tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66223586470574389732024-02-21T00:21:35.941+11:00Tell Me About Your FatherUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger243125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-79164750475245358972015-02-10T20:32:00.002+11:002015-02-10T20:32:39.530+11:00SpaceI have space for one man in my heart. Enough for two in my head. For three in my bed, six on the texts. But just for one lonely guy in my heart. I have space enough from you. Enough for the certainty I did right. For you to move forward. And then, it would seem, on. I have space enough from events so instead of single loops of despair I see a carpet of woe. With specks of orange and green. Just to remind me that you were exciting and that we were truly in love.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-24242241710575218512012-08-11T17:09:00.000+10:002012-08-11T17:09:20.301+10:00Poem, 11/08/2012It's an interesting experience reviewing your Google search history when you're in a funk. Here's today's highlight reel:<br />
<br />
- chinese medicine melbourne<br />
- massage psychological benefits<br />
- sex toy reviews australia<br />
- emotional numbness<br />
- numbness + dysfunction<br />
<br />
<br />
I know from past experience that this funk will pass. My numbness will de-numb. I'll open up again. I'll resurface as if from a pool, heart pounding and alive and craving hot chips. In due course it will happen. Always does.<br />
<br />
Normally when I experience numbness like this, I scrutinise my relationship, looking for faults. And there have always, historically, been faults for latching onto. So I link numbness with relationship faults. I don't do this when I'm single. <br />
<br />
Some past discovered deficiencies have included general incompatibility, specific incompatibility (eg diverged emotional processes), a jarring sense of unease in the other person's presence, a lack of respect, and a lack of trust.<br />
<br />
Here there's none of that. I don't feel like the content of the demonic chatter is relationship-focused. No voice is telling me that of a problem in my relationship or a problem in my partner. There is a voice, and it tells me this:<br />
<i></i><br />
<i>You have discovered everything there is to know about your partner.</i><br />
<i>You can learn nothing new. You can be given no new thoughts. </i><br />
<i>The thrill of the physical chase is now over, and there's nothing to follow. </i><br />
<i>You will feel nothing when kissed, because all is known.</i><br />
<br />
So I feel nothing when kissed, because "all is known".<br />
<br />
What really gets to me is the suddenness of this funk spell. One day - and indeed the sixty days preceding it - I'm buzzing and alive, so much so that I feel the need to point this out to my friends. The next day, anxiety hits. Nothingness, numbness.<br />
<br />
How does the heart, like a tap, switch off?<br />
How does excitement about all that's<br />
Forthcoming<br />
Just dissipate? <br />
Why does wine now poison, not stimulate?<br />
Why is all I want to do<br />
To lie down forever and that's all?<br />
Under the blanket, fully clothed.<br />
My man there, too. Maybe. For a bit.<br />
I used to feel it in my upper arms.<br />
In my throat and in those glands beneath my ears.<br />
I used to feel it like ink. Seeping and sweeping<br />
Staining each vein. Filling those up. Everything<br />
Everything was meant to be.<br />
And it was one of those times, those things<br />
Oh, so <i>this</i> is what they mean when they say<br />
You'll know it when you see it. You know.<br />
You just know. When you feel it. <br />
And yet I'm gifted with the score of never feeling<br />
Ever completely sane or secure. Or wise.<br />
And yes, I lecture to others. But others have it better.<br />
And I guess I have it better.<br />
But others have it better.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-52045833139494340442011-09-25T11:24:00.000+10:002011-09-25T11:24:39.995+10:00A Delicate OperationI'm six days into my month-long initial recovery period from an operation. It's been an interesting six days.<br />
<br />
The hospital stay (Monday night) was good. I actually have a perverse affection for hospital stays. The feeling of being subject to regular official care, maybe. There's also the smug but not altogether unsubstantiated belief that I make a good patient. I love anaesthetic and the excusable cloudiness it yields.<br />
<br />
Got home Tuesday morning. The ensuing 48 hours were bliss. Friend visits, care packages, flowers, naps in between, Rufus picking up on my "situation" and remaining, out of deference, consistently sleepy. I also got through all of Season 1 of West Wing. I relished being out of action.<br />
<br />
Thursday afternoon - something changed. My body temperature felt like it was beginning to creep below healthy levels. My muscles ached from inactivity. Being unable to lie flat on my back, sides or stomach, and my range of movement being otherwise very limited, there were only so many ways I could sleep/read/watch TV. I was suffocatingly bored. My back ached from sleeping upright. I didn't <i>feel</i> like reading, didn't <i>feel</i> like watching West Wing (!), didn't even <i>feel</i> like talking to Rufus or like receiving visits. The only thing I wanted was to sleep until the pain went away and I could resume normal activities. And, as the anaesthetic wore off and I made my way through all the Endone, I could no longer sleep through the day. All this after only three days' inactivity. A terrible patient I make.<br />
<br />
On a walk with SG (it lasted 20 minutes and required a two-hour nap afterwards) SG offered that my feelings of coldness, sadness and restlessness are all indications that I'm getting better. I suppose that's true: they're reflections of listlessness, of wanting to be outside in the sunshine when I know my body can't - and won't, for a long while yet - handle it. Indications are that I should be able to start driving by tomorrow. A few days' hence I will resume normal non-intensive daily activities. No exercise for five more weeks, although thankfully walking is fine. New job starts tomorrow week. <br />
<br />
Here's what I want to do but can't, in order of preference:<br />
<ol><li>Take Rufus for a brisk walk in the sunshine.</li>
<li>Buy fresh ingredients from the market before cooking a Sunday roast.</li>
<li>Cycle to a local pub where I'd drink pear cider with mates and order fries w aioli.</li>
<li>Plop myself into the jacuzzi at Harold Holt Pool.</li>
<li>Take Rufus to Sunday morning obedience classes.</li>
<li>Make (and eat) blueberry pancakes.</li>
<li>Do 5 sessions of Bikram yoga.</li>
<li>Get a wax, a massage, a facial, a tan. Girly things.</li>
<li>Go for a bushwalk.</li>
<li>Go for a beach walk.</li>
</ol>For some reason it took me all of six days to realise that I could use my blog as a forum for detailing my progression to health and happiness. Good things to come.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-73021117913632166182011-09-11T19:04:00.001+10:002011-09-11T19:46:50.369+10:00After the changeAnd it was the same - every<br />
day. Every single day. Every fucking<br />
day. So it was the same - every regular<br />
morning. Each coffee cup. All things done.<br />
<br />
Ten months of this. This - these <br />
again. This, once more. And<br />
again. So it occurred, on endless<br />
repeat. Each month. Each weekend. Summer to Spring.<br />
<br />
I've remarked, often, to friends as I've gone <br />
It's monotony that kills, the unchanged that hurts<br />
The stillness that swipes, the silence that burns,<br />
The restful who die, the slower who fade,<br />
The idle who shatter, the busy who matter,<br />
The sleep which decays, reflection that drains,<br />
That quiet which, as a cavern, hollows - guts me out.<br />
<br />
And then with meticulous, resolute planning (or<br />
blonde chance) September came. The wind chops<br />
mellowed. It got lighter earlier. Those frosty jagged daggers <br />
jagged, wintry smacks diffused - subtly, slowly. And, I smiled.<br />
<br />
And then the change came. Or all of them.<br />
Them, those, few numerable changes. Spring's<br />
Sweetly-wrapped gift which, after a bitch of a winter<br />
Fell helplessly, childishly, absently, glittering<br />
All the way down, way down, into my waiting lap.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-30604541227408133342011-07-03T21:54:00.000+10:002011-07-03T21:54:47.905+10:00Stuff White People LikeToday I bought my first ever piece of street art from my first ever art auction. The auction, held at Ormond Hall, was an experience in itself. Lots of pieces featuring skulls, machine guns, breasts, birds, or combinations thereof. There was a Banksy print that went for around $11K - I think that was the major hipster drawcard of the day.<br />
<br />
Anyway, my piece of art: it's by a Chinese dude who goes by the name Mr Woo. It's called The Colour of Life, and you can see why:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-c7IWJKVJiUM/ThBWeSEY2XI/AAAAAAAAAvQ/p7nif0LBYQ4/s1600/IMG_1704.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-c7IWJKVJiUM/ThBWeSEY2XI/AAAAAAAAAvQ/p7nif0LBYQ4/s320/IMG_1704.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(How <i>convenient</i> that Rufus manages to find his way into my every photo. Little bitch.)</span></div><br />
It was one of the few pieces that was original (not a print). I'm very happy.<br />
<br />
But WAIT! Just when you thought I couldn't possibly get any cooler ... check out what mum bought:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W8N5odI7njE/ThBX-anb18I/AAAAAAAAAvU/H1oAlISNO3o/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-07-03+at+9.51.46+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W8N5odI7njE/ThBX-anb18I/AAAAAAAAAvU/H1oAlISNO3o/s400/Screen+shot+2011-07-03+at+9.51.46+PM.png" width="153" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-91771525645426952822011-07-01T21:03:00.000+10:002011-07-01T21:03:37.949+10:00Poem (inspired by Philip Glass)I spent much of today<br />
In a poorly altered state<br />
With a dozen heinous rows<br />
And a many spiteful glares<br />
<br />
I spent much of today<br />
Looking through those walls of glass<br />
Seeing through them what was down<br />
Working up to waking up<br />
<br />
I spent much of today<br />
Peering silently at they<br />
Edgy mutterings and smiles<br />
Stolen looks they both would share<br />
<br />
But then I spent some time<br />
Helping her by sitting near<br />
Nodding when she seemed she'd need<br />
Consolation. Or, a lie. <br />
<br />
And then I spent some time<br />
Thinking how I'd come to lose<br />
Properties of being seen<br />
Parting atoms as I came<br />
<br />
And so I spent my night<br />
Willing glass to turn to brick<br />
Eyes cast downwards. Well, I tried.<br />
Shielding face as shards did fly.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-83778036532790688162011-06-14T19:47:00.000+10:002011-06-14T19:47:14.005+10:00Rufus, the Man in my Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rA8DStGB9pU/Tfctn0utDHI/AAAAAAAAAvI/kiT5nH49ULg/s1600/P1000990.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rA8DStGB9pU/Tfctn0utDHI/AAAAAAAAAvI/kiT5nH49ULg/s400/P1000990.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-st9jVAacG-Y/Tfctz1WdN3I/AAAAAAAAAvM/6WcbnGj1iSI/s1600/P1000987.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-st9jVAacG-Y/Tfctz1WdN3I/AAAAAAAAAvM/6WcbnGj1iSI/s400/P1000987.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-81262334966195276452011-06-08T21:12:00.004+10:002011-06-15T18:35:02.967+10:00Poem, June 2011A quarter to four<br />
And there's been just one entry.<br />
Third trip to the kitchen<br />
I've not seen you since.<br />
<br />
The files, the covers, the matters, the clients.<br />
The pre-bills, the post-bills, the discounts, the cheque. <br />
The confines, the caveats, the outside, the in.<br />
The duties, betrayal, the budget a wreck.<br />
<br />
And so when you come in<br />
And slide that door over<br />
I will you, come over<br />
Come over, come in<br />
<br />
And so when you twitch <br />
A bit and you're in<br />
And I will you to strip it<br />
My mouth and your skin<br />
<br />
And then when you message<br />
A message, a light<br />
A buzz on the outside<br />
A kiss underneath<br />
<br />
And so when you tell me,<br />
Tell me, "who knows?"<br />
"A great deal can happen"<br />
Then Saturday blows.<br />
<br />
And so when you look and you sweat and you smile<br />
You're ugly and pointless, but fuck can you talk<br />
And hell can you make me, and shit can you lie<br />
But do know I'm frightened, I'm frightened, I'll try.<br />
<br />
But I'm not indecent - I say I get by<br />
With minimal scarring and smiles in supply<br />
So yes to seduction, that's right. Are we on?<br />
If not please just tell me, I'll move my shit on.<br />
<br />
If yes then let's get it, your sign to my plate<br />
Your hard to my soft and your whole to my cleft.<br />
My hole and your partial, that brilliant switch.<br />
Utter incompatibility. Fucking dirty sin.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-60038780547407635872011-05-14T10:55:00.000+10:002011-05-14T10:55:47.186+10:00DepartureI'm off to Israel and Thailand today. This trip could not have come at a better time. At the moment my fridge is an apt metaphor for my state of mind. Empty, a little sad, uneventful, and too much cheese. The house is in uncharacteristic disarray, my old clothes are boring, Rufus is the same, my skin is sunless and cold, and I'm finding myself wanting more than ever that itchy feel of sandy wave striking a little too hard against my legs. Tel Aviv's warm wind parting and ruffling and frizzing my curls. The emerging insignificance of previously all-consuming frustrations and deaths and losses when one speaks in another language and meets new, sexy people with attitude and that glint of understanding: <i>I get you. </i>The feeling of being carried 35,000 feet above your home and your neighbourhood with zero control and zero choice and everything possibly unfamiliar awaiting you. It should be good. I'll try to update a bit as I go.<br />
<br />
Love youse.<br />
<br />
Josephine.<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<br />
<i> </i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-47594310014511246052011-04-04T19:58:00.000+10:002011-04-04T19:58:40.690+10:00An Open Letter to Rufus<i>4 April 2011 </i><br />
<br />
<i>Dear Rufus,</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>I love you. I always will. But there are some things you need to know.</i><br />
<ol><li><i>It is not cute when you eat my possessions.</i></li>
<li><i>It is not cute when you hump my possessions.</i></li>
<li><i>It is not cool when you chew live electric wires (in particular, whilst eating and/or humping my possessions).</i></li>
<li><i>It is not cute when you creep under my bed out of my reach and proceed to bark at the top of your lungs. It mocks me.</i></li>
</ol><i>As a result of your numerous indiscretions which, to date I have attempted to ignore or brand as the natural consequences of teething/adolescence, I have had to come to a difficult decision. And that is: you are now, during the day, an Outside Dog (TM).</i><br />
<i><br />
And not only that!</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>There will be a new regime in place from now on. You will no longer be permitted to:</i><br />
<ol><li><i>Enter doors before I do</i></li>
<li><i>Eat dinner before I do</i></li>
<li><i>Pee on my face while I'm asleep (when I'm awake, that's ok)</i></li>
<li><i>Hump your bed</i></li>
<li><i>Sleep on my bed</i></li>
<li><i>Hump my face</i></li>
<li><i>Join me on the couch (unless I'm feeling particularly embittered with the universe, in which case we can negotiate)</i></li>
<li><i>Watch me while I shower (to be honest, I always found that one mildly creepy, and I'm thankful for the occasion arising to outlaw it).</i></li>
</ol><i>I anticipate that there will be difficulties associated with the transition to the new regime. However, I am in no doubt that you, good thing that you are, will rise to the challenge.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Yours, </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>N. Josephine.</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-4152113891329803002011-01-09T20:22:00.000+11:002011-01-09T20:22:01.352+11:00Good MourningThis evening on my walk with Rufus as I passed the Alfred Hospital I spent some time thinking about approaches to bereavement, and whether there is any one method more effective than another.<br />
<br />
If it were up to me, I'd be the sort of person to have a wake instead of a funeral. I believe there is little point in getting together to wail. Plus I don't think my existence/life story will necessarily warrant collective disintegration. Life is good; so should memory be.<br />
<br />
But I'm bound by the Jewish approach to mourning, known as Shiva. Shiva, which applies to immediate relatives of the deceased, is a seven-day period in which the relatives of the deceased are to concern themselves only with grieving and mourning for the loss of their loved one. The name comes from the Hebrew word for "seven" (sheva) and colloquially the seven day period of mourning is known as "sitting shiva" (as in, "She is sitting Shiva so she won't be at work"). Depending on their degree of orthodoxy, the relatives of the deceased may not shower, cook, wear jewelery, work, shave or have sex. When seated, they are required to sit on the floor or on low stools. Interestingly, they may not discuss the death of anyone other than the deceased.<br />
<br />
Viewed from the perspective of healing, Shiva is arguably quite effective. It concentrates the mourning period by mandating suffering during the most tortuous period of all - the first week after the burial (which in Judaism is usually the first week after death). Possibly it augments the sensation of pain, but probably it condenses the period throughout which that pain is most acutely felt. <br />
<br />
I don't know much about other religious or cultural approaches to bereavement, but as far as I can tell, the Wake (an Irish funeral tradition) embodies an opposite approach to bereavement to that of Shiva. Except for a few random things (mirrors are covered, food is plentiful, the family home is cleaned by the friends of the family). But let's explore the differences.<br />
<br />
<i>Sitting</i> Shiva is about being bereft, being physically idle, being torn up, being emotionally ravaged, and being physically as low to the ground as possible. Wikipedia tells me that the etymology of the word "Wake" is the ancient Indo-European word <i>wog</i> or <i>weg</i>, the meaning of which is "to be active". At a Wake, or at least a traditional Wake, it is customary for attendees to join in laughter and celebrate the deceased's life. There may be tears, but smiles and songs are not out of place either. Depending on your personality type, your may cringe at the idea of joy at a funeral. But in my view, that would be to misconceive the meaning of "celebrating life". It's not a matter of shrieking "WOOHOO! HE'S FINALLY KICKED IT!" or "YAYAYYAYA SHE HAD AN ORSUM LIFE YAYAYAYA LET'S DRINK TO THAT". The laughter and tears aren't your normal everyday chick flick emotional responses. They're infused, inevitably, with the sobering reality that this person, who we all love, is now lost to us. For good. I like that idea. Because that's what life is, after all, isn't it? Beautiful, confusing, often terribly sad, but ultimately amusing?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-83079843208634222962011-01-03T13:02:00.000+11:002011-01-03T13:02:26.150+11:00Animal InstinctI heard an incredibly disturbing story last night.<br />
<br />
A woman kept a python as a pet. Let's call him Simon. Simon, about 14 or 15 years old, was friendly (as far as pythons go) and well-behaved. His temperament was so predictable that he was alright to roam free around the apartment; he didn't need to be enclosed.<br />
<br />
One day, Simon's owner began to notice some strange changes in his behaviour. The first change was that Simon had gone off his regular weekly meal. Before long, it had been 5 weeks since Simon had eaten a thing. A couple of weeks on, Simon adopted a peculiar habit of rubbing up against walls and furniture corners inside the apartment. The final and undoubtedly creepiest change was Simon's increased attention to his owner's movements. Simon was generally a pretty aloof kind of python and wouldn't really care whether and for how long his owner would leave him alone in the apartment. But suddenly, he was <i>watching</i> her as she went about her daily movements. Perhaps she'd be applying mascara in the bathroom, or chopping up parsley in the kitchen, or watering the plants. Wherever she'd be... there Simon would be too... WATCHING HER with his PYTHON eyes and his PYTHON fangs.<br />
<br />
By this time, Simon's owner was sufficiently creeped out to call the vet. The vet told her to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE IMMEDIATELY AS SIMON WAS PREPARING TO EAT HER and that was why he had STOPPED EATING and also why he was RUBBING HIS TORSO AGAINST HARD SURFACES in order to EXPAND HIS RIBCAGE.<br />
<br />
I'm not letting Rufus sleep on my bed anymore.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-82333263993575397062010-12-13T09:20:00.001+11:002010-12-13T09:20:32.105+11:00She's at it againWhat would Monday morning at the courts be without a group email from S?<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Could I please ask that each of you check your Judge's silk Bar Gown (not Bar Jacket) to verify they have their own. </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My judge believes he has inadvertently picked up another's silk Bar Gown. His should have his name in black lettering on or near the collar label (which he believes bears the "David Jones" label). The robes themselves have luminous green pinstripe appearance about them.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
<span style="color: blue;"></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I would be very appreciative indeed if you could check today for me and let me know. </span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;"></span> <br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">S"</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-87451817076752203242010-11-02T14:49:00.004+11:002010-11-04T09:09:39.651+11:00Public ServiceFor those of you who are new to this blog, I'm spending a year in Sydney working for a judge. I write a lot of draft judgments. To that end, I spend a lot of time reading these:<br />
<br />
<div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TM9UfiwDmKI/AAAAAAAAAuA/vGaRM-jYVqo/s1600/-upload-law%2520books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" nx="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TM9UfiwDmKI/AAAAAAAAAuA/vGaRM-jYVqo/s200/-upload-law%2520books.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You'd think that'd be kind of romantic in an old school way. You'd expect that poring intimately over ancient precedents and complex legal doctrines would be interesting and make me feel clever, which would in turn make me feel generally pleasant. Maybe I work by candelight. Maybe my office has one of those green glass lamps and a writing desk with a leather inlay. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You'd be wrong. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These days, legal research is a lot less about leather-bound-gilt-edged-old-smelling-volumes-with-parchment-and-ribbons-and-that-red-waxy-stuff and a lot more about online-and-apparently-convenient-yet-impossibly-difficult-to-navigate-even-for-a-computer-geek-legal-databases. The process of navigating these databases certainly does not make me feel pleasant. It generally goes something like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><strong>Database:</strong> Enter your search query please.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #c27ba0;"><strong>Me:</strong> <em>Types "sentence and murder and offender with mental illness and appropriate non-parole period". Clicks "GO"</em></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><strong>Database:</strong> Your search query has retrieved <strong>0</strong> hits. Search again?</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #c27ba0;"><strong>Me:</strong> <em>Checks search string. Re-submits original query.</em> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><strong>Database:</strong> Your search query has retrieved <strong>429,308,399 </strong>hits. Refine your search?</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #c27ba0;"><strong>Me:</strong> <em>Clicks "yes"</em></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><strong>Database: </strong>Your session has timed out. Please enter your password to log in.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #c27ba0;"><strong>Me:</strong> <em>Enters password</em></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><strong>Database: </strong>Enter your search query please</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #c27ba0;"><strong>Me:</strong> <em>Types "sentence and murder and offender with mental illness and appropriate non-parole period". Clicks "GO"</em></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><strong>Database:</strong> Your search query has retrieved <strong>972</strong> hits. Refine your search?</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #c27ba0;"><strong>Me:</strong> <em>Clicks "yes"</em></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><strong>Database:</strong> Please enter your search qualifiers</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #c27ba0;"><strong>Me:</strong> <em>Types "appeal from Local Court". Clicks "GO"</em></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong>Database:</strong> No documents found. </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">Search again?</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #c27ba0;"><strong>Me:</strong> <em>Clicks "ye --</em></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: lime;"><strong>Computer: UNEXPECTED NETWORK ERROR. RE-START YOUR COMPUTER AFTER SAVING YOUR WORK. DON'T FORGET TO SAVE YOUR WORK. I THINK YOU'LL FIND YOU HAVE A 35-PAGE DRAFT JUDGMENT THAT YOU'VE BEEN WORKING ON FOR THE LAST WEEK AND IT'S <em>VERY</em> IMPORTANT AND YOU HAVEN'T SAVED THE LATEST DRAFT SO YOU'D <em>BETTER</em> GO ACROSS TO MS WORD CHOP CHOP SO THAT ALL YOUR WORK DOESN'T GET MYSERIOUSLY LOST IN THE NEVER-ENDING PILE OF TEMP FILES I'VE CREATED BUT - - - - - UH-OH!!! WHAT'S THAT? WILL YOU HAVE TIME TO SAVE OR WILL I MAKE MS WORD CRASH ON YOUR ASS?</strong></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: #c27ba0;"><strong>Me:</strong> <em>Navigates frantically across to MS Word to save latest draft judgm--</em></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: lime; font-family: Arial;"><strong>Computer:<span style="font-size: large;">BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPP!! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!! MOTHERFUCKING BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPP!! BEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP!!!!!!!!! I SAID BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NIGHTY NIGHT ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!`1</span></strong></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: yellow;"></span></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So that's never much of a fun experience. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My office is a sad little shoebox. Although I don't mind the privacy that comes with being 50 metres from the nearest office and 53 metres from the nearest person (yes, I have measured) I do wish I wasn't situated right next to the male toilets. After 10 months in the job, I now know which of my colleagues is using the bathroom based on the tone of their pee. I know who washes their hands after and who doesn't. Since I made my unique talent known, I have observed a marked decrease in (1) the number of toilet-users who don't wash their hands, and (2) communications with my male colleagues. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Two sets of fluorescent lights cast a sallow hue over my workspace. I'm convinced that the jaundiced light is starting to penetrate my skin. Sometimes one of the fluorescent tubes doesn't feel like switching on at all and I have to operate with one. There's only one thing worse than an office lit by yellow fluorescence: an office one half of which is lit by yellow fluorescence, the other half of which is plunged into total darkness. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">To my right, a poo-brown floor-to-ceiling aluminium bookshelf (RRP $9) replete with out-of-date statutes and research memos from the ghosts of researchers past. Needless to say, I've never had occasion to peruse them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">To my left, a desktop laser printer which stopped working on my second day in this job. I still don't know what's wrong with it. And I'm not going to find out. Why not? Because the process of getting anything seen to in a public service job is even more maddening than the process of navigating online legal databases. It goes like this (no hyperbole):</div><ol><li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Realise that you are out of highlighters</div></li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Decide whether it is worth the effort to seek replacement highlighters</div></li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If yes, send request email to Stores</div></li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Stores responds telling you that you that your request is invalid and that you need to provide further information including how many highlighters you require, who they are for (i.e. self or judge) and the last date on which you requested highlighters</div></li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Submit amended request email to Stores</div></li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Stores accepts your request and tells you that your supplies will be available for collection between 9.00am and 9.20am the following morning.</div></li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Wait until following morning. </div></li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Following morning, arrive at work. Settle in. </div></li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">9.19am - suddenly remember that you have to go to Stores.</div></li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Race down to Stores, located in basement. As you exit the elevator, avoid entering door to the right leading to the confinement cells. Instead, swipe your pass key and enter door to the left. </div></li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Walk through dimly-lit warehouse. Observe bucket on floor collecting drops of unidentified brown liquid dripping from ceiling. Make way past innumerable boxes of confidential case exhibits. </div></li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Find "Stores" door. Knock. No answer. Check watch. 9.20am. </div></li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Repeat steps 2 - 12 the following day.</div></li>
</ol><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Oh, and don't think that it gets any easier once you actually reach Stores.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Stores man:</strong> Hi, what can I do for you?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Me:</strong> Hi there, I've come to collect four highlighters.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Stores man:</strong> Right-ee-oh. So, you needed to have sent a request email to us yesterday, otherwise w--</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Me:</strong> --I did.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Stores man:</strong> <em>Furrows brow. Picks up clipboard. Furrows brow. Looks at me. Looks back at clipboard. Looks at me.</em> Uh-huh. So. And what was your name again?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Me:</strong> <em>States name.</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Stores man:</strong> Says here you need a staple remover, some bulldog clips and some A4 paper.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Me:</strong> Nope, I am here to collect four yellow highlighters.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Stores man:</strong> So. Did you actually communicate that to Stores when you emailed them to ask for the staple remover, bulldog clips and A4 paper? Because there's no record of--</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Me:</strong> No - I didn't-- I don't nee--</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Stores man: </strong>-- because, you see, we need to know these things ahead of time, I mean I don't honestly know if we even have bulldog clips in stock - I can check - but, you know, that's the reason why you need to let us know ahead of t--</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Me:</strong> -- but I did let you know!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Stores man:</strong> Not about the highlighters obviously. And about those bulldog clips, you know they come in four different siz-</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Me:</strong> LISTEN TO ME. I need four yellow highlighters. That's all. That's what I put in the email. I don't need those other things - I have -- please, just FOUR YELLOW HIGHLIGHTERS - HELL - I'LL TAKE PINK OR BLUE OR ORANGE OR WHATEVER THEY DON'T HAVE TO BE YELLOW BUT I REQUIRE HIGHLIGHTERS AND HIGHLIGHTERS ONLY I SUBMITTED THE REQUEST YESTERDAY AND THEY TOLD ME IT WAS OK NOW PLEASE CAN YOU GIVE ME A BUNCH OF HIGHLIGHTERS SO I CAN GET THE F--</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Stores man:</strong> -- So. I want you to listen to me. Because, believe it or not, I want you to get these supplies just as much as you want to get you those supplies! Heh. But you need to understand something. This is the justice system. We are expected to be accountable. We can't just have people running around like crazypersons thinking that they are entitled to as many bulldog clips as they want. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Me:</strong> <span style="font-size: x-large;">HIGHLIGHTERS</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Stores man:</strong> Or highlighters, yes, that's another good example, but basically, what I'm saying is--</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Me: </strong>--alright. <em>Breathes.</em> I understand. <em>Breathes. </em>I'm sure my judge, who is actually the one seeking the highlighters, will just--</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Stores man:</strong> --they're for your judge? <em>Puts clipboard down immediately. </em>Right-ee-oh, should've said. Let me just go get 'em. <em>Waddles off to back of store room. </em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Me:</strong> <em>Breathes. </em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Stores man:</strong> Won't be a minute.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Me: </strong><em>Waits.</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Stores man:</strong> Right-eeeee-oh. Sooooooooooooo we're outta highlighters, love. Thought we might be. Lots of bulldog clips though if you need 'em?</div><br />
And that's why you never ask for anything in this job.<br />
<div>There's one other aspect of this job that's weird. The people. Although there are a handful of gems, my colleagues (mostly other young law graduates) tend to be excessively formal, aggrandising, and grandiose. Here's one email sent out to the group of us (remember that this girl wouldn't be older than 25):</div><div><br />
</div><div></div><div><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Dear all,</span></div><div></div><div><span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Please find attached the menu for House K - the take-away cafe attached to Milo Entuad's two-hatted Sonome restaurant. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can thoroughly recommend the Merrickvale organic grass fed wagyu burger and the lemon curd tart. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you can kindly email me your lunch option and pay me in cash by Wednesday morning I shall endeavour to order everything ahead of time and collect the lunches on behalf of the attending cohort.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We will eat in picnic-form in the park, provided the weather is agreeable. The alternate suggestion (one which I am happy to entertain) is a communal dining experience in the Old Jury Room. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In either case, lunch will be ready for collection at 1pm at St James Road Chambers. S."</span></span><br />
<br />
Picnic-form?!?!!?!?!!? I have an irrepressible urge to do harm to that girl. Here's another (this guy's about 21, fresh out of law school):<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Dear Illustrious Colleagues of the Court,</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thursday Lunch awaits you in its reasonably priced culinary glory! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While our government and the market are beset with the instability of our political malaise, it is wise to return to the reliably satisfying foundations of good ol' pub grub washed down with an ice cold beer (or dutifully matched with at dainty wine).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Accordingly, I have decided to arrange for the Thursday lunch to be at the local St James Hotel, 114 Castlereagh Street (next to the Cth Bank). I regularly grace this fine establishment and I have found the food to be consistently good. I particularly recommend the Recession Buster 300 g Sirloin Steak, with mash potato and your choice of sauce (please specify - i like pepper sauce) $10.50. But the fairer sex may also be attracted to the wider choices contained on the full menu. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Please RSVP by Tomorrow 430 PM. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">May I also remind that the fortnightly lunch carries with it a hefty moral imperative, which ought not lightly be passed off. K."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
I really don't need to say anything more about K. But I will. The same lad sent out this email a couple of weeks ago (the subject line was "URGENT - Interest in bound Commonwealth statutes"):<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"This is an urgent inquiry if anyone is interested in bound volumes of Cth Statutes from 2004 going back to the mid 80s. If you are then send me an email and come and see me on lvl 8 some time after 2 today. The library has copies themselves and we have to dispose of them because of pending refurbishments to level 8. Sadly I do not have space for any more law books in my Waverley flat. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You have till about 6 pm today to collect the reports or help me take them out of the trash room before the cleaners come.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
<span style="color: blue;"></span></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yours truly, R."</span> <br />
<br />
I could only speculate as to why anyone would be after outdated copies of legislation. No doubt the email was simply intended to convey that K had an abundance of law books in his Waverley flat. And you know how I can't stand talk like that. I just couldn't help myself. I wrote the following email:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Helv;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<div></div><br />
<div dir="ltr"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"K - thank you but my flat is already lined wall to ceiling with delegated legislation and municipal regulations."</span></div></div>...and then I hit "reply all." <br />
<br />
Needless to say, I got some good rep. And K never responded.<br />
<br />
It's small rewards like those that make it so worth coming to work in the morning.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-86799229045954194112010-10-22T18:32:00.001+11:002010-10-25T15:11:17.393+11:00RufusIt's love.<br />
<br />
After months of planning, researching, fretting, wondering and waiting, it finally came time to collect Rufus from the cargo terminal at Sydney Domestic Airport. It's been four days, and we've already done so much together. As I was walking home from work this evening, today being our 5th night together, it struck me that I was actually looking forward to simply hanging out with him all weekend. Not simply that the thought simply <i>pleased</i> me; I was overjoyed at the prospect! That's more than I can say for most of my human companions. What follows is a little photo diary of our first days.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TME7ZCPONjI/AAAAAAAAAt4/fpdQBXMFZp8/s1600/IMG_1074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TME7ZCPONjI/AAAAAAAAAt4/fpdQBXMFZp8/s320/IMG_1074.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Rufus (6 weeks) at the breeder's in Queensland with his brother, Monty</div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Rufus (8 weeks) in his airline crate at the cargo terminal. I hadn't even cuddled him yet.</div><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"> Rufus playing with monkey (who I now realise looks like mini-Rufus)</div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Napping on my tum tum</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TME6VkFyc5I/AAAAAAAAAtw/mtI3uQTUKhk/s1600/IMG_1114.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TME6VkFyc5I/AAAAAAAAAtw/mtI3uQTUKhk/s320/IMG_1114.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> Napping in his crate</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TME6a97mQ4I/AAAAAAAAAt0/x91DGobB1pA/s1600/IMG_1133.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TME6a97mQ4I/AAAAAAAAAt0/x91DGobB1pA/s320/IMG_1133.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Sexy face (note the tongue)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TME7v7JZYeI/AAAAAAAAAt8/XEJqWXpj0_A/s1600/IMG_1120.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TME7v7JZYeI/AAAAAAAAAt8/XEJqWXpj0_A/s320/IMG_1120.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Cuddles</div><br />
I'm in love with this creature.<br />
<br />
I'm astounded at how much he has achieved in just five little days. He has:<br />
<ul><li>Learnt to sleep through the night </li>
<li>Started whining softly before he has to pee whenever he's locked in the crate (not otherwise)</li>
<li>Started pooing on the pet loo</li>
<li>Started peeing on the pet loo</li>
<li>Stopped chewing the pet loo (thanks to that special spray that makes things taste gross)</li>
<li>Started eating his dry food (wasn't eating it at first)</li>
<li>Learned to sit inside his den, even when its door is open, without jumping over into the carpeted (human) zone</li>
<li>Been to the vet, and exhibited perfectly calm behavious</li>
<li>Stayed perfectly still while I clean his ears (apparently dogs love having their ears cleaned - who knew?)</li>
</ul><div> The *only* gripe I have about you, my dear Rufus, is your habit of attention-seeking barking. However, thanks to the Inter Net, I have found my solution:</div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Attention-seeking barking is easy to fix, but requires patience and a strong will. The theory is that the barking will stop when the dog realizes that it's ineffective. So if the dog is barking to get your attention, ignore it. Don't open the door, don't pick up the toy, don't go get the leash. In practice, it's hard to ignore a barking dog, and in fact when you start to ignore it the dog may bark <em>more</em> (at first). Be patient. When the dog finally does realize that barking no longer works, he will try something else. As long as it's something acceptable to you, like lying down (moping), reward it with attention, praise, and a treat (food or a toy). If it's something unacceptable (like pawing you), ignore that, too, until he tries something you like. The extra attempt at barking when you ignore it is called an "extinction burst" and it's the exact same thing you do to an elevator button when it stops working. Instead of going immediately to the stairs, you push the button again and again, and push harder, before finally giving up."</i></div><div></div><div>Cute, huh?</div><div></div><div><br />
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WOOHOOZIES!</div><div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-80625349147405385312010-09-07T23:25:00.001+10:002010-09-07T23:25:46.485+10:00What's Wrong and Right with the WorldThis Gumtree post (Australian Craigslist) captures everything both beautiful and terrible in this world. Click to enlarge.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TIY8bmGJDhI/AAAAAAAAAtU/ounqLj009pU/s1600/Screen+shot+2010-09-07+at+11.21.18+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="582" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TIY8bmGJDhI/AAAAAAAAAtU/ounqLj009pU/s640/Screen+shot+2010-09-07+at+11.21.18+PM.png" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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We have lost so much; the village is no longer. And yet there are some who are blissfully ignorant of this, and who invite perfect strangers into their warm home in Sydney for DVDs and popcorn, if for nothing else than the company. It's quite touching.<br />
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Of course he could be a frenzied psychopath who has a "no going to the toilet without me" policy and who insists on taking an eyelash sample from you "just in case". But I like to think he's just a lovely guy looking for company.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-10654942980309536652010-08-26T11:18:00.002+10:002010-08-26T11:18:33.735+10:00Exercise Music<a href="http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/08/25/phys-ed-does-music-make-you-exercise-harder/#comment-566241">http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/08/25/phys-ed-does-music-make-you-exercise-harder/#comment-566241</a> <br />
Fascinating piece!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-52106088022844401272010-08-20T21:55:00.001+10:002010-08-20T21:57:49.645+10:00My Thoughts on Grill'dGrill'd have nailed a winning combo: healthy burgers that taste <i>just</i> enough like their greasy late night counterparts to keep you coming back for more. <br />
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<b>Conversation with SG at Grill'd (whilst eating)</b><br />
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<b>SG:</b> Mmm, these burgers are fine.<br />
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<b>Me: </b>Mmmmm. Yes indeedy.<br />
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<b>SG:</b> The chicken! So juicy!<br />
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<b>Me:</b> The avocado! So fresh!<br />
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<b>SG:</b> The relish! So tangy!<br />
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<b>Me: </b>The buns! So crunchy!<br />
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<b>SG: </b>Om nom nom.<br />
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<b>Me:</b> Nom nom nom.<br />
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<b>SG: </b>They're just... they're just really good, aren't they?<br />
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<b>Me:</b> So good!<br />
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<b>SG: </b>Healthy too.<br />
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<b>Me: </b>Yeah, that's the best part! You don't feel guilty! <br />
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<b>SG</b> (chewing): Exactly!<br />
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<b>Me: </b>Yeah! And do you know how you can <i>tell</i> that they're healthy?<br />
<br />
<b>SG: </b>How??<br />
<br />
<b>Me</b> (gives knowing look) <br />
<br />
<b>SG:</b> How????<br />
<br />
<b>Me </b>(intensifies knowing look)<br />
<br />
<b>SG </b>(casts eyes down): Yeah. Because they don't taste AMAZING.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Bullseye.<br />
<br />
<b>SG:</b> Yeah.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> ...<br />
<br />
<b>SG: </b>...<br />
<br />
<b>Me: </b>...<br />
<br />
<b>SG:</b> Hmmm.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Mm.<br />
<br />
<b>SG: </b>Still, I'd come back.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Oh yeah, no doubt.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-64401149834713065282010-08-16T21:42:00.001+10:002010-08-16T21:43:32.629+10:00My heart for this placeWhen I first came here, a guy friend told me that Sydney was like a gorgeous girl you meet in summer:<br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>...all locks and sparkle, smooth, fragrant skin and legs till tomorrow. Your coconut-scented, cider-drinking summer girl. Come autumn, in the paler, bluer, harsher light, you begin to notice she has rather less substance than you had hoped. Her eyes shine but they don't speak anything. Her figure's still hot but you can't heed, or even get, her thoughts - she has none for herself and none for you. And it was all just giggle and scent that got you caught up; she's a newly produced Commerce grad. Let's return, shall we, to that pretty little Arts student with the Indy shirt and the wrist tattoo. Let's return to Melbourne. </i></div><br />
This opinion sounded smart and convincing at the time. But it's not one I share. If anything, and if it's at all possible, over the time I've been here, I've fallen ever deeper in love with this amazing city. In this city, there are hundred-year-old steps that run laterally to the urban streets. Their names, like Butler Stairs and Nurses Walk, capture so beautifully what they once labeled so mundanely. In this city, you have to tiptoe over sleeping bodies to get to your heated office, one amongst thousands dotting the Sydney skyline. The naval base, complete with its massive sea-grey warships - an annoyance. The Frisco, one of the local pubs, the sailors' favourite. Cabbies chat and laugh and ask you questions. People - persons - anyone - <i>everyone</i> - will talk to you. In line at the supermarket. Passing through a security check. In an elevator. Climbing my apartment stairs. In the hardware store. In the deli. In the fish and chip place. In the pub.<br />
<br />
Speaking of which.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TGkeZgK_ElI/AAAAAAAAAs0/HKY4fucQAjc/s1600/Screen+shot+2010-08-16+at+9.17.05+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TGkeZgK_ElI/AAAAAAAAAs0/HKY4fucQAjc/s320/Screen+shot+2010-08-16+at+9.17.05+PM.png" /></a><br />
In this city, there's a pub. It's called the Old Fitzroy. It's twenty seconds on foot from my place. It was built long enough ago to justify the prefix "Old", although it has gone by numerous names.<br />
<br />
They serve laksa. Beautiful, creamy, spicy, fragrant laksa. It's cheap and it comes fast.<br />
<br />
They play little-known blues and jazz. I was there last week and they gave us charge of the music. My dream to broadcast Clem Snide's gorgeous cover of "Donna" and to be glanced upon with a smile, a furrowed brow and the question, "Who's that? They're <i>good</i>."<br />
<br />
They allow dogs inside. Not to say that the whole place is a dog palace; but there may be one quiet four-legged human curled up under one of the tables on any given weeknight. Oh, and they don't discriminate when it comes to members of the animal kingdom; last week I met a regular, a charming man with a male Eclectus Parrot idling at his shoulder. The parrot, Yuri, was 24. He responds on command. He had been at his owner's side since 6 months of age. His life expectancy is around 75 years, and the oldest Eclectus parrot lived to 104.<br />
<br />
But back to the dogs. It was at the Old Fitzroy that I finally found my dog breed of choice. The Lakeland Terrier. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TGkgr11spfI/AAAAAAAAAs8/eF6u0y-z3cE/s1600/Ter.LakelandTerrier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TGkgr11spfI/AAAAAAAAAs8/eF6u0y-z3cE/s320/Ter.LakelandTerrier.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In black and tan</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TGkg3rNBEEI/AAAAAAAAAtE/CACO2QwydTE/s1600/LKLT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/TGkg3rNBEEI/AAAAAAAAAtE/CACO2QwydTE/s200/LKLT.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In red</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<br />
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He was curled up quietly at his owner's feet, patiently awaiting completion of his weeknight routine. And I was in love. So that's in the works too.<br />
<br />
Also at the Old Fitzroy: an open fire (and each night at about 10pm the bar staff, if so inclined, hand out marshmallows and skewers for toasting). One particularly amorous staff member (who is actually the bomb) also hands out massages. And they're good. He went to massage school. <br />
<br />
So you can probably see why I'm in love with the Old Fitzroy.<br />
<br />
There are one or two other delightful things about Sydney and about life right now, but to write about them would probably be to jinx them. In my experience, that happens. And I don't want that. Not this time.<br />
<br />
Talk soon. xUnknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-6650697043544094472010-07-04T15:44:00.000+10:002010-07-04T15:44:50.344+10:00WoolloomoolooStrange how things that don't work out sometimes end up working really well. I had a pretty average housemate situation in Bronte, so I moved into a studio apartment in Woolloomooloo. Studio apartments are great in theory - intimate, economical for heating purposes, snug, cheaper than a one bedder, but they come at the cost of permeating your bedsheets with the scent of curry, or rice, or whatever you've been cooking. Spicy dreams.<br />
<br />
Woolloomooloo is a fine old town. I like it so much that it's making me not want to think about coming home in December. And I like that. Each day I walk around and find something else, whether it's something weird, depressing, cute, tacky, pretty, old or just - interesting. This area is definitely more 'me' than the beachside suburbs. Probably because it has no shortage of windy streets, quaintly named lanes (I live next door to Judge Lane, heh), pubs, out-of-the-way coffee joints and seediness, and all these are qualities I appreciate. I imagine that's because I identify them with Melbourne, so I feel more at home here.<br />
<br />
Another important change: I'm living on my own for the first time. And before you get concerned, let me run through the interchange we would no doubt have in real life to dispel your fears:<br />
<br />
"But aren't you lonely?"<br />
No.<br />
"But doesn't it get sad?"<br />
No. <br />
"Don't you find you like someone to chat to when you get home?"<br />
No, but if I feel that way, I can pick up my mobile cellular telephone machine.<br />
"But what about safety?"<br />
I'm safe enough.<br />
<br />
It's been about 3 weeks here so far, and I don't think I will ever go back to share-house living. I've had a couple of truly excellent housemates, but my experience more often than not is that you end up cramping one another's style. Or you discover some weird habit of theirs which, whilst not overpoweringly irritating, tends to grate on you more and more each day until you're so disproportionately angry that you've retreated to your bedroom for nine tenths of the day and are communicating with your housemate through sticky notes.<br />
<br />
Anyway.<br />
<br />
Will write more soon. Have to attend to my curry.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-19389811572108954232010-05-18T21:50:00.000+10:002010-05-18T21:50:13.383+10:0010 Recent Observations1. In Sydney there are no weather games. When it's predicted dry, it stays dry - and sometimes as a surprise treat it's actually gloriously, sweetly dry. Kinda like when you order a gelato and they give you that ornamental faintly sweet wafer. You didn't really want it/expect it, you're only eating it cause it's there, but you'll take it. And when it's predicted to rain - like today - boy, she don't lie! In the time it took me to park my car and walk 200m to dinner tonight, my shoes filled up - FILLED up with water. I couldn't help but laugh. All my little worries telescoped at that moment into something insignificant, an acorn or a button or a used bus ticket. I had to borrow some socks off the host when I arrived. All class. Melbourne... pshht, don't let me start.<br />
<br />
2. Tune I'm really into right now - The Audience by Herbert (from his Bodily Functions album). An oldie, but one that's managed to evade my iTunes shuffle mix for the last 10 years. Timeless gold.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/31X7MK071AL._SS400_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/31X7MK071AL._SS400_.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>3. Turns out someone's coupled the bright idea of an electric blanket with the even brighter idea of a timer switch, so now you can go to sleep toasty without fear of electrocution/waking up wet/electrocution caused by waking up wet. And did I mention this electric blanket has added foot heating? No? Well it has added foot heating. For your tootsies. And it's marvelous.<br />
<br />
4. Know what's not marvelous? Gastro, that's what.<br />
<br />
5. Dog breeders say you shouldn't get a puppy if it's just to fill a void in your life. I say to hell with that. I have a puppy-shaped void and it needs filling. Stat.<br />
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6. Sydney fashion is epic crap. The boys don't know how to dress. The girls don't even try.<br />
<br />
7. Most lawyers are boring, boring people.<br />
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8. Coming back to Melbourne to visit has been difficult. It's my home and yet it's not my home. It compounds my sense of dislocation. It's invariably anticlimactic in some way. Perhaps it's because I'm still so desperately in love with the place - whatever I might say to the contrary - but because I can't live there right now my brain makes do. Perhaps Melbourne's like an old lover whose affections I just cannot manage to kick. It's hard. But when it gets to Sunday night in Melbourne and I've got goodbyes and Tullamarine and then Mascot and then a cold cab ride between me and my bed - I start to long a bit for Sydney and the little life I've built up here. Sydney's uncomplicated that way. It gives you just what you expect. Melbourne never does. It delivers, without doubt, either something more or something less. Often less. Much depends on what you make of it. <br />
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9. I have a thing for dudes in hospitality. Bartenders, maitre d's, waiters, chefs... I cannot get enough of them. I love their rambunctious boisterousness, their arrogant know-it-all cheek, their chutzpa, their uniforms - whether an impeccably tailored suit or a sloppy set of overalls. I love how they don't take my bullshit. I think I've got to start hanging around with more chefs. Or going to more restaurants.<br />
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10. I sleep much better (ie no nightmares) if I go to bed on a nearly empty stomach. Only took me 26 years to work that one out.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-67266168043874924692010-04-30T21:45:00.001+10:002010-04-30T21:46:36.804+10:00SMS Conversation with D-Man<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you can get to the end of this SMS string between me and my friend D-Man and laugh, then you've earned a place in my phone book. All you need to know is that D-man's a Baha'i from Melbourne and I'm a Jew from Melbourne currently living in Sydney. Happy deciphering.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S9rAKyslA-I/AAAAAAAAArs/ChFTkz6GwEI/s320/1.bmp" width="306" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S9rAq1EGmvI/AAAAAAAAAr0/H3vSIvT-MVM/s1600/2.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S9rAq1EGmvI/AAAAAAAAAr0/H3vSIvT-MVM/s320/2.bmp" width="265" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S9rA0Aac3XI/AAAAAAAAAr8/sITE_P5gIjg/s1600/3.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S9rA0Aac3XI/AAAAAAAAAr8/sITE_P5gIjg/s320/3.bmp" width="297" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S9rBFhVPeGI/AAAAAAAAAsE/E3wwadnu92M/s1600/4.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S9rBFhVPeGI/AAAAAAAAAsE/E3wwadnu92M/s320/4.bmp" width="320" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S9rBUq9IAmI/AAAAAAAAAsM/72y28HDxnqk/s1600/5.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S9rBUq9IAmI/AAAAAAAAAsM/72y28HDxnqk/s320/5.bmp" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S9rBbgrBbkI/AAAAAAAAAsU/jNHiMm_144E/s1600/6.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S9rBbgrBbkI/AAAAAAAAAsU/jNHiMm_144E/s320/6.bmp" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S9rBg5TqwiI/AAAAAAAAAsc/gtHS4KRG7Tw/s1600/7.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S9rBg5TqwiI/AAAAAAAAAsc/gtHS4KRG7Tw/s320/7.bmp" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S9rBnQ9w0JI/AAAAAAAAAsk/UuEmje7RSoI/s1600/8.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S9rBnQ9w0JI/AAAAAAAAAsk/UuEmje7RSoI/s320/8.bmp" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S9rBv2AX8EI/AAAAAAAAAss/7YniuKjhQoY/s1600/9.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S9rBv2AX8EI/AAAAAAAAAss/7YniuKjhQoY/s400/9.bmp" width="307" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-34413406225032956652010-04-15T20:41:00.000+10:002010-04-15T20:41:26.171+10:00Bit Weird<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S8btLUshZWI/AAAAAAAAArc/idfn3Cb1Izo/s1600/Screen+shot+2010-04-15+at+8.39.30+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S8btLUshZWI/AAAAAAAAArc/idfn3Cb1Izo/s320/Screen+shot+2010-04-15+at+8.39.30+PM.png" /></a></div>If you're following the Nixon/Bushfire saga ... funny<br />
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If you're not ... weirdUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-2599608207954614292010-04-13T20:06:00.001+10:002010-04-13T20:07:33.153+10:00Pet Hate #492: Pedestrian Crossings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S8RCWrE_Z7I/AAAAAAAAAq0/CfIlE7pmlTs/s1600/3579651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S8RCWrE_Z7I/AAAAAAAAAq0/CfIlE7pmlTs/s320/3579651.jpg" /></a></div>It's the morning. It's cold and I'm in a rush for the train and I'm grumpy and I'm walking briskly down Bronte Road. I reach a red man at a busy intersection. I glance up the hill and see no break in the traffic. I glance down the hill this time - same thing. So no opportunity to J-walk.<br />
<br />
A man with a briefcase sidles up. He presses the pedestrian button.<br />
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A woman in gym gear walks up. <i>She</i> presses the button.<br />
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WHAT GIVES?<br />
<br />
WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN IN LIFE?<br />
<br />
WHY DOES NOBODY TALK ABOUT IT?<br />
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OF COURSE I HAVE PRESSED THE GODDAMN BUTTON!<br />
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DO I LOOK LIKE A DIMWIT?<br />
<br />
WHAT IS GOING ON IN THE WORLD, etc etc.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6622358647057438973.post-59275637872027429432010-03-24T20:13:00.002+11:002010-03-25T20:03:06.841+11:00Maybe I Should Move to VodafoneI've been paying a lot of attention to prime time TV commercials this week, and to good effect. On Monday night I noticed that a NAB ad inadvertently displayed a five year old's vagina for a fraction of a second. I alerted the bank, and haven't seen the commercial since.<br />
<br />
And tonight? Well, I'll let it speak for itself. Luckily I have a Youtube freeze frame to help me out.<br />
<br />
The commentary to the ad runs as follows (of course it has nothing to do with Vodafone): <i>How well do you know the people in your phonebook? Did you know one in seven has worn their partner's underwear? Or that one in five can open a bottle without a bottle opener? One in 28 has spent a night in jail? </i>[WTF kind of statistic is that??] <i>One in three has peed in a pool? And one in 55 actually believes in unicorns.</i><br />
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At this point, the following is shown:<br />
<i> </i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S6nXJzedeBI/AAAAAAAAAqs/WyZpoi8WNSw/s1600/Screen+shot+2010-03-24+at+8.10.44+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zzD2NBkloy4/S6nXJzedeBI/AAAAAAAAAqs/WyZpoi8WNSw/s400/Screen+shot+2010-03-24+at+8.10.44+PM.png" width="400" /></a></div><i> </i><br />
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Now if they aren't pink and purple butt dildos taped to the heads of (i). a dog, and (ii). a plush pony in that frame, then my name is not Josephine.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3