Tell Me About Your Father

A Delicate Operation

2011-09-25T11:24:00.000+10:00

I'm six days into my month-long initial recovery period from an operation. It's been an interesting six days.

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.

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.

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 feel like reading, didn't feel like watching West Wing (!), didn't even feel 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.

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.

Here's what I want to do but can't, in order of preference:

Take Rufus for a brisk walk in the sunshine.
Buy fresh ingredients from the market before cooking a Sunday roast.
Cycle to a local pub where I'd drink pear cider with mates and order fries w aioli.
Plop myself into the jacuzzi at Harold Holt Pool.
Take Rufus to Sunday morning obedience classes.
Make (and eat) blueberry pancakes.
Do 5 sessions of Bikram yoga.
Get a wax, a massage, a facial, a tan. Girly things.
Go for a bushwalk.
Go for a beach walk.

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.

After the change

2011-09-11T19:04:00.001+10:00

And it was the same - every
day. Every single day. Every fucking
day. So it was the same - every regular
morning. Each coffee cup. All things done.

Ten months of this. This - these
again. This, once more. And
again. So it occurred, on endless
repeat. Each month. Each weekend. Summer to Spring.

I've remarked, often, to friends as I've gone
It's monotony that kills, the unchanged that hurts
The stillness that swipes, the silence that burns,
The restful who die, the slower who fade,
The idle who shatter, the busy who matter,
The sleep which decays, reflection that drains,
That quiet which, as a cavern, hollows - guts me out.

And then with meticulous, resolute planning (or
blonde chance) September came. The wind chops
mellowed. It got lighter earlier. Those frosty jagged daggers
jagged, wintry smacks diffused - subtly, slowly. And, I smiled.

And then the change came. Or all of them.
Them, those, few numerable changes. Spring's
Sweetly-wrapped gift which, after a bitch of a winter
Fell helplessly, childishly, absently, glittering
All the way down, way down, into my waiting lap.

Stuff White People Like

2011-07-03T21:54:00.000+10:00

Today 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.

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:

(How convenient that Rufus manages to find his way into my every photo. Little bitch.)

It was one of the few pieces that was original (not a print). I'm very happy.

But WAIT! Just when you thought I couldn't possibly get any cooler ... check out what mum bought:

Poem (inspired by Philip Glass)

2011-07-01T21:03:00.000+10:00

I spent much of today
In a poorly altered state
With a dozen heinous rows
And a many spiteful glares

I spent much of today
Looking through those walls of glass
Seeing through them what was down
Working up to waking up

I spent much of today
Peering silently at they
Edgy mutterings and smiles
Stolen looks they both would share

But then I spent some time
Helping her by sitting near
Nodding when she seemed she'd need
Consolation. Or, a lie.

And then I spent some time
Thinking how I'd come to lose
Properties of being seen
Parting atoms as I came

And so I spent my night
Willing glass to turn to brick
Eyes cast downwards. Well, I tried.
Shielding face as shards did fly.

Rufus, the Man in my Life

2011-06-14T19:47:00.000+10:00

Poem, June 2011

2011-06-08T21:12:00.004+10:00

A quarter to four
And there's been just one entry.
Third trip to the kitchen
I've not seen you since.

The files, the covers, the matters, the clients.
The pre-bills, the post-bills, the discounts, the cheque.
The confines, the caveats, the outside, the in.
The duties, betrayal, the budget a wreck.

And so when you come in
And slide that door over
I will you, come over
Come over, come in

And so when you twitch
A bit and you're in
And I will you to strip it
My mouth and your skin

And then when you message
A message, a light
A buzz on the outside
A kiss underneath

And so when you tell me,
Tell me, "who knows?"
"A great deal can happen"
Then Saturday blows.

And so when you look and you sweat and you smile
You're ugly and pointless, but fuck can you talk
And hell can you make me, and shit can you lie
But do know I'm frightened, I'm frightened, I'll try.

But I'm not indecent - I say I get by
With minimal scarring and smiles in supply
So yes to seduction, that's right. Are we on?
If not please just tell me, I'll move my shit on.

If yes then let's get it, your sign to my plate
Your hard to my soft and your whole to my cleft.
My hole and your partial, that brilliant switch.
Utter incompatibility. Fucking dirty sin.

Departure

2011-05-14T10:55:00.000+10:00

I'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 get you. 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.

Love youse.

Josephine.

An Open Letter to Rufus

2011-04-04T19:58:00.000+10:00

4 April 2011

Dear Rufus,

I love you. I always will. But there are some things you need to know.

It is not cute when you eat my possessions.
It is not cute when you hump my possessions.
It is not cool when you chew live electric wires (in particular, whilst eating and/or humping my possessions).
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.

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).

And not only that!

There will be a new regime in place from now on. You will no longer be permitted to:

Enter doors before I do
Eat dinner before I do
Pee on my face while I'm asleep (when I'm awake, that's ok)
Hump your bed
Sleep on my bed
Hump my face
Join me on the couch (unless I'm feeling particularly embittered with the universe, in which case we can negotiate)
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 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.

Yours,

N. Josephine.

Good Mourning

2011-01-09T20:22:00.000+11:00

This 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Sitting 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 wog or weg, 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?

Animal Instinct

2011-01-03T13:02:00.000+11:00

I heard an incredibly disturbing story last night.

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.

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 watching 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.

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.

I'm not letting Rufus sleep on my bed anymore.

She's at it again

2010-12-13T09:20:00.001+11:00

What would Monday morning at the courts be without a group email from S?

"Could I please ask that each of you check your Judge's silk Bar Gown (not Bar Jacket) to verify they have their own. 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.

I would be very appreciative indeed if you could check today for me and let me know.

S"

Public Service

2010-11-02T14:49:00.004+11:00

For 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:

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.

You'd be wrong.

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:

Database: Enter your search query please.

Me: Types "sentence and murder and offender with mental illness and appropriate non-parole period". Clicks "GO"

Database: Your search query has retrieved 0 hits. Search again?

Me: Checks search string. Re-submits original query.

Database: Your search query has retrieved 429,308,399 hits. Refine your search?

Me: Clicks "yes"

Database: Your session has timed out. Please enter your password to log in.

Me: Enters password

Database: Enter your search query please

Me: Types "sentence and murder and offender with mental illness and appropriate non-parole period". Clicks "GO"

Database: Your search query has retrieved 972 hits. Refine your search?

Me: Clicks "yes"

Database: Please enter your search qualifiers

Me: Types "appeal from Local Court". Clicks "GO"

Database: No documents found. Search again?

Me: Clicks "ye --

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 VERY IMPORTANT AND YOU HAVEN'T SAVED THE LATEST DRAFT SO YOU'D BETTER 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?

Me: Navigates frantically across to MS Word to save latest draft judgm--

Computer:BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPP!! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!! MOTHERFUCKING BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPP!! BEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP!!!!!!!!! I SAID BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NIGHTY NIGHT ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!`1

So that's never much of a fun experience.

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.

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.

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.

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):

Realise that you are out of highlighters
Decide whether it is worth the effort to seek replacement highlighters
If yes, send request email to Stores
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
Submit amended request email to Stores
Stores accepts your request and tells you that your supplies will be available for collection between 9.00am and 9.20am the following morning.
Wait until following morning.
Following morning, arrive at work. Settle in.
9.19am - suddenly remember that you have to go to Stores.
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.
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.
Find "Stores" door. Knock. No answer. Check watch. 9.20am.
Repeat steps 2 - 12 the following day.

Oh, and don't think that it gets any easier once you actually reach Stores.

Stores man: Hi, what can I do for you?

Me: Hi there, I've come to collect four highlighters.

Stores man: Right-ee-oh. So, you needed to have sent a request email to us yesterday, otherwise w--

Me: --I did.

Stores man: Furrows brow. Picks up clipboard. Furrows brow. Looks at me. Looks back at clipboard. Looks at me. Uh-huh. So. And what was your name again?

Me: States name.

Stores man: Says here you need a staple remover, some bulldog clips and some A4 paper.

Me: Nope, I am here to collect four yellow highlighters.

Stores man: 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--

Me: No - I didn't-- I don't nee--

Stores man: -- 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--

Me: -- but I did let you know!

Stores man: Not about the highlighters obviously. And about those bulldog clips, you know they come in four different siz-

Me: 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--

Stores man: -- 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.

Me: HIGHLIGHTERS

Stores man: Or highlighters, yes, that's another good example, but basically, what I'm saying is--

Me: --alright. Breathes. I understand. Breathes. I'm sure my judge, who is actually the one seeking the highlighters, will just--

Stores man: --they're for your judge? Puts clipboard down immediately. Right-ee-oh, should've said. Let me just go get 'em. Waddles off to back of store room.

Me: Breathes.

Stores man: Won't be a minute.

Me: Waits.

Stores man: Right-eeeee-oh. Sooooooooooooo we're outta highlighters, love. Thought we might be. Lots of bulldog clips though if you need 'em?

And that's why you never ask for anything in this job.

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):

"Dear all,

Please find attached the menu for House K - the take-away cafe attached to Milo Entuad's two-hatted Sonome restaurant. I can thoroughly recommend the Merrickvale organic grass fed wagyu burger and the lemon curd tart. 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.

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. In either case, lunch will be ready for collection at 1pm at St James Road Chambers. S."

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):

"Dear Illustrious Colleagues of the Court,

Thursday Lunch awaits you in its reasonably priced culinary glory!

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).

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.

Please RSVP by Tomorrow 430 PM.

May I also remind that the fortnightly lunch carries with it a hefty moral imperative, which ought not lightly be passed off. K."

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"):

"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.

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.

Yours truly, R."

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:

"K - thank you but my flat is already lined wall to ceiling with delegated legislation and municipal regulations."

...and then I hit "reply all."

Needless to say, I got some good rep. And K never responded.

It's small rewards like those that make it so worth coming to work in the morning.

Rufus

2010-10-22T18:32:00.001+11:00

It's love.

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 pleased 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.

Rufus (6 weeks) at the breeder's in Queensland with his brother, Monty

Rufus (8 weeks) in his airline crate at the cargo terminal. I hadn't even cuddled him yet.

Rufus playing with monkey (who I now realise looks like mini-Rufus)

Napping on my tum tum

Napping in his crate

Sexy face (note the tongue)

Cuddles

I'm in love with this creature.

I'm astounded at how much he has achieved in just five little days. He has:

Learnt to sleep through the night
Started whining softly before he has to pee whenever he's locked in the crate (not otherwise)
Started pooing on the pet loo
Started peeing on the pet loo
Stopped chewing the pet loo (thanks to that special spray that makes things taste gross)
Started eating his dry food (wasn't eating it at first)
Learned to sit inside his den, even when its door is open, without jumping over into the carpeted (human) zone
Been to the vet, and exhibited perfectly calm behavious
Stayed perfectly still while I clean his ears (apparently dogs love having their ears cleaned - who knew?)

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:

"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 more (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."

Cute, huh?

WOOHOOZIES!

What's Wrong and Right with the World

2010-09-07T23:25:00.001+10:00

This Gumtree post (Australian Craigslist) captures everything both beautiful and terrible in this world. Click to enlarge.

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.

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.

Exercise Music

2010-08-26T11:18:00.002+10:00

http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/08/25/phys-ed-does-music-make-you-exercise-harder/#comment-566241
Fascinating piece!

My Thoughts on Grill'd

2010-08-20T21:55:00.001+10:00

Grill'd have nailed a winning combo: healthy burgers that taste just enough like their greasy late night counterparts to keep you coming back for more.

Conversation with SG at Grill'd (whilst eating)

SG: Mmm, these burgers are fine.

Me: Mmmmm. Yes indeedy.

SG: The chicken! So juicy!

Me: The avocado! So fresh!

SG: The relish! So tangy!

Me: The buns! So crunchy!

SG: Om nom nom.

Me: Nom nom nom.

SG: They're just... they're just really good, aren't they?

Me: So good!

SG: Healthy too.

Me: Yeah, that's the best part! You don't feel guilty!

SG (chewing): Exactly!

Me: Yeah! And do you know how you can tell that they're healthy?

SG: How??

Me (gives knowing look)

SG: How????

Me (intensifies knowing look)

SG (casts eyes down): Yeah. Because they don't taste AMAZING.

Me: Bullseye.

SG: Yeah.

Me: ...

SG: ...

Me: ...

SG: Hmmm.

Me: Mm.

SG: Still, I'd come back.

Me: Oh yeah, no doubt.

My heart for this place

2010-08-16T21:42:00.001+10:00

When I first came here, a guy friend told me that Sydney was like a gorgeous girl you meet in summer:

...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.

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 - everyone - 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.

Speaking of which.

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.

They serve laksa. Beautiful, creamy, spicy, fragrant laksa. It's cheap and it comes fast.

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 good."

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.

But back to the dogs. It was at the Old Fitzroy that I finally found my dog breed of choice. The Lakeland Terrier.

In black and tan

In red

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.

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.

So you can probably see why I'm in love with the Old Fitzroy.

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.

Talk soon. x

Woolloomooloo

2010-07-04T15:44:00.000+10:00

Strange 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.

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.

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:

"But aren't you lonely?"
No.
"But doesn't it get sad?"
No.
"Don't you find you like someone to chat to when you get home?"
No, but if I feel that way, I can pick up my mobile cellular telephone machine.
"But what about safety?"
I'm safe enough.

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.

Anyway.

Will write more soon. Have to attend to my curry.

10 Recent Observations

2010-05-18T21:50:00.000+10:00

1. 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.

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.

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.

4. Know what's not marvelous? Gastro, that's what.

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.

6. Sydney fashion is epic crap. The boys don't know how to dress. The girls don't even try.

7. Most lawyers are boring, boring people.

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.

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.

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.

SMS Conversation with D-Man

2010-04-30T21:45:00.001+10:00

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.

Bit Weird

2010-04-15T20:41:00.000+10:00

If you're following the Nixon/Bushfire saga ... funny

If you're not ... weird

Pet Hate #492: Pedestrian Crossings

2010-04-13T20:06:00.001+10:00

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.

A man with a briefcase sidles up. He presses the pedestrian button.

A woman in gym gear walks up. She presses the button.

WHAT GIVES?

WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN IN LIFE?

WHY DOES NOBODY TALK ABOUT IT?

OF COURSE I HAVE PRESSED THE GODDAMN BUTTON!

DO I LOOK LIKE A DIMWIT?

WHAT IS GOING ON IN THE WORLD, etc etc.

Maybe I Should Move to Vodafone

2010-03-24T20:13:00.002+11:00

I'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.

And tonight? Well, I'll let it speak for itself. Luckily I have a Youtube freeze frame to help me out.

The commentary to the ad runs as follows (of course it has nothing to do with Vodafone): 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? [WTF kind of statistic is that??] One in three has peed in a pool? And one in 55 actually believes in unicorns.

At this point, the following is shown:

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.

Advertisers

2010-03-20T21:53:00.002+11:00

Advertisers. They're a sick bunch.

I'm not a great flyer. And when I say that, I mean to say I am paralytically afraid of flying. It all started en route to Mexico City from Havana in 2002 (September 11, 2002 to be precise) when I was caught, 30,000 feet up, in the beginnings of a cyclone that resulted in a 24-hour lock-down of Mexico City airport and some serious, lasting psychiatric issues on my part.

And so yesterday it was to my delight, as you can no doubt imagine, when I was sitting onboard a Virgin Blue Syd-Mel flight.

The plane was taxiing ......that a verb? .... ANYHOO, we were sitting on the tarmac at that awful awful moment pre take-off. We were stationary. Couple of miles of black runway ahead, and beyond that, ocean. Within seconds I'd feel my weight thrown back into my seat and we'd be in the air. I was doing all I could to distract myself. Fortunately, there are TV screens on Virgin flights. At that moment, only ads were playing (Jamie's Kitchen hadn't started yet). But I didn't mind. I could look at the bright shiny colours and hum along to the jingles and suppress thoughts of my imminent, violent demise.

So you know what advertisement comes on?

At this moment?

AT THIS VERY MOMENT?

An ad for a funeral company.

Pricks.

Business Idea (Chat with MF, 16 March 2010)

2010-03-17T16:40:00.003+11:00

me:
sooooooo i bought this heart rate monitor - and it's so awesome
i reckon people should start wearing them during sex
wouldn't that be rad? both partners to the act wearing monitors around their chests and comparing heart rates? GET ON TOP, SLACKER

MF:
hahahhaha
you could set up a series of audio/visual cues

me:
I'm listening...

MF:
if you each get a different tone
for low-limit, high limit

me:
yeah

MF:
so four tones

me:
yeah

MF:
one more for "red zone"
i.e. heart melting zone

me:
well the monitors already do that

MF:
that's all you need then

me:
they tell you when you're at your lower and upper limits by sounding an alarm
It would be a SYMPHONY of raw sexual power

MF:
and i'm sure they all come with an uploady to computery thingie

me:
well mine doesn't but some do, yes.
and you could compare stats!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
and create excel spreadsheets!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
i see this as a niche market.....THINK YOU'RE GOOD IN BED? PROVE IT"

MF:
hahaha
it screams
facebook app
map my rider (ooeer)

me:
yes!
oooooooo!!!!!!!

MF:
we could leverage some synergies

me:
and synergise some leverage
we could create pie charts
with keys and legends and colour coding
we need a catchy name
one that is not already trademarked
dammit mapmyride is good MF

MF:
hahaha

me:
mapmyroot.com?

MF:
no need to be crass
mapmyroute
ppl would be confused

me:
ooh nice use of confusing subtlety
of course we would need two test subjects
and two polar heart rate monitors

MF:
we already have one
giggdy

Balmy Breezes

2010-03-07T17:03:00.002+11:00

Best Weekend Ever! Kicked off with the forecast: a "wet 'n wild weekend, folks!" Turned out we had unmediated sunshine, balmy sea breezes and golden afternoon hues. We had fresh figs on the beach, layered with sourdough, quince paste and blue cheese. Breezes licked at our hair, which got into our eyes. We tried to apply sunscreen, but with skin covered in sand, our effort were hampered. Great food, great weather, great company, great discoveries in this city. This city is my new love interest.

A Record, Even for a Bureaucracy

2010-02-23T19:53:00.002+11:00

05.03.2009 - Josephine applies for a job at the High Court

22.02.2010 - High Court calls Josephine for an interview

01.09.2011 - Position due to commence

Enough said.

Would You Rather XVIII

2010-02-18T21:41:00.002+11:00

Would You Rather...

(a). Have to breathe shallowly for the rest of your life (if you took one full breath your lungs would explode); or

(b). Only be able to sleep between the hours of 5pm and 3am for the rest of your life?

My Horns

2010-02-16T21:13:00.007+11:00

Paying for my many years of being a judgmental cow.

Had dentist appointment scheduled for tomorrow night. After lunch today, couldn't deal with the pain. Made other appointment in CBD with this dentist:

I'm paying for it now. Apparently it wasn't a cavity as I had expected. My tooth has cracked slightly, which normally wouldn't be a massive issue but for the fact that my "pupal horns" are "abnormally long". For ease of explanation, the pupal horns are shown in the following diagram:

So. Normally cracks take a while to reach the nerve. But because my horns are so, er, "high", then obviously, I would be in ridiculous amounts of pain the moment any crack appears. Obvs!

Anyhoo, I had to have endodontic (root canal) treatment this arvo and am going back tomorrow.

From what I gather, this is what happened to me today. The man in the picture removed the "root canal containing pulp tissue" which is the brown bit in the picture below.

The result is this (warning: vomit alert):

Unsurprisingly, Wikipedia has this to say about endodontic treatment: "The root canal remains the stereotypically fearsome dental operation, and, in the United States, a common response to an unpleasant proposal is, "I'd rather have a root canal."

Awesometown.

My insane cravings explained!

2010-02-09T22:12:00.003+11:00

L.Dye and J.E.Blundell, 'Menstrual Cycle and Appetite Control: Implications for Weight Regulation' (1997) 12 Human Reproduction 6, 1142:

Energy intake varies during the reproductive cycle in humans and animals, with a periovulatory nadir and a luteal phase peak. Patterns of macronutrient selection show less consistency but a number of studies report carbohydrate cravings in the premenstrual phase, particularly in women with premenstrual syndrome. The cyclical nature of food cravings are frequently, but not invariably, associated with depression. Fluctuations in appetite, cravings and energy intake during the menstrual cycle may occur in parallel with cyclical rhythms in serotonin, which can be accompanied by affective symptoms. The premenstrual phase can be considered as a time when women are especially vulnerable to overconsumption, food craving and depression; this is often associated with low serotonin activity.

FINALLY! AN EXPLANATION THAT RINGS TRUE!

Now I'm gonna go slit my wrists.

Housemate Troubles...

2010-01-31T20:21:00.003+11:00

I've had 2 guests in 2 weekends. Last weekend it was one of my best friends, and this weekend it was mum. My housemate isn't happy, although I did tell her when I met her that I'd be having visitors. I bought her 2 bottles of wine as my way of saying "thank you". She wasn't particularly happy with this. WHAT OTHER LANGUAGE IS THERE?

Understandably, my housemate feels like she's being relegated to her bedroom. She doesn't feel comfortable to just wonder about in her jammies and watch TV in the lounge room. Fair enough, I suppose? Mum and I were out all the time during the day, but I do understand where she's coming from. If I were her, I'd be feeling resentful too. I think.

Housemate suggested once a month as maximum visitation rate. I feel a bit weird about this. Your opinion - reasonable?

Daemon Mailer Speaks At Last

2010-01-26T18:58:00.003+11:00

I always knew Daemon Mailer was real!!!!!!

Excerpt from a chat with GS (a male friend)

2010-01-24T23:13:00.002+11:00

If only breaking up were this easy IRL ...

* * *

10:54:45 PM G: i want to do a hottest100 bbq

10:54:52 PM J: me too
10:54:55 PM J: i think i'll be going to one
10:54:59 PM J: come up to syd for the day!

10:55:04 PM G: oooh
10:55:04 PM G: ok done

10:55:06 PM N: haha

10:55:08 PM G: get me a cheap flight

10:55:11 PM J: ha

10:58:47 PM G: maaan
10:58:51 PM G: why can't you still live in melbourne
10:58:53 PM G: what were you thinking
10:58:58 PM G: this makes it so difficult for me

10:59:30 PM J: oh well

10:59:48 PM G: this whole long distance thing
10:59:53 PM G: it's very stressful

10:59:59 PM J: right

11:00:06 PM G: i feel like i'm losing you
11:00:21 PM G: sometimes it's like... we're not even together

11:00:24 PM J: yeah
11:00:25 PM J: i know
11:00:27 PM J: i feel that way too
11:00:39 PM J: it's amazing, i was just thinking the same.

11:03:01 PM G: well.. at least we're still on the same page then

11:03:05 PM J: yeah
11:03:08 PM J: so it's mutual then
11:03:11 PM J: we're not together
11:03:12 PM J: good
11:03:16 PM J: i'll tell my girlfriends
11:03:19 PM J: that it was mutual

11:03:06 PM G: that comforts me
11:03:30 PM G: it was
11:03:36 PM G: i think it's for the best
11:03:58 PM G: oh.. it might be a bit awkward this whole sydney thing
11:04:05 PM G: you know.. given all that's happened

11:04:09 PM J: ok
11:04:11 PM J: i understand
11:04:16 PM J: is this goodbye

11:04:19 PM G: i mean... i just want you to be happy

11:04:24 PM J: yeah

11:04:22 PM G: just remember that

11:04:28 PM J: and i want you to be free

11:04:31 PM G: that's all i ever wanted

11:04:33 PM J: yeah
11:04:34 PM J: i know

11:04:38 PM G: i just felt shackled sometimes
11:04:43 PM G: i know you meant well
11:05:06 PM G: you're going to find someone that's really going to make you happ
11:05:06 PM G: i know it

11:05:15 PM J: yeah
11:05:27 PM J: it's true, but then it's so hard to see beyond this
11:05:28 PM J: gosh
11:05:33 PM J: i just feel like dying
11:05:51 PM J: it's just been so many years
11:05:54 PM J: and so much effort
11:05:56 PM J: and good times
11:06:03 PM J: and vacations, adventures

11:06:06 PM G: just remember the good times

11:06:11 PM J: and it's just that i find it hrad to throw it all away

11:06:11 PM G: please, just remember the good times

11:06:12 PM J: you know?
11:06:13 PM J: yeah.
11:06:14 PM J: yeah.
11:06:16 PM J: the good times.

11:06:16 PM G: i do
11:06:22 PM G: i feel so torn inside
11:06:29 PM G: let's stay friends, even though it's going to be hard

11:06:32 PM J: no
11:06:34 PM J: cannot do

11:06:40 PM G: i understand

11:06:41 PM J: you know i don't stay friends with exes
11:06:43 PM J: so
11:06:45 PM J: this is goodbye

11:06:45 PM G: i mean... i have to respect that
11:06:54 PM G: i know how it was with james
11:07:03 PM G: and how it just complicated things

11:07:05 PM J: yes

11:07:11 PM G: oh how i got sick of hearing about that!
11:07:19 PM G: please, your next boyfriend
11:07:24 PM G: don't tell him that story

11:07:27 PM J: ok ok
11:07:28 PM J: thnks
11:07:32 PM J: any other feedback?

11:07:33 PM G: i mean
11:07:37 PM G: if you have any feedback for me
11:07:40 PM G: be gentle
11:07:44 PM G: but i'd like to hear it

11:08:04 PM J: ok
11:08:05 PM J: well
11:08:07 PM J: that thing you do
11:08:11 PM J: in the mornings
11:08:13 PM J: with the spatula
11:08:15 PM J: no good

11:08:16 PM G: with my toungue?
11:08:22 PM G: I thought you loved that!

11:08:26 PM J: no
11:08:28 PM J: it's gross.
11:08:30 PM J: i hated it.

11:08:44 PM G: wow
11:08:48 PM G: i was so delusional

11:08:51 PM J: also stop buying sneakers. you're not 22
11:09:10 PM J: and another thing
11:09:14 PM J: when you're at a restaurant

11:09:20 PM G: oh god

11:09:27 PM J: and you always asked whether there was a low fat dressing alternattive?
11:09:29 PM J: that makes you seem gay
11:09:31 PM J: don't do it

11:09:47 PM G: i just wanted to look good for you
11:10:07 PM G: sorry, please continue

11:10:10 PM J: don't give me that. i see the way you perve on yourself in the mirror (also a no no)

11:10:25 PM G: wow
11:10:44 PM G: i was just so unaware of those things
11:10:48 PM G: especially the salad

11:10:48 PM J: there you go
11:10:50 PM J: we all learn

11:11:22 PM G: i used to get sniggers from other diners

11:11:31 PM J: yeah

11:11:31 PM G: and i always thought they had sinus issues

First Impressions

2010-01-18T21:39:00.004+11:00

What an extraordinary week.

I have...

Taken an 11-hour solo drive on 2 hours' sleep to get here. Not recommended

Assisted the delivery man to unload all that I own. At 10pm. Not recommended either

Learned, comfortingly, that I don't have that many possessions to my name

Entered, experienced, and survived Flatpack Furniture Hell (TM)

Been to see a Melbourne mate's (very good) band, Matt Joe Goe & The Dead Leaves

Reunited with an old Melbourne mate who's moved here

Been warmly included into my housemate's social calendar

Made a consumer complaint (can't let go of Melbourne instincts - PS: don't buy from Harvey Norman. Ever)

Explored the city's Eastern beaches at length

Swum the Bondi Icebergs (and picked up a friend in the ladies change rooms - not as unsavory as it sounds)

Learned that chucking a bucket of water down a blocked toilet will, 9 times out of 10, unblock it

Become accustomed to spiderwebs, spiders, cockroaches and flies

Bought a Dustbuster (see immediately preceding bullet point)

Picked up more free product samples than I ever have anywhere else in the world (with surprisingly good results)

Found a good gourmet super (so, you know, I can source daily essentials like Pashmak, goat's curd and Freekeh at a moment's notice)

Picked up a flyer for "Yoga By The Sea"

Worked out Sydney's train network ... or at least my route to work

Fallen in love with Centennial Park's bike track
Fallen in love with Sydney's sub-tropical climate
Discovered the most incredible city view, just around the corner from my new home

I have not...

Touched my computer for 10 days (hence no blogging - sorry, fans)

Grown accustomed to yellow number plates

Had a spray tan

Started pronouncing "like" as "luuuuhk"

French polished my toenails. Who DOES that?!

Embarrassed myself publicly (which isn't saying terribly much)

Accepted moths as "inside insects"

Spent too much money

Cried (yet)

Commenced "Yoga By The Sea". I'm clinging to what little cynicism I have left. I give me a week, max.

4 Days To Go

2010-01-03T21:46:00.003+11:00

and /me is terrified, albeit marginally so.

Terrified, excited, itching, feeling like nowhere's home, full of anticipation, wondering, expecting the worst, hoping for the best.

Tying Up Loose Ends

2009-12-23T22:14:00.003+11:00

Tomorrow is my final day at my job. And all those massive tasks I worked on throughout the year have somehow, together, come back to me for final review. It’s a supremely satisfying feeling seeing your work progress to completion. And under your supervision and authority. The work is done.

A book I worked on for a few years throughout uni has met critical review. The review was positive insofar as it dealt with my chapter, negative insofar as it misspelled my name (three times) and was unnecessarily unkind to the book’s authors. But a loose end tied, nonetheless.

I presented my thesis at a conference. This was something I spent a year on and wish, still, to pursue. I have been encouraged to turn it into a text book and the thought appeals to me. An invitation to progress beyond the academic world, a world which, while bookish and warm, invites a certain intellectual complacency.

I was burgled. They stole my valuable possessions but also my sense of security and trust in others. I was also, for the first time in my life, poor. Then I won five grand. So that's nice.

I’ve two weeks left in my home town. And all those figments of past men and disappointments and rushed, breathy encounters and episodes of pain and lust and readiness to sacrifice have returned in one crazy, sudden push. One came to return photos. Another to seek advice. A third at my doorstep. A fourth to spend the night. And one simply to haunt and harm, taunt and then leave. They, too, are all packaged up, disassembled and laid down safely in boxes, ready for dispatch into the past.

It’s an altogether glorious feeling simply not knowing what’s coming next.

A Sydney Kind of Feeling

2009-12-13T22:12:00.003+11:00

I'm from Melbourne.

I'm moving north to Sydney in January for a year.

Why??

My original reasons were (a). because I scored a sexy job, and (b). because I needed to get out of Melbourne for a while. The relocation was prompted not by a lust for Sydney but by my state of mind, of which I was growing steadily fatigued. I have been stressing to all those kind enough to inquire of my plans that I was Not Moving To Sydney For Sydney. I was moving for the above reasons. Not For Sydney.

I just spent 5 days in Sydney. By day I was speaking at/attending a conference on restorative justice. By night I was meeting up with prospective housemates. And I got to see Bondi in all its kitschy tack. I saw Bronte and Coogee and delighted in the little things, like the sand lining the cracks in the footpath. A quick glance round the bus floor and everyone's in thongs. Even the suburban streets were sweet. Deep, lush bushes bursting over brick fences. They flaunted bright tropical flowers in a vibrant array of colours, from peach to fuschia to purple to gold to white. In Melbourne you might be lucky to strike across a prickly green hedge and an unremarkable collection of spiderwebs.

I ended up finding a place, too. By the beach. Just the way I like it.

Sydney! I have to say, I've developed a naughty little crush on you. For all your reported hollowness, your vacuous hotspots, your stupid jargon, you really are very cute. You have a fun electricity about you, which is something I dig. You've a vibrant pub culture and you have nice places to eat, sit, read, walk. You've beaches you can actually swim at. And everyone's a tourist. So I'm looking forward to immersing myself in that, too.

And there you have it.

In the eternal words of George Kostanza, I've done a complete 360.

And I Was Really Looking Forward to the Weekend

2009-11-26T21:56:00.002+11:00

Pretty Damn Smug

2009-11-10T22:43:00.002+11:00

It's not every day you get to turn down the highest judge in the land for a job interview.

(a) - I probably wouldn't have got the gig. They interview geniuses, Oxford grads, PhD students, professional researches, real live scholars - deep thinkers with work ethics that'd put mine (Jewish as it is) to shame. The applicants would all be of the highest callibre. I'm good. But I'm no savant.

(b) - I've decided on my course for next two years and it doesn't involve Canberra.

(c) - I think one year of being a researcher will suffice. I don't think I need another. Research is lonely. Loneliness isn't good for my constitution.

NYC shots

2009-11-08T10:00:00.006+11:00

As promised, some NYC happy snaps. x

Put Me Down Easy

2009-11-05T22:26:00.002+11:00

Put Me Down Easy - Words & Music by The Dirty Urchins

I don’t know why it should be

But lately it’s been plain to see that

You’re cool to me

Well do what you want to do but darlin’ all I ask of you is

Just put me down easy

Put me down easy, baby

Hey, don’t make it rougher and don’t make me suffer now, just

Put me down easy

If you’ve found somebody new

There is nothing I can do but ask you to

Try and do me just the same as pilots do big aeroplanes and

Put me down easy

Put me down easy, baby

Hey, don’t make it rougher and don’t make me suffer now just

Put me down easy

Wait another week or two before you say that we are through

But when you do

Treat me as gentle as you would a million dollar glass and

Put me down easy

Oh put me down easy, baby

Hey, don’t make it rougher and don’t make me suffer now

Just put me down easy

NYC

2009-10-29T22:52:00.002+11:00

I returned from New York City, where JR and I spent a flurry-filled 17 days, with an irrepressible zest for work and life. I returned refreshed, ecstatic, with fire in my eyes and wit on my tongue. I returned confident and feeling, once again, at ease. Over here my mind was a little misshapen; over there it came resplendently alive. I was awoken. And here's why.

There are lots of cool things about New York, and all the things they say are true. The words still buzz around my head like echoes in a high-vaulted museum: These are the best bagels ... This little gallery, up on 72nd ... They were so helpful ... Make sure you try their shakes...And you can sit there as long as you like ... A place to go if you like to watch ... Don't forget to catch ... There's this new thing ... And you just have to try ... the Jazz Scene...Brooklyn ... Have you seen ... Famous pizza ... And the bookstore...As featured in the movie scene where ... MoMA ... On rye with half-sour pickles ... Yeah, it has some history ... Top of that building ... Have a nice day.

New York's the centre of the universe, it really is. Everything first happens there. The runoffs then reach the diaspora, belated and a little cooler, like streams of sunlight finally striking the Earth after their eight-minute trans-galactic sprint. Things in New York are there first, so they're just that little bit amplified and brighter and novel and - hell, fun.

This is not to say I prefer New York to Melbourne. I don't. But Christ, New York cuts a mighty close second.

I'll do some happy snaps next post.

xxx

The Past Four Weeks

2009-09-21T22:17:00.005+10:00

The past 4 weeks have been bad bad bad bad bad punctuated by mediocre happenings.

***

Got garbage water on my hands. The stench of chicken liquid lasted hours.

***

Took one disposable paper towel from dispenser at work - the thing broke open and every disposable paper towel in the galaxy fell out onto the floor. I had to bite my bottom lip.

***

Got burgled. They took my computer with all my music, personal documents, thesis, photos, etc. They took the backup hard drive too. They also took all my computer accessories. They then helped themselves to my spare house keys, my (new) car keys ($1200 to replace locks), sunglasses, digital camera, iPod, V's jewelery and flute, and, as I discover every day, more.

***

Tried to rescue music library by backing up files from my ipod. Ended up corrupting most of my music, including the music I composed.

***

My garage lock scratched my new car (I was absent from this process). $400 repair cost.

***

Locked myself out of my home. New locks. Nobody had the key. $70 cab fare.

***

Loved one had an operation for something and so far it hasn't addressed the problem.

***

Used the communal dryer in my apartment block. Never again. Someone interrupted the cycle mid-way through, poured half of my clothes onto the wet concrete floor (which is covered in possum shit) and left the rest of the clothes sitting there in the dryer.

***

2 periods in one month (?)

***

Did my knee cycling.

***

Had NYC trip cancelled due to friend's illness (trip is now back on).

***

Lost inspiration at work. And at home. Hence no blogging.

***

Men.

***

Am officially poor for the first time. And I'm about to go o/s so it's only set to get bleaker.

They say bad things come in threes. I'll take the 24 saver pack.

Poem, 31.08.09

2009-08-31T19:18:00.003+10:00

A Camping Trip

I think I need to take a trip out of town
Go somewhere elemental and outside
Where the ground doesn't just patter
But crunch resolutely underfoot

I want to go where the warning lanterns are
Visible through hollowed-out husks of eucalypts
The sky black-purple, your breath grey-white
Where chimneys are used. Where riffs are acoustic.

I want to look at stars. Look properly.
And not in that incidental way you do
In town, when a star or two peak at eleven
And you say to yourself, "Oh yeah. Yeah. That's right."

Maybe a wholesome hike or two
A bag full of equipment and maps
A car full of contraptions with pockets and zips
Heavy weather gear and rain protective boots

Come with?

If These Are His Forearms...........

2009-08-15T20:12:00.001+10:00

...IMAGINE HOW BIG HIS CALVES ARE.

And They Didn't Even Ask For My Credit Card Details

2009-08-13T21:44:00.011+10:00

So here I was, minding my own business, surfing the intertubes for some t-shirts. American Apparel. They say it's alright, and cheapish. And they have a website. Alright. Let's give them a go. Click "ladies". This is what I find.

Yeah. Not so sure how this advertises...anything. A bit more t-shirt and a bit less sex doll strangulation would do me fine.

Right, ok, sneaky....I'm definitely intrigued, but still no t-shirt advertised. Well, not much.

Aaaaaand now this is just porn.

And it goes on....

And on.....

And on.

I'm no prude. Hell, I'd out-naked you in 3 seconds flat. I just worry that, to the extent that these images don't verge on child pornography, they confirm and condone the same, disgusting, hyper-sexualised message that advertising always did in relation to youth, except here it's worse because it's cloaked in the banner of alternative/youth/mod-beatnik stylezz.

It's still gross.

It reminds me of a then-eleven-year-old girl whom I led one summer camp, who demonstrated her (air quote) slut move (air quote) by "grinding" up against an unsuspecting classmate whilst singing a Britney song. Needless to say her eleven year old male counterpart had to leave the room.

I'll Make It Real Simple For You

2009-08-12T22:20:00.000+10:00

Er..

2009-08-01T19:13:00.000+10:00

What

Ze

Föck

Mystery Meal

2009-07-30T22:15:00.007+10:00

It's about that time that I need to clear out my freezer/pantry of things I haven't used for, oh, upwards of 2 years. I'm loathe to actually throw out food - most especially food that, by virtue of cryogenics, has a 35% chance of still being alright. Solution? Throw it all in the electric slow cooker, add a load of salt, see what happens.

Here's my electric slow cooker:

Ain't she something?

And here's the mystery meal as it stands now:

You'll note that amongst the water there's mystery floating red meat, onion, frozen peas, cannellini beans, barley, and a fuckload of salt.

I've popped the lid on and switched the temp gauge up to high. I'll upload another photo in the morning (if I'm alive).

Wish me luck.

Over & out.

*************************

9 hours later (not dead)

************************

24 hours later (still not dead!)

****************

Update:

Tastes damn fine.

Conversation Overheard in Harold Holt Spa

2009-07-21T18:45:00.002+10:00

After my swims I like to marinate in my own (and others') juices by dipping into the outdoor spa at Harold Holt Pool. If I had a happy place, it would be that spa. Reminiscent of a Japanese Onsen, covered by gnarled tree branches and smelling rather unexpectedly of cedar, deep as it is wide, hot as all hell, it's the perfect way to say, "FUCK YOU, WORLD OF PAIN. I'M IN A SPA NOW AND NOTHING CAN HURT ME."

Last night I heard a conversation in said spa that restored what little faith I ever had in love.

The conversation was between

a man (who had the sexiest voice I have ever - and no doubt will ever - hear. It was so deep that it came as a surprise how crisp his diction was. Usually depth of voice comes at the expense of clarity. Sadly, though, his physical appearance neared that of Jesus, had Jesus not been crucified but rather gotten married and grown old and grown hair in unwanted places, and put on 30 kilos);
his long-term girlfriend (very attractive, smart, considerably younger than her partner); and
an older gentleman who must obviously have been some sort of acquaintance of theirs. The older gentleman enquired as to how the couple met.

The answer surprised me.

They met 10 years ago through a classified ad.

Fat Jesus had posted an ad in The Age in terms which the woman found eminently endearing:

Seeking mildly attractive female. Must love animals.

She thought to herself, "I'm mildly attractive and love animals," so thought, "Why not?" She placed a call to the number listed in the classified and heard The Voice on a prerecorded message. She evidently couldn't resist those caramel tones.

But it wasn't just The Voice; it was also, I gather, the uninhibited sarcasm that laced each and every one of his comments in the recording. She found it attractive, as did I. She had just come out of a very destructive relationship and told Fat Jesus this in her reply message (in fact her exact words were, "Oh, and if you're looking for a girl without baggage, don't call me). Mid-way through leaving the message, she thought to herself, "Holy Fuckwad, what the fuck am I doing?" and hung up without seeing the message through to its formal conclusion. The message was nevertheless taped and two days later she received a call from Fat Jesus. The rest, as they say, is history. The couple have been together for 10 years, "longer than many marriages last" - to quote Fat Jesus.

These people didn't appear desperate, or like social outcasts. They were extraordinarily bright, playful with one another, unafraid to contradict one another, attracted to each other, and most admirably, fiercely independent. The sort of people who have made different mistakes, but in their difference they bond only stronger. The sort of people I'd like to befriend and learn more about.

I thought this was a nice story to share.

Overkill, Much?

2009-07-13T21:05:00.001+10:00

A school caretaker was jailed for life today for killing his lover after lacing her omelette with sleeping pills. Stephen Singer then battered Dina Sharpe's head and trapped her in her burning bedroom, where she died.

God Help Us All

2009-07-12T22:27:00.000+10:00

Who The Hell Makes This Their Classified Photo?

2009-07-12T19:12:00.003+10:00

Poem 9.04.07

2009-07-12T18:22:00.003+10:00

What do you want with my mind?
What do you need my ears for?
Get off, you lumbering beast
Get off! Release. Away. Growl.
Why latch your yellowed fangs
Onto the skin of my back?
And yank? And not let go?
With your foamy grip and
Infected eyes?

I’ve done nothing too bad
I keep my kitchen decent
Do favours for people
Sometimes of my own accord
Why won’t you leave me alone?
What could I do for you
To ensure your erasure?

What do you want me for?
For nothing, you ghost
You’re mellowed. Used. Scratched
Your smile’s there, but a prop
Your breath a tepid vapour
Your arms two stalks
Your hands mildewed
There’s gunk in your eyes

You looking for variety? Yeah?
Chasing me down for a guiltless fuck?
Ooh, hmmm, wow, come on
I know just the place, just the position
Come on, yeah, like that, let’s see you actually go
Down with the pants and firm with the hands
Let’s see you, yeah, ah, ha!
I thought not

It’s just the type of maniac you are
All chase, no result
Skimping on entrees
Overloading on drugs
You’re testing my tolerance
Poking away down there like a retarded guy
Alone in a supermarket unoccupied
Getting amongst the trolleys
Drooling and scaring children

Scamper away now, you wasted bankrupt
And leave me the hell alone

Bruno II

2009-07-12T00:58:00.000+10:00

Bruno

2009-07-11T15:02:00.000+10:00

MARGARET: But honestly I absolutely killed myself laughing at some sequences in this.

DAVID: Really?

MARGARET: Yes.

DAVID: I just sat back in my seat feeling a bit miserable.

MARGARET: I do think we ought to warn people that there is a very uncensored use of the penis in this film and various other moments that are quite over the top. The Milli Vanilli simulated sex scene is really.

DAVID: And you enjoyed all that, Margaret, didn't you? I can tell. What are you giving it?

MARGARET: Oh, it's so rude.

DAVID: What are you giving it?

MARGARET: I'm giving it three and a half.

DAVID: I'm only giving it one.

MARGARET: Oh, David.

How To Profit From Your Own Idiocy

2009-07-09T20:54:00.002+10:00

1. Get disgracefully, utterly, manically drunk
2. Lose your iPhone
3. Wake up next morning
4. Realise you lost your iPhone
5. Look everywhere for it
6. Call cab company and lodge lost property report
7. Have cab company tell you no property found
8. Sigh
9. Purchase new iPhone 3GS
10. Have original iPhone returned to you courtesy of next taxi passenger
11. Sell original iPhone on eBay
12. Enjoy your new upgraded phone

Ta da!

2 Computer Nerds I'd Be Proud To Call My Friends

2009-07-07T21:42:00.003+10:00

c/o www.bash.org

Copyright

2009-07-05T09:57:00.000+10:00

And this is why you copyright your ideas, kids.

Urban Dictionary 24.06.09

2009-07-04T23:12:00.002+10:00

The Perfect Week to Cycle to Work

2009-06-30T22:11:00.001+10:00

Kick in the Balls

2009-06-29T20:48:00.002+10:00

Just when I need it least, Facebook turns around and proves that it's the heartless asshole I always knew it to be.

Thanks Facebook. Thank you.

C/O passiveagressivenotes.com

2009-06-28T22:58:00.000+10:00

Guess the DVD

2009-06-28T20:17:00.003+10:00

Guess the DVD this blurb is from:

Unable to endure another mind-numbing day at ****** Corporation, cubicle slave Peter ******* gets fired up, and decided to get fired. Armed with a leisurely new attitude and a sexy new girlfriend, he soon masters the art of neglecting his job, which quickly propels him into the ranks of upper management!

Urban Dictionary 25.06.09

2009-06-25T23:04:00.000+10:00

Stream of Consciousness, 16.06.09

2009-06-17T00:06:00.008+10:00

You're not mine. You're not here because of me. I didn't carry you into this world. I was elsewhere when them having you was even discussed. I may have been working, or travelling, at a cafe somewhere, writing, self-immersion, indulgent right-of-passage bullshit. I may have been wanting you without me even knowing what it was that I was wanting. But for all this, you glorious creature - if anything should happen to you - you brilliant thing - well.

You don't belong to me. I have no rights. I don't buy you things, because at that I'm inept. I didn't dress you up or put you to bed. I'm not here to protect you. It's not my mother's muslin in which you're now cocooned, ever so softly, always smelling of almonds with feather-light hair and the skin of a sun-warmed peach. So somehow You, Little Thing You, you fill me up with something like a gust, but a taste like I've never tasted. Something about your arrival has chiselled piercingly away at the rough outer surface of my sometimes cynical, sometimes simple, mostly cynical, childish mind. You, Little Thing, You. If anything should happen to you.

I've never loved something so close to inanimate. I've never been brought so close to tears by someone with no consciousness to speak of. I've never paused to gaze at someone's eyes the way I pause to gaze and settle on yours. You, little girl who's not mine. You, who I adore with my every follicle, every word, every cell, every inch and every song. You can have it all. I'm not here to protect you. But I will.

Not to put too fine a point on it

2009-06-10T22:04:00.003+10:00

I, like all good Jews, enjoy saving my pennies in earnest, spending them only after thoughtful consideration and on thirfty purchases such as buttons, glad wrap, and hefty quantities of piss. I try to be careful with money, and not to lash out too often. But hey, it was my birthday. And this was a gift. So, at an upper end boutique in Collins Street I tried on - and procured the purchase of - a pair of size 39 black patent leather stiletto boots (displayed above). Pretty fucking arresting shoes. Half a week's pay.

Thing is, after four days of wearing them, the "points" (rubber stoppers at the base of the stiletto heels) had worn off. Apparently you're not meant to actually walk in shoes this high. Who knew. The fact that the points had worn off effectively meant I was walking on two metal skewers. Not the best look, nor feel. On Tuesday I brought them back into the store, seeking their urgent repair and an instantaneous apology. Let's just say I was mortified by what transpired. A complete upending of the natural order of things. It's not that I didn't get my shoes repaired; I did, and without delay. But that didn't do much to address the fact that I was treated like a primate.

I walked into the store. I had my conciliatory - "for now we can be equals" - face on. A nervous looking girl asked if I needed assistance. I began explaining the situation. Nervous girl evidently had little idea that I worked on Collins Street and was very important. She kept flicking her head over towards a woman behind the counter who was apparently "in charge" but busy with another customer. I politely asked nervous girl whether I could have my boots repaired or exchanged. Another head flick towards the counter. I realised I wasn't getting anywhere.

I turned my attention to the manager, a feisty Aussie Italian creature with a blunt Northside accent. The type of woman who lies about her age, who throws quiet but deadly tantrums in the workplace to scare off her underlings, who wears extraordinarily high heels every day to conceal the fact that she's four foot tall. She probably goes by her Italian name, some cumbersome ornate name like Chiara or Antoinetta. I hated her already. She had overheard my enquiry about the repair/exchange of my boots. She peered at me through those beady little tantrum eyes, which narrowed ever more as they travelled up the path of my personal accessories, from my shoes to my suitpants to me briefcase to my scarf to my earrings. Judgment. You're not good enough to be in here.

She gave me the once-over a few more times. She then informed me that she would "deal with me" in a moment (deal with me? YOU DON'T FUCKING DEAL WITH ME, SWEETHEART. NOT ON COLLINS STREET. You attend to me).

Our conversation went as follows:

Her (immensely irritated): Okay, so what's the problem with the boots?

Me: Well, I've worn these 4 times, and today I realised that both tips have fallen off.

Her: Okay, dear, for one thing let me explain that they are called points. Not tips. Secondly, they are designed to come off.

Me: No. They're designed for walking. They are impossible to walk in at the moment. You will fix them.

Her: Well, obviously you're not meant walk on them now, are you? What I'm saying is that the points are designed to come off, but then they will need replacing. Again and again.

Me: ...

Her (exasperated): We will replace them for you. But they will come off again. That's what I'm trying to tell you. They are designed - to - come off. They are very fine heels.

Me: ...

Her: I'm just telling you now so that when you get them back, you know that this might happen again. The points will probably come off again with wear. Because that's how they were designed.

At this point I became aware of her tactic of simply saying the same thing over and over again, emphasising a different word each time in the vain hope that I would go away.

Her: You don't seem to understand what I'm saying. The points - they will come off again because that's what they're designed to do.

The conversation went on and on. She shut her gob when I mentioned that all this talk was making me late for lunch with my mate Mick.

I dislike it immensely when someone who clearly earns less than me acts as though they are better than me. They aren't. They're in a lower tax bracket. They finish sentences with the word "but". They are in all respects, other than perhaps body weight, "less" than me. The fact that we both work in Collins Street is nothing but a mammoth coincidence, the unfortunate product of the wrong stars aligning at the wrong time and bringing two entirely separate socio-economic classes embarrassingly together.

Poem 27.10.08

2009-06-08T22:50:00.000+10:00

There was a boy who was too much
Who, shining, standing, played too loud
But, quietly strangely somehow had it
In him to come all apart

He had that lustful way of life
Literature his guiding light
He quietly strangely somehow had it
In him to remain alone

With wild hair and crazy looks
A study full of music books
He quietly, strangely somehow had them
Made into an aeroplane

He took off in the early sun
And left away the atmosphere
And quietly, strangely, somehow pinned
A bird against a windmill pane

Joe, stop drinking

And like a cautionary tale
His craft descended rapidly
He quickly strangely lost control
And slid into the earth’s great hole

He pulled at ropes, he clenched his teeth
Impotent to stop defeat
His gorgeous hair submerged beneath
The wreckage of a childhood hope

So now this boy can’t play too loud
And certainly can’t go too far
His wings were rescued, sopping, North
North-West of Mauritania

His hair’s been clipped, his eyes are dull
He’s wheeled around to schools and somehow
Finds it in his heart to tell the kids there
Not to give up dreaming

Joe, stop drinking

Would You Rather XII

2009-06-03T22:53:00.003+10:00

Would You Rather...

(a). Not have Saturdays anymore (just you - everyone else would have them);

OR

(b). Have hair only down the left side of your scalp (it would stop abruptly at the midline, forcing you to opt for an extreme combover. You could not shave your head nor conceal your abnormality with a hat/wig)

Two Up Thumbs Down for The the Age

2009-06-02T19:13:00.002+10:00

During? After? Through?

PICK A TEAM.

Love Generation

2009-05-31T01:53:00.002+10:00

I just finished recording a 3-minute track I've been working on for the past 3 days. Please stream or download it at your leisure. The song should start playing automatically when you open this link up. Over & out.

The Saddies

2009-05-26T22:42:00.001+10:00

Something I wrote a few weeks ago, then, out of embarrassment, pulled from the blog. HS suggested I ressurect it. So here it is.

* * *

You had them last week.

One of the patents secretaries at work has them, ongoing.

A balding businessman on the Glen Waverley Line had them this morning.

Two of my online chat buddies reported cases of them this evening.

A Swiss guy I've always fancied. He has them. He told me last night.

The Saddies.

'Tis the season.

I ask how you are, and instead of your usual chipper, I get a feeble sigh and an irritating close-mouthed smile.

"Yeah. Alright. Not bad." Can there be anything less interesting?

In the mornings it's becoming harder to get up.

Socks with pyjamas. Tea with breakfast.

We wear coats. We wear itchy spensers and double up on socks.

Tissues line pockets and oil heaters go on special at Target.

Those fashionable extra buttons on our coats - we start using them.

The thread that ties them to our jacket cuffs - that loosens up.

We make use of everything what we have.

Maybe it's Melbourne's bitch of a season. Maybe it's the recession. Or the flu.

But ask me. Ask me how I am. I'll tell you. I'll be concentrated, bright, new.

Sultry, not wintry. Brilliant, not dulled. How am I?

Yeah. Alright. Not bad.

Would You Rather XI

2009-05-20T20:33:00.003+10:00

Would You Rather...

(a). be buried alive by mistake, not knowing whether you will survive, lying still and in terrifying uncertainty for 3 days before your rescue; or

(b). every time you open your mouth to speak from now on, have to pull out - ever so delicately - and in front of whatever audience you have - a furball the size of a ping pong ball.

Interesting Fact

2009-05-14T22:06:00.000+10:00

In the UK, 430,000 people made a claim for whiplash in 2007 (75% of the UK's motor insurance claims), accounting for 14% of every driver's premium, with a resulting payout cost of £1.9 billion.

My All-Time Favourite Kick-Ass Line From A Book

2009-05-08T01:39:00.002+10:00

"I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded, not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night."

- Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

Flashdance

2009-04-28T21:24:00.003+10:00

How is this surprising? Pretty much every swing dancing lesson some old guy would expose his wrinkly genitalia to me/whoever would look. It's part of the whole dancing shtick.

Step step, kick ball change! Kick turn step, barrel-roll! One, two, three, WOO-EEEEE!!!!!!

Would You Rather X

2009-04-20T18:18:00.003+10:00

Would You Rather...

(a). Have to receive, and to answer, and to give your full attention to, one market research call based out of India EVERY MONDAY NIGHT FOR AS LONG AS YOU LIVE; or

(b). Have to do the naughties, for one night only, with this:

Bone to Pick

2009-04-17T22:47:00.006+10:00

background...

This is a post about the funniest call I've heard in a while. It's about my housemate (let's call him Chad). Because Chad's newly in from Brisbane, he's been scouting out some new friends in Melbs. He has been pretty successful in forging friendships with a couple of my male (and female, but that's another story) friends.

One of these mates of mine (let's call him Marc), who happens to be Jewish, has grown quite fond of Chad, and the two of them have started hanging out on weekends, generally acting as one another's wing men while they chase tail.

The friendship between Chad and Marc has gotten so good that Marc has confessed to having a "man crush" on Chad. While a hetero through and through, Marc but has one of those addictive personalities that makes him likely to view others with rose-tinted glasses. It just so happens that Chad is currently the subject of his man crush.

context...

Last night Chad had a few friends, including me, over for dinner (Marc wasn't there). Chad, the archetypal Brisbanean homophobe, mentioned - as a concern - that Marc confessed to having a man crush on him. We debated what this meant for a while, then we moved on.

the call...

In a later conversation, Chad was bullshitting about being half Jewish. I gave him my sceptical look and said, 'there's no way that you're one of us. For one thing, your name is Chad. For another, you're blue eyed and athletic. What's more, you're generous with money. Nup, you don't have a Jewish bone in your body.'

To which one of the guests replied........

wait for it

'Well, he may have, if Marc gets his way.'

.

Code Grey

2009-04-15T23:11:00.002+10:00

The one good thing about having lots of jewish doctor friends?

They can decipher hospital call codes.

Tonight a group of us were at the Alfred Hospital neuro ward. No real reason; we just like to hang there sometimes. As we were leaving, a vibrant and chirpy tone sounds over the loudspeaker. A calming voice: "Attention, all security personnel: Code Grey. I repeat, Code Grey."

There are 4 of us in the bunch: H (a med student), J (a physio), N (a social worker) and my good self (aspiring pastry chef). At the sound of the Code, H and J exchange glances. They smile at one another, a little devilishly if you ask me. The petulent schoolgirl within me asks, "Oooh! Tell! TELL ME. Tell?" Bowing a little, as though to reach down to my cognitive level, they whisper: "Code Grey is the code for violence." Or, in H's medspeak, "some psycho's gawn spazzmo". A moment later we see a surprisingly un-burly security officer make haste towards the neuro ward.

Nice, State government. Real nice.

Name This Creature

2009-04-13T22:25:00.003+10:00

It's a rare event that I turn to my audience for help.

Check that. It's a rare event that I turn to my audience for help, and actually care what the response is.

This is one of those cases.

I have just discovered a fuzzy creature, about the size of a lychee, sitting outside my housemate's bedroom. Housemate "can't be farked" opening his door to check it out (despite my repeated and incessant urgings via facebook.* I know in truth he's just scared like a little scared girl and doesn't want to come out.

So.

I need your help identifying this fuzzy creature:

I'm not sure whether he's alive or dead (so view the pronoun as optional), male or female, mineral, vegetable or animal. I don't know much about him at all: how he came to be nestled against my skirting board, whether he has eyes, what type of music he likes, whether he was lured into my house by the scent of kneidlach, or what in mary mother of god's name he's doing in my hallway. What I do know is that he's small, immobile (or at least not moving presently), peachy in colour, and has tentacles (or similar) on his underside.

Can You Help?

* Yes, our relationship has degenerated such that we now communicate via facebook for most daily purposes).

Evocative Painting. Click on it.

2009-04-11T13:08:00.001+10:00

Paws for a sec

2009-04-09T00:18:00.002+10:00

I want a pooch so bad. I ride home from work, it's now dark and the wind tears through my bike clothes. I lock my bike up, climb the stairs, get to my front door, unlock, and the only thing remotely excited to see me is my kitchen moth, of whom I'm paralytically frightened. Oh, there's my housemate, but he's often not home when I get in at night. Even when he is, his greetings (mostly charmingly predictable, generally along the lines of, 'Bitch is home! Yeah! Does bitch want curry? I think she wants it, yeah, curry...let's serve up some of that shit, hey) are strangely lacking in warmth. In short, at the moment there's no hairy, drooly, horny beast waiting for me at home and I feel that on all counts a pooch would score aces. I have to make this happen.

Three-Way

2009-03-30T22:17:00.001+11:00

This Should Be A Joke. It Isn't.

2009-03-28T11:52:00.002+11:00

Fucking brilliant. Click on it.

Would You Rather IX

2009-03-21T14:44:00.002+11:00

Would You Rather...

(a). Not be able to taste anything coloured brown (including steak, chocolate, mushrooms and coke); or

(b). Have to precede every breakfast, for the rest of your life, with 3 tablespoons of Clag?

Politically Inkorrect Kopz - 2

2009-03-15T15:11:00.000+11:00

Penis cake, anyone?

Would You Rather VIII

2009-03-09T19:28:00.003+11:00

Would You Rather...

(a). Have to swim the entire distance you've ever swum before, over again, in one massive session (you must swim between 9am-5pm every day until you're done, and you may rest in the pool as often as you need, but you may not have any swimming company); or

(b). Have to re-live every sick day you've ever taken off school, work, and uni.

In my case it's clearly (b) because (a) is just unfathomable - it'd take me weeks.

Would You Rather VII

2009-03-08T13:56:00.002+11:00

Would You Rather...

(a). Have to eat a full head of lettuce for breakfast each morning; or

(b). Have to do one cartwheel for every 500m you walked (whether at home, in public, on stairs, or at funerals). You need to perform each cartwheel after 500m - you cannot save it up for later and then bundle multiple wheels.

Bonkable Old Geezers

2009-02-28T18:34:00.006+11:00

My top 5 bonkable older male film stars of all time? Sure thing! Here goes...

1. James Spader - - - hands down (& tied behind my back, preferably)

2. Alan Rickman

3. Clive Owen

4. Clint Eastwood (no laughing; his forearms don't look a day over 75)

5. Dylan Moran (not an older man by any stretch, but I'll allow it because he has the morbidly cute and completely futile cynicism of a 78 year-old)

There's something remarkably unforgiving and unforgivable about Spader, both in his role in Secretary and in Boston Legal. I think it's his single-minded unapologetic lecherousness. The way he takes charge. The way he stares at you - through you - and dares you to break your stare (I speak, of course, as someone who has experienced first hand his iconic gaze). Man. Would I love to be undressed by him. To even be mentally undressed by him. And yet he's a gloating, objectifying, obsessive fuckwit of a character. In his role as Alan Shaw you just want to slap him. And then have him slap you. Just, you know, for good measure.

J has pointed out that this post is more of a teenage rant than an incisive comment on modernity. And to his credit, I agree. But I don't give. I'm not going to try to work out what makes (these) older men hot...or rather, what makes some older men grow hotter with age while 98% of their counterparts wither into pot-bellied sweaty slugs with joint and muscle issues. I just like to admire. Admire, and then list in Top 5 fashion.

Man! Oh Man.

2009-02-18T22:32:00.003+11:00

Tonight was nice.

Gill's Diner with 2 friends in the city. On the tram in, seated diagonally across from me, a hot man. Young professional. Has a yellow suitcase. Business trip, maybe. Glances across every so often, either at me or at the window behind me. I have the luxury of mirrored shades, which provide for excellent perving opportunities. I think he's glancing my way.

Then. Hot man #2. Chef. Chef pants. Strangely flattering. Man thighs. Awesome hoody. Rough round the edges. Facial hair. Sits right next to me even though there are plenty of spare seats. I fumble with my old school iPod, too nervous to do anything that might be perceived as communicative or conscious of his presence.

I then disembark a stop early, at Flinders, so I can walk a bit and kill time before arriving at Gill's. On the walk, I feel as though I'm in a film clip. Hot men! Everywhere I look! Hot hot men! Men on pushbikes. Men smoking curbside cigarettes. Men on Harleys. Men with solo espressos. Men with leather jackets. Men with good shoes. Men alone. Men looking at me. Must be the pheromones because this sort of thing doesn't happen often. And no, I didn't have a piece of pastrami stuck to my chin. Come to think of it, it could've been my hot-ass shoes I was wearing. But I prefer to think it was the pheromones.

New Song

2009-02-17T21:32:00.001+11:00

Here's a song about something sad (the bushfires) in something happy (the key of C major). Enjoy.

Bushfires

2009-02-15T22:13:00.000+11:00

I hate those fuckers.

I I Never Really Thought I Was a Love Man...Until I Met You

2009-02-15T22:04:00.002+11:00

yayayay

Laughing Alone

2009-02-10T02:13:00.002+11:00

I seldom laugh otherwise than in the company of others. Occasionally Arrested Development might bring a few cacks outta me, but other than that, I'm more of a social laugher.

Until today.

I flicked out my iPhone after swimming today (in a move I like to call the iPhoneFlickOut TM) and saw the most delightful thing. And it made me laugh. And that made me feel quite self conscious, standing as I was in public, with wet hair plastered to my face and nothing but my black speedos and a tattered beach towel between the world and my own vulnerability.

The iPhone has a cute little habit of offering you free WIFI where it's available. Where it's not available, it'll revert to 3G and charge you accordingly. When you're out and about and your phone senses a free WIFI spot, a darling little alert comes up with a list of all available wireless network(s).

The alert looks like mya:

The name of the available network (here "Techman") is the name that the paying WIFI client has ascribed to his or her network. So for instance, my WIFI network at home is called "Flat 6". Astounding.

Anywaysies, so I'm at the pool, I realise I need to check for an email from my housemate, I do the iPhoneFlickOut TM with all the dexterity I can muster, and what happens? That gorgeous little WIFI alert comes up. And what's the name of the available network?

Is it "Linksys"? No. "John & Rita"? No. "Apartment 152"? No. "Netgear"? Nope.

It's...

I'M WATCHING YOU.

(!!!)

God bless whoever thought so far ahead. God bless their cotton socks.

Would You Rather VI

2009-02-08T12:25:00.003+11:00

Would You Rather...

(a). Commit, be tried for, and be convicted of the offence of driving while under the influence of drugs (penalty = loss of licence for 5 years and a $20,000 fine); or

(b). Not commit, but nevertheless be charged with, the offence of possessing 25,000 images of child pornography (the charge would be dropped because of insufficient evidence).

Letter To An Ex, August 2006, Edited

2009-02-04T02:03:00.004+11:00

N,

Scrolling down my hotmail inbox and seeing you at about #46 and that the bulk of headers above yours contained not-too-subtle invitations to free porn/1 month diplomas prompted me to get into gear and write. Like I said you should. And like you did.

N, you're damn funny. You're the only one of two people in the world whose intellectual meanderings get me giggling.

Tell me about N-the-country-music-fan goes corporate (or, at least, profesh). I bet you could pull off the $250 Armani version of the cowboy shirt pretty fine. Did you walk around headstrong, with your chin up but nose not too high? Did your shoes click satisfyingly on marble floors? Did you do $500 lunches with the guy from sales? Did sections of the soundtrack off Wall Street sometimes play in the background? Did you wear a skinny tie? DID YOU CARRY A LEATHER SATCHEL. Tell me all.

Right. Things I've thought of, seen, heard and experienced in the past month that reminded me of you or reminded me to tell you of me.

See the film 'Brick' if you haven't already. The filming is a chilling inversion of the american college scene...the school is always empty even though school's on, the headmaster plays the father figure, the protagonist's parents are never mentioned. Most importantly, the dialogue. Took me away. Most powerful bit of cinema I've seen in a long while.

Swing dancing is going great. I'm liking the not-needing-to-move-my-jew-hips thing; I'm in my clumsy smiley element. I’m not a good dancer. Teachers are good. Nice boys, encouraging.

I’m getting that old familiar rush from tutoring. Must’ve missed it while I was away. It’s a lot of info to cram into an hour, so the tute is stressful, fun, makes me need to take my jumper off. Love it.

I’ve rekindled my 1989 love of everything Adidas. Bought trainers in Milan and Boots in Berlin. Think cantaloupe meets lime icypole meets beachball. Molto 80’s. Love it, too.

Submitted a short story to the Penguin Short Fiction Competition. We will see what becomes of me [editor's note: I totally pwned that competition, coming in second]. I’m reading Mistry’s ‘A Fine Balance’ – something everyone’s read. I borrowed it from the library: something I have not done since I was 9. I used to love everything about the library: the fact that you could read as much as you wanted FOR FREE (this was amazing to me at the time and still is), the fact that everyone could find something there, the way the ladies scanned the book barcodes with their fancy-looking scopes. So yeah, going back to the library not for essay purposes but purely for the pleasure of finding something to read was really heartwarming.

Love,

Josephine

The Insane Optimism of 09

2009-02-03T13:42:00.006+11:00

The cynics among us are quick to spoil the promise of the Obama presidency with a caution: Wait 'til he's really president. Wait 'til he has to make the tough decisions. The hype surrounding his inauguration is too great. He'll never live up to it.

Of course he'll never live up to it. Of course he won't. Nor do I think that's a problem. For the first time - certainly the first time in my lifetime - the world has been injected with a miraculous and infectious hopefulness. Can't we just enjoy it rather than vomiting the obvious all over it?

Would You Rather V (dedicated to Roger Federer)

2009-02-02T02:20:00.005+11:00

Would You Rather...

(a). Start crying like a little girl every time you had to give any form of public address (where 'public' is defined as having an audience of more than 10...and by 'crying' I really do mean howling and gasping for air...and no, you cannot simply refuse to speak in public); or

(b). Giggle, very quietly, yet uncontrollably, at all funerals you are to attend from here on in (and no, you cannot simply refuse to attend funerals).

Would You Rather IV

2009-01-25T11:59:00.005+11:00

Would you rather...

(a). Have a lychee growing out of the underside of your chin, visible to all (complete with spiky red skin); or

(b). Have 2 lazy eyes, which always point in opposite directions, and always roll about uncontrollably, confusing and instilling fear into the hearts of all those around you.

Would You Rather III

2009-01-20T20:54:00.003+11:00

Would you rather...

(a). Have tinitus for the rest of your life; or

(b). Have to inject yourself, every hour, for the rest of your life, with the juice of an off zucchini - in your TONGUE.