it's time

summer holidays! there is nothing better. my freckles have come back; so have the bathers and the salty taste of the sea and the waves well they've never stopped, only i stopped hearing their roar. what an excellent way to end the year - feeling full of this

hi ho silver

till human voices wake us

my sister once gave me a photoalbum bought from an odds and ends shop on duthy st. it's full of photographs of people, a family album; people at the beach, at a wedding, in their finery. their setting is europe, they appear wealthy; the photos are not in chronological order, but first ones apear to have been taken in the mid-1920s. there are no photos from the early 30s; they begin again in the 50s.

initially i found the photographs fascinating, and peered at them as if a puzzle, trying to figure out places and dates. who were these people? it almost felt like a debt i owed them, to attend to their photographs, to pay them heed.



"The most transitory of things, a shadow, the proverbial emblem of all that is fleeting and momentary, may be fettered by the spells of our "natural magic", and may be fixed forever in the position which it seemed only destined for a single instant to occupy." (William Henry Fox Talbot)

(who is that, hiding behind the tree?)

the pictures were valuable because they were traces of presence, of life.

But then, I forgot about them. (those intense but fleeting infatuations; fickle)

I found them yesterday, and felt the same guilt. How could i not treasure them? Their poignancy? "Photography is an elegaic art, a twilight art. Most subjects photographed are, just by virtue of being photographed, touched with pathos." (s. sontag)




That paradox of the photograph: its capacity to defy the instant by capturing it; and yet because it can capture innumerable instants, their value seeps away, the instant multiplies into meaninglessness.

a time for giving

"Professor Whitaker says the "core business of the university is not financially sustainable"." The reason for any university's being is teaching and research. If they don't fit into the economic model, what happens? [Prof Whitaker says, there'll be "some cuts" in courses (if the circle doesn't fit the square, make it fit)].

**
Once in christmas past, dad bought hugo a gift: a pig's ear. there was much revulsion all round, but hugo loved it. the ear was banned from the house, but for weeks afterwards you would find him in a corner, gnawing away. he never really had a girlfriend, but he loved that pig's ear.

in beijing

it's got the feeling that it's heading into the future, and just by being there so are you - but it's better than that: when i was there, for the first time (not england, not europe, not even crazy india) in a place i felt located in a full, confusing, historical present: the past's traces are overt, but so are the future's, both tug at you but they are only part of, rather than explaining, the present; there is a crazy amount of money, and there is an obscene amount of poverty - and there are more people than i can imagine lives for; there are things i expected, and situations i was silenced by.

and all of this was not abstract, but felt. and i felt alive, and pushed and pulled and driven and in amongst it all. if i didn't have schemes for next year, i'd be looking for work to take me back over there. there are a thousand and one stories to beijing; i don't know any of them, but i will try and write something of what i saw...

these depths, this semistillness

so much complexity in who and what we are. it's beautiful and strange. here, now.

a close up of microglia (non-nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord, that take out cells that are damaged, or your basic cell debris. so i'm told).

(image from melb museum, from a trip there a long time ago)

i thought i'd slip in a token that was in keeping with the spirit of the season - the season of shark frenzy, i mean. here we've got wall to wall shark fins, in a beijing fish market

i am very much looking forward to seeing the lemony snicket film, whether it's miserable or not. i only just found out about it being made into a film! why did no one tell me.


this is the view from one of my ex-homes. it's been there for years; an odd little memorial. i was there with a friend tonight, and of all the things in that backyard, this is what most triggers memories of that time. john scott.

actually, when we were sitting outside, just before i took this, a rat ran along the fence to my left. 2 metres away! in daylight! i also remembered why it was good to move away.
--
and then there are summer nights; they can be so bittersweet. when you check in with someone who ... maybe wasn't so intoxicating and strong after all.

someone once suggested we are like parallel lines, extending all ways into space; some converge, and others swerve away from each other. learning to tell the difference - now there's a task.

little things

balmy weather. this is what we listen to.
--
(let me have my moment of cheese)
i work with international kids. it's been luck - this has been my year off, not something planned out to the nth degree; and i've come to love it (tho it ends in jan). i get to do the fun stuff - others can worry about grades and visas and responsible things; i hang out with people, we work collaboratively on projects. not all kids are 'trouble', or in trouble. but some are. one girl - z - has had a rough year. but we've inched along and worked out how to not annoy each other too much, even to work productively. today i ran into her, and she was ... just beaming; she's got a job, she hands out the messenger in the city. she's got a corner, she's got a beat; she's got her blue jacket and her stack of papers. and i haven't seen anyone so happy in a long time: z handing out that paper, smiling and chatting with passersby.
it was contagious; i came home smiling.

+ today some of the lucky ones graduated. they came in wearing their gowns, in all their glory; after all that hard work, there was that beautiful sense of life full in its moment.

now i'm not an animal-it's-fantastic fan; but, aside from my dog, this fellow is worth a photo. as well as construction workers, my daytime work company is ducks. this fellow (+ his/her partner) wait for me each morning; ok maybe they don't, but i'm the first to work, and they're there; and when there's the standard clock-on hour they've gone. this morning they sat patiently whilst i took photos for proof. this one though was the proudest and best looking of the lot

really?

New Yorker magazine once described Adelaide as “possibly the last well planned and contented metropolis on earth”.

contented - interesting choice of adjective

--
tho they could be talking in past tense, as if of an extinct species

winner takes all

there are construction workers sitting outside my window.
'how was your maccas?'
'i'm full, i'm not hungry; i'm full.'
led to big debate about quality of mcd's meat.
'i wanna see the pattie before it goes on to the grill, and after.'
'aw but -'
'nah mate nah i worked there [voice raises], i used to work there, and all i'm saying is i'd wanna see it before it goes on, and after. you need to see what they're saying is meat, all i'm saying.'
'yeah, well [more concilatory now], i think what happened was he had two bacon and egg mcmuffins, and there was something crunchy...'

now they have geared up and are scaling the building. they're generally pretty cool guys, but there are a few crusties in amongst them. it was funny last week; there were a few people up on the 5th floor, and the foreman was on ground level with a megaphone, directing important action - but when i listen, this is what he was saying: 'so that's 2 flat whites with 2 sugars and 1 cappaccino...'



--

"It's not that I wanted to win just for the sake of winning. It's the fact that PeopleSoft is instrumental to our strategy" says Oracle - and after 18 months of bitter + nasty battles. uhuh.

(tho having worked with psft - and aren't there companies suing them in the us? - think the buyout is a waste of time. start from scratch and build something that works. you'd save some of those billions.)

car song

the car i drive is old. not circa 1991; i mean old. it was my grandfather's, and was built and put on the road before i'd even been born. i have driven it on and off for a few years; first, when my grandfather died and willed the car to my father - i'd just received my licence. but then i moved out of home, into the city, and it was unnecessary. which was a big relief. by this stage, like when you get to know a person, the car had relaxed and revealed its less appealing traits to me. i don't mean engine problems; it was more the colour (unmentionable; it is the only car in this particular colour, and if i mention it i will lose my anonymity), the shape (small yet definitive, as someone who is overtly innofensive but consistently annoying is; think rachael from this life), the sound (revs and roars), the experience of driving it (putting along, but with extra sound; loudly).

anyway, in the past few years the car and i have come to have an uncomfortable partnership. i've borrowed it periodically, but always returned it to dad, refusing any ownership. however, each time i have begun to consider buying a new car, i've run overseas or bought computing toys instead. and so eventually i've come back, time and again, to the old car.

i was driving it along greenhill road yesterday when i realised suddenly that it was the oldest car on the road. sometimes it feels like this, but as you begin to pay more attention you can see those more ancient generations with their wheels still turning. but this time, i realised that i couldn't see anything nearly as old as this; it looked like its familiars had died. it was a relic. i was driving a historical relic.

the more i peered around, the more convinced i was. and am - this entire weekend i have been peering at cars and their number plates. mine begins with an 's' - try and beat it! impossible. the closest i saw was an old jeep, and that was still a 't'. generally, the cars you think are old are 'u's: nothing on this one.

but as i putted onwards in the oldest car on the road (and yes, the sun was setting), i realised in a wonder-years moment that although i do hate the car and refuse to reveal it to anyone who hasn't passed the blood-brother/sister test, i do know it so well as to love it in a way. it's that familiarity: i know that the first time i start it, as soon as i try and make it move it will cut out and i'll have to start up again. i know that you can't wind down the passenger window (and that it's held in place with a chip of wood). i know that strong, healthy rev-sound it makes as it puts along at 60 (one of the few times it's happy). that 'cling' sound it makes when you slam the door, which is the glass rattling, which might break one day soon. i know that sinking feeling when you go out on to the street and see it in full glory, waiting for you, winking at everyone.

there's just no other car like it. and really - how good is that engine?? they just don't make cars like that anymore.

so yeah those anat xmas drinks...last year it was hotter - by a lot - but after the main downpour, it turned fun. even - uh - discovered the dance floor.

and the bar was the same spot as last year.
***
thundersqualls tommorrow

you were right about the stars

sometimes, sleep is the answer.

superhero powers have been restored! i've got a grin to greet the day with + there was even singing in the shower this morning.

all the better to see with

my sister has some pretty fine gladys. and they're better to look at than today's grey sky, and they're better to read about than my bleak world mood

good and no so good

one of the better things in life is that feeling you get after a good meal; a happy sigh. this was a typical lunch; see that dish to the right? it's a staple beijing dish; it was offered almost everywhere i went - and needless to say, it was pretty good. peanuts, chilli, chicken, a hint of something green and a magic sauce; it was good. but i've never seen it anywhere outside of the country; i can't remember what it was called. beers were mandatory with lunch - and you get one long-neck per person (they're about 30-40 cents). and i ain't one to question local custom...in fact, the whole deal was cheap - this particular outing would cost less than AUS$4.00 - for two. no, i ain't one to question local custom...




today was one of those days when you get the feeling of no good within minutes of getting out of bed. [cue big sigh]; one of those. this is the cost of leaving - sometimes you come back, and you have to resume all that it felt so good to slip out of. still, there are heavier loads; and those wheels on keep turning

carry your own

you want to know one weird thing about beijing? they sell toilet paper with no roll in the middle. i'm guessing you just use force to get it onto the toilet paper holder.

(this would be in private homes/swanky clubs + hotels. the average middle-class restaurant has the squat. drip dry. and the cheap alley-way hole-in-the-wall has, well, a back alley for you to use.)

the eagle's landed

home.

i don't know if the sky is any bigger down here; it's the air i'm surprised at. so clean and sweet! breathing is delicious.

stranger and stranger

The other day I left Tiananmen and moved 'tentatively to venture, down the hutongs....in which were to be discovered little buildings, whole little communities, that existed almost in the crevices of the modern city...Hawkers pushed handcarts of peaches or spinach [read cabbages or oranges]. Tailors worked outside at ancient tradle sewing machines and old men and old women meditatively smoked...As Anna [read little] lost herself there, irretrievably foreign, she felt the gazes of others resting upon her, like the lightest of touches on the nape of the neck, like a lover's caress. And when the gazes at last accumulated to the point of disturbing her, she would make her way back to the main roads...

'The bicyclists of Beijing...moved processionally everywhere: in their inordinate numbers and slow-moving continuity they gave the city a kind of animated and silken effect, recalling a rippling of fabric, a perpectual motino of undulation...' Language 'seemed to have altered...the more keenly she listened the more the language was complicated, the more sounds and circuitous patterns it contained. Her hope of achieving a tiny vocabulary of a few pragmatic phrases faded entirely away. She found herself feeling muted...'

Gail Jones, 'Touching Tiananmen'

aussie beer

last night i had a cascade at the australian embassy's bar in beijing. yessir, contacts.

the bar is horrible and more like a canteen in a 1980s hospital.

ahoy there

the world wide web is a little restricted over here. from beijing, i can't access the bbc's website (though i can get to cnn; or the abc); and i can't see any blogs at blogspot.com.

but i have just found i can post! so i send this out there blindly

beijing is cold and smoggy (on days with no wind it thickens and the light becomes a brown-y orange). the pollution is unbelievable; it feels like you're losing a few years from your lifespan simply through breathing it in. worse is that beijing itself is cleaner than other areas - hard to believe when you first arrive, but travelling out west the smog actually increases. they've cleaned up the beijing area a lot - which means that the industrial factories are still pumping away, just not as near as they once were.

it's rare though to see people wearing breathing masks; in fact, those i have seen wear them are the street sweepers. cyclists usually don't - though this could be because of the time of year; maybe it's worse at other times.

and it really is bike city! there are thousands, millions of bikes! but there are also thousands of cars and trucks. no one bothers with indicators, or at times brakes - people just duck and weave through traffic, sounding a horn now and then, stopping traffic and doing a u-turn in the middle of the road if they make a mistake. it's bizarre and alarming at first, but there are very very few crashes. there are often bike lanes. and i know it's wrong but NO ONE WEARS HELMETS!!! ah, the freedom! i had forgotten that feeling. just jump on your bike and ride away, hair streaming out behind you...loving it.

bikes are cheap and usually oldish; they normally make a clanking sound, whether it's an old mudguard (pretty much all bikes have them) or a wire basket or whatever. also surprising is that most bikes are what at home are girls bikes - without that middle bar. and few have gears. but the city's flat so you don't need them.

will try and post photos if this works -

tomorrow there's a flight.
sunday there's beijing.
then there's the rest of my life.

--
8am: what a spectacular morning! such clear, adelaide-light and swimming pool blue sky - and just a little playful breeze now and then. It doesn't get better than this. Why does this always happen when you leave dammit?!!

...so much to answer for

look! A shimmering light display will hover over southern parts of Australia tonight. I wonder if we'll be able to see it
--
beijing's weather? 11 clear
--
Why Pamper Life's Complexities?
A Symposium on The Smiths
Manchester Institute of Popular Culture

oh no
--
"SINGER Delta Goodrem celebrated her 20th birthday in style in Melbourneyesterday. Goodrem enjoyed an intimate lunch at exclusive venue No. 12 inKensington with her mother Lea, several friends and staff from herrecord company, Sony. The theme of the lunch was magic."

attempt to cover it up failed: delta has no friends. people from your record company?? they probably got paid to wear something 'magic' and attend.

DiXiaCheng

on second thoughts, it sounds dreary and potentially creepy; i may not go skating.

but i'll have to pop down to check it out.
--

I'd never heard of beijing's underground city until now. Apparently it's a large ug complex, built during the late 60s when China was worried about the Soviets dropping a bomb in their neighbourhood.

Downstairs are shops, theaters, hotels, restaurants, schools, factories...
Old Chinese documentary films made in the late 1970s show Beijing dwellers growing mushrooms and raising chickens in the dimly lit tunnels.

And there's even a roller skating rink. Skaters can descend to the cool depths 8 a.m. to 9 p.m. daily to rent skates and whiz over the spacious terrazzo floor.

Maybe I will.

if love had a form, it would be this.

(that soothing call is no metaphor)

write care of...

streets I have lived on (alphabetical):

devon st south
dukes lane
fernhill rd
fuller st
halifax st
penny place
vincent st
william st


halifax: this was the view from the halifax balcony (it's looking on to hutt, early morning)

i was looking for a picture of the one I love this morning when I found the above photo. It's not a good one, but it made me start thinking about places I have lived. Vincent, for instance, had the best house; but dukes was the coolest address. (this was one of the views from dukes:)

Devon st sth I rented from a great lady and a beautiful sleek black cat (Nesbit); I lived in a renovated, old old cottage, which was behind a big old house. After I moved out the lady sent me a note, saying she'd been diagnosed with terminal cancer. I hesitated over how to reply, and then moved house, and then lost the note and then found it again; and the day after I finally drafted a reply to her, I read that she had died. (It was within 5 months of being diagnosed.)

I walk past that house now almost every day. It's a bit out of my way, and it's hard to articulate why I do it; I don't think about it consciously any more, it's just something I do. When the light falls certain ways in that area, I think of her; it's her light, it's the light that coloured her expereinces; it's the light that she lived in.

I often wake at odd times, and, sometimes lately, in that not-awake-verging-on-dreaming state, I am sure I am in my bedroom at fernhill. Quite convinced. So I go back to sleep, and only when I wake up properly the next day do I realise that I am miles - years - away.

It's a strange thing, what the mind does with memories. They accumulate up there, pile upon pile; and they jangle sometimes when you turn your head quickly, or when the wind blows in a certain way, or in that particular light.

the lone custodian

We had Israeli TV, unnamed French officials and a French radio station stating that he was dead. And the Prime Minister of Luxembourg even announced that Mr Arafat had passed away."

ill? alive? brain dead? I thought this was news, but it seems everyone's already thinking about the dead body.

"...the main concern of Israeli security officials is that the Palestinians will try to bury their leader on what the Jews call the temple mount and what Muslims know as the Haram al-Sharif or noble sanctuary in the old city of Jerusalem. And this is arguably the most disputed site in the whole Israeli Palestinian conflict...Israel has said it will not allow Yasser Arafat to be buried in Jerusalem, but Israeli security chiefs fear that thousands of Palestinians could actually march on Jerusalem in an attempt to take Mr Arafat's body to the temple mount, or Haram al-Sharif as it's called. That would inevitably lead to serious clashes."

The world's a complete mess.

---

and here's another example:
A United States National Guard F-16 fighter plane has mistakenly fired 25rounds of ammunition at the Little Egg Harbour Intermediate School in SouthNew Jersey...

A lone custodian was inside the building at the time, but was not hurt.

Damage is minimal as the non-exploding, 20 millimetre bullets left onlypuncture marks in the school's roof and the asphalt outside the building...An investigation is being conducted into how the pilot mistook the schoolfor a target range.

election results

http://www.cnn.com/ELECTION/2004/pages/results/scorecard/index.html

so much easier to run around town and comment on everyone else's blogs; my own...hmph. rather practice with my bows and arrows.

the sea, the sea

My great desire was to walk out over the sea as far as I could, and then lie flat on it, face downwards, and peer into the depths. I was tormented with this ambition, and, like many grown-up people, was so fully occupied by these vain and ridiculous desires that I neglected the actual natural pleasures around me.

This is about 1859. I'm rereading Edmund Gosse's delicate book, Father and Son. Right alongside Cousteau's The Silent World (1950s). They overlap in beautiful ways; Cousteau's ambitions and successes echo with the same desires that Gosse feels - but dismisses - a century before. And for both, such passion for the sea:

For a long time after the date I have now reached, no other form of natural scenery than the sea had any effect upon me at all. The tors of the distant moor might be drawn in deep blue against the pallor of our morning or our evening sky, but I never looked at them. It was the Sea, always the sea, nothing but the sea.

the trace of the past

Reading k’s post on childhood reminded me of going to Fatehpur Sikri. It’s a place in India, a few hours drive by car from Agra + the Taj Mahal – but less visited.

Naming it as a place is a bit misleading: it’s a palace, a walled, royal complex. It was built in the 1560-70s I think.

And it was abandoned only 14 years later.


When I went, it was early morning, just after sunrise; it was going to be a hot day. The light on the stone buildings was beautiful.





But despite this beauty, each part of the palace I explored felt like an echoing chamber. It was haunting. The buildings, squares, temples and walls all remained – they were physical traces of the past that I could touch. And yet, at the same time as it was present, the past felt completely absent. It was gone, and quite impossible to return to.

This is also what I feel when I visit places of my childhood. Like schools I went to, and places I once lived in; people I knew, and the person I was. Those incompatible states of presence and absence jostle one another.



Each corner promises something, and never reveals it.

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

especially in summer. now we've switched to daylight savings, it's all about to begin

hitting the road

on the road. someone said something the other day and made me realise this is the first october in years and years that I haven't been spending doing exam revision and final essays. wooohooo! so a road trip was called for, just to remember how good it is to have spare time, to choose to do what i like.

yes!



a truck...(now ignore the dirty windscreen - look at the lean of that truck's cabin!)


...and a truck stop. a friend and i once drove to melbourne and we stopped at as many truck stops as possible. by the time we reached melb they were no longer so good looking; but that was two years ago now and i can see the attraction is creeping back into my heart...

ready, set

yesterday - did the interview for a position in png. and my tickets and visa for china arrived.
but i always hated waiting for christmas and my birthday. patience is not one of my traits. I'm ready now!

it's a sunday

wasting time fiddling with this stupid template; comments have gone off into the ether; have done no preparation for job interview in lunch hour tomorrow; anxiety is building but am stuck in avoidance mode; maybe if i get up early tomorrow i can prepare; damn hangover

see you in harbin

one of my favourite things of the moment is tea with milk and honey. i'm no tea fanatic obviously (disguise the taste! disguise the taste!), and maybe it'll turn into diabetes. but at the moment it's delicious, and somehow comforting. and dad's given me some honey from his bees and their hives - and i can confirm that this year's a good year in honey harvesting.

the desire for sweet tea always returns when i re-read a book i love: the Regeneration trilogy by Pat Barker. (ok: books) [the first book is Regeneration ; and look: it's not on loan]. This series follows men throughout WW1 - and one of the things they drink endlessly is sweet tea. The book is almost too well-written; you become addicted to the characters quickly and read as if running. It's about the initial discovery and treatment of shell-shock (by a ex-anthropologist/psychiatrist, Rivers), but it focuses on the experience of it more than the diagnosis. It's based on real people and events of the past, and is completely compelling (Rivers for instance; and men like Sigfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen). Some people I know don't love it, but I think they're being contrary! You start it, you become addicted, you love it, you drink sweet tea...
--
another thing i'm rereading is Barthes' A Lover's Discourse: Fragments. It remains innovative and relevant and exciting, even though it was first published in the 70s. It always makes me smile with recognition. Like reading this:

(on waiting) "Am I in love? - Yes, since I'm waiting." The other never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn't wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game: whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time.

and this:

(on wearing sunglasses) Let us suppose that I have wept, on account of some incident of which the other has not even become aware...and that, so this cannot be seen, I put on dark glasses to mask my swollen eyes (a fine example of denial: to darken the sight in order not to be seen). The intention of this gesture is a calculated one: I want to keep the moral advantage of
stoicism, of "dignity"...and at the same time...I want to provoke the tender question ("But what's the matter with you?"); I want to be both pathetic and admirable, I want to be at the same time a child and an adult. Thereby I gamble, I take a risk: for it is always possible that the other will simply ask no question whatever...

and this:

(on trying to write) To know that one does not write for the other, to know that these things I am going to write will never cause me to be loved by the one I love (the other), to know that writing compensates for nothing, sublimates nothing, that it is precisely there where you are not - this is the beginning of writing.

--
the submission date for the australian youth ambassador program has been extended to this friday. i've been thinking about applying, and this has convinced me.

getting ready

i hate having time to kill. (unless i've had a nap and woken up and it's not time to get up yet - it's one of the delicious things in life to simply lie there and think.)

If it's 8pm and you're going out in two or three hours...ugh. it's just the right amount of time for you to get settled and comfortable and content with being at home - and that's the point at which the doorbell rings and it's your ride and you can't pretend you're not there they can see the lights and it's too late anyway because you've already agreed and they're going out of their way to give you a ride so you're in their debt and this is only the beginning now you've got to be out and social and really you've left your mind inside at home and so whatever you do it will probably be half-hearted and with the awareness that if only you were back home ... but you're not you're out and so even if the mind isn't here you've got to focus on being animated and here's the crowd and everyone's buzzing and where's your smile ah there is it and it's cool drinks are on their way and you're out and oh that's right you're not a nana afterall and this is saturday night...

--

but it does give me time to post a little. things like this:

from andrew wylie (he's a big literary agent, who represents - or used to - salman rushdie/martin amis/that type of crowd)(when asked, would you like to be a writer?)

'God! No! What a life! The last thing! No! No! To go off in a room with
yourself, the size of your ass after a few years, the whole thing - what a
nightmare! Christ! You look like shit! Your eyesight goes, you're fat, you're
anxious, you're worn out, you're depressed. God forbid! I would rather be a
chicken farmer than a writer!'

if only more creative writing students read this type of stuff! (sorry - this is a pet hate: 'creative' writers; who are they? no one, nobody. what writers worth reading describe themselves as 'creative'? only people who are paying to be taught how use the term 'creative'. hisssss)

b

This is a new one. 'b' is cute - it's a nice choice. 'p' for instance would be too much like 'pea' - aka the princess and the pea, sore bum..no doubt it's not at all connected to the pic, but stuff it i'm exhausted and it's making sense to me.
ah, the week's done, kids. i'm done in. i'm going out fora few and then home to bed. something intelligent will be posted after that.

(but check out this one for something spectacular)

lately it feels like i get one part of life spinning just as i like it, and just as i think 'yes' i find there's another to get spinning - or to slow down - and another. (this is not a whinge; just a note. i know things don't turn out as expected - but i get lazy and expect what's unexpected - forgetting it actually means you're caught unawares. so i'm caught unawares, again.) If I were in a '40s slapstick I would be spinning plates, but I like this image better

petty theft

i have been asked to sit on an interview panel. (never done this before and it's quite different to be sitting on the other side.) (actually i don't think i've ever had an interview in front of a panel; i have never sat on either side.) (anyway; enough of that aside.) (har har)

so: i have to look through all of the applicants' job applications and argue for who we should interview. and i was merrily doing this when i found one person who had applied who currently works in the advertising organisation, just in another dept. to my astonishment, i found that she (for so it was) had copied several paragraphs from her department's website in her application - pasting them straight in, without any change (so they didn't even really make sense - hence i found them). how stupid is this? to steal from your current dept to apply for a job in the same organisation. are you a r-e-t-a-r-d?

needless to say, she is not getting an interview

(delicious sense of power)(evil cackle)
(but she deserves my cackle)

are you experienced

KATE Ellis was trying on 8cm-high green stilettoes in a Rundle Mall boutique on Tuesday when Latham telephoned and congratulated her on her win.

I wonder what Trish's mood was as she read this in today's rubbish. 'Privately livid' could be one possibility. Not sure whether it's a) good; why should anyone conform to rigid ideas about professionalism? shopping for stilettoes doesn't reflect your iq; or b) bad; do you want to inflame the idea that a lot of middle-aged and older people think: you're inexperienced, and that = young and ditzy?

Well, at least she wasn't spotted making out with the intention of mating last night...or if so only by a strange lookin' arab and his crew...

the hood is watching...you

neighbourhood watch newsletter...

w st: letter box stolen from front of address. overnight. $50

(it would be annoying. but it makes me laugh to imagine the call to the police. spluttering outrage etc.)

cross rd: graffiti on fence. tags 'PROPS' and 'KWOTES'. day.

(kwotes! kwotes. so dumb you have to be impressed.)

friday am

as someone else was getting to sleep , I was walking into the city. I can't sleep past sunrise at the moment, and on this morning as soon as my eyes snapped open I had to get up and go. So I walked into town; this was in the parklands at about 6.30am. (taken just after being swooped by a viciously protective mother bird. it's that time of year again.)

Public Notices

In today's local paper:

PROF. Von Remmahcsk
to avoid college
contact (mobile)


a basic google search = nothing for the prof. So it's a message, a riddle. But who is it for? What does it mean?


so yeah it's a lazy saturday where you buy three papers and even read things like the public notices. and you listen to music you listen to every spring, because once, the first time you listened to it, it was spring; and so now and forever spring means this music, and this music means spring.

Is not every spot of our cities the scene of a crime? Every passer by a perpetrator? Does not the photographer...uncover guilt in his pictures? (WBenjamin) 

the harbour view... 

pt 

wheels in motion

There's just something about freight trains.

Do people still hitch rides on them? This one passed by so slowly I was tempted.