 feet off the ground). Basically they descended like locusts with electric chainsaws and I now get "quite a lot of light" into the yard. This was traumatic for me, but it's a case of tough love. The dead trees, homicidal trees and the barbed trees all had to go to make way for trees that grow food and give love (not pain). Also, word on the street is that S4 of BSG is about to really kick off.
Frack me, that's good news!
A pretty social and crafty weekend, mostly with the Sisters. It's great having two sisters - it makes for three of us which is a good mischief number, and every now and then when we cackle over something dreadful, I feel a faint shudder of Macbeth fog rolling over some poor guy's back somewhere.... nahahahahahahahaaaa!
Anyway, we made resin fridge magnets (cool and toxic!), I made mustard pickles (I don't know why ok, and I already gave it all away), I won the b'day poker tournament (go me! With a flush no less!!), I threw more old crap away (hurrurah!), and I decided to visit the dog park on the other side of town that Yvj takes her two to.
I love the acceptance of dog parks. I imagine that perhaps this is what AA meetings are like, at least for the dogs. You just are who you are. You're into balls, or you're not. You run or you don't. Whatever. It's all cool. Of course the humans are more fraught. However, I had left on my fab-o "Frack Me" T shirt (purchased over the ever loving interweb) and this opened up an unexpected conversation about Sci Fi with a dalmatian owner. There you go. He recommended a few things, I threw a few suggestions into the mix, we patted dogs (apparently he bathes his dogs in the shower with him, and yes, uses the wife's shampoo on his favourite hahahahahahahaa). Turns out we like very different Sci Fi, but it was a pleasant social conversation interspersed with a running commentary from Yvj for my benefit on all the locals and their humans as they arrived. Quite the scene happening over there!
Back at Chawton, the pace has been pretty languid. I'm reading Lama Sura Das (letting go of the person you used to be) and my favourite quote from it today is "Let go or get dragged". Hi-larious. It's vying for quote of the book along with "Don't just do something, sit there!". Who knew buddhists made their own meditiating jokes? It's a revelation.
I slap my own thigh.
There's loads has happened.... um.... yeah ok, new neighbours. There's a kinda weird vibe and possibly 4 cats, so I'm not looking too closely at that side of the fence these days. Also, working bee at Chawton - the family came over on good friday and OBLITERATED all the problem trees (including "pruning" the mulberry tree to being 3 stumps about 2 feet off the ground). Basically they descended like locusts with electric chainsaws and I now get "quite a lot of light" into the yard. This was traumatic for me, but it's a case of tough love. The dead trees, homicidal trees and the barbed trees all had to go to make way for trees that grow food and give love (not pain). Also, word on the street is that S4 of BSG is about to really kick off.
Frack me, that's good news!
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Conversation
Having had a chance now to check both sides of the spectrum, I can confidently assert that good conversation is one of the greatest pleasures of the human condition. Not *the* greatest, obviously, but certainly in the top 10. Also, it has great longevity. Dancing vigorously, sex, winning races or tussles, child birth, these are a young person's game. Chess/Go, conversation, these kinds of pleasures of the mind last and last and last. As long as the mind does.
Apart from passing on one's genes, this is the source of the other immortality, to pass on a taste of the mind. Don't believe me? Think of an inspiring quote - there's your own proof - pretty unlikely you quoted your mum, or anyone else you've ever met for that matter.
It's not just about talking either, there's a big space for listening in the world. What a gift - to be heard.
Feel like a challenge? Give a good listen to someone today.
Apart from passing on one's genes, this is the source of the other immortality, to pass on a taste of the mind. Don't believe me? Think of an inspiring quote - there's your own proof - pretty unlikely you quoted your mum, or anyone else you've ever met for that matter.
It's not just about talking either, there's a big space for listening in the world. What a gift - to be heard.
Feel like a challenge? Give a good listen to someone today.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Leaps and Bounds
How was your leap day?
Anything special?
I love these arbitrary excuses to draw attention to a normal thing. As long as we believe in the reason we've made up, it is entirely
possible to enjoy them afresh.
That seems to be one of those hidden secrets to life - to take each
day, no matter how normal,
as a fresh day, a new day of all promise and hope for all of humanity.
My heart's not always up to the strain of that much hope, but I am
planning that I shall
metamorphose into someone who can hope without strain.
In that future I will gladly awake each morning and embody this
wonderful approach to life's heartbeat.
Anything special?
I love these arbitrary excuses to draw attention to a normal thing. As long as we believe in the reason we've made up, it is entirely
possible to enjoy them afresh.
That seems to be one of those hidden secrets to life - to take each
day, no matter how normal,
as a fresh day, a new day of all promise and hope for all of humanity.
My heart's not always up to the strain of that much hope, but I am
planning that I shall
metamorphose into someone who can hope without strain.
In that future I will gladly awake each morning and embody this
wonderful approach to life's heartbeat.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
In Transit
I love travelling.
No, that's not quite right. I love being between a known place and a visited place. The travelling itself is often very tiring, or noisy or uncomfortable (or all and more), but that gap between stepping out of the daily habit and the worn paths, and the stepping into the new schedule is a space especially made for daydreaming, imagining and enjoying.
To be in transit even sounds temporary. Much more so than the slightly stuffy "in transition". I'm not always a chrysalis! I particularly enjoy being on planes, with a view of clouds. Surely that has got to be the furtherest from everyday that normal people can attain. I daydreamed about the plane being the cocoon, and that when I would disembark, I'd go to the loos, change my clothes, turn my wig around, discard my broken suitcase and walk out someone unknown. Someone new and fresh for this adventure.
Of course, when I do land, my mind is already fixated on walking quickly getting the luggage, getting the train, making the connections, did I remember the tickets for the show? Oh it's raining, thank goodness for the warning to bring a brolly and zoom zoom zoom off we go again and my half-formed stoies and ideas don't get written down and so errode away as my blood sugar drives me to find some food and get to the next connection. To stride along and not get walked over by these strange creatures that are the locals here. So big, so very elsewhere.
Arrival is the end.
No, that's not quite right. I love being between a known place and a visited place. The travelling itself is often very tiring, or noisy or uncomfortable (or all and more), but that gap between stepping out of the daily habit and the worn paths, and the stepping into the new schedule is a space especially made for daydreaming, imagining and enjoying.
To be in transit even sounds temporary. Much more so than the slightly stuffy "in transition". I'm not always a chrysalis! I particularly enjoy being on planes, with a view of clouds. Surely that has got to be the furtherest from everyday that normal people can attain. I daydreamed about the plane being the cocoon, and that when I would disembark, I'd go to the loos, change my clothes, turn my wig around, discard my broken suitcase and walk out someone unknown. Someone new and fresh for this adventure.
Of course, when I do land, my mind is already fixated on walking quickly getting the luggage, getting the train, making the connections, did I remember the tickets for the show? Oh it's raining, thank goodness for the warning to bring a brolly and zoom zoom zoom off we go again and my half-formed stoies and ideas don't get written down and so errode away as my blood sugar drives me to find some food and get to the next connection. To stride along and not get walked over by these strange creatures that are the locals here. So big, so very elsewhere.
Arrival is the end.
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.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Tough Call
If I was an American, today I would be gnawing the end of my pencil.
Who to vote for?
A feminist's dream candidate or an idealist's dream candidate?
Both of them have drawbacks of course. Clinton is a Boomer's Boomer and we know what we'll get more of (though I doubt that will include any inappropriate sexual liaisons, but good for her if she can add that in). Obama has the great speeches, but can he walk the talk? Has he got the chops?
I've been chasing my tail on this one for the past two weeks. Every time I think it is clear that one of them justifies my vote, another round of to-and-fro comes through. I am honestly undecided, for all the right reasons. I'm not on a fence, I'm not uninterested, I am really interested in this election outcome but for the first time in what feels like ages and ages, I honestly think it's an in-principal win-win.
Am I just being too naive?
After Thatcher I am not caught up in the idea of a national leader for gender's sake (although I'll admit to a pleasant frisson when Gillard took the reins over xmas) so I really am staying focused on what they offer as a leader. And that's the real crux of it. For the previous decade Australia was governed by a management team and the social and cultural consequences of that were enormous. I don't think that either of these candidates would generate those kind of problems, but it prompts the question - what kind of leadership do we think we deserve? What kind of leadership in our hearts do we hope for?
There's my own answer that I just keep coming back to. That politics and leadership needs to include some heart and vision. They both have it, but I think Obama's is catalytic in nature and it needs to be in the mix. The world needs the same people who are already powerful in industry, in commerce, in the financial markets to change their stripes, even just subtly, to make a difference in our planet surviving and humans being worth thriving.
That's a lot to ask, but every heart shifting a little more towards compassion, inclusion, cooperation has an impact beyond the simple and obvious immediacies.
Can I trust this hope or have I just been spun?
Who to vote for?
A feminist's dream candidate or an idealist's dream candidate?
Both of them have drawbacks of course. Clinton is a Boomer's Boomer and we know what we'll get more of (though I doubt that will include any inappropriate sexual liaisons, but good for her if she can add that in). Obama has the great speeches, but can he walk the talk? Has he got the chops?
I've been chasing my tail on this one for the past two weeks. Every time I think it is clear that one of them justifies my vote, another round of to-and-fro comes through. I am honestly undecided, for all the right reasons. I'm not on a fence, I'm not uninterested, I am really interested in this election outcome but for the first time in what feels like ages and ages, I honestly think it's an in-principal win-win.
Am I just being too naive?
After Thatcher I am not caught up in the idea of a national leader for gender's sake (although I'll admit to a pleasant frisson when Gillard took the reins over xmas) so I really am staying focused on what they offer as a leader. And that's the real crux of it. For the previous decade Australia was governed by a management team and the social and cultural consequences of that were enormous. I don't think that either of these candidates would generate those kind of problems, but it prompts the question - what kind of leadership do we think we deserve? What kind of leadership in our hearts do we hope for?
There's my own answer that I just keep coming back to. That politics and leadership needs to include some heart and vision. They both have it, but I think Obama's is catalytic in nature and it needs to be in the mix. The world needs the same people who are already powerful in industry, in commerce, in the financial markets to change their stripes, even just subtly, to make a difference in our planet surviving and humans being worth thriving.
That's a lot to ask, but every heart shifting a little more towards compassion, inclusion, cooperation has an impact beyond the simple and obvious immediacies.
Can I trust this hope or have I just been spun?
Monday, February 04, 2008
Geckoville
There's an utterly unnerving, unterrestial noise near my house at night.
An explosive cracking CHIT CHIT CHIT randomly smacks me in the head. It's a phenomenal sound, and scared the bejesus out of me for the first 2 months I was in the new place. I had no idea what it was and after the first time, but when I didn't die, I figured that it was largely benign. Besides, if whatever was making that kind of noise decided to attack, well, at least it would be over quickly.
Then mum was over one night. "Oh you've got Geckos!"
"Can you see one?" I asked (having just pretended that maybe it was a secret airforce jet making that noise).
"Didn't you just hear it?" she said, and didn't I look like a boob!?
So, it's geckos making that horrible sound. Since I learnt this, I've started paying a tiny bit more attention, and learnt that there's not just one very gregarious gecko co-habitating with us, but rather at least two, and more recently a little tacker. Gecko love! Yeah baby, feel my suction pads!! It's a regular frackin gecko love-in at my place.
Given that the alternative is spiders, I am very positive about the geckos. Arachnids are just too far away from my branch of the tree.
An explosive cracking CHIT CHIT CHIT randomly smacks me in the head. It's a phenomenal sound, and scared the bejesus out of me for the first 2 months I was in the new place. I had no idea what it was and after the first time, but when I didn't die, I figured that it was largely benign. Besides, if whatever was making that kind of noise decided to attack, well, at least it would be over quickly.
Then mum was over one night. "Oh you've got Geckos!"
"Can you see one?" I asked (having just pretended that maybe it was a secret airforce jet making that noise).
"Didn't you just hear it?" she said, and didn't I look like a boob!?
So, it's geckos making that horrible sound. Since I learnt this, I've started paying a tiny bit more attention, and learnt that there's not just one very gregarious gecko co-habitating with us, but rather at least two, and more recently a little tacker. Gecko love! Yeah baby, feel my suction pads!! It's a regular frackin gecko love-in at my place.
Given that the alternative is spiders, I am very positive about the geckos. Arachnids are just too far away from my branch of the tree.
Friday, February 01, 2008
Mattering Matters
How cool is it when someone, from pretty much out of nowhere, plops it into conversation that they're just stoked to hear from you, and that what you're doing matters to them just because it's *you*?!!?
I know that's a lot of exclamation marks, but it just feels good. You know, warm in the cold places and a little tingly around the mouth.
Mattering to someone else is a great feeling. It makes a big difference about facing all those humdrum hurdles in a day. It's also - strangely - easy to forget how much we do matter to people who know us, who love us, who watch us but may not ever say it. Why are human beings built in with such a sense of taking-for-grantedness? I'm sure there's a word somewhere for this part of human nature (if you know it, or would like to suggest one, please post!) or even a word for just getting bogged up with the crap we have to wade through (day job anybody) and lose sight of all the yummy things. Leading of course to that other dreaded scourge, the tacky chain mail letter....
I digress.
Back on message, back on message. Oh Yeah.
Mattering Matters.
Ask any quantum physicist.
I know that's a lot of exclamation marks, but it just feels good. You know, warm in the cold places and a little tingly around the mouth.
Mattering to someone else is a great feeling. It makes a big difference about facing all those humdrum hurdles in a day. It's also - strangely - easy to forget how much we do matter to people who know us, who love us, who watch us but may not ever say it. Why are human beings built in with such a sense of taking-for-grantedness? I'm sure there's a word somewhere for this part of human nature (if you know it, or would like to suggest one, please post!) or even a word for just getting bogged up with the crap we have to wade through (day job anybody) and lose sight of all the yummy things. Leading of course to that other dreaded scourge, the tacky chain mail letter....
I digress.
Back on message, back on message. Oh Yeah.
Mattering Matters.
Ask any quantum physicist.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Another word for SESSION
I've just started reading a new novel "A Disorder Peculiar to the Country" by Ken Kalfus. It was pressed firmly into my hands (with a smile) by Mez, along with the always cryptic "I would *love* to hear what you think."Well, I'm not sure where it will go from here, but after 20 pages I'm hooked by a wicked opening setup - a bitterly divorcing couple think each other have died in the september 11 suicide crashes in New York. Both of them experience the day through an unfolding sense of glee. If that's not a dark and clever environment to introduce characters, I don't know what will please you!
Today I'm struggling to keep up with the little red line scrolling down my calendar for the day. It is inexorably mowing down the time left to achieve anything off last week's to-do list. January is already in it's last 8 hours and somehow I need to deal, baby, and move on already. The Client is caught up in "'session', I just don't like 'session'. I want something generic and descriptive".
Don't we all?
That could almost be a request for a philosophy of life.
None the less, this word out of two pages of copy is a stumbling block, and there's no moving on until we resolve the emotions the word is generating. So another meeting pops into next week's schedule.
Writing at home is blocked too.
Possibly also on "session" in a different way.
There's time, that's not the problem.
Every night the ticking of the second hand slows down and time stretches out and retreats into a heat haze with mosquitoes and steroid-driven frogs as the woozy, trippy soundtrack. No, it's the held energy, the focus that's completely missing. Within an hour of leaving the aircon, my brain slows down, energy dissipates and then, shutdown.
Scratching suddenly feels like a triumph.
I need to find a way through this or I will end this year with nothing but a pointlessly over-informed opinion of free-to-air television.
Life is definitely too short for that!
Today I'm struggling to keep up with the little red line scrolling down my calendar for the day. It is inexorably mowing down the time left to achieve anything off last week's to-do list. January is already in it's last 8 hours and somehow I need to deal, baby, and move on already. The Client is caught up in "'session', I just don't like 'session'. I want something generic and descriptive".
Don't we all?
That could almost be a request for a philosophy of life.
None the less, this word out of two pages of copy is a stumbling block, and there's no moving on until we resolve the emotions the word is generating. So another meeting pops into next week's schedule.
Writing at home is blocked too.
Possibly also on "session" in a different way.
There's time, that's not the problem.
Every night the ticking of the second hand slows down and time stretches out and retreats into a heat haze with mosquitoes and steroid-driven frogs as the woozy, trippy soundtrack. No, it's the held energy, the focus that's completely missing. Within an hour of leaving the aircon, my brain slows down, energy dissipates and then, shutdown.
Scratching suddenly feels like a triumph.
I need to find a way through this or I will end this year with nothing but a pointlessly over-informed opinion of free-to-air television.
Life is definitely too short for that!
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Joy of Riley
The sun came out this morning, and for a brief hour or so it was a clear sweet day. From bed I could hear seven or eight bird calls and when Riley and I went walking, it was lovely to hear the birds enjoying themselves and smell the hay of mown lawns. Riley was exuberant running and doing little hop jumps. Then throwing himself into the grass and rolling wriggling along on his side on his back, then trying to snorkel through it. Snuffling and huffing he had no cares or worries, just the sheer joy of being alive and having fun.
The sky was beautiful soft blue, clear and strong above, shading slightly to the edges of sight. Moon worked her way towards the brim, but was sadly fading as sun brightness pushed her to the background. But for our walk she was there and I love those times with sun and moon in the same sky. We’re all together.
The sky was beautiful soft blue, clear and strong above, shading slightly to the edges of sight. Moon worked her way towards the brim, but was sadly fading as sun brightness pushed her to the background. But for our walk she was there and I love those times with sun and moon in the same sky. We’re all together.
Friday, January 18, 2008
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.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
13 Crows
Riley and I went to the oval yesterday for a change of pace. I needed somewhere to walk that there was a path. It's wet everywhere all the time, and all the grasses have seeded. Icky. We went down and the oval had been slashed (at least some parks are getting cared for - everything else is badly overgrown - hence my desire for the paths. Although it does shit me a bit that even though there's no sport on it's still the sport field that gets first attention, not any recreational area. On the other hand, as I seem to be the only person walking for recreation, I can understand that it's too much to ask for an appreciative audience of 1).
Anyway. The grass hadn't been collected, just left there in huge clumps (don't start me) and there was a lot of crows strutting all over the place, cawing, pecking at clumps and generally behaving in a slightly gang-like manner. I know that in Europe there are all kinds of omens indicated by Ravens, their number and their activity. I wonder, are Ravens as common as crows? Everyone would be having omens left right and centre.
So I counted the crows and there were 13. "ooooh" I thought, "that might not be great...." but there were definitely 13, no getting around it, until shortly a whole nother gang flew in and then there were 23 or 24. It was hard to count them while they were milling around and really going for one particular large grey clump (which I was happy to continue supposing was just wet grass and not a rabbit). What kind of omen might this be? Abundance? Being beset by an overwhelming number of enemies? Don't be a rabbit under a slasher?
It remained unclear.
Riley and I did our two circumnavigations and got out of there. Afterall, what good are omens you don't understand when Breakfast is waiting?
Anyway. The grass hadn't been collected, just left there in huge clumps (don't start me) and there was a lot of crows strutting all over the place, cawing, pecking at clumps and generally behaving in a slightly gang-like manner. I know that in Europe there are all kinds of omens indicated by Ravens, their number and their activity. I wonder, are Ravens as common as crows? Everyone would be having omens left right and centre.
So I counted the crows and there were 13. "ooooh" I thought, "that might not be great...." but there were definitely 13, no getting around it, until shortly a whole nother gang flew in and then there were 23 or 24. It was hard to count them while they were milling around and really going for one particular large grey clump (which I was happy to continue supposing was just wet grass and not a rabbit). What kind of omen might this be? Abundance? Being beset by an overwhelming number of enemies? Don't be a rabbit under a slasher?
It remained unclear.
Riley and I did our two circumnavigations and got out of there. Afterall, what good are omens you don't understand when Breakfast is waiting?
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Fungus Estate
Riley and I went for a walk this morning down to an unpopulated estate. It has new roads, lights, footpaths, signposts, everything except houses. No houses. It backs onto one of the reserves, the Bremer, and a picturesque (but way too noisy) railway bridge. There's always plenty of birds in the trees, and as it's on a good rise, a great view of the swollen dirty river broiling it's way towards Brisbane.
I like walking that way because it's a walk that has decent paths and if the mood and the weather are right, we can do it a long way and take an hour, or the practical way and do it in 30 minutes. Riley likes it because it has plenty of sniffing and peeing, and some good stretches where he can have a good run.
The thing I noticed again today, is after all of the rain we've been having how many fungi grow wild. Such a huge variety of toadstools and weird things that look like something a giant animal coughed up out of it's throat. The colours range from softest ivory through to orange leather, and the structures too are amazing. Classic toadstools, and fake mushrooms, then the sides of leather, the blobby ones, the ridgy ones, tiny flimsy looking things just sketched lightly and really pointy ones, caricaturing themselves.
So we were walking through this estate, almost eerie in being completely empty of the houses it was designed for, but walking past a lush and continuous display of fungi. It was an odd juxtaposition, and really set the scene for us to be kidnapped by faeries or fall into a parallel world.
I don't think that happened, unless I've just been dreaming that I'm at work.
I will be a bit disappointed when people finally start building here, even though it is crazy to do all this expensive development and not use it. I wonder what the hold-up is? There aren't even any "For Sale" signs up. It feels so private at the moment, but we'll have to share it eventually. Until that time, Riley and I can sneak down there and dream our separate dreams.
I like walking that way because it's a walk that has decent paths and if the mood and the weather are right, we can do it a long way and take an hour, or the practical way and do it in 30 minutes. Riley likes it because it has plenty of sniffing and peeing, and some good stretches where he can have a good run.
The thing I noticed again today, is after all of the rain we've been having how many fungi grow wild. Such a huge variety of toadstools and weird things that look like something a giant animal coughed up out of it's throat. The colours range from softest ivory through to orange leather, and the structures too are amazing. Classic toadstools, and fake mushrooms, then the sides of leather, the blobby ones, the ridgy ones, tiny flimsy looking things just sketched lightly and really pointy ones, caricaturing themselves.
So we were walking through this estate, almost eerie in being completely empty of the houses it was designed for, but walking past a lush and continuous display of fungi. It was an odd juxtaposition, and really set the scene for us to be kidnapped by faeries or fall into a parallel world.
I don't think that happened, unless I've just been dreaming that I'm at work.
I will be a bit disappointed when people finally start building here, even though it is crazy to do all this expensive development and not use it. I wonder what the hold-up is? There aren't even any "For Sale" signs up. It feels so private at the moment, but we'll have to share it eventually. Until that time, Riley and I can sneak down there and dream our separate dreams.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
New Year: Same Me
Hiho!
welcome back to the blog one and all!
(This is a speed blog - I've set my timer at 10mins to make myself say hello.)
I have been in denial that 07 is done and dusted, and what better day to build a bridge and get over it that the 8th?! A week and a day! So how was your Festivus? The big news here is Helen! Ex-Cyclone Helen and the Dorothea Mackellar-type floods that's she's brought to the entire eastern seaboard it seems like. I would love it if only:
a) it was less hot and humid
b) there wasn't a really big tree in my yard that the family immediately identified as a "widow maker"
c) there was decent telly and I hadn't already run out of ROME and BSG S3!
Ma and Pa have been flooded-in on the farm now and then. They're rolling in it. A temporary creek has sprung up and is winding it's way through the front paddock. Complete with swimming ducks. Three months ago, we were just hoping the olive trees didn't die. Now the tanks and dams on the property have all overflowed, and the grass is back up to waist-height. Yay! Nature, what can I say?
In other news, going back to work has been a push. Even a little break like a week can really bump me out of all my structural habits (not hitting snooze when the alarm sounds!) and combined, well, there's lead weights on my feet as I drag myself to work in the mornings. I'm sure it will pass ... I heard today that Mars has been in a nasty retrograde mood. Well, if Mars says "talk to the hand" mortals ought to take it easy!
That's my 10min folks. Hope you and yours are well, and enjoying living.
Quote for the day from Neil Gaiman's blog:
"I'm only wearing black until they invent a darker colour."
welcome back to the blog one and all!
(This is a speed blog - I've set my timer at 10mins to make myself say hello.)
I have been in denial that 07 is done and dusted, and what better day to build a bridge and get over it that the 8th?! A week and a day! So how was your Festivus? The big news here is Helen! Ex-Cyclone Helen and the Dorothea Mackellar-type floods that's she's brought to the entire eastern seaboard it seems like. I would love it if only:
a) it was less hot and humid
b) there wasn't a really big tree in my yard that the family immediately identified as a "widow maker"
c) there was decent telly and I hadn't already run out of ROME and BSG S3!
Ma and Pa have been flooded-in on the farm now and then. They're rolling in it. A temporary creek has sprung up and is winding it's way through the front paddock. Complete with swimming ducks. Three months ago, we were just hoping the olive trees didn't die. Now the tanks and dams on the property have all overflowed, and the grass is back up to waist-height. Yay! Nature, what can I say?
In other news, going back to work has been a push. Even a little break like a week can really bump me out of all my structural habits (not hitting snooze when the alarm sounds!) and combined, well, there's lead weights on my feet as I drag myself to work in the mornings. I'm sure it will pass ... I heard today that Mars has been in a nasty retrograde mood. Well, if Mars says "talk to the hand" mortals ought to take it easy!
That's my 10min folks. Hope you and yours are well, and enjoying living.
Quote for the day from Neil Gaiman's blog:
"I'm only wearing black until they invent a darker colour."
Monday, December 24, 2007
Festivus
Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit, our best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low stress, nonaddictive, gender neutral celebration of the solstice holiday, practised with the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion or secular practices of your choice with respect for the religious/secular persuasions and/or traditions of others, or the choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all.
We also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2008, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make our country great (not to imply that Australia is necessarily greater than any other country) and without regard to the race, creed,color, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee.
By accepting this greeting, you are accepting these terms:
This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal.
It is freelytransferable with no alteration to the original greeting.
It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for her / himself or others and is void where prohibited by law, and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher.
This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings, for a period of one year or until the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting, whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher.
Note: No trees were harmed in the sending of this message; however, a significant number of electrons have been electromagnetically relocated.
We also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2008, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make our country great (not to imply that Australia is necessarily greater than any other country) and without regard to the race, creed,color, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee.
By accepting this greeting, you are accepting these terms:
This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal.
It is freelytransferable with no alteration to the original greeting.
It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for her / himself or others and is void where prohibited by law, and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher.
This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings, for a period of one year or until the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting, whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher.
Note: No trees were harmed in the sending of this message; however, a significant number of electrons have been electromagnetically relocated.
Suburban Rituals: Mowing
Over the weekend, I attempted to mow my yard.
Note "attempted".
There are many things I struggle with in life, far too many really, and sadly, this list is only being expanded by my half-hearted first foray into home ownership.
Since I moved in two months ago, every weekend has been pierced at various (read: early) hours of the day by the cacophonous mating call of the lesser two-stroke mower. A popular Queensland variant of this creature features an unusual symbiont - a weedy thin human male clad only in short short stubbies and the old style thin things. Hat/sunglasses are optional, as is a half-smoked durrie and blurry blue old tatts down the forearms, but accessories do make the man. Lawns are as close as Suburban Queensland seems to have to a soul. Gardens are nice, but you really just need a lawn. The "inifinity" lawn look is popular too - from the edge of your house to the kerb in one smooth unbroken golf-green.
Well, since it rained, I have been pleased to watch a variety of green things sprout and thrust their way competitively into the sunlight in my yard. Some resulted in yellow swaying flowers, some in tiny blue ones - leaving a very pretty haze of almost lilac blue, some just in giant woody tendril structures keen to make a bid for control of the house. I like the idea of a garden, eventually, but it has been a long way down the energy-consumption-priority list lately and I was happy just for it to be green.
When I lost Riley in the yard and had a minor freakout that the thing that lives in the bowels of the Deathstar had grabbed him, I realised it was time to mow. I borrowed the mower from Ma & Pa, got long pants, boots, hat, leather gloves, ear plugs on, over and in. Fired her up and commenced battle.
What an ordeal.
Painful, noisy, uncontrollable, rough, endless.
When the machine over heated after 20 minutes having done about one twelfth of the entire yard I was in complete concurrence.
This is going to take more planning. If I can only do a twelfth at a time, and the grass continues to grow at the current rate, then my initial computations suggest that I will be mowing this lawn for... roughly the REST OF MY NATURAL BORN LIFE.
So there's got to be some other options. Today I am trying to figure out what second job I can get so I can afford to pay to have the whole thing paved, or turned into the set of Narnia, or adding decking to every side of the house over the damn thing, or dug up and put to useful cultivation...
But I don't really have the energy for that either. It's all a bit much. Time for a cup of tea and a crack at the crossword.
Note "attempted".
There are many things I struggle with in life, far too many really, and sadly, this list is only being expanded by my half-hearted first foray into home ownership.
Since I moved in two months ago, every weekend has been pierced at various (read: early) hours of the day by the cacophonous mating call of the lesser two-stroke mower. A popular Queensland variant of this creature features an unusual symbiont - a weedy thin human male clad only in short short stubbies and the old style thin things. Hat/sunglasses are optional, as is a half-smoked durrie and blurry blue old tatts down the forearms, but accessories do make the man. Lawns are as close as Suburban Queensland seems to have to a soul. Gardens are nice, but you really just need a lawn. The "inifinity" lawn look is popular too - from the edge of your house to the kerb in one smooth unbroken golf-green.
Well, since it rained, I have been pleased to watch a variety of green things sprout and thrust their way competitively into the sunlight in my yard. Some resulted in yellow swaying flowers, some in tiny blue ones - leaving a very pretty haze of almost lilac blue, some just in giant woody tendril structures keen to make a bid for control of the house. I like the idea of a garden, eventually, but it has been a long way down the energy-consumption-priority list lately and I was happy just for it to be green.
When I lost Riley in the yard and had a minor freakout that the thing that lives in the bowels of the Deathstar had grabbed him, I realised it was time to mow. I borrowed the mower from Ma & Pa, got long pants, boots, hat, leather gloves, ear plugs on, over and in. Fired her up and commenced battle.
What an ordeal.
Painful, noisy, uncontrollable, rough, endless.
When the machine over heated after 20 minutes having done about one twelfth of the entire yard I was in complete concurrence.
This is going to take more planning. If I can only do a twelfth at a time, and the grass continues to grow at the current rate, then my initial computations suggest that I will be mowing this lawn for... roughly the REST OF MY NATURAL BORN LIFE.
So there's got to be some other options. Today I am trying to figure out what second job I can get so I can afford to pay to have the whole thing paved, or turned into the set of Narnia, or adding decking to every side of the house over the damn thing, or dug up and put to useful cultivation...
But I don't really have the energy for that either. It's all a bit much. Time for a cup of tea and a crack at the crossword.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Touching Base
Ma often used to say "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all" and it got to be ingrained. That's not a handy habit for a writer. Life's going on all around, but I don't want to seem like a whinger, so the habit is to clam it up. Swallow it down and get on with going through the motions.
Ma does it herself - a phone call will run out of steam, and she'll say "well, there's nothing else to report" as though we're talking just to entertain me. This last month or so, I've been doing that to myself. Not talking just to be in touch and shoot the breeze, no, it's been a bit "nothing to report" as though there has to be something newsworthy going on in order to say - hey - what's good for dinner? or how funny is it that Dumbledore's meant to be gay? Or, man, I am bored! It's tough to heal the breach when you're not talking to yourself. There's no-one to be the go-between.
The thing I like about this time of year is that there's a push to be in touch *anyway*. If you're into the G-d thing one way or the other, or summer solstice, or just the end of the year (please, please, let the next one bring the good stuff!!) you can just send a message saying "I'm thinking about you, and wishing nice things into your life" and I think that's just brilliant.
So this morning I feel like I'm back talking to myself, and we're patching things up. She's given me some chocolate and said sorry, and I've promised not to shut her out and pretend like nothing's happening. Yeah, it's getting better. Our world seemed to shrink a lot this year and that's quite a weird experience. I think we've passed through the worst of the transition now, and starting to find a way to inject a bit more imagination and humour into things without resorting to outright denial and escapism will be good. (Note future tense there - still learning!)
Anyway, from us and Riley to you and yours, for no reason at all, have a great weekend!
Ma does it herself - a phone call will run out of steam, and she'll say "well, there's nothing else to report" as though we're talking just to entertain me. This last month or so, I've been doing that to myself. Not talking just to be in touch and shoot the breeze, no, it's been a bit "nothing to report" as though there has to be something newsworthy going on in order to say - hey - what's good for dinner? or how funny is it that Dumbledore's meant to be gay? Or, man, I am bored! It's tough to heal the breach when you're not talking to yourself. There's no-one to be the go-between.
The thing I like about this time of year is that there's a push to be in touch *anyway*. If you're into the G-d thing one way or the other, or summer solstice, or just the end of the year (please, please, let the next one bring the good stuff!!) you can just send a message saying "I'm thinking about you, and wishing nice things into your life" and I think that's just brilliant.
So this morning I feel like I'm back talking to myself, and we're patching things up. She's given me some chocolate and said sorry, and I've promised not to shut her out and pretend like nothing's happening. Yeah, it's getting better. Our world seemed to shrink a lot this year and that's quite a weird experience. I think we've passed through the worst of the transition now, and starting to find a way to inject a bit more imagination and humour into things without resorting to outright denial and escapism will be good. (Note future tense there - still learning!)
Anyway, from us and Riley to you and yours, for no reason at all, have a great weekend!
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Innocent Fantasies
This morning was a lot like yesterday morning. You know how the work week goes. Alarm clock, stiff knees, bored with breakfast, briefly ponder clothes and pull on almost exactly the same thing again.
But I got a gorgeous phone message from Mez, that she's been daydreaming that we were hanging out together today with her new puppy instead of us both going to work in separate cities. As soon as I read it, I joined in, and imagined us baking something for afternoon tea and maybe I could finally teach her that double handed patience card game. I don't know why I still teach people how to play it - I nearly always loose. I guess it's like Scrabble - I like playing it because it's a good excuse to spend time together and keep the hands busy while joking and laughing and story telling can go on.
Such innocent fantasies. How lovely to know that there's still a source of enjoyment and pleasure to be had that doesn't need a copyright permission or is sullied by a badly made movie spin-off console game. It would be better, of course, to wag work today and be teleported to your lounge room and have a laugh, but there you go. In a moment of personal revelation to you, I confide that I have these innocent fantasies much more often than any other kind.
My favourite one lately, from about 2 weeks ago, was a fully-fledged dream. I was in New York promoting the new book, and Neil Gaiman had a night free in his schedule, so we met at a family restaurant he knows and had dinner. It was good to catch up and the food was well made. Afterwards, we said goodbye on the pavement and he walked back to his friends' place and I caught a cab to the hotel. It was good to see him so relaxed.
But I got a gorgeous phone message from Mez, that she's been daydreaming that we were hanging out together today with her new puppy instead of us both going to work in separate cities. As soon as I read it, I joined in, and imagined us baking something for afternoon tea and maybe I could finally teach her that double handed patience card game. I don't know why I still teach people how to play it - I nearly always loose. I guess it's like Scrabble - I like playing it because it's a good excuse to spend time together and keep the hands busy while joking and laughing and story telling can go on.
Such innocent fantasies. How lovely to know that there's still a source of enjoyment and pleasure to be had that doesn't need a copyright permission or is sullied by a badly made movie spin-off console game. It would be better, of course, to wag work today and be teleported to your lounge room and have a laugh, but there you go. In a moment of personal revelation to you, I confide that I have these innocent fantasies much more often than any other kind.
My favourite one lately, from about 2 weeks ago, was a fully-fledged dream. I was in New York promoting the new book, and Neil Gaiman had a night free in his schedule, so we met at a family restaurant he knows and had dinner. It was good to catch up and the food was well made. Afterwards, we said goodbye on the pavement and he walked back to his friends' place and I caught a cab to the hotel. It was good to see him so relaxed.
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!
Saturday, December 01, 2007
What Happened to November?
...'cause last thing I knew it was October, and things were getting kinda busy.
Gee, you look away for just a minute and the whole political landscape of the country changes!
In more thrilling personal news, I had two (2!) separate house guests during November - Mez and MsJaye both made the trek north and braved the humidity. What fun! Such glee! That makes it four this year - how spoilt and loved I am!
Ipswich remains a lonely exile and this last week has been quiet as well, due to my long-suffering dvd player going on the blink. Ack! No cds, no music other than the radio. Ever hopeful, and well trained by years of using microsoft, I turn it on again each night, patiently waiting for it to recommence operations. After all, this is exactly what happened earlier in the year! I take this time to do a little reading or explore exactly how early I can fall asleep.
I planted out the fig tree and found it very rewarding to dig a hole, and fill it in again. The fig is doing well, which is more than I can say for the mulberry, which has suffered a nasty lopping from the back neighbours. May fortune piss on them! There has been plenty plenty plenty of rain so everything is growing as though to catch up for two years of being thirsty. Ma & Pa's place is an utter biological riot. If you sit still, it feels like you can hear things growing. Kinda creepy. Maybe I've been reading too much scifi.
No, not possible to read too much scifi.
Oh, and the election... well I'm cynically hopeful. Is that possible? Yes. I've had my naive hopes trashed by the ALP in the past, and let's face it - what a disappointing piss-ant backflipper Peter "Once had principles" Garrett has been.
The trouble with elections is that a politician always gets in.
Okay.
Anyway,
December.
December already.
I'm not ready for december already.
Gee, you look away for just a minute and the whole political landscape of the country changes!
In more thrilling personal news, I had two (2!) separate house guests during November - Mez and MsJaye both made the trek north and braved the humidity. What fun! Such glee! That makes it four this year - how spoilt and loved I am!
Ipswich remains a lonely exile and this last week has been quiet as well, due to my long-suffering dvd player going on the blink. Ack! No cds, no music other than the radio. Ever hopeful, and well trained by years of using microsoft, I turn it on again each night, patiently waiting for it to recommence operations. After all, this is exactly what happened earlier in the year! I take this time to do a little reading or explore exactly how early I can fall asleep.
I planted out the fig tree and found it very rewarding to dig a hole, and fill it in again. The fig is doing well, which is more than I can say for the mulberry, which has suffered a nasty lopping from the back neighbours. May fortune piss on them! There has been plenty plenty plenty of rain so everything is growing as though to catch up for two years of being thirsty. Ma & Pa's place is an utter biological riot. If you sit still, it feels like you can hear things growing. Kinda creepy. Maybe I've been reading too much scifi.
No, not possible to read too much scifi.
Oh, and the election... well I'm cynically hopeful. Is that possible? Yes. I've had my naive hopes trashed by the ALP in the past, and let's face it - what a disappointing piss-ant backflipper Peter "Once had principles" Garrett has been.
The trouble with elections is that a politician always gets in.
Okay.
Anyway,
December.
December already.
I'm not ready for december already.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Quote from Flaubert - and he knew a thing or two!!
“Be steady and well-ordered in your life so that you can be fierce and original in your work.”
– Gustave Flaubert
– Gustave Flaubert
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
The Sounds of Clucking
There was a moment over the weekend when I realised that despite me not enjoying Ipswich as a cultural centre, my new place in and of itself hits all of the points I wrote down at the end of Mastery when we were dreaming of what we wanted our future to hold.
This was about four years ago now, and at that time, the idea that I might one day be a worthy citizen for a mortgage was ludicrous, bordering on delusional. To sit and write out "I want a place surrounded by trees so I can hear birds-song, and there's plenty of natural light, and wood and books. There's beautiful things, a place for my desk and it feels like home. There's a gas stove and a bath tub and music fills it. It is a happy home" was an act of faith almost beyond me.
One of the things that I didn't know I should put on that list, was chooks. I like the idea of chooks, but I am no where near uber-gardener capacity in terms of even planning the garden, let alone caring for food producers, but a neighbour very nearby has some and the morning chook noise is incredibly comforting and pleasurable. I stand in my kitchen, making tea with the cheerful red kettle on the singing gas stove, talking away to the dog (the cat already doesn't listen) and over the fence and between the hills hoists comes the sounds of clucking.
I am holding off putting a clock on the wall in a nod to this beautiful period in the morning when there's tea, the paper the dog and the chooks. A brief interlude of life for living without email and beeping calendar appointments. In a good, basic way, it's starting to feel like a home. Like maybe my home.
This was about four years ago now, and at that time, the idea that I might one day be a worthy citizen for a mortgage was ludicrous, bordering on delusional. To sit and write out "I want a place surrounded by trees so I can hear birds-song, and there's plenty of natural light, and wood and books. There's beautiful things, a place for my desk and it feels like home. There's a gas stove and a bath tub and music fills it. It is a happy home" was an act of faith almost beyond me.
One of the things that I didn't know I should put on that list, was chooks. I like the idea of chooks, but I am no where near uber-gardener capacity in terms of even planning the garden, let alone caring for food producers, but a neighbour very nearby has some and the morning chook noise is incredibly comforting and pleasurable. I stand in my kitchen, making tea with the cheerful red kettle on the singing gas stove, talking away to the dog (the cat already doesn't listen) and over the fence and between the hills hoists comes the sounds of clucking.
I am holding off putting a clock on the wall in a nod to this beautiful period in the morning when there's tea, the paper the dog and the chooks. A brief interlude of life for living without email and beeping calendar appointments. In a good, basic way, it's starting to feel like a home. Like maybe my home.
Monday, October 22, 2007
A Year in the Blogosphere
This month marks my first year anniversary as a blogger.
Overall I'd say it's been worth it for me, and that I would continue to do it. What the blog has meant to me and done for me has already had about 3 mayor shifts since I started, so I'm quite curious to see what the next year brings!
Overall I'd say it's been worth it for me, and that I would continue to do it. What the blog has meant to me and done for me has already had about 3 mayor shifts since I started, so I'm quite curious to see what the next year brings!
Ultimate Lifestyle
A funny thing happened on the way to the Colosseum today.
Riles and I were taking the morning constitutional (west of course - he thinks he can walk back to the farm if I loose the leash) and we went past the Ippy Golf Course (the big one, not the pretender at Sandy Gallop). The other day we saw roos there, and we both like the way there's space and nice far horizon.
Anyway, I was just thinking that based on the traffic, first T-off must be 7am. Couples with matching His N Hers golf bags and clubs rolling into the carpark at 6:55am. Then a 4WD swings by with a trailer with a golf buggy on it! I didn't know you could buy them privately. I wondered if that would get better mileage than Audrey for the daily commute - kindof like a neutered beach buggy ride. Anyway, just as I had thought that I had gotten a handle on the Ippy golfing lifestyle, the ULTIMATE LIFESTYLE MOMENT happened. The garage door of the house directly opposite the golf course driveway rolled serenely up into it's catchment and a couple in their own golf buggy cruised the 3 metres of their driveway, sailed across the street, into the golf course and up to the tee!! OMG!
Can you believe it?!
Hi-Larious.
It's thirteen hours later and it still makes me shake my head. In a strange way it's been inspiring. I hope that if I ever get old, I have my priorities that clear!
Riles and I were taking the morning constitutional (west of course - he thinks he can walk back to the farm if I loose the leash) and we went past the Ippy Golf Course (the big one, not the pretender at Sandy Gallop). The other day we saw roos there, and we both like the way there's space and nice far horizon.
Anyway, I was just thinking that based on the traffic, first T-off must be 7am. Couples with matching His N Hers golf bags and clubs rolling into the carpark at 6:55am. Then a 4WD swings by with a trailer with a golf buggy on it! I didn't know you could buy them privately. I wondered if that would get better mileage than Audrey for the daily commute - kindof like a neutered beach buggy ride. Anyway, just as I had thought that I had gotten a handle on the Ippy golfing lifestyle, the ULTIMATE LIFESTYLE MOMENT happened. The garage door of the house directly opposite the golf course driveway rolled serenely up into it's catchment and a couple in their own golf buggy cruised the 3 metres of their driveway, sailed across the street, into the golf course and up to the tee!! OMG!
Can you believe it?!
Hi-Larious.
It's thirteen hours later and it still makes me shake my head. In a strange way it's been inspiring. I hope that if I ever get old, I have my priorities that clear!
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Enforced Sanity Break
The relentless flow of work I have been slowly sinking under the past two weeks has slowly ground to a halt this afternoon. The Sheltered Workshop email servers are down for the count. After 2 hours of neither giving nor receiving, I am forced to look up and notice that the sun still shines in the window, and that at 5.12 pm I am the last person left in the building.
Hi-larious!
Most excellent, I shall be home before half-past, and walking the dog in the twilight. Unpacking again after dinner and some planning about re-arranging everything. It all looked so serene and pure when everything was in nice neat boxes. The house is starting to look a lot more like somewhere that I actually live, with piles of papers and books in corners, against walls and encroaching everywhere except the bathroom.
Chaos emerging from the sterile purity of cubes. Lovely. Very heartening.
In other news, National Write a Novel in a Month is coming up again quickly - remember to register soon! You don't want to miss out on that crucial first day.
Oh yeah and the federal election got called, but that's late November - our novels should be nearly finished by then!!
Hi-larious!
Most excellent, I shall be home before half-past, and walking the dog in the twilight. Unpacking again after dinner and some planning about re-arranging everything. It all looked so serene and pure when everything was in nice neat boxes. The house is starting to look a lot more like somewhere that I actually live, with piles of papers and books in corners, against walls and encroaching everywhere except the bathroom.
Chaos emerging from the sterile purity of cubes. Lovely. Very heartening.
In other news, National Write a Novel in a Month is coming up again quickly - remember to register soon! You don't want to miss out on that crucial first day.
Oh yeah and the federal election got called, but that's late November - our novels should be nearly finished by then!!
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.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Everybody loves the Elephant
“I’ve shot 630 elephants and 63 men, and I regret the elephants more.”
Attributed to Arthur Jones, 1970. Inventor of the Nautilus machine.
Attributed to Arthur Jones, 1970. Inventor of the Nautilus machine.
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.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Meet Rumi
The horrid case of cold feet and near panic from yesterday has drained away. Much lighter today, and almost whistling and tra-la-laah-ing except, of course, I don't want to draw attention to myself.
Intending to go and look at a dog as a companion for Riley, I have come away from the pound a rather proud new nearly-owner of a beautiful long-haired Turkish Van cat whom I have named Rumi. He's only a young 'un and is at the vet getting his bits nipped off. I really hope I'm not allergic to him - I've never kept a long haired pet. I don't have a photo of him, but he looks almost *exactly* like this cat, but thinner and younger.
Between Riley and the Fig Tree (blooming and blooming) I am feeling very nurturing and content.
Also, some of my not-very-creative (I thought they were dull) ideas are getting through all the hoops at work and some of them (they did spawn like toads) may make it to print!
Praise be! A good day finally!! I shall be taking a long weekend to clean, paint and nest in the new place. I am planning next weekend as well, but as I have so little stuff, it may all be over this weekend. We shall see.
The Ram may have touched the wall but we are secure, and have faith in our resilience.
However, a lot of rain would really really help as well.
Intending to go and look at a dog as a companion for Riley, I have come away from the pound a rather proud new nearly-owner of a beautiful long-haired Turkish Van cat whom I have named Rumi. He's only a young 'un and is at the vet getting his bits nipped off. I really hope I'm not allergic to him - I've never kept a long haired pet. I don't have a photo of him, but he looks almost *exactly* like this cat, but thinner and younger.
Between Riley and the Fig Tree (blooming and blooming) I am feeling very nurturing and content.
Also, some of my not-very-creative (I thought they were dull) ideas are getting through all the hoops at work and some of them (they did spawn like toads) may make it to print!
Praise be! A good day finally!! I shall be taking a long weekend to clean, paint and nest in the new place. I am planning next weekend as well, but as I have so little stuff, it may all be over this weekend. We shall see.
The Ram may have touched the wall but we are secure, and have faith in our resilience.
However, a lot of rain would really really help as well.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
The Ram Has Touched the Wall
Commitment is an odd creature, don't you find?
I have not had a close relationship with it so far during my life, so it has been an interesting experience lately as my wishes bring me closer and closer to what have always looked like shoals of certain destruction. I have sought out every other possible path to gaining what I want and they each ended in a cul-de-sac. One, untried and undesirable option left, to commit to living as an employee (not a contractor) to commit to the purchase of large items in the promise that their later (greater) value will support my dotage. Down this path I go, with much trepidation and an exit strategy tucked under one wing.
I have been escaping my own life by immersing myself in the life of Rome. I was bewitched by this, and have started again from the beginning of the series. There's so much to say about it, it will have to be another discussion. What I really wanted to turn over, was this one point, very early on, where Mark Anthony says, with a huge passion, "the ram has touched the wall!" and they're off! What the?!
The whole Roman way of life was a commitment in terms that are quite hard to reconcile with our modern/post-christian morals. This particular comment was compelling and I could not make out what it was about, but from the context it clearly had great importance.
So I looked it up, and here's a good explanation from someone else who's name I have lost:
"It was a strict policy of battle. When a city was to be under siege, they had a chance to give up, to submit to Rome’s rule. However, once the battering ram touched the outer wall of the city’s defenses, the commanding Roman officer was not allowed to accept surrender, was unable to give quarter or show mercy.”
“The policy was designed to put pressure on the enemy. If they weren’t absolutely sure they could withstand the siege, they better give up, because once the ram had touched the wall, that was it.”
That was it - indeed!
So here I am, feeling at once both under siege, and at the same time be-sieging my own previous life with these changes and desires for a future. Confused? Oh yes. If I wasn't cautious of mixing times and empires, I'd now segue into a Cassandra theme, but enough altogether.
Let it just be thus, as a koan to my world this week.
The ram has touched the wall.
I have not had a close relationship with it so far during my life, so it has been an interesting experience lately as my wishes bring me closer and closer to what have always looked like shoals of certain destruction. I have sought out every other possible path to gaining what I want and they each ended in a cul-de-sac. One, untried and undesirable option left, to commit to living as an employee (not a contractor) to commit to the purchase of large items in the promise that their later (greater) value will support my dotage. Down this path I go, with much trepidation and an exit strategy tucked under one wing.
I have been escaping my own life by immersing myself in the life of Rome. I was bewitched by this, and have started again from the beginning of the series. There's so much to say about it, it will have to be another discussion. What I really wanted to turn over, was this one point, very early on, where Mark Anthony says, with a huge passion, "the ram has touched the wall!" and they're off! What the?!
The whole Roman way of life was a commitment in terms that are quite hard to reconcile with our modern/post-christian morals. This particular comment was compelling and I could not make out what it was about, but from the context it clearly had great importance.
So I looked it up, and here's a good explanation from someone else who's name I have lost:
"It was a strict policy of battle. When a city was to be under siege, they had a chance to give up, to submit to Rome’s rule. However, once the battering ram touched the outer wall of the city’s defenses, the commanding Roman officer was not allowed to accept surrender, was unable to give quarter or show mercy.”
“The policy was designed to put pressure on the enemy. If they weren’t absolutely sure they could withstand the siege, they better give up, because once the ram had touched the wall, that was it.”
That was it - indeed!
So here I am, feeling at once both under siege, and at the same time be-sieging my own previous life with these changes and desires for a future. Confused? Oh yes. If I wasn't cautious of mixing times and empires, I'd now segue into a Cassandra theme, but enough altogether.
Let it just be thus, as a koan to my world this week.
The ram has touched the wall.
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?!
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Radio Silence
I haven't been anywhere, done anything or met anyone.
No. Just holding my breath and waiting for the sun and moon to dance around and for the dice to move me 'round the board. I stood so still a bitch pissed on me. Maybe next time not quite so still as that.
I was very nearly bored today. Imagine that! Horrific state of affairs. Tisk tisk.
No. Just holding my breath and waiting for the sun and moon to dance around and for the dice to move me 'round the board. I stood so still a bitch pissed on me. Maybe next time not quite so still as that.
I was very nearly bored today. Imagine that! Horrific state of affairs. Tisk tisk.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
5 Things I Love about Australia
1. We invented plastic money so you could go swimming and still be able to get a feed after. Also, means that people who keep cash in their jeans pockets aren't suddenly skint every time they do a load of washing. Genius.
2. It's an island. The rest of the world's gotta be happy about that.
3. We make our own rules. Eg. Long socks with shorts are formal enough for the office! (see also "dress thongs") Another eg: No one is really expected to work too hard between, say, the week before christmas and the week after new years - oh, and a coupla days either side of Australia Day. "C'mon mate - it's summer!" (This is not always a great thing: see also Penal settlement and the rum trade, Tampa and Howard in general).
4. Native Fauna and Flora are bizarre by any standards and almost entirely unique. Cool. Endangered, but cool.
5. Generally peaceful. Bit of a flare-up in the 1780s for a while, and recently arms have been taken against citizens when a visiting foreigner was here, oh, and the the whole "we don't trust people arriving by boat" thing, but generally, there's very little bombing, gunfire, and mortal danger from explosives, extremists or warring factions.
There you go - you didn't think I'd be able to get to five, but I did!!
Go yew liddle bewdie!!
2. It's an island. The rest of the world's gotta be happy about that.
3. We make our own rules. Eg. Long socks with shorts are formal enough for the office! (see also "dress thongs") Another eg: No one is really expected to work too hard between, say, the week before christmas and the week after new years - oh, and a coupla days either side of Australia Day. "C'mon mate - it's summer!" (This is not always a great thing: see also Penal settlement and the rum trade, Tampa and Howard in general).
4. Native Fauna and Flora are bizarre by any standards and almost entirely unique. Cool. Endangered, but cool.
5. Generally peaceful. Bit of a flare-up in the 1780s for a while, and recently arms have been taken against citizens when a visiting foreigner was here, oh, and the the whole "we don't trust people arriving by boat" thing, but generally, there's very little bombing, gunfire, and mortal danger from explosives, extremists or warring factions.
There you go - you didn't think I'd be able to get to five, but I did!!
Go yew liddle bewdie!!
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Rashi
Rashi looked again at her watch, which of course still wasn't on her wrist where it always always was. The sweat was pooling at the back of her knees and under her breasts. She could smell her skin going sour and her mouth was sticky with thirst. How long would she be held like this?! She looked again at her watch, which of course still wasn't there. With a powerful force of will, she didn't swear out loud, or contort her face, or even clench a fist. That was close. She'd nearly blown it. It brought her back to what was at stake. Very consciously she bought her awareness back to right here, right now. It was important that she not make any moves or sounds that whatever was recording from the other side of that mirror could pick up. She didn’t know what kind of equipment they had, but she knew from the trail transcripts she’d read that it was there, and was often a deciding factor in final decisions. If it ever got to trial. She’d worked so very hard to get here, she wasn’t going to screw it all up right at the last hurdle.
Taking a deep, slow breath, Rashi went to the cot. Gently and evenly, she let the breath out, then paused before taking another. She’d trained for this, she knew she’d get through if she stuck to the plan. This was not the time for fretting over details that were already in place or trying to push things along. The authorities would take their own time, that’s how authorities work. It’s not like this was some third-world cell with a putrid bucket in the corner. Actually it was almost exactly as it had been in the brochure except the blanket on the cot was grey, not navy blue. She was surprised to realise that it was cotton, that open waffle weave style, for some reason her mind had categorised it as a warm blanket. Why there was a blanket at all in this heat was the real mystery. Rashi thought it was a mystery she would ponder as the authorities took whatever time they needed to process her paperwork. After all, she thought, that was pretty reasonable. These things take time. She just wished that they’d left her with her guide book. She trusted that her belongings, her watch, luggage and passport would be returned to her in due course. Meanwhile, she decided, she was free to recuperate from the journey. It had been a very long trip.
Taking a deep, slow breath, Rashi relaxed on her cot in her silent, dim cell and deliberately went to sleep. Australia was worth the hassle to visit. She’d had to decide that a long time ago when she’d applied to her own country for clearance and diplomatic support. A week or two in Visitor Status Processing is a small sacrifice to make. Too late for doubts now.
Taking a deep, slow breath, Rashi went to the cot. Gently and evenly, she let the breath out, then paused before taking another. She’d trained for this, she knew she’d get through if she stuck to the plan. This was not the time for fretting over details that were already in place or trying to push things along. The authorities would take their own time, that’s how authorities work. It’s not like this was some third-world cell with a putrid bucket in the corner. Actually it was almost exactly as it had been in the brochure except the blanket on the cot was grey, not navy blue. She was surprised to realise that it was cotton, that open waffle weave style, for some reason her mind had categorised it as a warm blanket. Why there was a blanket at all in this heat was the real mystery. Rashi thought it was a mystery she would ponder as the authorities took whatever time they needed to process her paperwork. After all, she thought, that was pretty reasonable. These things take time. She just wished that they’d left her with her guide book. She trusted that her belongings, her watch, luggage and passport would be returned to her in due course. Meanwhile, she decided, she was free to recuperate from the journey. It had been a very long trip.
Taking a deep, slow breath, Rashi relaxed on her cot in her silent, dim cell and deliberately went to sleep. Australia was worth the hassle to visit. She’d had to decide that a long time ago when she’d applied to her own country for clearance and diplomatic support. A week or two in Visitor Status Processing is a small sacrifice to make. Too late for doubts now.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Conferences
A conference last friday and saturday over-loaded me. The ideas were good - nothing too wild - it was the crushing reality of the limitations of the workplace. I normally enjoy learning something (anything) just for the sake of it, and sitting there making notes on a saturday morning about museum visitor profiles I just realised that there are things I would rather be doing. Really. Rather. Be. Doing.
Particularly when I know that no matter how simple, practical or obvious any idea I take away from this conference is, the answer will be - "well you do it, but not at the expense of anything else". which is code for "we can't run this place as it is, just focus on the right-here, right-now". I had a cynicism and wage-slave overload.
The conference itself was great, and I will write a bit more about it later in the week, when I can perk-up from this little low.
Also had a conference with the house-buying team. Sit-rep is good on all fronts. Structure = sound. Finances = approved. Working Bee Flex days = accrued. ETO (estimated time of ownership) is 3 october.
Finally, conference with the new medical guy. Not quite so great. Had a "please explain" for taking myself off the meds. He seemed pretty good about it at first, but then ordered bloodwork to "check" a few things - I got the message. But no, he wasn't done. The man has pre-printed pads and he's not afraid to use them. He replenished my supply, and then added a script for *suppositories*. You heard me. Double punch! ONE - bloodwork! Bam! TWO - pills for your arse! KA-BAM! This guy's not kidding around. Needless to say, I haven't rushed off to the chemist just yet.
It's been a week alright, and it's only Monday.
As a treat, I got myself a dvd "Throne of Blood" by Kurosawa. No pun intended.
Particularly when I know that no matter how simple, practical or obvious any idea I take away from this conference is, the answer will be - "well you do it, but not at the expense of anything else". which is code for "we can't run this place as it is, just focus on the right-here, right-now". I had a cynicism and wage-slave overload.
The conference itself was great, and I will write a bit more about it later in the week, when I can perk-up from this little low.
Also had a conference with the house-buying team. Sit-rep is good on all fronts. Structure = sound. Finances = approved. Working Bee Flex days = accrued. ETO (estimated time of ownership) is 3 october.
Finally, conference with the new medical guy. Not quite so great. Had a "please explain" for taking myself off the meds. He seemed pretty good about it at first, but then ordered bloodwork to "check" a few things - I got the message. But no, he wasn't done. The man has pre-printed pads and he's not afraid to use them. He replenished my supply, and then added a script for *suppositories*. You heard me. Double punch! ONE - bloodwork! Bam! TWO - pills for your arse! KA-BAM! This guy's not kidding around. Needless to say, I haven't rushed off to the chemist just yet.
It's been a week alright, and it's only Monday.
As a treat, I got myself a dvd "Throne of Blood" by Kurosawa. No pun intended.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Money Changes People
The etymology of "stock exchange" came up today and that got me talking about the intriguing development of the idea of "currency" alongside the barter/unsecured coinage system that people used to get by with in local economies. Which linked over to the the quantum-self-help-guru world where money is referred to as "energy", and driving in the car this morning the thought that "money changes people" is often a derisive or negative thing to say.
You know what I mean, there's occasionally an interview with some new sensation where they assert "Money hasn't changed me" or won't or one of those variations.
I wonder why they want that money then if not to change? If not to enable a broader scope of activity, a change of venue or an expansion of influence, where is the motivation for the activity that results in the cash they apparently don't desire.
For some reason Russell Crowe came to mind. Now I don't think that he's ever been one to say anything this flaccid, but he's the kinda guy who *could* and it would make at least some sense. Liked rugby league, buys a league team.
But what about those people who say they would win lotto and keep working?! What's with that? Why buy the lotto ticket then? This sounds slightly white-shoe brigade, but it's not meant to be. Actually I'm coming at it more from a "wouldn't the world be better if more of us were more emotionally and creatively fulfilled - and wouldn't moving towards that state be the first thing you'd act on if you were given a wad of cash?" point of view.
I'm not saying that I expect everyone would open an orphanage or buy Sumatran rainforest to protect orangutans - but *some* people would. Other people might take up watercolours, or scuba diving, or leave the town they were born in and see some other parts of the country. Usually with a bit more of a smile, and a bit more patience at the red lights along the way. Most people harbour a secret desire and acting towards that, even partially, constitutes a change.
Ergo, I guess, when people say they "wouldn't change" they mean only in a *bad* way.
How frustrating then, that this useful word which is conceptually neutral seems to be loosing valency. For a positive meaning to the word "change" which words can we fall back on in English - "improvement"? Euch. How 80s.
So thinking back to the money as energy or within the context of currency... the entire structure we have for exchange, for transaction - it's all predicated on the supposition that all is in motion, that there is no true static point anyway.
The only static point in the entire universe then is in human minds where we think we can attain some perfect state and hold it. Despite how much money we may someday win in lotto.
You know what I mean, there's occasionally an interview with some new sensation where they assert "Money hasn't changed me" or won't or one of those variations.
I wonder why they want that money then if not to change? If not to enable a broader scope of activity, a change of venue or an expansion of influence, where is the motivation for the activity that results in the cash they apparently don't desire.
For some reason Russell Crowe came to mind. Now I don't think that he's ever been one to say anything this flaccid, but he's the kinda guy who *could* and it would make at least some sense. Liked rugby league, buys a league team.
But what about those people who say they would win lotto and keep working?! What's with that? Why buy the lotto ticket then? This sounds slightly white-shoe brigade, but it's not meant to be. Actually I'm coming at it more from a "wouldn't the world be better if more of us were more emotionally and creatively fulfilled - and wouldn't moving towards that state be the first thing you'd act on if you were given a wad of cash?" point of view.
I'm not saying that I expect everyone would open an orphanage or buy Sumatran rainforest to protect orangutans - but *some* people would. Other people might take up watercolours, or scuba diving, or leave the town they were born in and see some other parts of the country. Usually with a bit more of a smile, and a bit more patience at the red lights along the way. Most people harbour a secret desire and acting towards that, even partially, constitutes a change.
Ergo, I guess, when people say they "wouldn't change" they mean only in a *bad* way.
How frustrating then, that this useful word which is conceptually neutral seems to be loosing valency. For a positive meaning to the word "change" which words can we fall back on in English - "improvement"? Euch. How 80s.
So thinking back to the money as energy or within the context of currency... the entire structure we have for exchange, for transaction - it's all predicated on the supposition that all is in motion, that there is no true static point anyway.
The only static point in the entire universe then is in human minds where we think we can attain some perfect state and hold it. Despite how much money we may someday win in lotto.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Gibson: Spook Country. Reviewed.
There's something very personal that happens when a beloved author puts out a book that just doesn't deliver. Betrayal. Hurt - right in the gut, a stabbing feeling halfway between your wings on the back.
Perhaps its due in part to the semiotic relationship of reader-engagement where we put in so much more than just the hours it takes to read, and sometimes it is the irrational and unfair hope that the author will continue to provide exactly the escape, antidote, passion or buzz that we've mainlined so many times before. I'm not working up into a rant here, just setting the scene for what is really hard to say.
William Gibson's new novel "Spook Country" is kinda dull and it's derivative.
It's not a great book, it's far from his best work.
It rehashes some good themes from his seminal early series, and patisches from his earlier pastiches (such as the nuanced "Pattern Recognition"). Okay - he's earned the right to coast along a little, and you can see it in the recent quote "I think reality these days is so much like a science-fiction novel. Now all I have to do is just import all that is around me into my novels."
Those are the words of a man who has lived to see his visions fulfilled. Visions that were scoffed by the mainstream, and are now that mainstreams own language. I sometimes wonder how George Orwell would have responded to our Noughties culture where political spin is what we call re-writing history, and we've had nearly a decade of entertainment from a show called Big Brother. Gibson *was* the voice of cyberpunk - go back and look at the Mirrorshades anthology (only in geek friends' libraries) and see what in the 80s we thought would be a wild future, and now Gibson is caught in a singularity.
"Spook Country" ought to have been bold, unsuspected, exciting. Instead it is Gibson-by-the-numbers, and misunderstood and badly packaged by his publishers. Why did Penguin ever take him onto their list? They have done nothing but misunderstand him and his audience since the atrocious handling of "Pattern Recognition" (was it two or three years between the hardcover selling out and the first paperback editions?!), and now it seems that they feel he'll sell better if his fans can't recognise him, and if crime readers mistake this for a thriller. There is no suspense in this book. None. There's barely even any crime (as most people would recognise it).
Gibson-by-the-numbers still has its moments of pleasure. His voice and cadence are unmistakeable, desirable and oft striven for. Here's a taste:
"Bigend stopped the car. A ball-capped guard in black uniform shorts and matching short-sleeved shirt regarded them from behind mirrored glasses. A laden, multicompartmented black holster was strapped to his right thigh.
She felt a sudden intense desire to get out of the Maybach, and acted on it.
The door opened like some disturbing hybrid of bank vault and Armani evening purse, perfectly balanced bombproof solidity meeting sheer cosmetic slickness. The gritty concrete floor, blotched with crumbs of gypsum, felt comforting in contrast. The guard gestured with a remote. She heard segmented steel start to rattle down behind them."
Classic. But if I just wanted classic Gibson, I'd re-read Neuromancer.
People change, the world moves on. As an ardent fan, I was looking forward to the new visions from Gibson. Frankly, I could do with some help dealing with this world, and in the past I've found many good tips and much solace in the worlds of SF. That this book didn't deliver owes some to my own idealistic hero-worship, but mostly to an author coasting on his (considerable) momentum.
Perhaps its due in part to the semiotic relationship of reader-engagement where we put in so much more than just the hours it takes to read, and sometimes it is the irrational and unfair hope that the author will continue to provide exactly the escape, antidote, passion or buzz that we've mainlined so many times before. I'm not working up into a rant here, just setting the scene for what is really hard to say.
William Gibson's new novel "Spook Country" is kinda dull and it's derivative.
It's not a great book, it's far from his best work.
It rehashes some good themes from his seminal early series, and patisches from his earlier pastiches (such as the nuanced "Pattern Recognition"). Okay - he's earned the right to coast along a little, and you can see it in the recent quote "I think reality these days is so much like a science-fiction novel. Now all I have to do is just import all that is around me into my novels."
Those are the words of a man who has lived to see his visions fulfilled. Visions that were scoffed by the mainstream, and are now that mainstreams own language. I sometimes wonder how George Orwell would have responded to our Noughties culture where political spin is what we call re-writing history, and we've had nearly a decade of entertainment from a show called Big Brother. Gibson *was* the voice of cyberpunk - go back and look at the Mirrorshades anthology (only in geek friends' libraries) and see what in the 80s we thought would be a wild future, and now Gibson is caught in a singularity.
"Spook Country" ought to have been bold, unsuspected, exciting. Instead it is Gibson-by-the-numbers, and misunderstood and badly packaged by his publishers. Why did Penguin ever take him onto their list? They have done nothing but misunderstand him and his audience since the atrocious handling of "Pattern Recognition" (was it two or three years between the hardcover selling out and the first paperback editions?!), and now it seems that they feel he'll sell better if his fans can't recognise him, and if crime readers mistake this for a thriller. There is no suspense in this book. None. There's barely even any crime (as most people would recognise it).
Gibson-by-the-numbers still has its moments of pleasure. His voice and cadence are unmistakeable, desirable and oft striven for. Here's a taste:
"Bigend stopped the car. A ball-capped guard in black uniform shorts and matching short-sleeved shirt regarded them from behind mirrored glasses. A laden, multicompartmented black holster was strapped to his right thigh.
She felt a sudden intense desire to get out of the Maybach, and acted on it.
The door opened like some disturbing hybrid of bank vault and Armani evening purse, perfectly balanced bombproof solidity meeting sheer cosmetic slickness. The gritty concrete floor, blotched with crumbs of gypsum, felt comforting in contrast. The guard gestured with a remote. She heard segmented steel start to rattle down behind them."
Classic. But if I just wanted classic Gibson, I'd re-read Neuromancer.
People change, the world moves on. As an ardent fan, I was looking forward to the new visions from Gibson. Frankly, I could do with some help dealing with this world, and in the past I've found many good tips and much solace in the worlds of SF. That this book didn't deliver owes some to my own idealistic hero-worship, but mostly to an author coasting on his (considerable) momentum.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Septuagenarian, Octogenarian, nine-a-genarian?
Grandad, recently returned from his tour of the USA, is turning 89 next week or so. Gloating on his good health last weekend, he was talking about what life might hold for him in his next decade.
He couldn't quite think of the word for being in one's nineties. He is a crossword fiend, so this was a shock. I sometimes consider myself ok with words, so I had a think about it, and realised that this is one of those words that I presume I know, but actually do not, have never, and worse, can't figure out.
Sure, we all know the others - but nine?!
No-one knew, and Grandad moved on from trying to think of the word to deal with more meaningful activities like planning his social calendar and working on his golf game. But it bugged me. This is a gap in the numbers! With an aging population, we *need* this word - it's going to have to do a lot more work for us! Someone needs to know! What if the only person in the world who knows how to refer to the ages between 90 and 99 in a single word dies of avian flu? I was driven to do something.
I went to the Oxford. Nine, ninety both there. Got distracted, read the whole column either side. No clues. Went to Septuagenarian, hoping they'd run against type and give the whole listing. Nope. Tried Octogenarian. Also there, also no clues.
Tap tap tap went my fingers on the cover of the book. Hhmmm.
'Sherlock Holmes wouldn't be stumped by this.' I thought. That clever bastard would just know, sure, but when Watson didn't know, he would prompt him, what would he say? What would he say......
AHA!
I went back and checked again - YES! Sept and Oct are both GREEK ROOTS, whereas nine is something else, something that doesn't work when you try and be clever with it. Ergo, my answer will be solved, if only I can think of the Greek word/root for nine!!!
Shame I don't know any Greek then, isn't it.
Still, isn't this exciting?!
Actually at this point, feeling like I'd done the hard yards by solving the process to the problem (if not the problem itself) I turned to those glorious tools (Google and Wikipedia) and within 0.12 seconds had over 2 millions listings for "greek nine", number one being "ennea-".
Of COURSE! the Enneagram. I should have remembered that!!!!!!!
What a dullard.
I read on - how fascinating the number nine is! Did you know that 9 It is the first composite lucky number? That 9 is the second non-unitary square prime (3^2)? That it has a unique aliquot sum σ(n) 4 which is itself a square prime? (all from wiki of course, I don't even understand what this says, and there's *lots* more where this came from!) .
Wow huh. I just like it because it's so round, and it's three lots of three, and three is the coolest number (apart from zero, which, it turns out, is considered an *even* number - what you can't learn off Wiki huh?) .
I digress.
There's still no actual answer to the question, except that now I could be 90% confident to guess it. Well, a guess isn't good enough when it's saturday night and I've already watched "Point Break" .... try enneagarian in the Oxford - not there. God how I hate having to work with this tiny thing! (the "Concise"- really!?) I put it into google "Do you mean Enneagram?" no, i do not. Damn! Perhaps I'm on the wrong track?! How long could this take? I do the old Enneagarian + dictionary search, and Google has given up on me! "Do you mean hungarian + Dictionary?"
ARGH!!
I'm going to have to wait until Monday when I can get to a proper dictionary!!!!!!
Don't you worry - I'm going to track this down!!
Wait, one last idea. Let me check something over at Wiki again....
Yes, Wiki listed a latin prefix as well - nono.
Could it be that we use Greek all the time, except this once?!
Oh yes, there it is : Nonogenerian.
Oxford, google, both agree, nonogenerian, not enneawhatever. I was using my brain and it was wrong.
*sigh*
On the upside, at least I'll have something to write in Grandad's birthday card next year!
He couldn't quite think of the word for being in one's nineties. He is a crossword fiend, so this was a shock. I sometimes consider myself ok with words, so I had a think about it, and realised that this is one of those words that I presume I know, but actually do not, have never, and worse, can't figure out.
Sure, we all know the others - but nine?!
No-one knew, and Grandad moved on from trying to think of the word to deal with more meaningful activities like planning his social calendar and working on his golf game. But it bugged me. This is a gap in the numbers! With an aging population, we *need* this word - it's going to have to do a lot more work for us! Someone needs to know! What if the only person in the world who knows how to refer to the ages between 90 and 99 in a single word dies of avian flu? I was driven to do something.
I went to the Oxford. Nine, ninety both there. Got distracted, read the whole column either side. No clues. Went to Septuagenarian, hoping they'd run against type and give the whole listing. Nope. Tried Octogenarian. Also there, also no clues.
Tap tap tap went my fingers on the cover of the book. Hhmmm.
'Sherlock Holmes wouldn't be stumped by this.' I thought. That clever bastard would just know, sure, but when Watson didn't know, he would prompt him, what would he say? What would he say......
AHA!
I went back and checked again - YES! Sept and Oct are both GREEK ROOTS, whereas nine is something else, something that doesn't work when you try and be clever with it. Ergo, my answer will be solved, if only I can think of the Greek word/root for nine!!!
Shame I don't know any Greek then, isn't it.
Still, isn't this exciting?!
Actually at this point, feeling like I'd done the hard yards by solving the process to the problem (if not the problem itself) I turned to those glorious tools (Google and Wikipedia) and within 0.12 seconds had over 2 millions listings for "greek nine", number one being "ennea-".
Of COURSE! the Enneagram. I should have remembered that!!!!!!!
What a dullard.
I read on - how fascinating the number nine is! Did you know that 9 It is the first composite lucky number? That 9 is the second non-unitary square prime (3^2)? That it has a unique aliquot sum σ(n) 4 which is itself a square prime? (all from wiki of course, I don't even understand what this says, and there's *lots* more where this came from!) .
Wow huh. I just like it because it's so round, and it's three lots of three, and three is the coolest number (apart from zero, which, it turns out, is considered an *even* number - what you can't learn off Wiki huh?) .
I digress.
There's still no actual answer to the question, except that now I could be 90% confident to guess it. Well, a guess isn't good enough when it's saturday night and I've already watched "Point Break" .... try enneagarian in the Oxford - not there. God how I hate having to work with this tiny thing! (the "Concise"- really!?) I put it into google "Do you mean Enneagram?" no, i do not. Damn! Perhaps I'm on the wrong track?! How long could this take? I do the old Enneagarian + dictionary search, and Google has given up on me! "Do you mean hungarian + Dictionary?"
ARGH!!
I'm going to have to wait until Monday when I can get to a proper dictionary!!!!!!
Don't you worry - I'm going to track this down!!
Wait, one last idea. Let me check something over at Wiki again....
Yes, Wiki listed a latin prefix as well - nono.
Could it be that we use Greek all the time, except this once?!
Oh yes, there it is : Nonogenerian.
Oxford, google, both agree, nonogenerian, not enneawhatever. I was using my brain and it was wrong.
*sigh*
On the upside, at least I'll have something to write in Grandad's birthday card next year!
Neil Gaiman: Gold Star Blogger
The man hisself has been to China recently, plenty of good posts about strange food etc, but this, this is pure gold:
http://www.neilgaiman.com/journal/labels/giraffes.html
Still very excited about Stardust coming! Very very excited....
http://www.neilgaiman.com/journal/labels/giraffes.html
Still very excited about Stardust coming! Very very excited....
Spring Feelings
Some weeks are chockas aren't they. This week included going to see a touring production of "Educating Rita" starring someone from "McLeod's Daughters" and a guy from "All Saints" (ie. two pretty dodgy Australian TV series) and as suspected, it was a bit dodgy.
The woman sounded like Bubbles from Ab Fab, and couldn't even sustain that. Why bother?! Surely there's enough self-awareness to realise that you're doing a shit job and look around for some solutions - would've made obvious sense to do an Ocker rendition, and have her be a bogan. The light and sound production was pretty sloppy, but most people just seemed pleased to have a play to go to locally. We'll forgive a lot to miss out on the two-hour each way drive. I did enjoy myself anyway, a free ticket from a neighbour who works in the centre, and a chance to see who goes to what gets billed locally as "Live Theatre" ...isn't that a tautology? Like so many country things - it was packed with about 4 generations and came with the slight smell of mothballs. Anyway, the beer was cold, and the story was good, so I went with it and had a good time.
As part of the Boonah Arts Festival, there'll also be a "street spectacular" tonight - I'm looking forward to it. The whole region will probably be there - half in it, the other half cheering. I've invited my new nearly-friend who is a volunteer at the gallery, but as he lives in Ipswich, I'm not sure if he'll come. Once again, I expect to be carried by the sheer naive enthusiasm and open-hearted joy of the event rather than any special artistic or cultural vision. Hi-larious. Yes, I am mocking, but not with any venom. As part of my "bloom where you're planted" program I have come to appreciate many more things about this region - particularly as compared to Trash City. As our eccentricities here are accepted and valued, we do tend to live freely, and that is valuable to us day-to-day but also, it turns out, as a curiosity worthy of a day-trip from the city folk.
Ma & Pa's farm to us is a flawed home full of jobs half-done and living things that need tending so they can be eaten later. It is delineated by fences that have hugely important meanings in the eyes of the human laws but which are invisible and insignificant to the lay and the pulse of the land itself. The flows of it, the push of the sun and the pull of the water. This is the broader place that connects us into this tiny box of farm and why it is so very hard to leave in the tough times of drought or fire, because after a little while it owns you in a more permanent way than any contract ever could. When someone visits anywhere like here, anywhere a few hours away from concrete landscapes, the proximity to this power is revitalising. It gets called scenery, or quiet, but we know that it is more. An old more that we don't have a name for now.
Despite still being lonely here a lot of the time, I am actually saddened by the prospect now of going. This connection has been worth growing. Having had a few more days to think about things (since Ticking the Boxes) I can say to my sister "Yes, I am happy."
No matter what happens in the next phase of the plan, or the plan after (!) or what life throws in my path anyway, this has been a good thing to do. It's all ok.
The woman sounded like Bubbles from Ab Fab, and couldn't even sustain that. Why bother?! Surely there's enough self-awareness to realise that you're doing a shit job and look around for some solutions - would've made obvious sense to do an Ocker rendition, and have her be a bogan. The light and sound production was pretty sloppy, but most people just seemed pleased to have a play to go to locally. We'll forgive a lot to miss out on the two-hour each way drive. I did enjoy myself anyway, a free ticket from a neighbour who works in the centre, and a chance to see who goes to what gets billed locally as "Live Theatre" ...isn't that a tautology? Like so many country things - it was packed with about 4 generations and came with the slight smell of mothballs. Anyway, the beer was cold, and the story was good, so I went with it and had a good time.
As part of the Boonah Arts Festival, there'll also be a "street spectacular" tonight - I'm looking forward to it. The whole region will probably be there - half in it, the other half cheering. I've invited my new nearly-friend who is a volunteer at the gallery, but as he lives in Ipswich, I'm not sure if he'll come. Once again, I expect to be carried by the sheer naive enthusiasm and open-hearted joy of the event rather than any special artistic or cultural vision. Hi-larious. Yes, I am mocking, but not with any venom. As part of my "bloom where you're planted" program I have come to appreciate many more things about this region - particularly as compared to Trash City. As our eccentricities here are accepted and valued, we do tend to live freely, and that is valuable to us day-to-day but also, it turns out, as a curiosity worthy of a day-trip from the city folk.
Ma & Pa's farm to us is a flawed home full of jobs half-done and living things that need tending so they can be eaten later. It is delineated by fences that have hugely important meanings in the eyes of the human laws but which are invisible and insignificant to the lay and the pulse of the land itself. The flows of it, the push of the sun and the pull of the water. This is the broader place that connects us into this tiny box of farm and why it is so very hard to leave in the tough times of drought or fire, because after a little while it owns you in a more permanent way than any contract ever could. When someone visits anywhere like here, anywhere a few hours away from concrete landscapes, the proximity to this power is revitalising. It gets called scenery, or quiet, but we know that it is more. An old more that we don't have a name for now.
Despite still being lonely here a lot of the time, I am actually saddened by the prospect now of going. This connection has been worth growing. Having had a few more days to think about things (since Ticking the Boxes) I can say to my sister "Yes, I am happy."
No matter what happens in the next phase of the plan, or the plan after (!) or what life throws in my path anyway, this has been a good thing to do. It's all ok.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Dukkah Thief
A terse moment last night when I got home to the farm.
Mum had made up a batch of Dukkah over the weekend and bottled all she could, leaving the remainder (perhaps just under half) on the bench covered in cling wrap. She sells it at the markets, it's a brilliant accompaniment to the olives/ olive oil/ fresh bread nexus. Very tasty, I recommend it highly.
But it was no longer there.
It had been eaten.
Fingers were pointed, pretty pointedly, at Riley.
"Smell his breath!" Mother insisted. I did, and it smelt doggy. Not Egyptian-doggy, just plain meaty-doggy.
"Are you sure it wasn't Bonnie?" I asked, as after all - she's the main bin diver and cat food filcher and as a border collie she's got the mass to handle a half kilo of retail-grade dukkah, whereas that's a significant proportion of Riley's body weight, and he's been sick from eating a tablespoon of Chicken fat just two nights ago (illicitly supplied by mother I may add, who initially denied the charge!).
"She would have left more mess." was Mother's lame defence.
"Very circumstantial. Flimsy even." I retorted and the cold wall went up.
This morning, going to let the farm dogs out, I found a stash of items from yesterday’s garbage bin – classic Bonnie MO.
Circumstanial evidence indeed, but pointedly pointing away from my darling and innocent Riley.
Mum had made up a batch of Dukkah over the weekend and bottled all she could, leaving the remainder (perhaps just under half) on the bench covered in cling wrap. She sells it at the markets, it's a brilliant accompaniment to the olives/ olive oil/ fresh bread nexus. Very tasty, I recommend it highly.
But it was no longer there.
It had been eaten.
Fingers were pointed, pretty pointedly, at Riley.
"Smell his breath!" Mother insisted. I did, and it smelt doggy. Not Egyptian-doggy, just plain meaty-doggy.
"Are you sure it wasn't Bonnie?" I asked, as after all - she's the main bin diver and cat food filcher and as a border collie she's got the mass to handle a half kilo of retail-grade dukkah, whereas that's a significant proportion of Riley's body weight, and he's been sick from eating a tablespoon of Chicken fat just two nights ago (illicitly supplied by mother I may add, who initially denied the charge!).
"She would have left more mess." was Mother's lame defence.
"Very circumstantial. Flimsy even." I retorted and the cold wall went up.
This morning, going to let the farm dogs out, I found a stash of items from yesterday’s garbage bin – classic Bonnie MO.
Circumstanial evidence indeed, but pointedly pointing away from my darling and innocent Riley.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Ticking all the boxes
Valuing creativity doesn't mean devaluing structure.
It's taken a lifetime to come to this realisation. Structure is my friend. Sure, we're not always on speaking terms, but there's a great deal to be said for having a plan and sticking to it. I mean a plan in the big sense - not some rigid schedule. A set of guidelines that will eventually get me to where I want to go. Making the decision about where that would be was a lot harder than getting underway. In fact, I realise how we can get underway almost by accident. I tend to distract myself easily enough, let alone with the odd invitation here or there.
It's hard to listen to any business person (or other type of person who's been corporatised) without hearing "the bottom line." It used to be hard-hitting and now it's almost meaningless jargon from people who are trying to distract you from the real question you asked.
So when my sis asked me last night "Are you happy?" I honestly couldn't answer.
I am dizzy, busy and relentlessly sticking to my plan. A part of me remembers thinking for a long time about the plan and deciding it would be the best thing to do in the long run, and would require adult-like sacrifices in the short term. Events seem to be proceeding in line with the roughed-out direction, so that is good.
When all I could say to her was "I'm ticking all the boxes." We both knew that this was enough for now.
It's taken a lifetime to come to this realisation. Structure is my friend. Sure, we're not always on speaking terms, but there's a great deal to be said for having a plan and sticking to it. I mean a plan in the big sense - not some rigid schedule. A set of guidelines that will eventually get me to where I want to go. Making the decision about where that would be was a lot harder than getting underway. In fact, I realise how we can get underway almost by accident. I tend to distract myself easily enough, let alone with the odd invitation here or there.
It's hard to listen to any business person (or other type of person who's been corporatised) without hearing "the bottom line." It used to be hard-hitting and now it's almost meaningless jargon from people who are trying to distract you from the real question you asked.
So when my sis asked me last night "Are you happy?" I honestly couldn't answer.
I am dizzy, busy and relentlessly sticking to my plan. A part of me remembers thinking for a long time about the plan and deciding it would be the best thing to do in the long run, and would require adult-like sacrifices in the short term. Events seem to be proceeding in line with the roughed-out direction, so that is good.
When all I could say to her was "I'm ticking all the boxes." We both knew that this was enough for now.
Monday, September 03, 2007
Going Share-sies with a bank
The urge to have a backyard is very strong. Many of my daydreams have been about playing in the dirt with the radio on in the background. Mabye watching the dog sniff at things and interact with the world. Some have been about painting walls with strange colours or murals without regards for bond money.
Well, all these dreams have faded into the background as I learn about contracts and percentage points and fine-print and signing things. The business of buying a box of one's own is unpleasant, has many steps and costs large amounts of money. So large in fact that a bank or other institution will play a large role in the process for the next 30 years.
As someone who was never convinced I would make it to thirty, I never expected to have a mortgage of my own. Every year since that time has been something of a surprise, and as they seem to be ticking around pretty regularly now, I thought I'd hedge my bets and see if I could get a box of my own.
So on saturday I offered a lady some money for a house, and she said yes. It still feels pretty hypothetical, given that I don't have that money, but I now have three weeks to find it. I like the idea that I'll find it - possibly under a cauliflower in the vege patch I guess.
Well, all these dreams have faded into the background as I learn about contracts and percentage points and fine-print and signing things. The business of buying a box of one's own is unpleasant, has many steps and costs large amounts of money. So large in fact that a bank or other institution will play a large role in the process for the next 30 years.
As someone who was never convinced I would make it to thirty, I never expected to have a mortgage of my own. Every year since that time has been something of a surprise, and as they seem to be ticking around pretty regularly now, I thought I'd hedge my bets and see if I could get a box of my own.
So on saturday I offered a lady some money for a house, and she said yes. It still feels pretty hypothetical, given that I don't have that money, but I now have three weeks to find it. I like the idea that I'll find it - possibly under a cauliflower in the vege patch I guess.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Bucolic Idyll
Glorious sweetness of a day at home.
Woke without the alarm at 6 and heard the birds rustling each other into action within the soft, sweet silence that a large, mostly calm space makes.
Re awoke at 8 to the full chorus, callback and conversations of the crows, magpies, and all the other smaller ones that I can't quite see. Wandered out and made a coffee, went to check on the tomato seedlings - they're strong and perfect to plant out today. The big wattle tree by the front porch is in full bloom and heavy with labouring bees. I love that tree. So shady in summer and nondescript most of the time until this late August type time - when ka-pow - out with the enormous golden sprays of tiny fluffy pollen balls.
Took the coffee over to watch mum walk back from the top of the oats, where she'd been checking on a new calf. We're up to nine now, and they're a little smaller from the tough season, but perfectly formed and cheerful like baby animals with their mothers always are. The few good days of rain last week has come over our land like a kiss. We've blushed green.
My Grandad has arrived to stay with us for the weekend. He's just come back from about 4 weeks in America and he's bubbling with stories and amazement. He's been a long time without going everywhere, and he's sprightly and enlivened with all that he has seen, and the chance to spend such time with another branch of our family.
Riley is beside himself that we're all at home today and has been running like a running-fool, pausing only to wrestle Zac to the ground. Zac is grown into a large cat now, not quite fat, but very heavy and soft. To see this blob of ginger and white on his back passively getting choked by the tiny frantic terrier is hilarious... even when with his little tongue out he *really* is choking. I think he may be a little bit Michael Hutchence about the choking thing, and I am curious to see how far he would let it go before he pushed even a little bit back at Riley. The curious me would let it run it's course .... but the idea of facing ma and pa with an expired cat and a confused dog always tips me back into action.
"Enough Riley!"
Tonight is the launch of the Boonah Arts Festival. Ma and I will go, and I'm quite looking forward to it. Boonah embraces anyone who has a crack at something arty. It makes for what arts people call a "varied" or "mixed" show (ie they look down on it) but as a member of this community, I love the inclusiveness and fun of it. Should be a hoot tonight. May have to wear a scarf darling ....
Woke without the alarm at 6 and heard the birds rustling each other into action within the soft, sweet silence that a large, mostly calm space makes.
Re awoke at 8 to the full chorus, callback and conversations of the crows, magpies, and all the other smaller ones that I can't quite see. Wandered out and made a coffee, went to check on the tomato seedlings - they're strong and perfect to plant out today. The big wattle tree by the front porch is in full bloom and heavy with labouring bees. I love that tree. So shady in summer and nondescript most of the time until this late August type time - when ka-pow - out with the enormous golden sprays of tiny fluffy pollen balls.
Took the coffee over to watch mum walk back from the top of the oats, where she'd been checking on a new calf. We're up to nine now, and they're a little smaller from the tough season, but perfectly formed and cheerful like baby animals with their mothers always are. The few good days of rain last week has come over our land like a kiss. We've blushed green.
My Grandad has arrived to stay with us for the weekend. He's just come back from about 4 weeks in America and he's bubbling with stories and amazement. He's been a long time without going everywhere, and he's sprightly and enlivened with all that he has seen, and the chance to spend such time with another branch of our family.
Riley is beside himself that we're all at home today and has been running like a running-fool, pausing only to wrestle Zac to the ground. Zac is grown into a large cat now, not quite fat, but very heavy and soft. To see this blob of ginger and white on his back passively getting choked by the tiny frantic terrier is hilarious... even when with his little tongue out he *really* is choking. I think he may be a little bit Michael Hutchence about the choking thing, and I am curious to see how far he would let it go before he pushed even a little bit back at Riley. The curious me would let it run it's course .... but the idea of facing ma and pa with an expired cat and a confused dog always tips me back into action.
"Enough Riley!"
Tonight is the launch of the Boonah Arts Festival. Ma and I will go, and I'm quite looking forward to it. Boonah embraces anyone who has a crack at something arty. It makes for what arts people call a "varied" or "mixed" show (ie they look down on it) but as a member of this community, I love the inclusiveness and fun of it. Should be a hoot tonight. May have to wear a scarf darling ....
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