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J O U R N A L
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Tuesday, September 30
[Echoes]posted by peter at 12:02 .......She took up the quick-unpick and carefully removed her husband’s name from the embroidered pillowcases. How could she be with someone who wanted to inflict a name like Brenda-Sandra upon her unborn, unconceived child? Her life too closely matched a Joni Mitchell song and she recognised the irony.
She said something about feelings.
She said she’d asked eighteen times.
He argued that he hadn’t heard the first fourteen.
He sees a world where carbon fibres hold satellites in orbit like vast fields of splendid balloons.
He has no time for life’s more subtle nuances.
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[yin & yang]posted by peter at 16:08 .......I'm glad that I:
bought jeans dropped honours refused the lines of coke moved to adelaide moved to melbourne discovered folk music got ter 99.7 went to new zealand am getting a tax return have enough patience became vegetarian laugh loudly can go quiet when necessary have my friends discovered scarves chose to read lots stopped being sporty collected cds had pet cats have never been in hospital worked for the government have access to chocolate recently learnt to swallow capsules never got an earring understood that canterbury ugly was never cool
Annoyed that I:
have two uninspiring degrees gave up the piano never learnt the cello neglected german lost contact with friends can't go to livid am already planning the move after tokyo have misplaced certain important documents bought the canvas adidas shoes grew up in the country sometimes lack motivation am floundering on the career thing need a new computer can't establish logical filing systems don't live in new york never got the singing group thing happening let my amnesty membership lapse
It’s been too long since the mountains. Proper mountains. With snow. Always.
[What is Caesar's]posted by peter at 12:52 .......Can it be that I have completed my tax return? Surely not!
I think I'll run through it again tomorrow, and then send it over the wires to get the fastest possible refund. I can't quite believe that I am eligible for a refund – I thought I was in for a bill this year.
I never begrudge paying tax because we need it for services and infrastructure and whatnot, but it does feel kind of good to know that I've contributed less money than expected towards Howard stupidity... as if I've paid for a few less artillery shells or whatever. In years of war it would be nice to have the option of paying no tax whatsoever, because I reckon that would have more impact than any hippie-driven peace protest in a busy city thoroughfare.
They always say vote with your dollar... well I didn't want war but somehow my vote got overlooked.
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[Run, hide]posted by peter at 10:12 .......How did you escape the AFL grand final?
I started watching a Tom Hanks film, but that option could never last so I caught a train into the city. Fortunately the city loop subway shielded me from any view of the MCG crowd, although I saw cars in a parking lot so that counts as some degree of unwanted exposure.
I met Brooke out front of Flinders St station, as we had decided to go to a free film screening in the theatre at Federation Square. Unfortunately we had to make our way through a crowd that had assembled to watch the grand final on the massive public screen that blinks out from an angular metallic silver exercise in architectural freedom. I averted my eyes from the actual match, but the inevitable exposure was like poison running through my veins.
Gasping for air, we rushed into the theatre, listened to a film student's pre-screening commentary and then greatly enjoyed How to marry a millionaire.
Said film finished, but the grand final kept on. We emerged into the sun and still the giant screen blared its sporty missives. Reeling from the ambient radiation, we staggered to the tram stop and headed south. St Kilda was like a ghost town, which really drove home how obsessed this city is with sport. But it was nice to sit drinking Clare Valley Shiraz in a hip cafe with like-minded people. When the post-footy crown began to emerge, Brooke and I made a b-line for our favourite Japanese restaurant; that bento box was about the best thing I've eaten in my life, but perhaps I was a bit overemotional.
We strolled back to her house and then went into to the city again... sat in an upstairs bar for a while, then waited for the last tram whilst hooligans screeched through the streets and football scarves flailed in the cold wind.
I don't think we did too bad a job of avoiding the nonsense... at least it was better than bunkering down inside our own houses with a Tom Hanks film.
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[Luncheon]posted by peter at 10:23 .......I don't know exactly when it was that I rejected the lunchbox.
Throughout my schooling I was nourished by the contents of a dark green plastic box. You could fit a couple of sandwiches, a fruit drink and one or two little-cakes in there.
I tried the same concept in my first year at uni. Obviously I had to get rid of the box, because I'd undergone a transformation and wouldn't have been caught dead with a Tupperware container in my backpack. So instead I took the intelligent approach of making salad rolls (sans-lettuce, which I never could understand), wrapping them in gladwrap and throwing them in with my textbooks. This would later be retrieved as a compressed and distorted bread product with squashed avocado leaching out of the cling film seams.
A little disenchanted by such experiences, and crippled by my $100 per week budget, over half of which was consumed by rent, I ended up merely throwing plain bread rolls in my pack in the mornings.
Yum, bread. No wonder I staggered home a hypoglycaemic mess every evening, and fought to stay awake during even the most scintillating mechanics lecture. I took my studies a little too seriously in those days, and as far as I'm concerned 1998 and 1999 didn't exist. Or maybe I didn't exist.
Up went my budget and my lunch changed to a packet of M&M's or maybe a honey and almond 'health' bar. Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking.
The real revolution occurred after I finally got a proper job, and then there was no stopping me. I didn't even think about packing lunch anymore... oh I would kick back in the cafe with friends and we'd order things and drink coffee and discuss terribly important topics, all on about two hours' sleep. Actual classes merely punctuated days of leisure, although I'm exaggerating here because I never entirely lost my work ethic until 2002.
And as if I wanted to take a packed lunch to work. I needed that lunch break to get out of the office; to relax my radiated eyes; to stroll up amongst the North Adelaide cafes. Making a packed lunch would only require me to get up earlier, which would therefore mean I would have to potentially go to bed earlier which would disrupt all of my midweek late night plans. It would also force me to plan my shopping trips and spend more time in the supermarket, which couldn't interest me less.
My dear mother packed my lunchbox all through school. My friends used to accuse me of being so lazy and self-insufficient. Mum made really good sandwiches.
Maybe taking my lunch for granted all those years is the reason I'm reluctant to assemble packed lunches. Even picnics push me over the edge – I'd much rather sit in a cafe opposite a park and get the best of both worlds. And when I commence my job in Japan, I have no intention of taking a packed lunch.
When I'm at home it's a different story. I'm happy to make my own lunch at home. What am I having today? Eggplant sautéed with chilli and fresh Thai basil... I'll start making it soon.
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[Transitory]posted by peter at 19:05 .......Right, how is it supposed to work?
Am I meant to meet somebody in a crowded street one day and instantly detect the fact that they are the ideal life partner? Or am I supposed to be introduced to someone by a mutual acquaintance and then over the course of months or even years gradually get to know them until a state of perfect bliss is achieved?
I find it all a bit unlikely.
Perhaps it's a case of malformed neural receptors, but I don't feel love. Not in the oh my gosh let's be a couple now kind of way. Do you feel love? I love people but there are some very clearly defined boundaries that I just ain't crossing.
(Infatuation and obsession are another story altogether.)
I don't want to hear that this is some sort of vile pre-settling-down condition, as if to suggest that we all must instinctively seek out stability with house, garden and *shudder* children, but are entitled to a few years of independence prior to domestic nirvana. If anyone makes one small mention of wild oats I will projectile vomit.
And you know what else? I'm fed up with postdefinition scenarios too. Sorry, but I'm increasingly beginning to believe that there's no such thing as the best of both worlds.
All this smacks of desperation, which actually couldn't be further from the truth. I really am in no hurry and actually couldn't care less about the inevitable rumour mills that groan into action whenever a young guy stays single that little bit too long. To be honest, I think it's just convenient to have a partner, because you can supposedly depend on them to participate in leisure activities when other friends bail at the first better option that presents itself. I cannot abide by the notion that as long as you kind of get along you can work out any problems, because I've seen relationships fall apart around me that weren't going to be saved by one partner developing a sudden interest in beach volleyball.
Time really is not of the essence. I figure I might as well skip the first round of potential partners and wait for the first batch of divorcees to emerge from the woodwork. It's not as if anyone gets married for life these days.
But I am going to be interested to find out how it's going to happen, if it does happen. Somehow I feel that it ain't going to be Harry meeting Sally or any other hackneyed chain of events that you would think has to precede a modern relationship construct.
Oh yeah, and fuck football.
[Scissorugly]posted by peter at 09:51 .......Hacking the sleeves off an old tshirt does not necessarily constitute home alteration, especially when the final product hangs like a hessian sack that once held wheat but then spent 4 years kicking around on the floor in the back of a shed accumulating grease spots. Seems I lack my mother's gift for garment production and modification.
Bad luck, I'll just have to buy things. I made the mistake of going into that wonderful shop in Chinatown that sells amazing Hong Kong streetwear at inflated prices, but at least you don't have to pay for your own flight. Amongst the million things I found and needed was an excellent black tshirt with a graphic of blood spattered all over the shoulder, and a button-up shirt with holes burnt into it by acid or something. Both garments would be perfect for my current layering tendency, but unfortunately they were each $70+, as compared to probably $25 for the same thing in Hong Kong. That's the price you pay for convenience.
Something that really keeps me afloat at the moment is the knowledge that in around two months I'll have disposable income again. Gee, imagine that.
With a few spare yen each week, I won't need to deal with unsuccessful attempts at fashion design.
Kate, by contrast, has made some terrific clothes by cutting them up with scissors, reattaching, tearing and sewing. She's very clever. Another reason why I envy her is because she has gone back to Adelaide for a few days. I'm planning to head that way in mid-October, just not sure how yet.
I'm meeting Viv for lunch today, somewhere on Chapel St. How fun!
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[kore wa yuki saibai desu ka?]posted by peter at 14:12 .......There is surely something a little hilarious about the fact that the Japanese word for "vegetarian" is pronounced "bejitarian".
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[^oo^]posted by peter at 23:36 .......But I absolutely love Futurama.
[Television and on and on]posted by peter at 08:53 .......Not content with simply watching a million TV shows each week, it seems I have to get all zealous about them as well. I don't think I should have gotten so worked up about the delayed start time of Six Feet Under last night. Like an old time preacher I hurled curses at those football commentators as they desperately tried to make essentially the most boring event in the world – the Brownlame Medal count – into something palatable. They failed. Actually, I lie – they didn't even try to make it interesting. It was just same old, same old, as far as that dull sport was concerned.
Actually I would have loved to have seen the pre-game red carpet. You can just imagine it: "Oh, duh, um, I'm wearing Billabong and, um, her dress is by Roxy... I think it makes her look hot... *guffaw* ... go team!!!"
I had to change the channel for Chanel... at least the Emmy Awards didn't disappoint.
Well, they sort of did.
But I digress. I know what needs to happen. Someone needs to sit me down and tell me that it really doesn't matter if I miss an episode of The Amazing Race. I strongly dislike all the remaining teams anyway. And while they're at it, they can tell me that I don't need to make Criminal Intent a weekly show either. Especially given that the last two episodes have been really poorly written. The whole show seems a bit hit and miss to me. Somebody needs to tell me this, because heaven forbid that I recognise it for myself.
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[4-Ever]posted by peter at 16:43 .......It might sound a bit obsessive, but I still maintain that there are films which you really need to set aside a whole day for. They leave you so traumatised that afterwards it's difficult to speak, let alone safely find your way home from the city. They make you stare vacantly at spilt sugar in the coffee shop, and cause you to part company in silence.
Lilya 4-Ever is one of those films, and Sal and I saw it today. It is so totally amazing; do see it if you can (although I suspect it has limited release).
For us, it was made all the more disturbing and tragic by the fact that the central character was a near spitting image of a close friend... and lots of awful things happened to her.
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[Too many spots]posted by peter at 17:46 .......As much as I love Glenn Close, I did feel a bit violated by what I saw in 101 Dalmatians last night. Specifically, watching a bunch of puppies drinking from the udder of a cow, and having to observe them induce milk expression in high definition steadycam closeup.
Honestly, what sort of message is this sending to our children? It's certainly not the natural order of things – as if a big cow would let any vile yapping Dalmatian puppies anywhere near her nether regions.
After five too many minutes of animal-driven narrative, I started to lose track of the meaning of various bark nuances and became extremely bored. Then I remembered that I was essentially letting my life flow down the drain, so I went and visited Jacqui in her Southbank apartment (she's here for the weekend) and ended up watching the end of When Harry Met Sally, excuse me if I just bleed myself to death all over the pale carpet and dark timber veneer. It was nice to catch up with friends – I just wish the television would intrude upon my life less frequently.
I was excited to discover earlier today that the entire Three Colours trilogy is now available on DVD.
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[In two months or more]posted by peter at 16:28 .......I feel happy because I just bought new jeans.
I had to. How could I overlook Italian wool-blend fabric? Even if it does render them dry-clean only. But that's okay because I don't usually wash my jeans for months and months anyway.
A massive discount was what really sealed the purchase.
The cut is a little unconventional. These jeans are more flared than anything I've ever had in my life, which does ring raver alarm bells, but I think a little caution and common sense will prevent that particular faux pas.
The best thing is that this is a 100% justifiable purchase. I haven't bought proper jeans for about a year. Everyone needs good jeans, wouldn't you agree?
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[Ecclesiastes 1:8]posted by peter at 09:02 ......."Everything leads to weariness – a weariness too great for words. Our eyes can never see enough to be satisfied; our ears can never hear enough."
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[Lame]posted by peter at 20:52 .......How is it that I could spend the whole evening complaining about being stuck in the house and yet, when an invitation to go out finally came a few minutes ago, I declined? What is wrong with me?
I think it was the whole on the verge of an early night syndrome striking again; that and the fact that I am currently dishevelled and unready. So by the time I could get ready and actually arrive in town (Melbourne CBD at night – another major disincentive), it would almost be time to catch the last public vehicle home, given that a taxi is out of the question.
That's what's wrong with me. I can so easily find excuses.
There's always tomorrow night.
[Suspend]posted by peter at 11:21 .......I'm perfectly happy to suspend my disbelief to enjoy an action movie, but some of the geographical inconsistencies in the new and awful Tomb Raider really got to me.
So they land their invisible-to-radar jet pod in what can only be a part of China's Guangdong province, distinguished by those amazing limestone formations which project directly out of labyrinthine waterways. This is all well and good, except for the fact that next scene they are riding motorbikes along the Great Wall of China. This ancient structure lies I don't know how many thousand kilometres to the north, clear across the landmass, but is made to look like it was around the corner. And they end up 74km from Shanghai. Seems they've travelled a few thousand kilometres south again, all in the space of a day. Hardly seems an efficient route to me, but I guess if you subscribe to the American worldview, all roads lead to Asia.
Later in the film, Lara is bustin' some foes in Hong Kong. I've been to Hong Kong and got to know it quite well. Therefore I recognised the inconsistency involved with entering a Times Square shopping mall and emerging on a rooftop in Central or Sheung Wan, some two or three kilometres to the west.
I understand the limits of filmmaking and am completely aware that multiple locations must be used, but I don't know why you'd do it with landmarks. Why make it so obviously wrong? Nobody would ever make a film in which a character entered the Louvre and ended up atop the Eiffel Tower. Maybe I'm being overtly pedantic, but I can't help but feel intellectually insulted by this assumed ignorance. Hong Kong is hardly a provincial backwater, after all.
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[Moan]posted by peter at 15:04 .......Turns out the ghost scarf was around $250, including matching mittens. I hadn't noticed the price tag the other day, but I found that it effectively stifled any need for the item. And I'm not sure that guys should even wear mittens, although I'm under the impression that anything goes in Tokyo.
Coffee with Viv was a bit of a treat last night. We sat in Borders with every intention of bitching about things in magazines, but ended up just chatting away. Of course Temptation Island imposed somewhat of a time limit upon things.
I've briefly mentioned the TV thing, but it occurred to me last night that I'm regularly watching shows on about five nights out of seven. This situation is not okay – I don't do television, but it has me in its clutches. Contrast my current viewing with that of the same time last year, when I'd watch half an hour per week at most, if the TV stations and media statisticians were lucky. That and the odd Eastenders video marathon, whenever Deb brought a tape home from her parents, but that doesn't count because it's a cultural activity in its own right.
While I'm on a bit of a complaints bandwagon, I might as well mention that I detest DVD special features. They have nothing to offer. A bunch of crap extra scenes which weren't good enough to make the final cut and a 3D menu-driven interface that looks like it was made by a first year multimedia student does not constitute valid entertainment to me. I'd rather they scrap the whole idea and use the extra disk space to improve the quality of the movie – nothing irks me more than codec compression patches in DVD images. Like, sure we don't have tape glitches anymore but if you can't represent the simple tonal continuity of a pale green feature wall without the interference of blotchy compression squares then I'm really not interested.
Did I mention that I watched Gone with the wind for the first time the other day? That Scarlett O'Hara is a selfish, conniving, annoying, money-grubbing cow, but the film is just wonderful.
Tonight I get to see the new Tomb Raider flick. It's a freebie and I'm sure it will be dreadful, but strangely enough I'm still so excited I could just die.
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[Baaa]posted by peter at 15:48 .......My sister Sonia had a pet lamb named Pearl. She used to wrap Pearl carefully in a blanket and feed her with a baby bottle. She loved Pearl.
Pearl died from diarrhoea. Or maybe a fox killed her. I don't recall the exact circumstances, but a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach informs me that it was not a pleasant departure from the world.
Poor little Pearl.
[Kitten]posted by peter at 09:24 .......I'm a cat person. Always have been. I love them and they love me, except for the especially neurotic ones, but even they are endearing in some way. I could bore you senseless with cat anecdotes.
We always had cats, and lots of 'em. Up to eighteen at a time, but we were on a farm, remember, so it was okay. It's not like we were the creepy cat family. Aside from eating endangered native birds and animals, they kept pests such as mice and snakes at bay. We also fed them twice a day.
Every single one of them had a name, and it was usually something obscure that our fertile pre-adolescent minds dug up from some storybook or from an imagined place in the deep recesses of our brains. There were the big ginger kitties like Boo, Christmas Tree and Pussum; the more shrewd and chocolaty felines like Hing, Chocky and One; the tortoiseshell matriarchs like Pussette, Kathy and the very bipolar and decidedly evil Poppy; the exceedingly sleek and elegant black cats Misha and Jellybean. Gato, Muffin, Barley, Carsie, Puddle and Mushroom fit into other categories, but you get the picture. I now realise how many of the names I've forgotten, but I used to buy camera film and take photos of the cats, so we've got extensive photographic documentation of the colony, which may or may not jog my memory someday.
An interesting phenomenon (which illustrates nothing if not childhood weirdness) was that somehow, over the cat's lifetime, their name would evolve through overuse. An example is what happened to Maggie. She went from Maggie to Boogie via the following path: Maggie -> Magda -> Moogie -> Moog -> Boog -> Boogie. Sometimes I can't even remember the original name. Woofa is like that – I have no idea what he was originally called. Woofa used to chase me round and round the swimming pool, which at the time was filled only with massive white thistles and the odd field poppy. Woofa died like the rest.
It used to be so traumatic when a cat died. Whether it was tiny kittens crawling out and freezing solid on the concrete path in winter, or an older one lying paralysed from snakebite, I always cried. The easiest ones to cope with were those who simply vanished, never to return. The hardest ones to cope with were those who got run over by cars. The single most traumatic experience? That was when my teacher ran over my cat Sneeze after dropping me home from volleyball. The kids at school thought that was hilarious.
There are no cats on the farm anymore. Their population gradually diminished, and they are now lost from this world. It's probably just as well, given that my parents are moving to Adelaide tomorrow. Seems they haven't quite worked out what to do with the dog. Anyway, I'm going to go before I start getting emotional.
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[Supermarket culture]posted by peter at 16:07 .......At the bread shop, the guy told me I was "soooo lucky" to get the last walnut bread stick. Surely I wasn't that lucky; it didn't make all that much difference to my day. I suppose some part of me was glad.
Walking around carrying baguettes makes one feel like a sophisticated French student who works part-time in a cafe in Montmartre to support studies in visual arts or perhaps classical performance.
I bought more than anticipated at the Chinese grocer. I used the walk home to plan how to use the coriander.
Earlier I'd stormed out of Coles because they didn't have the correct light soy sauce. I don't want one that's based predominantly on fermented wheat. Cheap and nasty. I want the proper fermented soy version, or as near as possible. Which isn't to say that's what I ended up with, because I went to the other supermarket where one can never find what one wants. Some very black storm clouds must have swirled above my head when I glared up at the confounding aisle labels. Only too late did I remember the Chinese grocer.
See, I much prefer buying things from the small local shops, even if it means visiting several in order to get everything I need. There's something more fulfilling about shopping this way – it supports the local community and helps keep it vibrant. Often it's cheaper too. The only reason I embrace supermarket shopping is because I tend to do the majority of my buying late at night, when the tiny shops I prefer aren't open.
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[The bay]posted by peter at 21:30 .......Oh fun times with Jess and Juliet in St Kilda. We sheltered from the elements in an Acland St cafe. At lunch I dropped a blob of lentil mixture on my sleeve, and then we walked along the foreshore and explored the aftermath of the pier kiosk conflagration. The Scenic Railway rollercoaster practically begged us to traverse its undulating timberwork, after which we walked through the community garden and then collapsed in a cake shop, each of us on the point of dehydration. I found the combination of cherry strudel and pineapple juice to be a little on the acidic side, but who couldn't be happy with cake in front of them? (Assuming gluten-free alternatives are available.)
Back to Juliet's for a tasty dinner and a DVD, followed by perusal of Nigella cookbooks and Sotheby's catalogues. It must be hard having to choose between a Wyoming ranch and a 17th century Chinese vase. Personally I'd take one of the gorgeously located, splendidly furnished New York, New York apartments, preferably in Greenwich Village but Fifth Avenue would do me just fine thank you very much.
Home now. Tried to buy something useful at the supermarket but it seems the fluorescent tubes induced a form of light aversion that resulted in unstructured purchasing. Suddenly I am reminded that I now want a new scarf with ghosts on it (I went through a brief skull and crossbones phase, now I think I like ghosts), and I also saw a great tshirt on Greville St but I'll be heading into the Tokyo winter (colder average temperatures than Reykjavik, apparently) so perhaps I'll just stick to the scarf.
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[Natural curl]posted by peter at 17:22 .......Long hair with an undercut, worn in a ponytail.
I've had it, have you?
1997. Very bad form.
[Mary had a tantrum]posted by peter at 16:36 .......What, is it world role-playing day and nobody told me?
There we were – Jess, Kate and I – sitting outdoors at a cafe in Prahran, when a group of adults flocked to the square table that surrounds a tree. Another group sat at a smaller table nearby.
Then they began acting up. Now, it's one thing to be boisterous, and quite another to be obnoxious and feral. They were chucking tantrums, having mock-fights, throwing food and singing "Mary had a little lamb"... acting like children in every way. When we asked the waiter about them, he said that they were role-playing or something. Like, what? Were they a theatre group? Were they intoxicated? Were they just strange? At first we thought they were mentally retarded (sorry for non-PC term) and gave them the benefit of the doubt, but it became clear that something else was afoot.
I was reminded of that awful film The Idiots.
Whatever the case, they were spoiling everybody else's meal.
And then on the way back, a man on the street thrust a paper bag at Kate and asked if she wanted a lolly. She politely declined, but the man began to pursue her, before a woman hissed "Dean, stop talking to strangers".
Maybe it's the lack of sporting events in Melbourne this weekend... all the deros have to hit the streets instead. Where is our refuge?
I'm still really sick. Might have to see the doctor if things don't clear up. I always like to give it a little bit of time before seeking medical expertise, but on this occasion no end is in sight. I still bought a bottle of red wine for tonight: Margaret River Cabernet/Shiraz, 2001. Might not be the brightest idea to drink it, but you've gotta do these things while you still can. Live fast, die young, that's what I always say.
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[Dreamed of 747s]posted by peter at 11:35 .......With sadness and a measure of physical discomfort I have said farewell to my jobsearch training.
And how did we spend the final session? Doing jigsaw puzzles.
Mine was a picture of four zebras at a watering hole. Divide that up into 100 oddly shaped pieces and imagine the stripes. Staring at the disassembled pieces was like looking at one of those hallucinatory optical illusion pictures. So many stripes.
Sarah from Shanghai had panda bears in her jigsaw puzzle picture. It made it difficult, because there were many black pieces, many white pieces and many black and white pieces. She became hysterical when it came time to pack the puzzles back into their boxes.
It was Sarah's birthday today, so there was a candle on one of the muffins. Oh, we all became so close during our time together – our microcommunity was very tight-knit. But I'm not part of that anymore... back to normal benefits mode for me.
But not for very much longer, because that's right, I HAVE A JOB!
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[And then one morning]posted by peter at 10:31 .......Allow me to precede this post with a warning: NEVER walk past the GPO on Bourke St mall, because some idiot is just as likely to dump a whole bag of breadcrumbs on the pavement, resulting in a flurrying maelstrom of beaks and talons as a myriad vile birds descend upon their prey. And you'll be caught in the middle.
Yesterday was such a big news day, but I couldn't even post. I can't even post now. Damn ping attack. I don't know when these words will appear.
Anyway I now have a full time job. That's right, the unemployable has been employed. I'm off to Japan to teach conversational English. The job starts in November, and I am likely to be based in either the Tokyo or Osaka region, but I won't know for sure until shortly before I leave. So this is clearly a new direction.
And I have seen Cat Power. The more I think about the show, the more I know I loved it. Her performance was unconventional and even slightly alienating (except for those lucky few occupying spots in the front rows), but the richness of her gorgeous voice and her strange and wonderful music made for a memorable occasion. Although standing up for over two hours reminded me of why I don't see live bands all that often... oh I'm becoming old and lame.
All of this was overshadowed by a sudden illness which emerged on Tuesday night and left me confined to my bed (or mattress, if you prefer accuracy) all of yesterday morning. I'm feeling better now, but things weren't so good for a while. I thought it might be Ebola Zaire, or at the very least septicaemia – Sonia had gone all melodramatic and put thoughts of meningitis in my head – but ultimately I think it was just a variation on the common flu.
Dawson's Creek has been axed, much to my dismay, but at least Criminal Intent is on tonight. And I'm finding Six Feet Under to be a great show too. Yuck, who would have thought I'd slip into a television routine? Fear not, changes are obviously in the wind...
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[Ping!]posted by peter at 16:22 .......Sorry about the down time – there was a ping attack on the blerk server.
Tomorrow night I am going to see Cat Power play live. My life will be complete. You cannot possibly understand how excited I am about this. I'm shaking and everything.
I've just watched Ordinary people. Mary Tyler Moore’s character certainly had a few issues to deal with.
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[a Monday trio; probably appear Tuesday]posted by peter at 21:55 .......- I went to a really groovy cafe on Bourke St this morning. Unfortunately I can't remember what it's called, but it's located on the ground floor of an office building and is distinguished by incredibly cool music blaring out of a speaker that has been shoved through a narrow window. Goldfrapp, Boards of Canada, Nightmares on Wax, that sort of thing. It's cheered me up every morning as I've walked past, so I thought they deserved my beverage money. A lovely coffee costs just $2.20! I'll know it's the most perfect place in the world if I hear Prince's The ballad of Dorothy Parker early one morning. How cool is Dorothy?
- Tonight Jess and I saw The Italian Job. It was suspenseful.
- I am so sick of people going on about speeding fines and revenue raising and whatnot. Speed limits are published on big, clear signs. If you exceed those limits, you may get fined. If you have been unjustly fined, go through the complaints process. If not, pay the fine. Simple. I don't even know why people care if it is a revenue-raising exercise; it's a voluntary contribution scheme after all. Drive too fast and pay the 'taxes'. Stay within the bounds of the law and you need never worry about it. I don't think it's unreasonable to fine people for disregarding safe driving speeds, and I'm not interested in public outcry and parliamentary debate over an issue that has a straightforward solution. Drive carefully. Fine the begoodness out of those who choose not to.
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[zwesh.blogspot.com]posted by peter at 20:27 .......And I'd just like to take this opportunity to welcome zwesh to the fold. :)
[City fringes]posted by peter at 16:56 .......For some reason I found Smith St very dreary today. Luckily I was in the company of the radiant Kate – we ate products at a bakery.
So many of the shops were shut, and those that dared to trade offered an overwhelming array of hi-plastic items such as 'fruit clocks' and fantasy figurines. Interesting, but depressing.
Worse still, there was next to no one in the street. That ain't fine.
We probably should have stuck with St Kilda, where we were originally destined (but funnily enough were put off by the crowds). We've spent a bit of time there this weekend.
In other news regarding consumption, I breakfasted on Greville St this morning, and yesterday I tried veggie burgers from two leading fast food chains. It was so disgusting to live on fast food for a day, but it had to be done. I had to know what the dreadlocked hippie in the advertisement was really thinking when he bit into the burger, and it kind of annoys me that I was drawn to try something by an ad that required an enormous suspension of disbelief. It frustrated me with its stupidity, but yet caused me to buy. Oh, the duality of man!
I bought another scarf yesterday (see below), and then Kate and I went to the war memorial to take in the lovely view (as opposed to commemorating war which isn't my thing at all). We strolled through part of the botanic gardens too, which whet my appetite for further exploration.
Here's a pic of Kate rushing zestfully through a leafy glade:
The bare patches in my hair aren't quite so obvious now, least not from this angle. Still, such things are like a passport to Smith St.
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[Black pines and plane trees]posted by peter at 10:12 .......Towns were founded at the confluence of rivers or the junction of railway gauges. Thriving at first, stone buildings sprung forth and lined the main streets, housing business, banking and industry. New streets were paved as the townships expanded; saplings were put to earth and daisies planted in front yards. The churches, one for every denomination, bustled on Sunday mornings. The pubs took the patrons the night before.
Then the railways downsized. It was better and more convenient to flood the highways with road trains. Drought took hold. Farm workers packed their bags and headed for the city. Far afield a discovery was made, and an automated machine took the place of ten human hands. A New York banker blinked and the world economy slumped, leaving more stone cottages with doors unhinged and rising damp.
Nowadays a passenger bus snakes through these communities three times a week. Christmas lights adorn front yards in early December, bringing the cheer of the season, but the oldest buildings stand empty, panes shattered by curious school kids. Satellite dishes on every second roof drink the signals of pay TV. The stars look a little bit clearer three metres up on a platform of corrugated iron.
The National Trust salvages some of the grander structures, but most signs of former prosperity decay only marginally slower than the communities that house them. Milk thistles thrive in the disused railway sidings, and any train that does go past might sound its horn, but won't stop for another thousand kilometres.
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[Complain, mope]posted by peter at 15:12 .......I am now sufficiently calm to attempt a recreation of my previous post. Let's hope it doesn't get chewed up again.
Basically what I was saying was that I don't appreciate it when participants in my jobsearch training get all narky at the presenter about aspects of government policy that are beyond the control of the organisation providing the training. *reflects on bad sentence structure*
Therefore, offering poorly constructed arguments about why we shouldn't have to do or attend something merely results in time wastage. The presenter gets needlessly flustered, the proponents get needlessly worked up and other participants get needlessly pissed off by the ongoing stupidity of it all.
Anyway, it was another 'graduation' day, but we had scones and croissants instead of muffins and orange juice. One of the most negative participants is gone, thank goodness, but I was sad to see the last of the photographer (who was strangely absent), the ex-recruitment guy (really cool), the ex-footballer but potential exotic dancer (unlike any footballer I've ever met; he's actually hilarious and capable of conversation) and Mr originally-from-Seattle-but-off-to-China, although I didn't know him very well.
Kate and I have spent the afternoon planning mix CDs, and I'm about to enter a dreamlike state with the realisation that the Cat Power gig is next week!
[****]posted by peter at 13:13 .......Of course the one and only time I forget to copy and paste, Blogger throws my entire post in the binary bin. I am so annoyed.
As they say: go to hell.
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[Eight zero]posted by peter at 12:50 .......The eighties are back, and I'm in their throes.
So to speak.
Do you remember those Hard Rock Cafe and Planet Hollywood tshirts? They always proclaimed the name of the city in which the shirt was supposedly purchased. Hard Rock Cafe Los Angeles, Planet Hollywood Vladivostok or Hard Rock Cafe Sdyney, if the shirt was a souvenir from Bali.
They still pop up from time to time, so I don't think they can be worn with irony yet. But let's face it, there's no room for irony in the eighties comeback. That would be so nineties, which isn't in the spirit of the noughties.
I don't have one of these shirts. I'm from a rural area, remember. We knew nothing of high fashion. Oh I'd love to post some photos from my debutante ball, but I never will. Ever. A vision of me with long hair and a patterned vest is too much for anyone to bear. Yuck, and we had vile bow ties... I'd argued for cravats, but as always the footy boys had the last say, bringing such a formidable sense of style to the occasion. That and the homemade coconut covered chocolate truffle balls... everyone bring a plate... cherry tomatoes and sliced chicken breast... oh my gosh the more I think about that night the more I cringe. Quite a lot of my friends chose to get stoned out the back (there were indeed drugs in the country), but I think everyone made it to the dance floor in time for the Pride of Erin.
These things get taken seriously in the rural sector.
Anyway, the eighties. I think my current haircut is a good start; I've got an asymmetric mullet after all, making myself reasonably detestable. Other options are currently under consideration, but one thing's for sure: I'm embracing that decade in all its synthesised glory.
Incidentally, what happened to that models restaurant owned by Naomi Campbell and pals? Does it still function? I don't remember what it was called, but I'd always secretly hoped a branch would open in Adelaide. I thought it would look good next to the MaxMara store. The best dreams never come to fruition. Life teaches many hard lessons.
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[Jess]posted by peter at 20:04 .......
[Old growth]posted by peter at 17:02 .......Just when is something going to be done about the state of the Murray river?
Here we have one of the world's great river systems being slowly destroyed by apathy and environmental mismanagement. With the river's flow all but ceased (the river mouth at Goolwa is closed up, remember), and salinity wreaking havoc in much of the surrounding land, the situation is looking desperate.
The ramifications stretch beyond mere environmental degradation, and extend to the sustainability of South Australian communities. The 1.1 million residents of Adelaide rely on the Murray for much of their drinking water, and the quality seems to be getting worse by the year. SA is Australia's most arid state; fresh water isn't exactly forthcoming.
But all of this seems to be conveniently forgotten upstream, where inappropriate crops flourish and uncovered irrigation ditches send millions of litres of H20 up into a thirsty atmosphere. Vast ranks of dead trees form a stark landscape, but are a potent reminder of how much the environmental conditions have changed over the years.
The nation's current drought has also played it's part. There hasn't been sufficient precipitation to make up for the enormous amount of water that is drawn from the Murray Darling basin. And so the waters have ceased moving and the mouth has silted up.
The Coorong too is under peril. This tract of water, sandwiched between the mainland and a long line of sand dunes, stretches many kilometres along the coast of SA, starting at the river mouth. It is a hypersaline body of water that supports a unique ecosystem. Sadly, the lack of flow is resulting in a stagnant channel in which local plants and creatures cannot survive.
All of this makes me pretty angry. Especially since these crucial issues are all but overlooked by a media that seems more interested in jailed politicians and neighbourhood disputes. And the government doesn't seem to position the health of the river very high on their priority list (they'd rather detain desperate refugees in the desert), but every now and then we get a carefully worded statement delivered to us via satellite. Cleverly-employed rhetoric hardly fixes the problem; practical measures PLEASE.
For what it's worth, I refuse to buy Australian rice and Australian cotton – these water-intensive crops are totally inappropriate for our climate and consume vast quantities of water from our strained river systems. But my supermarket buying power won't fix problems such as irresponsible irrigation, rising salinity, erosion, habitat fragmentation or uncapped bores in the Great Artesian Basin (the last is another issue, don't get me started).
There are loads of people campaigning for an action plan. Little bits and pieces here and there just won't do – what's needed is an intensive and appropriate response to a serious situation.
Sadly, I suspect that profitable industry might take precedence over sustainability. That's why Australia's current rate of land-clearing is comparable to the worst figures in South America. Who needs virgin forests anyway? Oh it makes me so livid. Greed, greed, greed.
I shall now crawl off to lament all the things that should have been said, and all those things that would have been better left unsaid.
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[Tea for the tailor]posted by peter at 13:25 .......Street cool is so easy. The real challenge lies in corporate cool.
Quite simply, in the office you have less room to move. On the street you can chuck a $16 acrylic scarf over a lame chocolate brown jacket with a few badges from Hunter Gatherer pinned on, and it's effortless cool all round.
Amidst the gleaming economic monuments of an average CBD however, there's less to work with. Like, you've got a suit, shirt, tie... a haircut too, but that doesn't count unless it is deemed to promote unacceptable counterculture.
Which is why you must choose garments that are as expensive as possible. Very few very expensive things – it's the only way to stand out in the crowd. The quality of fit, cut, colour, texture and fabric seems directly proportional to the number of dollars required in exchange for the garment. Couture is the answer. Honestly, as soon as full time work comes my way I'm hitting the 'Paris end' of Collins Street and plundering the resources of my credit limit. Gosh I hate it when people refer to the 'Paris precinct'. A few stone buildings with golden façades and marble steps does not a world class European city boulevard make.
But until that day, other measures must be taken. I'm so grateful for friends like Mark, who happily offered a selection of three suits for me to borrow if required. Not that I make a habit of it, please don't get the wrong idea. But day-to-day survival (ie. food) takes precedence over my corporate wardrobe at the moment, so if one is required for an interview, borrowing is the only option I'm afraid.
It seems that suits made of a polyester and viscose combination are good because they repel microscopic pieces of lint. One shake and they are virtually lint free. Other fabrics seem to lack this propensity. I think ties are vile but you've got to have them it seems, although that attitude is changing. I am not in the least bit interested in expressing my personality through a tie, so I like to keep it as simple as possible. Less is more. Shirts are difficult too, because you never really know whether solid colours or fine pinstripes or slight textures are most appropriate for the current fashion climate. Judging by what I've noticed on the train lately, I don't think anybody else knows either.
Really, it's all about a culture of drudgery. Corporate attire is neat and reliable, but it's just so dull. It seems you girls can get away with a bit more creativity, but still suffer the constraints of corporate culture. Oh well, that's the way it is.
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[Screaming fields of]posted by peter at 18:33 .......Bright dawned the day of tea and biscuits, but I had to get through my morning dero session first. New faces and blank spaces; seems hospitality girl has left as well. I think I knew this but suppressed it somehow. Apparently each person in the program has been allocated $11 in government funding, which I find interesting.
Sally and I met on the steps of the station. We lunched in South Yarra and afterwards braved the awful Blockbuster video store on Chapel St. I swear they are the rudest people ever and the store is 'organised' into bizarre categories that would confound even the most intuitive of archivists. Titles seem to disappear into a vast ditch of ex-rentals and bite-sized candy, only to appear around a hidden corner in the far reaches of the store. Not to imply that they have a vast or comprehensive range of titles; they don't.
Anyway, I couldn't find Kate's membership card, so I packed proof of address details and resigned myself to rental rejection... the possibility of them being chilled out and understanding just didn't enter into the equation.
Enter the hitherto unseen sales assistant with red hair whose name I've forgotten. She was a customer service phenomenon! So delightful and friendly and reasonable. Before we knew it, we were walking down Chapel St with two very fine new releases; the transaction had occurred efficiently and without the trace of a snarl.
Bowling for Columbine is every bit as fascinating and moving on second viewing as it was in the Palace Cinema all those months ago. And The Animatrix is superior to the recent Reloaded sequel, being more conceptually intriguing and better executed, in this viewer's opinion. But what would I know?
Sally and I consumed Oreos and dark chocolate Tim-Tams, and sipped our way through four varieties of tea; jade chai (gorgeous), Japanese kokeicha (subtle and refreshing), herbal detox (necessary with the fire gripping my throat, it has massive flowers floating about) and guil-T (slightly creepy vanilla chocolate concept). We also baked forest fruit muffins, in celebration of the birth of spring, and arranged everything in such a manner that could only be described as Zen. Only positive chi in this house today. I love my life.
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