Well it's been nearly a month , actually a whole month, since i posted, and I can't remember if there was a thread going, or a theme, so I'm going to just start again from here. Hi. I've been sick and you can fill in enough of the blanks from there.
Great news is that the seedling tray little Sister gave me, some potting mix and the dodgy seed packets I've been carting around for over a year (half of them had expired!) came together in a small spasm of hope last Sunday week ago, and already many of the little blighters have decided to give life a chance. It's exciting watching the tiny stems pushing the husk of the seed casing up through the soil and into the air to wave their first two triumphant leaves in the air - proud and free!! How marvellous! The pumpkins have taken a strong early lead, and look to need planting out this weekend - what am i going to do with them now? I hadn't really thought that far ahead! The seed tray is great, I've never had one with such a good lid (I usually improvise and it becomes a bit touch and go) and the resulting moisture retention is fantastic. So far almost half of the seeds have sprouted, but some have longer lead times, so I'm not giving up yet. I did make a little map of what I put where (this seeding tray is massive, about 8 or 10 punnets!!) thank goodness (i did a little x-y axis charting hehehehhehehe) (seedling battleships!) but in true style, i'm not really certain where I put the map. I'm sure I'll find it by the weekend.
So that's fun.
I've got the banana lounge of my dreams - it's a plastic and aluminium folding number (also gratis from little Sister. She's very generous!)(actually she was going to put it into the tip! So I begged it off her) and it's had a few test runs and works *perfectly*. Still a bit cold to use at night, but has had some good workouts for weekend mornings and afternoons. I'm imagining the Stig laying on it holding an air-steering-wheel.
Speaking of the Stig, Audrey is really complaining about the cold mornings, and conks out on our short commute at the slightest pause (say, to change down for a corner). I'm being understanding, but the knob has come off the choke, and it's hurting my fingers to hold onto the thin little metal spike the knob was once mysteriously attached to. She started to shake this afternoon - a full body shake. That was pretty disconcerting. So not great there. Maybe a tune-up would help her? I wonder when I last sent her to the mechanics? I've been daydreaming about buying a muscle car, pimping it, and converting it to LPG and electric. My inner bogan and the inner hippy seeming to find common ground in an unusual forum. I'm not sure I'd ever put my money where my mouth is on that one, but a charger turned my head today, and I found myself admiring a well-kept and tight-arsed Datsun 120Y in cherry red in the parking lot today. Have I caught some kind of virus?
Also, the family obsession with Texas Hold-em continues to gather more momentum. Middle sister has, using the wonders of Ebay, sourced a 1000 piece set (easily enough for 8 of us to play) of poker chips, and now, the piece de resistance, the wild turkey poker table to do it all at! Oh the illicit pleasure of well laid felt, the satisfying heft of weighted clay chips, the joy at a perfectly pitched deal. *sigh*.... It's not that I don't want to go out anymore, it's that the cards are calling. Can you hear their siren song taunting and lilting as we speak?
Papa Bear has his birthday on Friday, and I am trying to finish knitting the bedsocks he requested (one down, and one a quarter done) before the tournament on saturday. You might think, that, having been ill I would have been finishing knitting projects off at a cracking pace. Alas, my mental and physical capacities have been greatly diminished, and many nights I have simply dozed listening to music until it's late enough to take my final daily medicines and then go to bed! How exceedingly vexing. Even watching tv is too draining. Consequently, I have had a bit of tv detox (always a very good thing), heard a lot more of the recent piano competition than I thought humanly possible, and got my recipe scrapbook into much better order. Living it up :o)
There's been some changes at work, but I'm not quite up to that story just yet. I'm sure in another week my humour systems will be patched, refuelled and back on-line and I can share the highlights with you then.
Until then, and as way of parting, I say unto you: "Batman". That is all.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Friday, July 04, 2008
"Use Your Baby Bonus to Buy a Plasma!"*
I guess it had to happen at some point.
I can almost see the entire picture now, sometime in the future, in a cluster of plastic chairs filled with sullen, shifty people in dark colours, there I am. The recovering advertisers support group. The first step is to acknowledge you have a problem.
But that's the future. Right now, what I have is a sneaky addiction to learning about advertising. Oh sure, I learnt semiotics theory in uni (and used it in part to do a Nietzschean analysis of Batman), I've written academic essays on the portrayal of motherhood, I've skimmed through copy-writing books and screen writing books and watched the odd documentary here and there about design or typography. We've all been there ... it's recreational use only.
To state the obvious - the signal to noise ratio in modern life (even in a total backwater like Trash City) is horrendous. Thank-you Brain for filtering so much of it out. In the last week or so I have asked for the filters to ease back a little to I can see it all again, and it is everywhere. Really all over the place. Walls, Streets, rooms, flashing , bleating, radio - I don't even need to mention the TV do I?! Why do this to myself? Well, The Client wants a lot more advertising than they did when I started. Before, they just wanted some promotion, some press releases, some web copy. Nice, low key pull-stuff. Now, now they want branding and positionals and targeted ads and direct mailers that aren't letters. Shit that I, frankly, just don't understand and have spent some effort to avoid up to now.
Ok so the library card is getting a flogging, and I am learning some things including jargon. I have no qualms about learning jargon - I use it on the client whenever I feel the bullshit quotient needs adjusting. Jargon often means I can do the common-sense thing that I suggested in the first place, but the cool/official sounding jargon for it makes it all sound very upmarket and professional. So instead of sending a group a personalised letter, we will send them "A direct mail "feel good" response initiator to a targeted demographic utilising below-the-line best-practise." I'm clearly making stuff up there, and I'm laying it on as an example. Those of you reading with any background in actual marketing will know how that barely even makes sense. But wow! Can you believe how clients lap it up!? So jargon is a great tool when used sparingly/ lathered around like jelly.
It is slow-going to pick up how to critically read these things from a capitalist/product point of view rather than from my existing (almost second nature) dissident political POV. Perhaps that is what is addictive - this feeling of "insider secrets revealed!" One of the first books I read was written in about 1910 (I'm falling in love with ebooks too - another thing I never thought would happen!) and it is pretty much all still there, and in his intro he was "capturing these time-proven methods" etc. Hi-Larious!
Will I use this power for the greater good? Or will I, like the fuckarsebaby boomers, just sell out and get loads of cash and drive a Kompressor? oooh, a Kompressor. So sleek, so powerful....
NO! I work for an art gallery goddammit! I will lull stupid bogans into bringing their snot-nosed brats in for edifying art encounters! YES! And if it takes shouting FREE! in all the material, well so be it. I'm not above a gratuitous sausage sizzle either. Don't start me. I've sunk so low now that an alley cat would avoid eye contact.
* Actual sign seen in local TV retailing store
I can almost see the entire picture now, sometime in the future, in a cluster of plastic chairs filled with sullen, shifty people in dark colours, there I am. The recovering advertisers support group. The first step is to acknowledge you have a problem.
But that's the future. Right now, what I have is a sneaky addiction to learning about advertising. Oh sure, I learnt semiotics theory in uni (and used it in part to do a Nietzschean analysis of Batman), I've written academic essays on the portrayal of motherhood, I've skimmed through copy-writing books and screen writing books and watched the odd documentary here and there about design or typography. We've all been there ... it's recreational use only.
To state the obvious - the signal to noise ratio in modern life (even in a total backwater like Trash City) is horrendous. Thank-you Brain for filtering so much of it out. In the last week or so I have asked for the filters to ease back a little to I can see it all again, and it is everywhere. Really all over the place. Walls, Streets, rooms, flashing , bleating, radio - I don't even need to mention the TV do I?! Why do this to myself? Well, The Client wants a lot more advertising than they did when I started. Before, they just wanted some promotion, some press releases, some web copy. Nice, low key pull-stuff. Now, now they want branding and positionals and targeted ads and direct mailers that aren't letters. Shit that I, frankly, just don't understand and have spent some effort to avoid up to now.
Ok so the library card is getting a flogging, and I am learning some things including jargon. I have no qualms about learning jargon - I use it on the client whenever I feel the bullshit quotient needs adjusting. Jargon often means I can do the common-sense thing that I suggested in the first place, but the cool/official sounding jargon for it makes it all sound very upmarket and professional. So instead of sending a group a personalised letter, we will send them "A direct mail "feel good" response initiator to a targeted demographic utilising below-the-line best-practise." I'm clearly making stuff up there, and I'm laying it on as an example. Those of you reading with any background in actual marketing will know how that barely even makes sense. But wow! Can you believe how clients lap it up!? So jargon is a great tool when used sparingly/ lathered around like jelly.
It is slow-going to pick up how to critically read these things from a capitalist/product point of view rather than from my existing (almost second nature) dissident political POV. Perhaps that is what is addictive - this feeling of "insider secrets revealed!" One of the first books I read was written in about 1910 (I'm falling in love with ebooks too - another thing I never thought would happen!) and it is pretty much all still there, and in his intro he was "capturing these time-proven methods" etc. Hi-Larious!
Will I use this power for the greater good? Or will I, like the fuckarsebaby boomers, just sell out and get loads of cash and drive a Kompressor? oooh, a Kompressor. So sleek, so powerful....
NO! I work for an art gallery goddammit! I will lull stupid bogans into bringing their snot-nosed brats in for edifying art encounters! YES! And if it takes shouting FREE! in all the material, well so be it. I'm not above a gratuitous sausage sizzle either. Don't start me. I've sunk so low now that an alley cat would avoid eye contact.
* Actual sign seen in local TV retailing store
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Not Quite Neighbourly
The "Cult Film" mini project for work is happening. It's not for ages yet, but you have to get things nailed-down (spontaneity is for artists, not galleries) in advance so promotion can be booked, and staff can get used to seeing it on the horizon. There's a little hiccup with one of the Councillors having booked one of the nights for some lame event where they hand out certificates to whoever turns up. Might not be able to get out of that .... have to see.
KS and I have been circling mentions in the local paper of "Bookmarks of Excellence" being given to children who do craft at the shopping centres during the school holidays. There's something basically wrong with telling a general population that they're 'excellent' all the time, that their city is the best, that they're 'leading the way'. It's delusional apart from anything else!
Rather than get caught up on the many "quirks" of Trash City, I want to tell you a little about my new stalker. Anna.
Anna is my new neighbour (replacing Merv who Mowed), and has been transplanted from an Eastern Bris suburb - so she's a long way from her friends. She's moved to Trash City because her dutiful daughter is concerned for her safety (and the DD's response time should there be an emergency) now that Anna is in her winter years. So she has some time on her hands. And windows. Time to look out of windows. And a front porch as most of the houses in our suburb do. A front porch (rather than a back one) to add to that sense of 'community' - where everyone can 'watch out for each other'. Literally.
She has had a very interesting life - being raised in China in a Russian school (so although she's Australian, she has a heavy Russian accent). She and her husband started their family overseas and there were a few stories about trains and border crossings with babies and bags going missing, and no food and so on which made for an astonishing 45 minutes listening. She has two cats and a dog just like Riley ("only she is proper breed!") called Poppy. She's kind, friendly and always up for a chat. ALWAYS UP FOR A CHAT.
I realised last night as she sprung upon me out of the dusk as I darted from my car to the front door and started relating the activities of Rumi during the day, and how her two cats responded to this, and how great it was that one of my new shrubs was flowering, and how I had been at work a long time today and how I must be tired and she should be going, except that it would be best for me if I cooked a big meal on sundays and froze it in portions and then i wouldn't have to cook each night, just heat up my meal and it's much better that way, which is how she does it, in an enamel pot, they're the best kind and I nodded and tried to smile and it dawned on me. I am just not made for this suburban life. I am a crap neighbour. I have no interest in who is doing what to who over in number 13, or what number 15 thinks of it, and is trying not to say, nor why number 12 has so many people living there, or what they think they're doing with that great big boat, nor why Mrs Number 18 was in hospital recently, or if the people at number 11 are still the same ones who had the big drug bust or are there new people there now.
I DON'T CARE.
I say g'day, I offer to bring bins in if people are going away, I'll swap cuttings or dog-sit. That's kind of it for me. I've expanded that to being the loose-dog-pound-ringer and I'm done. I didn't realise that a yard would come with such a high cost. I also thought that fences would absorb more sound. There you go - wrong again.
KS and I have been circling mentions in the local paper of "Bookmarks of Excellence" being given to children who do craft at the shopping centres during the school holidays. There's something basically wrong with telling a general population that they're 'excellent' all the time, that their city is the best, that they're 'leading the way'. It's delusional apart from anything else!
Rather than get caught up on the many "quirks" of Trash City, I want to tell you a little about my new stalker. Anna.
Anna is my new neighbour (replacing Merv who Mowed), and has been transplanted from an Eastern Bris suburb - so she's a long way from her friends. She's moved to Trash City because her dutiful daughter is concerned for her safety (and the DD's response time should there be an emergency) now that Anna is in her winter years. So she has some time on her hands. And windows. Time to look out of windows. And a front porch as most of the houses in our suburb do. A front porch (rather than a back one) to add to that sense of 'community' - where everyone can 'watch out for each other'. Literally.
She has had a very interesting life - being raised in China in a Russian school (so although she's Australian, she has a heavy Russian accent). She and her husband started their family overseas and there were a few stories about trains and border crossings with babies and bags going missing, and no food and so on which made for an astonishing 45 minutes listening. She has two cats and a dog just like Riley ("only she is proper breed!") called Poppy. She's kind, friendly and always up for a chat. ALWAYS UP FOR A CHAT.
I realised last night as she sprung upon me out of the dusk as I darted from my car to the front door and started relating the activities of Rumi during the day, and how her two cats responded to this, and how great it was that one of my new shrubs was flowering, and how I had been at work a long time today and how I must be tired and she should be going, except that it would be best for me if I cooked a big meal on sundays and froze it in portions and then i wouldn't have to cook each night, just heat up my meal and it's much better that way, which is how she does it, in an enamel pot, they're the best kind and I nodded and tried to smile and it dawned on me. I am just not made for this suburban life. I am a crap neighbour. I have no interest in who is doing what to who over in number 13, or what number 15 thinks of it, and is trying not to say, nor why number 12 has so many people living there, or what they think they're doing with that great big boat, nor why Mrs Number 18 was in hospital recently, or if the people at number 11 are still the same ones who had the big drug bust or are there new people there now.
I DON'T CARE.
I say g'day, I offer to bring bins in if people are going away, I'll swap cuttings or dog-sit. That's kind of it for me. I've expanded that to being the loose-dog-pound-ringer and I'm done. I didn't realise that a yard would come with such a high cost. I also thought that fences would absorb more sound. There you go - wrong again.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
Things I've learnt in June 08*
1. Holes in gardening gloves make them redundant. Bite the bullet and chuck them out.
2. Dogs dislike the smell of nail varnish.
3. My snooze button only works for 45 minutes.
4. Ridley Scott is working on a new Sci Fi film. OMG.
5. I can knit a scarf or a beanie in a weekend - but not both.
6. Not many people hire out carnival/movie style popcorn machines.
7. Mum's homegrown mandarins taste brilliant.
8. Soy sauce stains books badly when it spills unnoticed in the carrybag.
9. There are people in the world who will wish you a "Happy New Year" today. And they are not joking or being ironic.
10. Taking photographs of objects is not as straightforward as it may initially seem.
11. Sometimes it is cheaper to buy the hardcover edition of an old book on Amazon. Go figure.
12. Imagining is a lot easier than creating.
13. Scones taste best fresh. Good jam will carry the day.
14. There is no satisfaction in being right about grim things.
15. The ancient Romans used to make a silica based concrete that modern science is now advocating we return to due to its much lower carbon footprint.
16. Reading a great work of literature in small blocks (of two and a bit pages) does not diminish its impact.
17. Hollywood does not, in the end, shy away from using images of a dead star to heavily promote a forthcoming film. Actually almost featuring them. Macabre.
18. Sometimes, people who write about art don't want you to understand what they're talking about. That would spoil the fun.
19. Being able to grow things is marvelous, and possibly a right that is under more threats than we feel comfortable acknowledging.
20. Being lonely every now and then isn't so bad.
*Some items re-learnt from previous years.
2. Dogs dislike the smell of nail varnish.
3. My snooze button only works for 45 minutes.
4. Ridley Scott is working on a new Sci Fi film. OMG.
5. I can knit a scarf or a beanie in a weekend - but not both.
6. Not many people hire out carnival/movie style popcorn machines.
7. Mum's homegrown mandarins taste brilliant.
8. Soy sauce stains books badly when it spills unnoticed in the carrybag.
9. There are people in the world who will wish you a "Happy New Year" today. And they are not joking or being ironic.
10. Taking photographs of objects is not as straightforward as it may initially seem.
11. Sometimes it is cheaper to buy the hardcover edition of an old book on Amazon. Go figure.
12. Imagining is a lot easier than creating.
13. Scones taste best fresh. Good jam will carry the day.
14. There is no satisfaction in being right about grim things.
15. The ancient Romans used to make a silica based concrete that modern science is now advocating we return to due to its much lower carbon footprint.
16. Reading a great work of literature in small blocks (of two and a bit pages) does not diminish its impact.
17. Hollywood does not, in the end, shy away from using images of a dead star to heavily promote a forthcoming film. Actually almost featuring them. Macabre.
18. Sometimes, people who write about art don't want you to understand what they're talking about. That would spoil the fun.
19. Being able to grow things is marvelous, and possibly a right that is under more threats than we feel comfortable acknowledging.
20. Being lonely every now and then isn't so bad.
*Some items re-learnt from previous years.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Can we find another Ace?
It's winter solstice time again. The mornings have been foggy on and off for the last two weeks - lending a slight air of mystery to our walks. It burns off by 8.30 and then the days have been largely clear and bright. I can hardly believe it's winter. The full moon is gorgeous in the bright nights and I'm looking forward to Spring when I'll have my outdoor-moon-chair set up. The yard is still not an enticing place to spend time, but it will get there eventually. Or I'll leave. You know how it goes. So for solstice tonight it's just some incense, a candle in the window, some pondering ont he cylces of our world and a good dinner.
Rumi the Giant Snow Cat has taken to eating Riley's dinner as well. Riley sits and looks on with a slightly sad face as if to say "If that's what you really want, I'm not going to stand in your way." Meanwhile, Rumi seems to be attempting to grow to rival Iorek Byrnison for the kingship of the Ice Bears, but somehow is unable to stand his ground against Tiger the three-legged tabby who's just moved in next door.
I have been forgetting things lately. I've found it difficult to connect the list of words I know I have somewhere in my head with the idea I'm trying to express. Also, just simple forgetting - leaving my lunch on the kitchen bench, completely erasing conversations, tasks that need doing, or things I intend to do. It's really confusing. The world has a different tone to it. I think I'm still remembering the important stuff - but who's to say?
Last night on the "7.30 Report" (go the ABC) there was a fairly sober interview with an Chappie about how the price of oil is just going to keep going up, and how urgent it is to start switching over to renewable resources and so on and so on. I sat on the couch, thinking how nearly everything in the house (and the house itself) is cheap-oil dependent. Me too. I'm cheap oil dependent, I think nearly all of us are. Anyway, I won't get onto this again, I'm pretty sure I've mentioned peak oil before, and immanent ecological downspin etc etc etc Al Gore etc etc etc Global Warming etc etc etc Carbon Footprint etc etc etc. It was just, to hear this step-by-step implications on the ABC and realise that these issues do still not have a mainstream understanding, was beyond sobering. It was shocking all over again. If Kerry O'Brien has to work that hard to get his head around it (or to feel confident that his audience has their head around it), and the pollies have gone back to ducking the issue, what hope do we really have? If we wait too late we won't even have the reserves to build the new infrastructure we need! Isn't anyone project managing this thing? There are critical paths people!
I'm not a big fan of humans generally. Obviously there are some stunning human achievements, but they just don't seem to make up for this greedy, self-destructive impulse that over-rides all in it's path. We could call it the Trump Factor. Like there's this idea in the back of people's minds that we've anthropomorphised "Mother Earth" into reality, and like all mothers we can either threaten her children or pay her off, and she'll back down. It's Trump Brinkmanship. we are going to fuck ourselves because we can't grasp the simple rules of the game, and we think that oceans of cash will sort it out.
*sigh*
Rumi the Giant Snow Cat has taken to eating Riley's dinner as well. Riley sits and looks on with a slightly sad face as if to say "If that's what you really want, I'm not going to stand in your way." Meanwhile, Rumi seems to be attempting to grow to rival Iorek Byrnison for the kingship of the Ice Bears, but somehow is unable to stand his ground against Tiger the three-legged tabby who's just moved in next door.
I have been forgetting things lately. I've found it difficult to connect the list of words I know I have somewhere in my head with the idea I'm trying to express. Also, just simple forgetting - leaving my lunch on the kitchen bench, completely erasing conversations, tasks that need doing, or things I intend to do. It's really confusing. The world has a different tone to it. I think I'm still remembering the important stuff - but who's to say?
Last night on the "7.30 Report" (go the ABC) there was a fairly sober interview with an Chappie about how the price of oil is just going to keep going up, and how urgent it is to start switching over to renewable resources and so on and so on. I sat on the couch, thinking how nearly everything in the house (and the house itself) is cheap-oil dependent. Me too. I'm cheap oil dependent, I think nearly all of us are. Anyway, I won't get onto this again, I'm pretty sure I've mentioned peak oil before, and immanent ecological downspin etc etc etc Al Gore etc etc etc Global Warming etc etc etc Carbon Footprint etc etc etc. It was just, to hear this step-by-step implications on the ABC and realise that these issues do still not have a mainstream understanding, was beyond sobering. It was shocking all over again. If Kerry O'Brien has to work that hard to get his head around it (or to feel confident that his audience has their head around it), and the pollies have gone back to ducking the issue, what hope do we really have? If we wait too late we won't even have the reserves to build the new infrastructure we need! Isn't anyone project managing this thing? There are critical paths people!
I'm not a big fan of humans generally. Obviously there are some stunning human achievements, but they just don't seem to make up for this greedy, self-destructive impulse that over-rides all in it's path. We could call it the Trump Factor. Like there's this idea in the back of people's minds that we've anthropomorphised "Mother Earth" into reality, and like all mothers we can either threaten her children or pay her off, and she'll back down. It's Trump Brinkmanship. we are going to fuck ourselves because we can't grasp the simple rules of the game, and we think that oceans of cash will sort it out.
*sigh*
Monday, June 16, 2008
Bloomsday
Well and it is Bloomsday again, and I'm reading my way through Ulysses. Not the first time I've started, but hopefully a finish this time. It is (for anyone who hasn't read it) a dense and rolling read with so many things going on that may (or more usually) may not make any sense. I'm not far in, but I'm already further than I've ever been (that's sounding very Star Trek, isn't it!?) and there's something alien and seductive about this work.
Here's the passage I'm up to:
"Their dog ambled about a bank of dwindling sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides. Looking for something lost in a past life. Suddenly he made off like a bounding hare, ears flung back, chasing the shadow of a lowskimming gull. The man's shrieked whistle struck his limp ears. He turned, bounded back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. At the lacefringe of the tide he halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. His snout lifted barked at the wavenoise, herds of seamorse. They serpented towards his feet, curling, unfurling many crests, every ninth, breaking, plashing, from far, from farther out, waves and waves."
It starts out like a normal paragraph, and then.... goes somewhere else altogether. I love it.
I remember the first year I discovered Bloomsday, and went to the reading at the Mitchell wing of the state library in Sydney. They had put a first edition of Ulysses in a glass case towards the front of the room, and to me that physical book was a miracle. It was a big moment to consider all the effort, all the writing, all the energy and attention and love and passion that had gone into every single stage of getting those words into that order (look at one of his manuscripts if you ever get a chance - it will rock your world) those pages typed up and the damn thing published, let alone all the way across the world to Sydney.
Forget the travails of Rowling - James Joyce couldn't get a publisher! In the end, Shakespeare and Co. in Paris printed 750 copies (in about 1922). What if there hadn't been anyone willing to risk the prudes, the nay-sayers, the economic uncertainty and publish it at all? But they did, and the world of human literature is richer for it. Is 'human literature' a tautology? At the moment I guess it is, but I'd like to think "not for long"!
Anyway, happy Bloomsday!
Yes! She cried, Yes!!
Here's the passage I'm up to:
"Their dog ambled about a bank of dwindling sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides. Looking for something lost in a past life. Suddenly he made off like a bounding hare, ears flung back, chasing the shadow of a lowskimming gull. The man's shrieked whistle struck his limp ears. He turned, bounded back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. At the lacefringe of the tide he halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. His snout lifted barked at the wavenoise, herds of seamorse. They serpented towards his feet, curling, unfurling many crests, every ninth, breaking, plashing, from far, from farther out, waves and waves."
It starts out like a normal paragraph, and then.... goes somewhere else altogether. I love it.
I remember the first year I discovered Bloomsday, and went to the reading at the Mitchell wing of the state library in Sydney. They had put a first edition of Ulysses in a glass case towards the front of the room, and to me that physical book was a miracle. It was a big moment to consider all the effort, all the writing, all the energy and attention and love and passion that had gone into every single stage of getting those words into that order (look at one of his manuscripts if you ever get a chance - it will rock your world) those pages typed up and the damn thing published, let alone all the way across the world to Sydney.
Forget the travails of Rowling - James Joyce couldn't get a publisher! In the end, Shakespeare and Co. in Paris printed 750 copies (in about 1922). What if there hadn't been anyone willing to risk the prudes, the nay-sayers, the economic uncertainty and publish it at all? But they did, and the world of human literature is richer for it. Is 'human literature' a tautology? At the moment I guess it is, but I'd like to think "not for long"!
Anyway, happy Bloomsday!
Yes! She cried, Yes!!
Quote of the Week: Sunsets
"Nobody of any real culture, for instance, ever talks nowadays about the beauty of sunsets. Sunsets are quite old-fashioned. They belong to the time when Turner was the last note in art. To admire them is a distinct sign of provincialism of temperament. Upon the other hand, they go on."
Oscar Wilde
"The Decay of Lying"
Oscar Wilde
"The Decay of Lying"
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Hollow Promises
This afternoon I found myself looking forward to grocery shopping. I had decided to go to the bigger store over the river which is set in a big complex thing rather than the normal strip of shops type place. You know the kind of place I mean, it's large enough to have 3 or 4 major traders and then a B-list string of food franchises and XXX "Specialty Stores". Lots of white lights rather than 'warm' lights. Why was I looking forward to it?
I don't know.
I hate the place.
The larger store stocks items I don't need very often and can't get at the normal store. It has a wider range of vegetables and cheeses, but is the same in every other regard - except for the tempting idea of neighbouring "specialty stores".
This is the pattern. I go, and wander for nearly an hour getting sore feet and a headache, not finding anything of a special nature. Instead I am shocked and awed by the physical and emotional parade of my fellow shoppers, I am numbed by the blandness on offer. This is not a particular insult to this town. I think it's fair to say that most if not all suburban shopping centers are like this. Middle-ness in essence.
The logic is that folk want roughly 20% of stuff 80% of the time. Think about groceries - bread and milk and potatoes every shop, but all those other 10 aisles .... well we pick and choose. I skip about a third of aisles every visit and probably you do too. Anyway, of that 20% ... most folk then have only one or two preferences.
Ice cream? "Sure!" Says most folks, then they split between Chocolate and Vanilla. There's the odd statistical anomaly who wants Strawberry, and then there's all those "special occasion" ice-creams, but for the bog-standard 4litre Ice Cream purchase (yes, I said 4L!) it's choc or vanilla. So extrapolate that out, and let the logic run for a while. No wonder there are people who just don't realise that you can get pistachio ice-cream, because even in an internationally award-winning mid-sized city with XXX specialty stores, there's not a one selling anything too far different from everything else everyone already has. They're offering hollow promises,
So to come back to where I started, I grocery shopped tonight with speed, precision and organisation (possibly the only realm of my life where I can muster all three skills in one place) and was in and out of there in 50 minutes (almost a personal best!). I looked in the windows of the stores as I walked briskly past them, and confirmed that I don't need any of that shit. I was grateful to be able to get the stuff I did need, but came home as quickly as possible to enjoy my time and thoughts (and maybe a little bit of ebay activity, where the 80/20 rule does not hold sway and the erratic and irrational have their power returned).
It was good to get out unscathed, but I am am not always this calm and controlled. I resent the foggy numbness that sometimes comes over me. I don't even have to be in the endless mall/centre for it to happen (so I can't blame the lights or the mirrors or that insidious fake-food smell that Subway pumps out) but when it does I become a wandering, impulse-shopping zombie. Something that works to snap me out of it, if I have any intelligence left flickering in my cranium, is to imagine the stare of withering derision that Henry Rollins would give me if he caught me doing this, and that sorts me out quick smart. Of course, Hank wouldn't know me from a baboon, but in some Jungian way I have taken all that I admire from him and Batman that possibly has a faint echo in myself and given it his face (the cowl was too hidden in the end for my own already hidden corners) so I can accord it some respect. Having said that if the chance to actually differentiate myself from a baboon in Henry Rollins' consciousness ever did present itself I would jump on him. I mean it, jump on it. The opportunity, I'd be all over it, not Henry. He's too big. Not that I'd try, you know, to literally *jump* on him, but, oh forget it. This is going from bad to worse.
I am so uncool. I'll just stop there.
I don't know.
I hate the place.
The larger store stocks items I don't need very often and can't get at the normal store. It has a wider range of vegetables and cheeses, but is the same in every other regard - except for the tempting idea of neighbouring "specialty stores".
This is the pattern. I go, and wander for nearly an hour getting sore feet and a headache, not finding anything of a special nature. Instead I am shocked and awed by the physical and emotional parade of my fellow shoppers, I am numbed by the blandness on offer. This is not a particular insult to this town. I think it's fair to say that most if not all suburban shopping centers are like this. Middle-ness in essence.
The logic is that folk want roughly 20% of stuff 80% of the time. Think about groceries - bread and milk and potatoes every shop, but all those other 10 aisles .... well we pick and choose. I skip about a third of aisles every visit and probably you do too. Anyway, of that 20% ... most folk then have only one or two preferences.
Ice cream? "Sure!" Says most folks, then they split between Chocolate and Vanilla. There's the odd statistical anomaly who wants Strawberry, and then there's all those "special occasion" ice-creams, but for the bog-standard 4litre Ice Cream purchase (yes, I said 4L!) it's choc or vanilla. So extrapolate that out, and let the logic run for a while. No wonder there are people who just don't realise that you can get pistachio ice-cream, because even in an internationally award-winning mid-sized city with XXX specialty stores, there's not a one selling anything too far different from everything else everyone already has. They're offering hollow promises,
So to come back to where I started, I grocery shopped tonight with speed, precision and organisation (possibly the only realm of my life where I can muster all three skills in one place) and was in and out of there in 50 minutes (almost a personal best!). I looked in the windows of the stores as I walked briskly past them, and confirmed that I don't need any of that shit. I was grateful to be able to get the stuff I did need, but came home as quickly as possible to enjoy my time and thoughts (and maybe a little bit of ebay activity, where the 80/20 rule does not hold sway and the erratic and irrational have their power returned).
It was good to get out unscathed, but I am am not always this calm and controlled. I resent the foggy numbness that sometimes comes over me. I don't even have to be in the endless mall/centre for it to happen (so I can't blame the lights or the mirrors or that insidious fake-food smell that Subway pumps out) but when it does I become a wandering, impulse-shopping zombie. Something that works to snap me out of it, if I have any intelligence left flickering in my cranium, is to imagine the stare of withering derision that Henry Rollins would give me if he caught me doing this, and that sorts me out quick smart. Of course, Hank wouldn't know me from a baboon, but in some Jungian way I have taken all that I admire from him and Batman that possibly has a faint echo in myself and given it his face (the cowl was too hidden in the end for my own already hidden corners) so I can accord it some respect. Having said that if the chance to actually differentiate myself from a baboon in Henry Rollins' consciousness ever did present itself I would jump on him. I mean it, jump on it. The opportunity, I'd be all over it, not Henry. He's too big. Not that I'd try, you know, to literally *jump* on him, but, oh forget it. This is going from bad to worse.
I am so uncool. I'll just stop there.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Night Sweats
The last week or so I've been having night sweats.
In case you've gotten through life without experiencing this kind of thing, let me just say - it's unpleasant, but not dangerous. It's also kind of weird to suddenly have a haywire temperature regulation system that is haphazard in its activity. Just a bit unnerving.
Feeling a bit hypochondriac about it all, I thought I might see if it was related to the meds I'm on for the colitis (Dr Holt is always asking me about a string of side-effect symptoms), and whaddya know, loads of people get them, so I start reading one of the forum threads - where folks are trying to find correlations between their meds, the flare/remission, the intensity or onset of the sweats and like most human things - it's all over the shop. There's no single answer.
In a way, I did get an answer though.
He's a sample of the dozens of posts - this one by "BadGut" (the member names of these forums are brilliant) : 'When I first was diagnosed I suffered severe bed sweats at night - I used sleep on a towel and t-shirt which then I would have to get up 2-3x a night to change due to the wetness of it all. '
Wow. Other people wrote in too - changing PJs 3 times in a night, sleeping on towels, getting plastic sheets for the beds and so on. Mine are very mild in comparison! I am so lucky to have such manageable symptoms, and to effectively be in remission again. I have had flare-ups of only a month or two - some of these people have never had a remission! I really feel for them. I wouldn't be able to work, heck, I found it tough just to get my groceries done when I was in a full flare!
So basically I am now feeling very grateful today for what I do have, instead of worrying over what is really, in the scheme of things, some pretty inconsequential stuff. There was a great line in a film I watched on the weekend. It went something like "While you're trying so hard to claw back what you lost, a whole lot more can walk out the door". It was in No Country for Old Men - towards the end.
One of the forums suggested that as a first step to healing I should laugh more, everybody should laugh more. Excellent! How often does the Dr prescribe laughter?
I'm going to take the script to the Chemist and see if I can get some laughter in bulk. Can you get a discount if you show your medicare card?
In case you've gotten through life without experiencing this kind of thing, let me just say - it's unpleasant, but not dangerous. It's also kind of weird to suddenly have a haywire temperature regulation system that is haphazard in its activity. Just a bit unnerving.
Feeling a bit hypochondriac about it all, I thought I might see if it was related to the meds I'm on for the colitis (Dr Holt is always asking me about a string of side-effect symptoms), and whaddya know, loads of people get them, so I start reading one of the forum threads - where folks are trying to find correlations between their meds, the flare/remission, the intensity or onset of the sweats and like most human things - it's all over the shop. There's no single answer.
In a way, I did get an answer though.
He's a sample of the dozens of posts - this one by "BadGut" (the member names of these forums are brilliant) : 'When I first was diagnosed I suffered severe bed sweats at night - I used sleep on a towel and t-shirt which then I would have to get up 2-3x a night to change due to the wetness of it all. '
Wow. Other people wrote in too - changing PJs 3 times in a night, sleeping on towels, getting plastic sheets for the beds and so on. Mine are very mild in comparison! I am so lucky to have such manageable symptoms, and to effectively be in remission again. I have had flare-ups of only a month or two - some of these people have never had a remission! I really feel for them. I wouldn't be able to work, heck, I found it tough just to get my groceries done when I was in a full flare!
So basically I am now feeling very grateful today for what I do have, instead of worrying over what is really, in the scheme of things, some pretty inconsequential stuff. There was a great line in a film I watched on the weekend. It went something like "While you're trying so hard to claw back what you lost, a whole lot more can walk out the door". It was in No Country for Old Men - towards the end.
One of the forums suggested that as a first step to healing I should laugh more, everybody should laugh more. Excellent! How often does the Dr prescribe laughter?
I'm going to take the script to the Chemist and see if I can get some laughter in bulk. Can you get a discount if you show your medicare card?
Quote of the Week!
The person who says it cannot be done should not interrupt the person doing it.
Chinese Proverb.
Chinese Proverb.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Pitter Patter of Very Little Feet
I'm delighted to announce that we've had some new members of our family join us!
Last night, cogitating on the throne in the bathroom I idly mused "gosh, that bit of dust looks like a tiny weeny lizard!" dust balls being both common and dynamic in my my house.
When lo! the tiny weeny lizard did move in a non-dustball manner and prove itself to be a newly hatched Gekkonidae! Woot! I watched it for a moment, with a feeling of amazement - where could it have come from? Do they miraculously emerge from tiles if the grout is really festy? But, no, there in the corner was a weeny little egg cracked open. It was fresh! But then I was all concern - it was wading through dust and a long way from anything a baby gecko might be able to eat or drink. From a viewpoint about 3mm off the ground my bathroom would seem an immense, arid landscape, devoid of life.
So I tried to pick the little guy up. Hi-larious. My giant sausage fingers were skyscrapers and it just scampered between cracks I couldn't see. Eventually he ran up my hands and I tried to cup firmly but gently around a body like a cobweb and hustled him out to the parsley. At least there in the nascent herb patch he has some chance of getting insects and water before his egg sac juices run out. I went back to look at the egg ... and there was his little sister - even smaller, even fainter, even harder to pick up! But after a brief fumbling debacle which I fear tired her out considerably, she too was relocated to the teeming Gecko Forest that was once a simple parsley plant. I went back to the bathroom and made a slow scan just in case any other hatchlings were looking for a herbivore to bond with.
I feel that in some small way I have been able to demostrate my grief over the accident that took the life of my work-gecko some unknown time ago. I discovered his/her little body about 2 weeks ago, pinned by the bulky transformer on the powerboard that sits on my desk. The body was dessicated and I felt terrible that I didn't even know when it had happened. I took the little corpse home in a tissue and buried it in the yard.
This afternoon I'm thinking of the new babies and hope they're enjoying discovering the world in the leafy green shade of the herbs, and most importantly, that they don't draw the attention of the cat.
Last night, cogitating on the throne in the bathroom I idly mused "gosh, that bit of dust looks like a tiny weeny lizard!" dust balls being both common and dynamic in my my house.
When lo! the tiny weeny lizard did move in a non-dustball manner and prove itself to be a newly hatched Gekkonidae! Woot! I watched it for a moment, with a feeling of amazement - where could it have come from? Do they miraculously emerge from tiles if the grout is really festy? But, no, there in the corner was a weeny little egg cracked open. It was fresh! But then I was all concern - it was wading through dust and a long way from anything a baby gecko might be able to eat or drink. From a viewpoint about 3mm off the ground my bathroom would seem an immense, arid landscape, devoid of life.
So I tried to pick the little guy up. Hi-larious. My giant sausage fingers were skyscrapers and it just scampered between cracks I couldn't see. Eventually he ran up my hands and I tried to cup firmly but gently around a body like a cobweb and hustled him out to the parsley. At least there in the nascent herb patch he has some chance of getting insects and water before his egg sac juices run out. I went back to look at the egg ... and there was his little sister - even smaller, even fainter, even harder to pick up! But after a brief fumbling debacle which I fear tired her out considerably, she too was relocated to the teeming Gecko Forest that was once a simple parsley plant. I went back to the bathroom and made a slow scan just in case any other hatchlings were looking for a herbivore to bond with.
I feel that in some small way I have been able to demostrate my grief over the accident that took the life of my work-gecko some unknown time ago. I discovered his/her little body about 2 weeks ago, pinned by the bulky transformer on the powerboard that sits on my desk. The body was dessicated and I felt terrible that I didn't even know when it had happened. I took the little corpse home in a tissue and buried it in the yard.
This afternoon I'm thinking of the new babies and hope they're enjoying discovering the world in the leafy green shade of the herbs, and most importantly, that they don't draw the attention of the cat.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Weighed, Measured, Found Wanting.
I've been in lockdown at work for the last two days, being "developed". Not with the white room crew, but with the balloons and sausage-sizzle side of the operation.
The teams that really need some development don't put their hand up for this kind of thing normally, so in a way it's an easy win. You get to go 'off campus' and sit in a room with a flipcharts and coloured pens talking about how great it would be if we all respected and valued each others differences, share some dodgy catering and look out of a different window for a while. Normally I'd sign right up for a tour of duty, and in fact that's excatly what I did when this was mooted. It's been ages now since I left the corporate world, and I thought I'd get the same kick out of doing the quiz and getting the little graph or chart or colour code, or animal sign or whatever the fuck this one would be, as I used to. It was one of the perks of working in a giant company - the world-class quizzes. They end up being in the realm of 'emergency fallback conversation topics' just under Monty Python and just above root canal dentistry for being largely neutral politically and a pretty wide-reaching experience that people have an opinion about.
Somewhere along the line, something's changed for me. There was no frisson of discovery as I recieved my little animated trivial pursuit pie chart of rainbow colours. There was no passionate buy-in from me as the team decided that all their core values and beliefs stemmed from LOVE and made that the umbrella statement for the shared vision, with all the fabulous, feel good generic statements actively dot-pointed underneath. It was a pumping workshop, and where was I? It turned out that I was the one with the cynical eyebrow and the willingness to ask the facilitator "why?". I was the grouch, the fly in the ointment, the devil's advocate. I'm still not really sure why I wanted so badly to piss on that chirpy rainbow, but there was something deeply inauthentic about letting a room full of kids and newbies get carried away with such starry-eyed hope and glamour before we put in any groundwork and built up some (any?) skills about what it really takes to accomodate difference, handle the consequences of honesty or even simple communication such as confirming meanings people have for words that seem simple. Words like, say, "communication" which someone was adamantly arguing was sufficient to cover 'feedback', 'teamwork', 'honesty' AND (my favourite) 'measures'. Woah! Busy word!!
So did I do any good? I'm not sure that I did. It was my intention to influence the group to aim for something shared and incremental. My experience has taught me that small but real/concrete gains are far better than large, vague, hugely far reaching and perfectly unattainable gains (such as a mission statement including clauses along the lines of "create pride in the city") that half of the attendees never opened their mouths to support, didn't have an opportunity to contribute to in their "prefered mode of communication" (one of the major "linking skills" we did the quiz to uncover) nor in a way that reflected the established diversity of profile strengths. All I managed was to get a few people confused, one or two people nodding, a further reputation as a pointless ranter and condescendingly co-opted to 'write up the outcomes as you're so good with words'. Great. Oh yeah, and give myself a massive headache.
It reminds me of the only time I've done one of these and didn't get a little print-out with a chart. The pair of people running the session really knew their stuff, and they stood us up in the drab motel conference room and called out names, grouping people around the room in what seemed like no particular order. I was on my own. I didn't get to hear what anyone else was told. There was no high-fiving. I can barely remember what they said to me, because the surprise of the first part stopped too much of the rest of it sinking in.
"You are a fool." They told me. "You are the court jester, and you will tell the truth, and no one will listen."
I thought about that conversation this afternoon as I came home. I pondered the workshop, and the workplace I returned to. I thought about my own under-siege sense of joy and resiliance in the face of constant frustrations and limitations and I wished for two things. I wished I could remember anything else those people had said on that long afternoon all those years ago that might help me make more sense of what to do with my life now, and I wished that I'd lightly shrugged very early today and let it all go with a smile and a quip, had a bit of a caper and a jape, and not tried to take on the weight of the world, at least not without giving folks a joke to take the edge off.
One more thing I wish for. I wish that I hadn't read my little animated trivial pursuit pie chart of rainbow colours where it said "Creativity: 18%".
The teams that really need some development don't put their hand up for this kind of thing normally, so in a way it's an easy win. You get to go 'off campus' and sit in a room with a flipcharts and coloured pens talking about how great it would be if we all respected and valued each others differences, share some dodgy catering and look out of a different window for a while. Normally I'd sign right up for a tour of duty, and in fact that's excatly what I did when this was mooted. It's been ages now since I left the corporate world, and I thought I'd get the same kick out of doing the quiz and getting the little graph or chart or colour code, or animal sign or whatever the fuck this one would be, as I used to. It was one of the perks of working in a giant company - the world-class quizzes. They end up being in the realm of 'emergency fallback conversation topics' just under Monty Python and just above root canal dentistry for being largely neutral politically and a pretty wide-reaching experience that people have an opinion about.
Somewhere along the line, something's changed for me. There was no frisson of discovery as I recieved my little animated trivial pursuit pie chart of rainbow colours. There was no passionate buy-in from me as the team decided that all their core values and beliefs stemmed from LOVE and made that the umbrella statement for the shared vision, with all the fabulous, feel good generic statements actively dot-pointed underneath. It was a pumping workshop, and where was I? It turned out that I was the one with the cynical eyebrow and the willingness to ask the facilitator "why?". I was the grouch, the fly in the ointment, the devil's advocate. I'm still not really sure why I wanted so badly to piss on that chirpy rainbow, but there was something deeply inauthentic about letting a room full of kids and newbies get carried away with such starry-eyed hope and glamour before we put in any groundwork and built up some (any?) skills about what it really takes to accomodate difference, handle the consequences of honesty or even simple communication such as confirming meanings people have for words that seem simple. Words like, say, "communication" which someone was adamantly arguing was sufficient to cover 'feedback', 'teamwork', 'honesty' AND (my favourite) 'measures'. Woah! Busy word!!
So did I do any good? I'm not sure that I did. It was my intention to influence the group to aim for something shared and incremental. My experience has taught me that small but real/concrete gains are far better than large, vague, hugely far reaching and perfectly unattainable gains (such as a mission statement including clauses along the lines of "create pride in the city") that half of the attendees never opened their mouths to support, didn't have an opportunity to contribute to in their "prefered mode of communication" (one of the major "linking skills" we did the quiz to uncover) nor in a way that reflected the established diversity of profile strengths. All I managed was to get a few people confused, one or two people nodding, a further reputation as a pointless ranter and condescendingly co-opted to 'write up the outcomes as you're so good with words'. Great. Oh yeah, and give myself a massive headache.
It reminds me of the only time I've done one of these and didn't get a little print-out with a chart. The pair of people running the session really knew their stuff, and they stood us up in the drab motel conference room and called out names, grouping people around the room in what seemed like no particular order. I was on my own. I didn't get to hear what anyone else was told. There was no high-fiving. I can barely remember what they said to me, because the surprise of the first part stopped too much of the rest of it sinking in.
"You are a fool." They told me. "You are the court jester, and you will tell the truth, and no one will listen."
I thought about that conversation this afternoon as I came home. I pondered the workshop, and the workplace I returned to. I thought about my own under-siege sense of joy and resiliance in the face of constant frustrations and limitations and I wished for two things. I wished I could remember anything else those people had said on that long afternoon all those years ago that might help me make more sense of what to do with my life now, and I wished that I'd lightly shrugged very early today and let it all go with a smile and a quip, had a bit of a caper and a jape, and not tried to take on the weight of the world, at least not without giving folks a joke to take the edge off.
One more thing I wish for. I wish that I hadn't read my little animated trivial pursuit pie chart of rainbow colours where it said "Creativity: 18%".
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
A bit of Rain
Oh what a miracle!
Water falls from the sky - freely
unwalled
unmeasured
untimed!
There's precious water sloshing
onto us, onto the ground
wasted on the bitumen
washing away the dust
Water wallowing
pooling and soaking
Oh it's a miracle!
Water falls from the sky - freely
unwalled
unmeasured
untimed!
There's precious water sloshing
onto us, onto the ground
wasted on the bitumen
washing away the dust
Water wallowing
pooling and soaking
Oh it's a miracle!
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Footprints & Bananas
This week my one year anniversary in the job ticked over. The day started well, the banana I peeled for my muesli was a double-yolker! A good omen in Qld.
One year anniversaries are celebrated with 'paper', I just printed out some emails. Then I felt bad. I did a carbon footprint quiz and learnt that if everyone lived like me, we'd need 2.9 planets. Crap. I was pretty embarrassed by that. It's the flying, and the car, oh, and that I live in a house all on my own. I mean really, that's just not fair. How do I know how far the veggies in Woolies have travelled? They keep pretty quiet about that kind of thing! I don't want to whinge too much, I think it was pretty lenient really. After all, the quiz didn't ask me if I have pets or not (add at least a half a planet for them, maybe more), if I take regular medication (that's gotta be a half-planet's worth, just on the packaging!) or if I buy stuff over the internet. Actually maybe that's good. I don't know. I don't think I can handle knowing at the moment. Still, 2.9 planets.
And that's not any old planet either, it's not like a twentieth of Neptune is going to sort out this problem. No, it's Earth or it's nothing. I wonder what the carbon (and remember, we haven't started really measuring any other kind of footprint yet!?) footprint for the colonisation of Mars would look like? Something like 486 planets probably. Then when we get there, we have to do terraforming!
Anyway, I was a bit bummed by the footprint report, so I clicked on the "Things you can do!" sidebar. Wow - I could put energy efficient lightbulbs in! I wouldn't have thought of that on my own... oh wait, I could reduce the packaging on things I buy and then recycle more. HHmmm. I think this is written for my neighbours.
You know what, I'd love to see one of these sidebars that suggests useful things like:
Five Great Tips to Help Save the Earth
1. Stop breeding! The Earth is overpopulated, especially with rich fat fucks like you!
2. Stop eating twice or three times the amount you need!
3. Walking is not a criminal behaviour!
4. Shopping will not fill the hollow place where your heart should be!
5. Stay where you are! Please don't travel to gawp at our problems - sort out your own back yard. Then you could plant some parsley in it.
Fine. So. Anyway.
Paper anniversary. I recycled all the paper I could this week, and have been spreading mulch around some parts of the yard. I'm not convinced of the science of the mulch anymore for water preservation (read this book if you'd like to know more) but it gave me something to do and I'm hoping it will keep some of the weeds down a bit. Or at least make them a little easier to dig up later. Presuming I can ever feel motivated again. All I wanted to do this week was sleep, and sometimes I seemed to achieve it while I was walking around. I have been a zombie this week, only the finger on the tv remote seems to have any energy.
So my double-yolker banana was a great moment in breakfast, and pretty much the highlight of the week, but didn't herald any wonderful abundances.... oh, *except*, now that I put it all together - I'm new in the job, so for the first 3 years I get a pay rise for each year that I'm there (separate to the CPI rise) and that (wait for it!) ticks over on the anniversary! Woot!! I would have got a pay rise on that day!! How terribly civilised!! It will be virtually indiscernible in terms of cash I'm sure, but the principal of the thing is simply marvellous!
And technically, money is still a paper-based currency, so The Banana didn't lie, the double-yolker really was a good omen!
You couldn't write fiction like that!
One year anniversaries are celebrated with 'paper', I just printed out some emails. Then I felt bad. I did a carbon footprint quiz and learnt that if everyone lived like me, we'd need 2.9 planets. Crap. I was pretty embarrassed by that. It's the flying, and the car, oh, and that I live in a house all on my own. I mean really, that's just not fair. How do I know how far the veggies in Woolies have travelled? They keep pretty quiet about that kind of thing! I don't want to whinge too much, I think it was pretty lenient really. After all, the quiz didn't ask me if I have pets or not (add at least a half a planet for them, maybe more), if I take regular medication (that's gotta be a half-planet's worth, just on the packaging!) or if I buy stuff over the internet. Actually maybe that's good. I don't know. I don't think I can handle knowing at the moment. Still, 2.9 planets.
And that's not any old planet either, it's not like a twentieth of Neptune is going to sort out this problem. No, it's Earth or it's nothing. I wonder what the carbon (and remember, we haven't started really measuring any other kind of footprint yet!?) footprint for the colonisation of Mars would look like? Something like 486 planets probably. Then when we get there, we have to do terraforming!
Anyway, I was a bit bummed by the footprint report, so I clicked on the "Things you can do!" sidebar. Wow - I could put energy efficient lightbulbs in! I wouldn't have thought of that on my own... oh wait, I could reduce the packaging on things I buy and then recycle more. HHmmm. I think this is written for my neighbours.
You know what, I'd love to see one of these sidebars that suggests useful things like:
Five Great Tips to Help Save the Earth
1. Stop breeding! The Earth is overpopulated, especially with rich fat fucks like you!
2. Stop eating twice or three times the amount you need!
3. Walking is not a criminal behaviour!
4. Shopping will not fill the hollow place where your heart should be!
5. Stay where you are! Please don't travel to gawp at our problems - sort out your own back yard. Then you could plant some parsley in it.
Fine. So. Anyway.
Paper anniversary. I recycled all the paper I could this week, and have been spreading mulch around some parts of the yard. I'm not convinced of the science of the mulch anymore for water preservation (read this book if you'd like to know more) but it gave me something to do and I'm hoping it will keep some of the weeds down a bit. Or at least make them a little easier to dig up later. Presuming I can ever feel motivated again. All I wanted to do this week was sleep, and sometimes I seemed to achieve it while I was walking around. I have been a zombie this week, only the finger on the tv remote seems to have any energy.
So my double-yolker banana was a great moment in breakfast, and pretty much the highlight of the week, but didn't herald any wonderful abundances.... oh, *except*, now that I put it all together - I'm new in the job, so for the first 3 years I get a pay rise for each year that I'm there (separate to the CPI rise) and that (wait for it!) ticks over on the anniversary! Woot!! I would have got a pay rise on that day!! How terribly civilised!! It will be virtually indiscernible in terms of cash I'm sure, but the principal of the thing is simply marvellous!
And technically, money is still a paper-based currency, so The Banana didn't lie, the double-yolker really was a good omen!
You couldn't write fiction like that!
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Health Scare - Riley's Number Ones
In news just to hand, Riley was rushed to the vets this morning to attend to a possible relapse of bladder stones. Since the last surgery and subsequent recovery, Riley has exhibited no symptoms of crystallisation of his urine - the precursor to stones forming in the urinary tract and or bladder. However he started straining to urinate, and needing to do so far more frequently than usual and hence the express trip to the vet.
Thankfully a sample obtained (by getting between the dog and the tree in the carpark) showed a recurrence as unlikely, and a bladder infection as the most obvious cause of the symptoms. However, the infection may simply be masking the formation of crystals, so as his treatment progresses, re sampling and testing of the urine every 10 days or so will be undertaken. His treatment of antibiotics and anti-inflammatories has commenced, and Riley is currently in a stable condition and resting at his Leichhardt residence.
The owner is lightly sedated and recovering as expected.
Thankfully a sample obtained (by getting between the dog and the tree in the carpark) showed a recurrence as unlikely, and a bladder infection as the most obvious cause of the symptoms. However, the infection may simply be masking the formation of crystals, so as his treatment progresses, re sampling and testing of the urine every 10 days or so will be undertaken. His treatment of antibiotics and anti-inflammatories has commenced, and Riley is currently in a stable condition and resting at his Leichhardt residence.
The owner is lightly sedated and recovering as expected.
Monday, May 26, 2008
A Great Day for Science, and a pretty Crap day for Art
Woo!
What a crazy little while it's been!
How totally frackin exciting was it that Phoenix landed safely on the Mars polar region. Woot! Go you crazy rocket guys!! Yeah! Those rocket thrusters were fully sick. Why has it taken so long for actual space missions to look like our very well rendered games? I swear that "artists impression" footage was taken almost directly from "Masters of Orion". We all knew the airbags were dodgy as all fuck.
Congratulations earthlings on taking one more step towards becoming Martians.
Here's the master on the subject:
"Fools, fools. There is life on Mars, and it's us. We are the Martians now."
Ray Bradbury, Mars's first poet-in-non-residence.
Also, in other news of massive importance to the geek community, Neal Stephenson is releasing a new novel on September 9 of this year! So soon! Only 4 short years since "System of the World" was unleashed upon our puny minds we will receive "Anathem" (no, that's not a typo). I don't know anything else about it! Wait, and read it, and be happy.
Oh, that's right, and then there's this utterly utterly ridiculous situation where the NSW police force seem to think that it's about 1898, and that art is to blame! In a classic, one might be tempted to say textbook implementation, during a period of high economic stress (rates increasing! petrol prices increasing! chinese workers distracted from their factories by unpredictable natural phenomena!) what do we have? Why look, it's a very public condemnation of art as dirty pornography (I note, somewhat cynically, that many of the online news sources chose to run the unpixellated versions of the images). I refer, of course, to the new series of work by Australian photographer, Bill Henson.
his images are amazing. There's so much pap-art, it can be possible to forget what it's like to be confronted, really asked to engage with an artwork. I saw the image that went out to invite people to this opening (our Director is on the invite list) and it was captivating. Utterly astonishing and confronting. Sure. It's confronting.
That's what makes it so great - because this is the power of art - to reflect what you the viewer carry around inside you and never question. Then when it's projected - what do you see? You see your own darknesses, your own fears, or your own wonder and beauty. In these images, I see sadness and vulnerability. One of my work colleagues sees beauty of an almost transcendent nature. Talking to her about this has opened my eyes to her beauty and generosity (which has been a marvelous and unexpected benefit of this discussion!).
It is the yabbering and thoughtless reactions of people (such as, I'm sorry to say, Prime Minister Rudd) that contribute to an environment in which art of this nature and power is even more necessary. I think the attacks on this work make perfect sense for a culture where we have continued to dumb-down our public discourse, and where we have all but eliminated situations where there is any ambiguity or nuance. One of his previous series' images was in the Strange Cargo exhibition we hosted over last summer. Because of this kind of response, we arranged a "preview" viewing for the media and marketing teams of council so we could explain his work - knowing that if we were going to receive any complaints from our local audience, it would probably be for this naked and muddied girl being carried/dragged by two naked young men .... and yet (maybe because the town is so catholic) there was no complaint about this (but I got complaints about the monster/sculpture scaring young children)!
As a feminist I am sensitive to images of women which are exploitative, and his work asks us to look at that space, but from an angle of reflection about our own devaluation of youth, innocence and powerful transitional states. Any commercial on television is likely to be far more harmful and fundamentally exploitative than these amazing creatively fashioned (and I mean fashioned in the sense of consciously made, not in the modern sense of fashionably designed) images.
BTW, I'm not sure I *like* them ... I would buy different art for my walls (and I acknowledge too, that I am a long long way from being able to buy artworks of this status, so my opinion and knowledge must he held in that context). But I do know that when I am standing in front of one of his works from these series, I have that inner turmoil and satisfaction that comes from making an unexpected relationship with something, and that's when I know I've met some Art, and it has made a mark on me.
What a crazy little while it's been!
How totally frackin exciting was it that Phoenix landed safely on the Mars polar region. Woot! Go you crazy rocket guys!! Yeah! Those rocket thrusters were fully sick. Why has it taken so long for actual space missions to look like our very well rendered games? I swear that "artists impression" footage was taken almost directly from "Masters of Orion". We all knew the airbags were dodgy as all fuck.
Congratulations earthlings on taking one more step towards becoming Martians.
Here's the master on the subject:
"Fools, fools. There is life on Mars, and it's us. We are the Martians now."
Ray Bradbury, Mars's first poet-in-non-residence.
Also, in other news of massive importance to the geek community, Neal Stephenson is releasing a new novel on September 9 of this year! So soon! Only 4 short years since "System of the World" was unleashed upon our puny minds we will receive "Anathem" (no, that's not a typo). I don't know anything else about it! Wait, and read it, and be happy.
Oh, that's right, and then there's this utterly utterly ridiculous situation where the NSW police force seem to think that it's about 1898, and that art is to blame! In a classic, one might be tempted to say textbook implementation, during a period of high economic stress (rates increasing! petrol prices increasing! chinese workers distracted from their factories by unpredictable natural phenomena!) what do we have? Why look, it's a very public condemnation of art as dirty pornography (I note, somewhat cynically, that many of the online news sources chose to run the unpixellated versions of the images). I refer, of course, to the new series of work by Australian photographer, Bill Henson.
his images are amazing. There's so much pap-art, it can be possible to forget what it's like to be confronted, really asked to engage with an artwork. I saw the image that went out to invite people to this opening (our Director is on the invite list) and it was captivating. Utterly astonishing and confronting. Sure. It's confronting.
That's what makes it so great - because this is the power of art - to reflect what you the viewer carry around inside you and never question. Then when it's projected - what do you see? You see your own darknesses, your own fears, or your own wonder and beauty. In these images, I see sadness and vulnerability. One of my work colleagues sees beauty of an almost transcendent nature. Talking to her about this has opened my eyes to her beauty and generosity (which has been a marvelous and unexpected benefit of this discussion!).
It is the yabbering and thoughtless reactions of people (such as, I'm sorry to say, Prime Minister Rudd) that contribute to an environment in which art of this nature and power is even more necessary. I think the attacks on this work make perfect sense for a culture where we have continued to dumb-down our public discourse, and where we have all but eliminated situations where there is any ambiguity or nuance. One of his previous series' images was in the Strange Cargo exhibition we hosted over last summer. Because of this kind of response, we arranged a "preview" viewing for the media and marketing teams of council so we could explain his work - knowing that if we were going to receive any complaints from our local audience, it would probably be for this naked and muddied girl being carried/dragged by two naked young men .... and yet (maybe because the town is so catholic) there was no complaint about this (but I got complaints about the monster/sculpture scaring young children)!
As a feminist I am sensitive to images of women which are exploitative, and his work asks us to look at that space, but from an angle of reflection about our own devaluation of youth, innocence and powerful transitional states. Any commercial on television is likely to be far more harmful and fundamentally exploitative than these amazing creatively fashioned (and I mean fashioned in the sense of consciously made, not in the modern sense of fashionably designed) images.
BTW, I'm not sure I *like* them ... I would buy different art for my walls (and I acknowledge too, that I am a long long way from being able to buy artworks of this status, so my opinion and knowledge must he held in that context). But I do know that when I am standing in front of one of his works from these series, I have that inner turmoil and satisfaction that comes from making an unexpected relationship with something, and that's when I know I've met some Art, and it has made a mark on me.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Because it's on
I'd had such hopes for the "antiques and collectibles fair day" that I was ready to be faced with many choices and competing desires. I was armed up with a little bit of cash, and ready to have to do some appraising and make a difficult decision of how best to deploy it for overall pleasure on the day.
What was actually available was ... lacklustre. A bit dull, very nana. Not much chop. Well, in the end I picked up another typewriter (a funky two-tone Remington 315 'portable') bringing it to just 2 Remington's an Olivetti and an Underwood (still pretty modest and I am *not* calling it a collection, I just like typewriters, and yes, nearly all of them work, but the ribbons are pretty faded) and an owl clicker. A clicker - you remember those pressed metal toys, where there was a body and then a little stub of metal on the back that you'd depress and let go, depress and let go and it would go "KL-ICK!, KL-ICK!" yes? Well, I paid an OUTRAGEOUS sum for one of those. I don't think it was outrageous, but Mellie (who is visiting with her dog-nephew Jinx) *screamed* when I said $8. Jeeze. Yes, we all had them when we were kids, but they got destroyed, chucked out, lost. Anyway, given that the only other thing I was interested in there was $255 (and incomplete! The lady let me take a photo of it which she seemed confused about) I think I got out very lightly and it was still cheaper than a film and a choc-top.
Once again confirming my theory that things in Ippy are generally well attended not out of the oft touted "community spirit" nor out of any particular interest, but simply *because*they're*on*. We'll go to anything around here just to have a look. That's right. Just because there's nothing better to do and we're all a tiny bit sick of the inside of our own houses.
I'm not complaining, I'm just saying how it is. Same thing today - Million Paws Walk. Can easily give the RSPCA money any day, but went along for the social outing. Riley doesn't even like other dogs. He certainly does not like being around hundreds of dogs he hasn't personally approved to attend, many of whom may bark without his express permission. None the less, off we went into the howling wind and sat around getting red ruddy cheeks, knocked around by massive bodies on short leashes, enduring ridiculous commentary of the Frisbee Dogs team (?! I kid you not) and getting sick on horrid, expensive coffee. Euch. But there you go. That's two events I've been looking forward too. Ah. [shakes head]
So here we are. It's early Sunday afternoon. I'm going to have a nap. Possibly for hours. Then I'm going to write (or at least type up some of the masses of notes I have, there's always editing time later!), and for dinner I shall have toast. Wonderful. See - no need to go out again for weeks, possibly months now.
What was actually available was ... lacklustre. A bit dull, very nana. Not much chop. Well, in the end I picked up another typewriter (a funky two-tone Remington 315 'portable') bringing it to just 2 Remington's an Olivetti and an Underwood (still pretty modest and I am *not* calling it a collection, I just like typewriters, and yes, nearly all of them work, but the ribbons are pretty faded) and an owl clicker. A clicker - you remember those pressed metal toys, where there was a body and then a little stub of metal on the back that you'd depress and let go, depress and let go and it would go "KL-ICK!, KL-ICK!" yes? Well, I paid an OUTRAGEOUS sum for one of those. I don't think it was outrageous, but Mellie (who is visiting with her dog-nephew Jinx) *screamed* when I said $8. Jeeze. Yes, we all had them when we were kids, but they got destroyed, chucked out, lost. Anyway, given that the only other thing I was interested in there was $255 (and incomplete! The lady let me take a photo of it which she seemed confused about) I think I got out very lightly and it was still cheaper than a film and a choc-top.
Once again confirming my theory that things in Ippy are generally well attended not out of the oft touted "community spirit" nor out of any particular interest, but simply *because*they're*on*. We'll go to anything around here just to have a look. That's right. Just because there's nothing better to do and we're all a tiny bit sick of the inside of our own houses.
I'm not complaining, I'm just saying how it is. Same thing today - Million Paws Walk. Can easily give the RSPCA money any day, but went along for the social outing. Riley doesn't even like other dogs. He certainly does not like being around hundreds of dogs he hasn't personally approved to attend, many of whom may bark without his express permission. None the less, off we went into the howling wind and sat around getting red ruddy cheeks, knocked around by massive bodies on short leashes, enduring ridiculous commentary of the Frisbee Dogs team (?! I kid you not) and getting sick on horrid, expensive coffee. Euch. But there you go. That's two events I've been looking forward too. Ah. [shakes head]
So here we are. It's early Sunday afternoon. I'm going to have a nap. Possibly for hours. Then I'm going to write (or at least type up some of the masses of notes I have, there's always editing time later!), and for dinner I shall have toast. Wonderful. See - no need to go out again for weeks, possibly months now.
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.
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