Sunday, September 30, 2007

Radio Silence

I haven't been anywhere, done anything or met anyone.

No. Just holding my breath and waiting for the sun and moon to dance around and for the dice to move me 'round the board. I stood so still a bitch pissed on me. Maybe next time not quite so still as that.

I was very nearly bored today. Imagine that! Horrific state of affairs. Tisk tisk.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

5 Things I Love about Australia

1. We invented plastic money so you could go swimming and still be able to get a feed after. Also, means that people who keep cash in their jeans pockets aren't suddenly skint every time they do a load of washing. Genius.

2. It's an island. The rest of the world's gotta be happy about that.

3. We make our own rules. Eg. Long socks with shorts are formal enough for the office! (see also "dress thongs") Another eg: No one is really expected to work too hard between, say, the week before christmas and the week after new years - oh, and a coupla days either side of Australia Day. "C'mon mate - it's summer!" (This is not always a great thing: see also Penal settlement and the rum trade, Tampa and Howard in general).

4. Native Fauna and Flora are bizarre by any standards and almost entirely unique. Cool. Endangered, but cool.

5. Generally peaceful. Bit of a flare-up in the 1780s for a while, and recently arms have been taken against citizens when a visiting foreigner was here, oh, and the the whole "we don't trust people arriving by boat" thing, but generally, there's very little bombing, gunfire, and mortal danger from explosives, extremists or warring factions.

There you go - you didn't think I'd be able to get to five, but I did!!

Go yew liddle bewdie!!

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Rashi

Rashi looked again at her watch, which of course still wasn't on her wrist where it always always was. The sweat was pooling at the back of her knees and under her breasts. She could smell her skin going sour and her mouth was sticky with thirst. How long would she be held like this?! She looked again at her watch, which of course still wasn't there. With a powerful force of will, she didn't swear out loud, or contort her face, or even clench a fist. That was close. She'd nearly blown it. It brought her back to what was at stake. Very consciously she bought her awareness back to right here, right now. It was important that she not make any moves or sounds that whatever was recording from the other side of that mirror could pick up. She didn’t know what kind of equipment they had, but she knew from the trail transcripts she’d read that it was there, and was often a deciding factor in final decisions. If it ever got to trial. She’d worked so very hard to get here, she wasn’t going to screw it all up right at the last hurdle.

Taking a deep, slow breath, Rashi went to the cot. Gently and evenly, she let the breath out, then paused before taking another. She’d trained for this, she knew she’d get through if she stuck to the plan. This was not the time for fretting over details that were already in place or trying to push things along. The authorities would take their own time, that’s how authorities work. It’s not like this was some third-world cell with a putrid bucket in the corner. Actually it was almost exactly as it had been in the brochure except the blanket on the cot was grey, not navy blue. She was surprised to realise that it was cotton, that open waffle weave style, for some reason her mind had categorised it as a warm blanket. Why there was a blanket at all in this heat was the real mystery. Rashi thought it was a mystery she would ponder as the authorities took whatever time they needed to process her paperwork. After all, she thought, that was pretty reasonable. These things take time. She just wished that they’d left her with her guide book. She trusted that her belongings, her watch, luggage and passport would be returned to her in due course. Meanwhile, she decided, she was free to recuperate from the journey. It had been a very long trip.

Taking a deep, slow breath, Rashi relaxed on her cot in her silent, dim cell and deliberately went to sleep. Australia was worth the hassle to visit. She’d had to decide that a long time ago when she’d applied to her own country for clearance and diplomatic support. A week or two in Visitor Status Processing is a small sacrifice to make. Too late for doubts now.

Quote of the Day

Save the Earth... it's the only planet with chocolate.

Monday, September 17, 2007

Conferences

A conference last friday and saturday over-loaded me. The ideas were good - nothing too wild - it was the crushing reality of the limitations of the workplace. I normally enjoy learning something (anything) just for the sake of it, and sitting there making notes on a saturday morning about museum visitor profiles I just realised that there are things I would rather be doing. Really. Rather. Be. Doing.
Particularly when I know that no matter how simple, practical or obvious any idea I take away from this conference is, the answer will be - "well you do it, but not at the expense of anything else". which is code for "we can't run this place as it is, just focus on the right-here, right-now". I had a cynicism and wage-slave overload.
The conference itself was great, and I will write a bit more about it later in the week, when I can perk-up from this little low.

Also had a conference with the house-buying team. Sit-rep is good on all fronts. Structure = sound. Finances = approved. Working Bee Flex days = accrued. ETO (estimated time of ownership) is 3 october.

Finally, conference with the new medical guy. Not quite so great. Had a "please explain" for taking myself off the meds. He seemed pretty good about it at first, but then ordered bloodwork to "check" a few things - I got the message. But no, he wasn't done. The man has pre-printed pads and he's not afraid to use them. He replenished my supply, and then added a script for *suppositories*. You heard me. Double punch! ONE - bloodwork! Bam! TWO - pills for your arse! KA-BAM! This guy's not kidding around. Needless to say, I haven't rushed off to the chemist just yet.

It's been a week alright, and it's only Monday.

As a treat, I got myself a dvd "Throne of Blood" by Kurosawa. No pun intended.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Money Changes People

The etymology of "stock exchange" came up today and that got me talking about the intriguing development of the idea of "currency" alongside the barter/unsecured coinage system that people used to get by with in local economies. Which linked over to the the quantum-self-help-guru world where money is referred to as "energy", and driving in the car this morning the thought that "money changes people" is often a derisive or negative thing to say.

You know what I mean, there's occasionally an interview with some new sensation where they assert "Money hasn't changed me" or won't or one of those variations.

I wonder why they want that money then if not to change? If not to enable a broader scope of activity, a change of venue or an expansion of influence, where is the motivation for the activity that results in the cash they apparently don't desire.
For some reason Russell Crowe came to mind. Now I don't think that he's ever been one to say anything this flaccid, but he's the kinda guy who *could* and it would make at least some sense. Liked rugby league, buys a league team.

But what about those people who say they would win lotto and keep working?! What's with that? Why buy the lotto ticket then? This sounds slightly white-shoe brigade, but it's not meant to be. Actually I'm coming at it more from a "wouldn't the world be better if more of us were more emotionally and creatively fulfilled - and wouldn't moving towards that state be the first thing you'd act on if you were given a wad of cash?" point of view.
I'm not saying that I expect everyone would open an orphanage or buy Sumatran rainforest to protect orangutans - but *some* people would. Other people might take up watercolours, or scuba diving, or leave the town they were born in and see some other parts of the country. Usually with a bit more of a smile, and a bit more patience at the red lights along the way. Most people harbour a secret desire and acting towards that, even partially, constitutes a change.

Ergo, I guess, when people say they "wouldn't change" they mean only in a *bad* way.
How frustrating then, that this useful word which is conceptually neutral seems to be loosing valency. For a positive meaning to the word "change" which words can we fall back on in English - "improvement"? Euch. How 80s.

So thinking back to the money as energy or within the context of currency... the entire structure we have for exchange, for transaction - it's all predicated on the supposition that all is in motion, that there is no true static point anyway.

The only static point in the entire universe then is in human minds where we think we can attain some perfect state and hold it. Despite how much money we may someday win in lotto.

Monday, September 10, 2007

Gibson: Spook Country. Reviewed.

There's something very personal that happens when a beloved author puts out a book that just doesn't deliver. Betrayal. Hurt - right in the gut, a stabbing feeling halfway between your wings on the back.
Perhaps its due in part to the semiotic relationship of reader-engagement where we put in so much more than just the hours it takes to read, and sometimes it is the irrational and unfair hope that the author will continue to provide exactly the escape, antidote, passion or buzz that we've mainlined so many times before. I'm not working up into a rant here, just setting the scene for what is really hard to say.
William Gibson's new novel "Spook Country" is kinda dull and it's derivative.
It's not a great book, it's far from his best work.
It rehashes some good themes from his seminal early series, and patisches from his earlier pastiches (such as the nuanced "Pattern Recognition"). Okay - he's earned the right to coast along a little, and you can see it in the recent quote "I think reality these days is so much like a science-fiction novel. Now all I have to do is just import all that is around me into my novels."

Those are the words of a man who has lived to see his visions fulfilled. Visions that were scoffed by the mainstream, and are now that mainstreams own language. I sometimes wonder how George Orwell would have responded to our Noughties culture where political spin is what we call re-writing history, and we've had nearly a decade of entertainment from a show called Big Brother. Gibson *was* the voice of cyberpunk - go back and look at the Mirrorshades anthology (only in geek friends' libraries) and see what in the 80s we thought would be a wild future, and now Gibson is caught in a singularity.

"Spook Country" ought to have been bold, unsuspected, exciting. Instead it is Gibson-by-the-numbers, and misunderstood and badly packaged by his publishers. Why did Penguin ever take him onto their list? They have done nothing but misunderstand him and his audience since the atrocious handling of "Pattern Recognition" (was it two or three years between the hardcover selling out and the first paperback editions?!), and now it seems that they feel he'll sell better if his fans can't recognise him, and if crime readers mistake this for a thriller. There is no suspense in this book. None. There's barely even any crime (as most people would recognise it).

Gibson-by-the-numbers still has its moments of pleasure. His voice and cadence are unmistakeable, desirable and oft striven for. Here's a taste:

"Bigend stopped the car. A ball-capped guard in black uniform shorts and matching short-sleeved shirt regarded them from behind mirrored glasses. A laden, multicompartmented black holster was strapped to his right thigh.
She felt a sudden intense desire to get out of the Maybach, and acted on it.
The door opened like some disturbing hybrid of bank vault and Armani evening purse, perfectly balanced bombproof solidity meeting sheer cosmetic slickness. The gritty concrete floor, blotched with crumbs of gypsum, felt comforting in contrast. The guard gestured with a remote. She heard segmented steel start to rattle down behind them."

Classic. But if I just wanted classic Gibson, I'd re-read Neuromancer.

People change, the world moves on. As an ardent fan, I was looking forward to the new visions from Gibson. Frankly, I could do with some help dealing with this world, and in the past I've found many good tips and much solace in the worlds of SF. That this book didn't deliver owes some to my own idealistic hero-worship, but mostly to an author coasting on his (considerable) momentum.

Saturday, September 08, 2007

Septuagenarian, Octogenarian, nine-a-genarian?

Grandad, recently returned from his tour of the USA, is turning 89 next week or so. Gloating on his good health last weekend, he was talking about what life might hold for him in his next decade.
He couldn't quite think of the word for being in one's nineties. He is a crossword fiend, so this was a shock. I sometimes consider myself ok with words, so I had a think about it, and realised that this is one of those words that I presume I know, but actually do not, have never, and worse, can't figure out.
Sure, we all know the others - but nine?!

No-one knew, and Grandad moved on from trying to think of the word to deal with more meaningful activities like planning his social calendar and working on his golf game. But it bugged me. This is a gap in the numbers! With an aging population, we *need* this word - it's going to have to do a lot more work for us! Someone needs to know! What if the only person in the world who knows how to refer to the ages between 90 and 99 in a single word dies of avian flu? I was driven to do something.

I went to the Oxford. Nine, ninety both there. Got distracted, read the whole column either side. No clues. Went to Septuagenarian, hoping they'd run against type and give the whole listing. Nope. Tried Octogenarian. Also there, also no clues.
Tap tap tap went my fingers on the cover of the book. Hhmmm.
'Sherlock Holmes wouldn't be stumped by this.' I thought. That clever bastard would just know, sure, but when Watson didn't know, he would prompt him, what would he say? What would he say......
AHA!
I went back and checked again - YES! Sept and Oct are both GREEK ROOTS, whereas nine is something else, something that doesn't work when you try and be clever with it. Ergo, my answer will be solved, if only I can think of the Greek word/root for nine!!!
Shame I don't know any Greek then, isn't it.
Still, isn't this exciting?!

Actually at this point, feeling like I'd done the hard yards by solving the process to the problem (if not the problem itself) I turned to those glorious tools (Google and Wikipedia) and within 0.12 seconds had over 2 millions listings for "greek nine", number one being "ennea-".
Of COURSE! the Enneagram. I should have remembered that!!!!!!!
What a dullard.

I read on - how fascinating the number nine is! Did you know that 9 It is the first composite lucky number? That 9 is the second non-unitary square prime (3^2)? That it has a unique aliquot sum σ(n) 4 which is itself a square prime? (all from wiki of course, I don't even understand what this says, and there's *lots* more where this came from!) .
Wow huh. I just like it because it's so round, and it's three lots of three, and three is the coolest number (apart from zero, which, it turns out, is considered an *even* number - what you can't learn off Wiki huh?) .

I digress.
There's still no actual answer to the question, except that now I could be 90% confident to guess it. Well, a guess isn't good enough when it's saturday night and I've already watched "Point Break" .... try enneagarian in the Oxford - not there. God how I hate having to work with this tiny thing! (the "Concise"- really!?) I put it into google "Do you mean Enneagram?" no, i do not. Damn! Perhaps I'm on the wrong track?! How long could this take? I do the old Enneagarian + dictionary search, and Google has given up on me! "Do you mean hungarian + Dictionary?"
ARGH!!
I'm going to have to wait until Monday when I can get to a proper dictionary!!!!!!
Don't you worry - I'm going to track this down!!
Wait, one last idea. Let me check something over at Wiki again....
Yes, Wiki listed a latin prefix as well - nono.
Could it be that we use Greek all the time, except this once?!
Oh yes, there it is : Nonogenerian.
Oxford, google, both agree, nonogenerian, not enneawhatever. I was using my brain and it was wrong.
*sigh*
On the upside, at least I'll have something to write in Grandad's birthday card next year!

Neil Gaiman: Gold Star Blogger

The man hisself has been to China recently, plenty of good posts about strange food etc, but this, this is pure gold:
http://www.neilgaiman.com/journal/labels/giraffes.html

Still very excited about Stardust coming! Very very excited....

Spring Feelings

Some weeks are chockas aren't they. This week included going to see a touring production of "Educating Rita" starring someone from "McLeod's Daughters" and a guy from "All Saints" (ie. two pretty dodgy Australian TV series) and as suspected, it was a bit dodgy.
The woman sounded like Bubbles from Ab Fab, and couldn't even sustain that. Why bother?! Surely there's enough self-awareness to realise that you're doing a shit job and look around for some solutions - would've made obvious sense to do an Ocker rendition, and have her be a bogan. The light and sound production was pretty sloppy, but most people just seemed pleased to have a play to go to locally. We'll forgive a lot to miss out on the two-hour each way drive. I did enjoy myself anyway, a free ticket from a neighbour who works in the centre, and a chance to see who goes to what gets billed locally as "Live Theatre" ...isn't that a tautology? Like so many country things - it was packed with about 4 generations and came with the slight smell of mothballs. Anyway, the beer was cold, and the story was good, so I went with it and had a good time.
As part of the Boonah Arts Festival, there'll also be a "street spectacular" tonight - I'm looking forward to it. The whole region will probably be there - half in it, the other half cheering. I've invited my new nearly-friend who is a volunteer at the gallery, but as he lives in Ipswich, I'm not sure if he'll come. Once again, I expect to be carried by the sheer naive enthusiasm and open-hearted joy of the event rather than any special artistic or cultural vision. Hi-larious. Yes, I am mocking, but not with any venom. As part of my "bloom where you're planted" program I have come to appreciate many more things about this region - particularly as compared to Trash City. As our eccentricities here are accepted and valued, we do tend to live freely, and that is valuable to us day-to-day but also, it turns out, as a curiosity worthy of a day-trip from the city folk.
Ma & Pa's farm to us is a flawed home full of jobs half-done and living things that need tending so they can be eaten later. It is delineated by fences that have hugely important meanings in the eyes of the human laws but which are invisible and insignificant to the lay and the pulse of the land itself. The flows of it, the push of the sun and the pull of the water. This is the broader place that connects us into this tiny box of farm and why it is so very hard to leave in the tough times of drought or fire, because after a little while it owns you in a more permanent way than any contract ever could. When someone visits anywhere like here, anywhere a few hours away from concrete landscapes, the proximity to this power is revitalising. It gets called scenery, or quiet, but we know that it is more. An old more that we don't have a name for now.
Despite still being lonely here a lot of the time, I am actually saddened by the prospect now of going. This connection has been worth growing. Having had a few more days to think about things (since Ticking the Boxes) I can say to my sister "Yes, I am happy."
No matter what happens in the next phase of the plan, or the plan after (!) or what life throws in my path anyway, this has been a good thing to do. It's all ok.

Thursday, September 06, 2007

Dukkah Thief

A terse moment last night when I got home to the farm.
Mum had made up a batch of Dukkah over the weekend and bottled all she could, leaving the remainder (perhaps just under half) on the bench covered in cling wrap. She sells it at the markets, it's a brilliant accompaniment to the olives/ olive oil/ fresh bread nexus. Very tasty, I recommend it highly.

But it was no longer there.

It had been eaten.



Fingers were pointed, pretty pointedly, at Riley.

"Smell his breath!" Mother insisted. I did, and it smelt doggy. Not Egyptian-doggy, just plain meaty-doggy.

"Are you sure it wasn't Bonnie?" I asked, as after all - she's the main bin diver and cat food filcher and as a border collie she's got the mass to handle a half kilo of retail-grade dukkah, whereas that's a significant proportion of Riley's body weight, and he's been sick from eating a tablespoon of Chicken fat just two nights ago (illicitly supplied by mother I may add, who initially denied the charge!).
"She would have left more mess." was Mother's lame defence.
"Very circumstantial. Flimsy even." I retorted and the cold wall went up.

This morning, going to let the farm dogs out, I found a stash of items from yesterday’s garbage bin – classic Bonnie MO.
Circumstanial evidence indeed, but pointedly pointing away from my darling and innocent Riley.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Ticking all the boxes

Valuing creativity doesn't mean devaluing structure.

It's taken a lifetime to come to this realisation. Structure is my friend. Sure, we're not always on speaking terms, but there's a great deal to be said for having a plan and sticking to it. I mean a plan in the big sense - not some rigid schedule. A set of guidelines that will eventually get me to where I want to go. Making the decision about where that would be was a lot harder than getting underway. In fact, I realise how we can get underway almost by accident. I tend to distract myself easily enough, let alone with the odd invitation here or there.

It's hard to listen to any business person (or other type of person who's been corporatised) without hearing "the bottom line." It used to be hard-hitting and now it's almost meaningless jargon from people who are trying to distract you from the real question you asked.
So when my sis asked me last night "Are you happy?" I honestly couldn't answer.
I am dizzy, busy and relentlessly sticking to my plan. A part of me remembers thinking for a long time about the plan and deciding it would be the best thing to do in the long run, and would require adult-like sacrifices in the short term. Events seem to be proceeding in line with the roughed-out direction, so that is good.
When all I could say to her was "I'm ticking all the boxes." We both knew that this was enough for now.

Monday, September 03, 2007

Going Share-sies with a bank

The urge to have a backyard is very strong. Many of my daydreams have been about playing in the dirt with the radio on in the background. Mabye watching the dog sniff at things and interact with the world. Some have been about painting walls with strange colours or murals without regards for bond money.
Well, all these dreams have faded into the background as I learn about contracts and percentage points and fine-print and signing things. The business of buying a box of one's own is unpleasant, has many steps and costs large amounts of money. So large in fact that a bank or other institution will play a large role in the process for the next 30 years.
As someone who was never convinced I would make it to thirty, I never expected to have a mortgage of my own. Every year since that time has been something of a surprise, and as they seem to be ticking around pretty regularly now, I thought I'd hedge my bets and see if I could get a box of my own.
So on saturday I offered a lady some money for a house, and she said yes. It still feels pretty hypothetical, given that I don't have that money, but I now have three weeks to find it. I like the idea that I'll find it - possibly under a cauliflower in the vege patch I guess.

Saturday, September 01, 2007

Bucolic Idyll

Glorious sweetness of a day at home.
Woke without the alarm at 6 and heard the birds rustling each other into action within the soft, sweet silence that a large, mostly calm space makes.
Re awoke at 8 to the full chorus, callback and conversations of the crows, magpies, and all the other smaller ones that I can't quite see. Wandered out and made a coffee, went to check on the tomato seedlings - they're strong and perfect to plant out today. The big wattle tree by the front porch is in full bloom and heavy with labouring bees. I love that tree. So shady in summer and nondescript most of the time until this late August type time - when ka-pow - out with the enormous golden sprays of tiny fluffy pollen balls.
Took the coffee over to watch mum walk back from the top of the oats, where she'd been checking on a new calf. We're up to nine now, and they're a little smaller from the tough season, but perfectly formed and cheerful like baby animals with their mothers always are. The few good days of rain last week has come over our land like a kiss. We've blushed green.

My Grandad has arrived to stay with us for the weekend. He's just come back from about 4 weeks in America and he's bubbling with stories and amazement. He's been a long time without going everywhere, and he's sprightly and enlivened with all that he has seen, and the chance to spend such time with another branch of our family.

Riley is beside himself that we're all at home today and has been running like a running-fool, pausing only to wrestle Zac to the ground. Zac is grown into a large cat now, not quite fat, but very heavy and soft. To see this blob of ginger and white on his back passively getting choked by the tiny frantic terrier is hilarious... even when with his little tongue out he *really* is choking. I think he may be a little bit Michael Hutchence about the choking thing, and I am curious to see how far he would let it go before he pushed even a little bit back at Riley. The curious me would let it run it's course .... but the idea of facing ma and pa with an expired cat and a confused dog always tips me back into action.
"Enough Riley!"

Tonight is the launch of the Boonah Arts Festival. Ma and I will go, and I'm quite looking forward to it. Boonah embraces anyone who has a crack at something arty. It makes for what arts people call a "varied" or "mixed" show (ie they look down on it) but as a member of this community, I love the inclusiveness and fun of it. Should be a hoot tonight. May have to wear a scarf darling ....