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J O U R N A L
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Monday, March 31
[This one goes for a while]posted by peter at 19:42 .......Now, let's talk about yesterday.
Of all the things I could have been doing on a Sunday morning, distributing discount movie vouchers to deranged fans at the entrance to Football Park (or AAMI Stadium or whatever) would not seem one of the most likely. But there I was, outside gate 3A, with a bundle of tickets in hand and a branded cap upon my head. Oh yeah, and a smile on my face.
Society's stranger types really come out to play at the football, and we were beleaguered by freshly emerged deros and tricoloured scarf toting ball watchers. It's just not a culture that I can embrace.
All of this was preceded by cawfee and bikkies at a West Lakes cafe that teetered right on the edge of a fish-infested cesspit. Earlier still we had braved the local McDonalds, naturally I bought nothing and as usual nearly vomited both from the food on offer and from the bizarre manners that I encountered. What does the football do to people's brains? I think they relish the opportunity to be disgusting for a few hours, pass me the coupon 'darl'.
What I really couldn't get over during the voucher distribution process was the way people looked at me like I was a mutant. I wasn't imposing some sort of torturous device upon them; I was merely offering them the chance to save a few dollars and if they don't want that then they can help themselves. Mention must be made of the many delightful people who gratefully accepted the booklets, or made witty, good natured comments, but they were a tad overshadowed by the Vile Sisters and old Uncle Creepy.
As if it wasn't already strange enough, I wiled away the remains of the day ensconced in the detritus of renovation and also the broad aisles of the 7 day supermarkets of Colonel Light Gardens; a district that elicited many strange memories of country living. One of the worst experiences of my life took place in a particular house but I am just not going to say a word about it, and on another subject I also had to apply the second coat of paint to a mushroom-shaped garden lamp. As I said, a strange day.
The deepening evening heralded the glorious occasion that was my farewell dinner with beautiful friends. Sagarmatha Nepalese restaurant was our venue and about 16 (or so) of us filled a weird table configuration and received curt service from a thinly disguised European backpacker. Delicious food and drink abounded, people came and went and generally pleasant times appeared to be had by all. Unless I'm completely deluded.
From there we progressed to the Exeter where several jugs of pale kept the group remnants occupied for an hour or so. Edgy live bands and a curious visit from a ubiquitous local identity added spice (and a fair measure of creepiness) to the occasion.
Well it's Monday now, I've had a long and tiring day at work, am beset by seasonal depression (I get it every year, the same time, don't know what it's all about especially since it's actually my favourite time of year, must be something to do with wallowing in self-indulgent misery), have made and eaten delicious pasta which caused chilli to dance on my lips like lines of blazing magnesium (or equivalent scintillation), have enjoyed a short but sweet visit from Pippa and am now awaiting Trish's arrival which will definitely portend coffee.
I always like to surround myself with people.
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[Veins in blue light]posted by peter at 15:10 .......In a fit of irresponsibility I have thrown caution to the wind and booked two flights: one from Melbourne to Adelaide in late April, and one from Sydney to Melbourne in early May.
That just leaves getting from Adelaide to Sydney. Fortunately this will be taken care of in the vehicle of Deb... that's right, she and I are doing a road trip across the empty and no doubt ugly expanses of central New South Wales. So that's something to look forward to.
Now it just so happens that at the moment I have the opportunity to vicariously share a house with a heroin junkie. An unfortunate friend of mine has poured out her tale of woe to me; how she's living in fear of violence (yeah, the guy's a dealer too) and is also worried that her possessions will be slowly but steadily pilfered to support a burgeoning habit. I hope she can get out.
Anyway, living vicariously has provided me with a wealth of life experience. So far I've 'lived' through a divorce, several breakups, job terminations, a couple of deaths, a few near-misses in the crime world and numerous relationships of varying gender configurations – all without actually experiencing any of it for myself. Aye, that's living.
It's probably due to that fact that I'm all too willing to lend a sympathetic ear to someone in crisis. Other people love unloading a few burdens. Unfortunately they don't always see that such burdens do impact on the people they tell, one way or another.
[Stitch me a shirt to call my own]posted by peter at 10:42 .......A man in the supermarket wore a tshirt printed with the large letters CK. It was ostensibly a branded shirt, if you ignored the fact that running across the chest were the words "Cosmo Kramer". Sorry, but how lame. Brand name irony or a reference to a favourite TV show, who cares, it was so, so, SO uncool.
Everything about that style of shirt is bad. I tend to think that people who wear a garment that displays only a designer logo (let alone a manipulated version) are actually exhibiting a remarkable lack of style. If you can't afford the decent clothes from a 'designer' season (I certainly can't), then just don't take the 'designer' path. It screams tryhard to me. And when you try to throw the fun shirts for zany people ideology into the mix, the results speak for themselves. Very bad form. Hehe, I sound like a Wharton-esque Lawrence Lefferts. :)
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[Farewell lunch]posted by peter at 20:56 .......I went out to lunch with several of the people from my floor today, under the guise of 'celebrating' my impending resignation. This whole leaving thing has actually been lovely, in the sense that people really do seem sorry that I am going. Which is all very touching and whatever.
Just when I thought it couldn't get any better they surprised me with a wonderful David Jones gift voucher! Oh life is good.
Lunch itself was quite tasty, even though I had the same thing as last time... the Old Lion doesn't offer much vegetarian variety. As for the mealtime conversation – well, did it ever turn into a session of office politics, discussion and bitching, but gee it was interesting. I learnt more in the space of two hours about some of the goings on around me than I have in two years. Who would have known?
Things went a bit far when a 64-year-old colleague started telling us about her husband's impotence, in alarming detail. My boss screamed "too much information!" but not before we'd all listened in to this intimate account with a curious mix of fascination and discomfort. Once again, in the last week or so of knowing her, someone has revealed a side to her personality that I could never have imagined.
[Hmmm]posted by peter at 15:20 .......I'm a little disturbed by this.
I've been thinking about changing my URL for a while, and this might be another motivating step down that path. I can't share domain similarities with a hardcore band.
The neveralone concept was born of an infatuation with technocultural theory, a Wim Wenders obsession, and also my faith in an omnipresent, infinite God.
So on the one hand we have surveillance networks, Foucault's panopticon, The End of Violence, human/machine augmentation, the juxtaposition of first, second and thirdspace (not to mention blurred boundaries), Japanese animation, hyperreality and virtual communities. Then on the other hand is a conviction that there is a whole spiritual world behind everything. (That sounds a bit more New Age than I intended, I'm not talking about a cosmic mesh or anything.)
One way or another, we're always being observed.
And then somehow food came into the equation.
So it's all a little bit incoherent. But the Internet is hardly a standardised, well organised information repository, so I guess I can be forgiven. I've got some ideas for different domain names, but it will come down to finances and whether or not I can be bothered. After all, I'm quite happy here.
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[Ill body, ill mind]posted by peter at 22:20 .......Curled up on the couch like some sort of Leunig figure. Felt like my extremities were merging with the air, as if my fingers were dissolving into space, or clutching at an invisible matrix like the roots of some fabulous tree. As if I were bleeding into the aether, red cells flying from a million tiny punctures. I thought that this would look very beautiful, if a little horrifying.
Now my head is beginning to pound. Helicopters are probing the sky above and somewhere in my chest a distant city sighs. Sleep beckons. Goodnight.
[Mixing bowl]posted by peter at 13:09 .......The new bakery I just tried out is going to have to lift its game if there is to be any hope of customers coming back. I mean, finding a great big wad of raw mix, with the texture of scone dough, in the middle of a muffin is not the most pleasant experience. 'Uncooked' doesn't equate to 'rich and gooey' in my opinion, and to be honest I find overtly moist baked goods to be disgusting anyway. 'Gooey' is an unattractive word, and sticky cakes/muffins/whatever tend to be vile.
I also tasted one of their hot cross buns, which was nice, but I still genuinely believe that mum bakes the best hot cross buns in the world. They're so yummy, and you can actually peel off the cross and save it until the end, because it's the best part. I prefer them without fruit.
It's funny how often you hear people claiming that their mothers bake/make the best *insert item here* in the world. Quite often after hearing such claims I've tried the said item and found it to be decidedly lacking. Not that I would ever say so.
This leads me to the theory that these things seem the most delicious because attached to them are positive memories of fun times and love and whatever. If a food recalls a wonderful memory, you are obviously going to enjoy it more. I'd imagine that if I'd had a hellish childhood, over which my mother had presided like a spectre of doom, then I might not think her hot cross buns were so good.
But I'm still convinced that she does bake the best ones.
[Turmoil]posted by peter at 08:22 .......In a sweet vessel we sail the midnight streets. Pinned by inertia, we have nothing to offer except a measure of tiredness and the buzz of foreign beer. Overheard conversations in bars with dark timbers, a strange interplay of eye movements. Like laser beams sweeping the distant walls.
They were cleaning the awnings near my bus stop this morning. Flying water dodged passing cars while freshly scrubbed dirt made a wistful exit through the gutter. A worker let his track pants descend to embarrassing depths, taking no heed of the presence of nearby commuters.
With awnings unavailable, I stood in the blazing sun. Burning skin and a burning throat, this hideous germ unkilled by plentiful chilli and powerful garlic. Nor the virtuous echinacea.
Restless sleep precedes painful consciousness.
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[Current status]posted by peter at 13:28 .......Right now.
In blue ink on the back of my left hand is written a 'C' and a 'D', and there is a wonky circle drawn around them. On the back of my right hand is the very faint remains of an unrepeatable expression, written in green biro. Ange wrote it there, which is possibly a clue in itself. I know there is a bruise on my right leg from yesterday's bicycle incident.
I'm wearing a dark blue bonds tshirt, blue denim hipster jeans and brown corduroy shoes that have velcro instead of laces. These clothes are comfortable.
I have recently eaten and have been drinking lots of water all day, which will hopefully counteract yesterday's caffeine overdose. I'm finding the office to be slightly too warm. My ears are hearing the whooshing of the computer fan, and the faint click of a mouse that an unknown girl is operating behind me.
All I can see is this 19" monitor, with a wall behind it. 'Tis super conditions for eye strain. The monitor has a wide-brimmed hat sitting on top of it, which isn't really anything to do with me. There are many colourful posters on the wall, and many extraneous objects on the desk around me.
So there we go.
[Clunk!]posted by peter at 08:53 .......For a while there, back in the days when I lived with Deb, we went through this weird habit of rolling our eyes and pulling an exasperated face the second we hung up the phone. Sometimes there'd be a head-shake involved as well. It usually didn't matter who we'd been speaking to; a casual observer would have thought that we'd just experienced the most annoying conversation possible.
Which is quite funny, considering we would often have just been speaking to close friends or family, and probably enjoyed the small talk. But they still got the eye-roll and audible sigh. No exceptions.
Then time passed and we forgot about it; moved on, so to speak. It's strange how things like that come and go.
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[Another fine morning]posted by peter at 11:37 .......I so very nearly fell off my bike this morning at the junction of Fullarton and Glen Osmond roads. It was peak hour and gosh it would have been embarrassing, what with countless drivers and busloads of school children looking on. As it was I did stack it somewhat. I was attempting to take a shortcut which involved mounting the kerb, but I was cycling parallel to it at the time. Therefore when I attempted the wheel-lifting movement, I misjudged and struck the kerb on the side of my wheel, sending the bike off on some sort of tangent. I don't know how, but in a fit of unsummoned coordination I disentangled my feet from the pedals and landed upright! Disaster averted, I came to a running halt, dragging my bike behind me. Hardly graceful, but I was so glad I made the recovery, and come to think of it, glad that I didn't die beneath the wheels of a bus.
So with the front wheel no longer aligned, I quickly snuck away into the shelter of the Centrelink verandah. I highly recommend the Parkside branch of Centrelink; there was no queue and the staff were suspiciously friendly. The office was light, airy, open and devoid of ferals. It probably attracts nicer clientele in that locality, so if you're up for negotiating the Bermuda Triangle that is Parkside (it's such a beautiful suburb, but with strange road networks), I'd suggest you go there if you need to draw on Australia's ailing welfare state.
However, all they told me was that I have to wait until I am actually unemployed before any application can begin. So much for the early bird catching the worm, help yourself to living off your own meagre savings over a few bureaucratic weeks.
I'm so thrilled that Spirited Away won the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature, it really is one of my favourite films of all time! I attended an Oscars evening last night, which was loads of fun for all.
Finally, I wish to extol the virtue of one Timboon biodynamic camembert. Smooth and creamy with a wonderfully enticing coating of fluffy white mould, it's a joy to consume, particularly with water crackers! Normally very expensive, it's currently selling for a bargain at my local supermarket, so I bought up. Can I say that such cheeses are far more enjoyable when no mention is made of candida exacerbation or flourishing or whatever, I don't need the image of bucketloads of yeast dumping out of my body when trying to enjoy delicious food.
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[Thirdspace representation]posted by peter at 10:39 .......I'm always a little nonplussed when people tell me this website is a bit self-obsessive, because really, what else do they expect? It's an online journal for goodness' sake, so I'm reluctant to apologise for being introspective and occasionally narcissistic. :)
Sure, I know it differs markedly from a personal diary simply because it is in the public domain, and I'm aware that a few people read it and I guess therefore I sometimes tailor content somewhat. Even if that's done unconsciously. I recognise that traditional diaries hardly invite comments from other people, particularly strangers, but dammit I love getting comments! It's fun.
Blogs are about self-exploration, documentation and observation, and I try to strike a balance somewhere. If a by-product of that is a bit of entertainment for people I barely know, well and good. Welcome to my site, stay if you will, go if you must!
I also enjoy the sense of online community created by blogs; reading other people's sites brightens my day, and I seize the opportunity to participate in comment culture. So I guess these are some justifications for why I keep this journal. Happy now? :)
For anyone who cares (oh dear, acknowledgement of potential audience, am I breaking unwritten rules?) I've posted a review of the Moby concert.
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[March on]posted by peter at 14:34 .......It was another well attended peace rally in the city this afternoon (so much for my 'keep out of town during the car race' thing), with I don't know how many thousand people filling the route from Victoria Square to Parliament House. It was a heartening display, but was made incredibly eerie by the thunderous presence of overhead fighter jets doing displays for the interminable car race.
I can't help but feel that some of the protesters need to remember that it's not Vietnam anymore and they could maybe think about modernising both their fashion sensibilities and their methods of protest. I love a rousing sing-a-long anyday, but really...
My only other complaint is that I'd prefer it if people would reduce their emphasis on the 'no blood for oil' thing, because while there are powerful arguments for this as motivation for war, there are also convincing arguments against it, and such protester focus provides fodder for dismissive governmental retaliation. I don't know what to think, I don't trust any of the major players; all I know is that I'm sickened by this pre-emptive war, I'm against war under any circumstances and I feel betrayed by our leaders.
I did appreciate the speaker who supplied a medical perspective, reminding the crowd of how the survivors of the bombings face new challenges when destroyed public infrastructure leads to to unclean water and epidemics of typhoid and other horrendous diseases. Humanity really hasn't changed in the last few thousand years, we've just learnt how to kill more people in less time.
After leaving the protest, I was disappointed to find that the chocolate shop I mentioned yesterday was closed, however it's fair enough if they want their Sundays off. But I really did mean to take advantage of their special... small blocks that normally cost $7 are being sold for $3.50. Bring it on.
[Boring thing #1254]posted by peter at 09:40 .......Today's boring thing is: alt.youth marketing ploys.
Why do some advertisers still think that displaying a photo of a guy poking out his tongue to reveal a piercing is a way to convince disaffected youth to buy? I'm thinking specifically of some travel advertising I saw recently, where this guy's face filled the entire cover.
What, am I supposed to think, "oh, he's so cool and zany, he probably got that piercing in Amsterdam, he's probably trekking through Vietnam as we speak, I need to be that cool, therefore I'm going to purchase a holiday"?
As a matter of fact, all I can think of is that he's probably some irritating git who joined the piercing craze about two years after it peaked in readiness for his Contiki tour through Europe which he most likely wasted in a haze of alcohol and sex.
It's that whole thing of assigning an image to the label of 'international tourist' (oh, should I say 'international traveller', far more hip), which otherwise remains fairly abstract. Svelte backpacked girls with pigtails and guys with multi-pocketed outfits and a particular facial expression seem to feature prominently. Check out the STA Travel website for the latest incarnation of the modern traveller.
I just find it interesting how travel advertising is shifting away from pictures of beautiful scenery or poetic cities and becoming more self-oriented, focusing on how you can supposedly attain some level of grooviness (or catch a plane to higher consciousness or something) through your travel experience. I think this misses the point of the whole exercise, but it must be working because so many marketing schemes seem to be embracing it these days.
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[Sustenance]posted by peter at 12:26 .......Rosemary Stanton would be dismayed if anyone were to whisper in her ear the list of foods that constituted my breakfast this morning. There wasn't a food-group pyramid in sight, let me tell you. Shall we begin?
The Adelaide Arcade houses a couple of fine chocolate shops, and earlier today Sandra and I went into the newer one and both bought up after surveying the tempting scene. This simple act set a number of high-fat wheels in motion, and thus my breakfast began.
Proceedings commenced with an amazing dark chocolate ganache truffle, made by a Parisian chocolatier and based on cocoa from the Venezuelan highlands (I was assured that the maker is an avid environmentalist). The visually splendid creation was beautifully enhanced by the French words that were stencilled on in gold leaf. Indescribably delicious, if you're in town just go and have one. This shot of sugary richness sustained me for a time and we continued browsing the arcade, still no word on the Vegetarian Tea Garden, it's old location is currently an Aveda store.
Back at home I tucked into some New York cheesecake – dear Trish had left a couple of pieces in my fridge. It was incredibly dense and had a layer of baked sour cream on top which lent an interesting flavour contrast. The cocoa dusting finished the whole thing off, with regard to both taste and aesthetics. It's impossible to eat very much though.
Not content, I finished off a tube of Salt and Vinegar Pringles. I hope nobody vomits from thinking too hard about this juxtaposition.
Breakfast ended on another chocolatey note, as at the previously mentioned shop I had also purchased a block of astonishing Villars double-cream chocolate, filled with almond and hazelnut cream. It was milk chocolate (but with such high cocoa content that it appeared almost black) and had the most superbly smooth and sumptuous filling. I have no idea of the fair trade or environmental protection policies that may or may not apply to this product.
By the way, Deb has informed me that there is a limited range of Haigh's chocolate available at the Ariel bookstore on Sydney's Oxford Street, in case anyone's interested.
Anyway, I'm aiming for vegetables etc. later on today. I don't want to go back into the city if I can help it, it's full of disgusting people in team colours walking around in intimidating groups. I can hear the noise of the cars from here and the planes flying overhead are most intrusive. I hate car races.
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[Drop those bombs]posted by peter at 07:42 .......We're at war, but I haven't bought a new outfit yet. I should probably change my phone number for security and possibly political reasons. We're at war, but I've still got a cake in the oven. I hear the PM is staying in Canberra this weekend, I guess that means he's cancelled the dance at Kirribilly. It's so reassuring to know that he's going to sit around sipping Starbucks in our nation's capital.
It occurred to me while I was crossing the road yesterday that, for the first time, I am ashamed to be an Australian. Usually I'm indifferent... no patriotism here, no nationalistic pride to be found. But to actually be ashamed!
But then I realised that there's no point being ashamed, because the general public has sent very clear messages about their feelings regarding this war. So I decided that I should just be embarrassed. Perhaps even humiliated, that we could have such incompetent leaders 'representing' us (oh, whoops, I didn't hear the billion loud voices, obviously everyone is in favour).
Anyway, I actually feel sick. Physically ill, when I think about what is happening in Iraq. Hussein is a vile, disgusting man, but the dying civilians most probably are not.
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[Special K]posted by peter at 09:42 .......Explain this to me if you will. Why is it that some people treat drug experiences like life milestones? I'm curious. As one who chooses not to use drugs (I'm sounding more and more like Moby every day) I have listened in on discussions and conversations with interest, but without understanding. I can comprehend the reasons why people use recreational drugs, but why they attach meaning to the experience is beyond me.
Whether it's a first Fantasy libation, an MDMA baptism, an acid trip to a new destination or losing one's cocaine virginity with a line of blow... I've heard these experiences discussed fondly while other life events have been positioned in relation to them. And I don't understand it.
Is it really such a means of spiritual fulfilment? Some might say that any spiritual experience is the result of a bunch of chemicals dancing around in your brain, synapses firing (or misfiring) through neural networks, that sort of thing. By this definition, I suppose drugs fit the bill.
I don't deny that some drugs must be a lot of fun. My main objection to their use (other than their self-destructive capacity if abused) is that they inevitably support organised crime and associated violence, and I'm sorry but I don't think that does much for our community. And I also object to having to listen to people go on about their amphetamine journey or related mind adventures ("Oh Pete, you're just so wonderful, thankyou so much" says a hyped up seratonin junkie) because as far as I'm concerned it is an exclusionary practice.
Perhaps I can't understand it because I'm experientially naive in this department. If anyone can shed any light on the matter I'd be interested.
Speaking of Moby, it seems I've scored free tickets to his concert, from one of my media contacts. (Fabulous darling.) I'm not really a fan – though I can't deny I went through a phase and thus own four of his albums – but I reckon the concert will be great.
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[Moronic race]posted by peter at 20:51 .......The Earth is faithful in its movement around the sun, and so we come to another Clipsal 500 weekend. It's time to dust off those GT stripes, don the fluorescent lanyards and head down to the track for a day of noise, adrenalin, burning rubber and beer in plastic cups. Rev up and tap into the energy! Seatbelts on for another blazing weekend of furious velocity!
You too can perch on temporary grandstands and join the panoply of men whose fuzzy chest hair protrudes brashly beyond top buttons while knee-length beige shorts billow happily in the breeze. From a corporate vantage point you can watch the machines roar by, while girls with enigmatic bosoms strut past in vibrant lycra and high heels, embracing the opportunity to create their own jiggly off-track spectacle.
You, yes you, have the opportunity to add to the traffic congestion that delayed buses up to 90mins today (while near-empty express buses sailed on by; I was livid), and add your own little measure of greenhouse gases to an already choking atmosphere.
Who cares about the ozone layer when there are cars to be enjoyed??? Why walk when you can drive?
But that's not all. When the checkered flag has fallen and the final engine has turned its last revolution, the party is only just beginning. Step out into the hot big city night and be blown away by the hard-rocking FM radio staples at the after race concert. You bet, it's time to throw some flab around on the stomping ground. Rock on.
Citizens of Melbourne, I have read your distressed cries of frustration that were elicited by the Formula bloody 1. I'm so glad you nicked it from our fair city, but I wish you'd give it back before I commence my Eastern migration. I feel your pain in all its manifestations, and the weekend hasn't even begun.
Yet somehow hope remains. I feel confident that I can escape this lame mechanoerotic festival. I will turn my gaze upon the suburbs this weekend, revisiting old favourites and perhaps making new discoveries in the vast residential wilderness. At the very least I might make a start on my packing.
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[Gallery, gallery]posted by peter at 23:07 .......Excellent, another set of photos! While the mood takes me 'n'all. Thought I'd wait for the others to drop off this page before posting the new lot, don't tax the bandwidth, that's what I always say!!
The night was warm, the mood was fine, the lights of the city sparkled beneath Ange's verandah. Pleasant times!
Deb and I act all happy, but behind the jovial exterior lies the bitter realisation that soon, so soon, we will be a thousand miles apart. There is perhaps also a hint of violence. And, obviously, unrequited love.
Ange, Deb and I in a reflective moment. Trish is behind the lens, but notice the pensiveness with which she composes and frames the shot. Yes, she is there in spirit, can you feel it?
Ange makes a vehement point. She insists that it's documented but I find that hard to believe.
"Ridiculous!" With one word of tremendous power and insight, Ange sums up the situation and lays all else to rest. Far be it from me to make any conflicting assertion.
Things are always best when they are woven by your friends. Such garments will always protect you.
[Hardly SQL]posted by peter at 22:44 .......Wonderful news! I've updated my miscellaneous page. It is now a sprawling database of juicy information. Ahem, perhaps not. There's more info than there was, but it still won't tell you much! :)
[Let's invite death]posted by peter at 11:32 .......Well, how does it feel to be at war? Personally, I'm over the moon, what could be better for Australia? I can't see much changing in 48 hours or so, but I pray that I am wrong. John Howard you are a sycophantic joke of a Prime Minister and have failed us in your supposed eleventh hour.
On a brighter note, I'd have to say that I applaud two recent product-related actions by the Mars company. (1) The Midnight Mars Bar and (2) The Hazelnut Snickers. I'd gone right off chocolate bars, preferring much more expensive options, but these two have had me heading to the supermarket! :)
Chocolate. Good, hollow distraction from the horrors of war.
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[Update]posted by peter at 18:58 .......What a vile day. Not only was it hot, but the track-pants, goatee and mirrored sunglasses set were already spilling out the door when I arrived at the Centrelink office. I knew I was in for it. I stepped through the glass sliding doors and a thick pall of maladaptive angst closed in around me. At uni I did extensive research on welfare stigma (I use the term 'stigma' very loosely because it has a contested definition), and today I was ashamed to find myself internally perpetuating the stereotypes.
But I couldn't help it. IT IS JUST SUCH A DEPRESSING PLACE! People stood around snarling, audibly complaining and using aggressive language. A girl in track pants whose massive hair belied her tiny frame shed her baggy blue jacket to reveal a patterned day-glo singlet, and a sweaty man turned around and directed a prolonged stare at my crotch. I even saw someone I knew from school, but I wasn't going down that path again. Mrs Enormous breezed in wielding a pram, resplendent in her matching tight pale blue vest and shorts outfit, and proceeded to shout unintelligible syllables into a mobile phone.
I know I'm being horrible. I know I'm being judgemental. But it was all just a bit too much. It was intimidating and unfriendly.
I had waded through to the end of the line, hoping and praying that I'd joined the correct queue, and when I finally reached the front I was served by an incredibly rude man who told me I'd have to sit down and wait another 20 - 30 minutes to see someone else.
So I sad down in seats facing the queue, and the minions idled past, displaying the up-close detail of a Macy's day parade.
A thankless existence must be had by the poor Centrelink clerks. I really feel for them. Even when they are unnecessarily rude and abrupt in response to a perfectly decent greeting.
45 - 50 minutes later, the pool of people waiting had grown exponentially and still there was no sign of any staff, so I decided my life was too short and had to leave. When I stepped outside the dreaded building, it felt like someone had sneaked up behind me and doused me with a bucket of optimism. I'm not kidding, it was that refreshing.
So you see, I achieved nothing. I don't even know if I'm going to be eligible for any sort of payment... all I wanted was to find out and possibly apply.
The photo chick was as stone-faced as ever so I tried not to think about it, boarded a bus, met Lisa at the Marion Megaplex and we saw Gangs of New York, which I enjoyed in a detached way. I think I've now seen nearly all of the films nominated in major categories of the Academy Awards.
[I was walkin' the city one day]posted by peter at 07:27 .......I'm looking immensely forward to the city this morning, because there really are few better ways to pass one's time than standing in line at a Centrelink office only to be given information that will, more than likely, prove disappointing.
Then I have to go and pick up my photo reprints, which involves bracing myself against one of the coldest counter faces I've ever had to deal with... I'm too afraid to even sarcastically suggest to her that a smile wouldn't hurt, because it actually might, and I'd hate to see her whole face just shatter and scatter.
Ooh, and then I might have a takeaway coffee, and cup in hand I'll slip into a bee line for the business precinct. I forgot, I won't be wearing a suit, so unless I feel inclined to head in and pick up a Roger David special, I might have to rethink this concept.
At some point I have to get on a train, and I can't wait to sit there impassively, pretending not to overhear the nearby conversations. Wait, a bus might be a better option, which means I'll get to go to the passenger information centre, a life altering excursion in itself.
Well, what am I doing wasting time on the computer? Away, away, I say!!!
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[Blossom on the tree...]posted by peter at 22:00 .......Sitting in my courtyard this glorious Autumn evening with the dulcet strains of Nina Simone drifting out through the screen door, I wondered if I'd experienced a fleeting moment of perfect happiness. Realistically, I probably hadn't; how could I have? But it's good to be optimistic, rather than plunging into a well of desperation, clutching at an idealised image of sitting there with a partner who shapes and completes you and shares the brief glimpse of something otherworldly.
Antediluvian notions aside, one wonders whether sweet chilli sauce is to South East Asia what Tex-Mex is to Central America. See, you could talk to a partner about that, and pepper the dynamic conversation with tasty comments about cultural displacement, cross marketing and throw in a bit about how globalisation shifts boundaries and morphs identity.
Then you could go inside, with your partner, and do the dishes, because heaven forbid that you leave a couple of pots and pans in the sink. Maybe then you could, as one should every Sunday night, switch on the television and catch the 8:30pm movie.
Then you could joke to your partner about how you couldn't believe that for all this time you've been using non-standard HTML characters that are a bit too browser-specific for the W3C's liking, and then make quips about 5 years of university education leading to nothing but a few misguided flailings and an abstract concept called 'expertise'.
Your partner could then reassure you that even though it's a lie that demand exceeds supply for graduates in the IT industry something's bound to come up sooner or later. And everything would be OK, because you'd have a partner and it's been proven time and time again and the results speak for themselves and it's documented and it works for everyone else...
"Honey, my site's been down a bit over the last couple of days, there's been some server maintenance going on, a hairdryer was involved, would you believe it?"
"Oh pumpkin, that's wonderful!"
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[Hilton Brassiere]posted by peter at 20:57 .......I've never been a huge fan of the silver service concept, finding all the formality to be a bit laa-di-daa for my liking, and as such haven't made many forays into that world. Tonight I dined with Sonia and dad at the Hilton Brassiere, and my impression of the fine dining environment hasn't changed, but gosh the food was good.
I had a wonderfully subtle risotto – so tender and creamy – that was scattered with roasted baby vegetables (think carrots, beets etc) and surrounded by a delicious truffle-infused dressing (I forget the proper name for that). I followed this with a heavenly dessert that consisted of a rich chocolate soufflé cake (it literally dissolved in my mouth, I made something similar once) paired with sumptuous mascarpone icecream. The massive curl of white chocolate resting above it all completed the dish in a very appropriate manner. Seriously, I would go there for that dessert alone. Sonia managed to nick a good bit of mine, but there was fun in the sharing.
Our waitress was genuinely lovely and provided great service, it's just that I tend to prefer to move my own chair and arrange my own napkin in my lap. Informal dining is my preference, by far, but it is fun to go all bourgeois every now and then.
Anyway, it's 10:30 (I don't know what time Blogger will report) and I have a party to attend, so I probably need to switch the computer off now.
[Everything rotates]posted by peter at 14:46 .......With long hair spilling over bare shoulders, she leans over the table and spins the tops. Concentric bands of yellow, red, green and pink whirl and dance on the formica, following erratic paths. One wobbles wildly and dies, while three others stray too far and fall victim to tabletop obstacles. But two remain, spinning side by side. The one on the left begins to oscillate, gently at first, but gaining speed and losing stability with every revolution. Shaking violently, it scores deep gouges in the surface and fills the kitchen with noise. Cutlery vibrates in the drawers, and somewhere near the sink a glass falls. Microscopic fractures propagate and the top shatters into a thousand tiny pieces. Radiating outwards, they strike her face and deflect off her outstretched arms. Blood issues from the cuts, but she saves her eyesight and the house is silent again. The final top continues to spin; it is steady and scintillating. The deceleration is smooth and unhurried, and when at last finding rest, the top balances on its pivot, assuming perfect equilibrium. It is the yellow one. It is her favourite. She stares at it for a time, a fascinated smile playing on her bloodied lips. When the signal finally comes, she retrieves the dustpan from the cupboard and gathers the scattered fragments.
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[Ways to cope]posted by peter at 23:32 .......I turned on soothing music and again looked to green tea to deal with my pounding headache. Red wine straight after work is all very well, but I had an empty stomach and have an exceptionally low alcohol tolerance at the best of times, due to the rarity of my drinking sessions. Anyway, I holed up with the filthies and friends in the seedy basement of the Richmond, before progressing on to Zapatas for sangria and food.
So much for the cooking at home thing, out the window again, we had a hankering for Mexican and Zapatas stands head and shoulders above the rest. But at $16.50 for a half serve, it's hardly the cheapest nachos around. We perched in the window of the Melbourne Street establishment and behaved somewhat inappropriately.
And as for Alex, why is it that you meet the coolest people just when everything is ending?
Back at home: there I was thinking I must have the most unhealthy scalp in the world – turns out it was a million tiny sugar granules; remnants from the quantity Ange chucked at my head in the Elephant Walk.
For that was our destination after dinner. But at $4.50 for a coffee, it's hardly the cheapest around. The Elephant Walk is one of these 'intimate' cafes that throws together a few indoor plants, Balinese screens, fans and decorations, divides the space up into private booths, dims the lights and proceeds to serve fat-filled food at exorbitant prices. Still, they were playing the Amelie soundtrack, so they win points there. And they open late, which keeps the young ones happy.
Oh, and this is amazing. Simply bloody amazing. Should be in The Onion, not on CNN.
[The process]posted by peter at 15:02 .......An international student sits hunched over a textbook on a park bench in a dimly lit city square. She pores over diagrams, figures and equations, powering her knowledge with public electricity. Oblivious to the creeping dark and ignoring the tired bodies that move silently through the shadows, she digests the allocated readings. Buses pull away into the night, taking nothing away but their own noise. Weeping leaves form plaintive silhouettes in a vivid sunset, but she neither notices nor cares. She is a university student and she will study and she will achieve. She will accept a graduate position and embark upon an illustrious career amongst the eminent power brokers.
Years later when a chiming clock announces the future has died, time and space will divide and all the parabolic equations in the world won't stop the tears.
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[Vampires drink blood]posted by peter at 22:28 .......Is it creepy to be entering into a garlic phase? Possibly, but that doesn't remove the fact that it is a wonderfully tasty ingredient. I've taken to finely slicing a clove (I always remove the green central shoot) and using it in my simple stir fries... garlic, soy, fried tofu, spring onion, ginger, red capsicum, thin rice vermicelli noodles – nothing new at all but it's all very good. This super-quick meal option (and variations, bring on the 'canvas foods') is actually encouraging me to cook again on a semi-daily basis, as opposed to going to restaurants all the time. My wallet is thanking me for this.
Any tips on the handling of rice vermicelli noodles would be greatly appreciated. It's not the cooking that's the problem, I mean how hard is it to dump boiling water on something and let it soak? The problem lies in their propensity to shatter and fling vast distances, covering my kitchen floor with string-like bits. Quite unattractive and, should a visitor happen to notice, suggestive of poor hygiene habits. My back courtyard is similarly adorned, as yesterday I thought I'd take the offending ingredient outside before launching an assault, a veritable blitzkrieg, in an attempt to separate the damn things. Seriously, I can't believe how far they go – I found them amongst my pot plants and beyond. I don't think they'd encourage the use of these noodles on Backyard Blitz, but stranger things have happened in my world.
The only thing I can think of doing is to hold the dry noodles in a large plastic bag and then attempt to separate them. This sort of works (some still managed to grace the benchtop with their presence), but I reckon there's a better way. I just haven't found it yet.
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[Parents, sisters, kids, penpals, friends]posted by peter at 23:35 .......What better time than now for a photo essay? Some people experience the urge for chocolate, others want pain relieving medication. But today we get photos. Mmm, delicious.
Yes, you've just met the bulk of my immediate family, in all our contrived photorealistic glory. Ah, rocks by the ocean, perfect for those holiday snaps that we can just look back on time and time again. The kids belong to Miriam (with apologies to Sekove and Alice... send me some photos guys!!!)
Last year's HK trip provided ample photo opportunities. Question: should the orange shoes stay or go?
"Out and about in Tsim Sha Tsui." Ooh, this trip down memory lane wouldn't be complete without the requisite kitsch captioning.
Thanks for stopping by, folks.
[You watch too many films]posted by peter at 08:02 .......In response to a minor case of stress-induced depression, I have again immersed myself in the world of film. I watched another five over the weekend:
-A beautiful mind (three and a half stars, Margaret)
-The age of innocence (really, really good, but wasn't completely satisfied with Michelle Pfeiffer, she just didn't seem to capture the character of Ellen Olenska – this was partly due to the way she was unflatteringly photographed waddling along like she was just coming in off the hockey field or something)
-Entrapment (loved it, especially when I could recognise Malaysian locations)
-Moonlight mile (very depressing, worth seeing if you're up for it)
-Frida (fascinating)
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[#1 ~2001]posted by peter at 23:08 .......Where there’s a dead body
the vultures will gatherI found her beneath a pile of used scratchies
and travel brochures
in a backstreet somewhere.
She suggested I dare not disturb her
and instead return her to her chances and her dreams
beneath a blanket of paraphernalia.Where there’s a dead body
He approached me in the street
and said “Do you know the way to the highway?”
“Because I need to make a road movie
and be nourished by convenience stores
in the desert.”The vultures will gather
I dodge radio waves every day
but the man on the bus sits next to me
and listens through headphones.
The messages reduce him to a complex network of atoms
and provide a strange sense of comfort
to him but not to meWhere there’s a dead body
She flies her kite in the park
unaware of the hands that hold it afloat.
She’s not sure what keeps her
from spinning off the axis and out of the orbit.
She doubts the common explanation.The vultures will gather
[Strange parallels]posted by peter at 11:29 .......If you were to superimpose a map of Adelaide over a map of Middle Earth and ignore differences in scale, you'd certainly see some interesting results.
The CBD itself might correspond to the mines of Moria – a place where strange nocturnal creatures crawl beneath faded monuments to former glories. North Adelaide would be the sanctuary of Rivendell, while the wondrous Hutt St precinct could be considered Adelaide's very own Lórien.
I would be living on the fringes of Fangorn, while the Southern parklands would represent the better part of that vast wood. Dol Guldur – Sauron's stronghold of old – would pretty much be at Tranmere (or perhaps the Magill campus of UniSA), while the Midgewater Marshes could have no better parallel than Mawson Lakes.
Isengard would be faithfully represented by the ETSA building on Anzac Highway, with its evil links to the abhorrent AGL, while further out, Henley Beach, Grange or Semaphore would be the Grey Havens, and Outer Harbour the Icebay of Forochel.
As for the witch-realm of Angmar? Elizabeth. And Golden Grove is a flawless incarnation of the Lonely Mountain, with Tea Tree Plaza being the town of Dale. Gondor would lie somewhere around Mitcham, and some of the Southern suburbs would be South Gondor – "now a debatable and desert land".
As for Mordor, well it would clearly be Burnside. The Burnside Village would be the evil Minas Ithil in Morgul Vale, and Mt Osmond might be Mt Doom. The Dark Tower would lie somewhere in Hazelwood Park, although I think I'm distorting local geography a bit now.
It's a bit of a stretch of the imagination to liken Adelaide to Middle Earth. However, on those rare, clear-skied evenings when a thick blanket of cloud cloaks the Mt Lofty Ranges while a waxing moon sails high into the night sky... then I could almost imagine dark shapes rushing in from the East, accompanied by the piercing cries of the Nazgûl. Or perhaps it's just a passenger jet descending into a sea of lights.
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[Twentyfirst]posted by peter at 11:19 .......It's with some discomfort that I recall the speech I delivered at my 21st birthday party. First a bit of background: I held the party nearly two years ago in a hall in the Bundaleer forest and went a bit berserk with primary colours, attempting to emulate Mondrian designs on the grey Besser brick walls. I found bits of junk lying about on our farm and brought them in as 'installation', along with some weird plastic-wrapped cubes I'd constructed out of bamboo. A bit ambitious, I admit. Still, once night fell and I'd turned on the strategically placed lamps, strewn beanbags over the floorboards, lit the candles on the cafe tables and cranked up the tunes, it actually looked quite good. The party was held six days early, for various reasons, as my actual birthday is on May 4.
Back to my speech. In hindsight, I feel that I was hardly the picture of eloquence, and suspect my fluency was somewhat diminished beneath a vinous haze. (Dad's contact at a Clare Valley winery ensured bountiful supplies of good Shiraz – strangely enough the benefits of growing up 45 mins from a world class wine region remained largely underutilised in my formative years.) I stood up in front of my friends and said something along the lines of "it's not actually my birthday so I don't really know why you're here, but thanks for coming."
Charming. Fortunately I used tone and the statement induced laughter as intended.
I went on and said other things, you know, the usual thankyous and whatever. I kept it very short, although I suddenly realised I was beginning to repeat myself and hastily converted the mindless ramblings into reiteration. How successful this blundering recovery was, I was not in a position to judge.
The formalities were quickly disposed of (I'd censored my parents, though Sonia and Jess got a word or two in) and more delicious food – prepared lovingly by my dear mother – was promptly distributed.
It was a slightly strange, yet incredibly fun party, and drew a smallish crowd of my closest friends and relatives. The night went rapidly downhill after someone gave me some saki in the early hours, never mix drinks they say, I now have vague recollections of a rainwater tank, a quiche splattering on the kitchen floor, broken bamboo and quite a few moths. The next morning I emerged from my beanbag and the first person I saw was Mrs Swan – up the surreality a few million notches, she wasn't at the party, but that's the way it was. I wouldn't have had it any other way.
[Weird]posted by peter at 10:29 .......Hmm, just got an email from what must have been an 'intelligent' search agent. I've copied and pasted it below:
"Hello, I did a search in Google, for "coffee bean distributors", and your site and e-mail was presented. I am looking to purchase wholesale, green coffee beans. If this e-mail address for you is correct for the search/list and you selll wholesale, green coffee beans, would you please advise me of your wholesale, bulk pricinging? If the Google search and list of your site was incorrect for my request, please disregard this request for information to you. Sincerely, M. Denver"
Well, sorry, I'm not a purveyor – I wish I were, but I'm not. It's amazing what gets done with your email address when you publish it too freely. Very bizarre.
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[Amex]posted by peter at 15:52 .......Every now and then Sonia calls me up and informs me that she and I are about to hit the shops. We certainly did the rounds in the city last night, wading the river of early-evening-after-work zombies, dodging the disaffected and maladaptive youths, and crossing the thresholds of the consumer temples.
As usual, the search was on for the one unattainable garment, which by nature we did not find. But there was plenty of entertainment to be had.
At one point she led me in to the David Jones 'intimates' section, hunting the elusive bra and undies combo. (I'm sure there is a much more elegant name, but this will suffice.) I always love seeing the terrified faces of other men in such sections; they never seem sure whether their presence is appropriate. They pace back and forth clutching desperately at wayward children, or sit on isolated seats near the lifts, hiding behind pseudo-intellectual reading material. On the opposite end of the spectrum there are those who wander creepily wide-eyed, perving on the garment labels and salivating over skimpy shreds of fabric. Let's not forget the insecure late-teens who feel that it's the 'right thing to do' to purchase their girlfriend an intimate number for her 18th birthday. Welcome to the sexual revolution.
I guess the middle ground are the guys who are happy to check it all out, give some advice or even make some suggestions in an attempt to expedite the whole process. But even they shy away from the stern eyes of the sales clerks.
Sonia likes having me around on her sprees. I think she appreciates any advice I have to offer. (Although I noticed she adroitly countered any of my arguments towards buying a $1,295 Burberry shirt that recalled some of Maggie Cheung's In the mood for love outfits. I suppose sanity must prevail to avoid financial ruin.) Our sojourn through the homewares section kept us up to speed on the world of Spode and Noritake, and trips to shoe shops resulted in the purchase of a pair identical to the ones she was wearing. She asked the staff to immediately throw the old ones in the bin.
A desire to spend stirs up a hearty appetite and steering a course for the markets, we replenished our tired minds and bodies. The vegan stall hit the spot again – three choices for $6 plus warm soy milk (yuck)... pumpkin, chickpea, eggplant, zucchini, weird meat substitutes – all of these things featured prominently.
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[Four walls]posted by peter at 08:00 .......The girl in the lift looked at me, and I turned towards her with a half-smile upon my face. But she was actually looking at her reflection in the mirrored walls of the cubicle. And so the metallic casket propelled two separate universes up to even greater heights.
[Citrus sisters]posted by peter at 07:59 .......Lime and Lemon was the Gouger St restaurant that hosted our semi-regular cousins' dinner last night, and it was a tasty affair, bursting with South East Asian influence. I had a sumptuous dish that was abundant with kaffir lime and lemon too – I think I chomped my way through a chunk of preserved lemon at some point. As I've enthused before, I adore such flavours, as they are so light and refreshing.
This was the second time I've dined at that particular establishment, and I've thoroughly enjoyed both occasions. However, it must be said that there is a tiny bit of pancultural cringe – one tends to suspect that crocodile and kangaroo does not form a staple part of Thai or Vietnamese cuisine. Luckily my tofu choice was 100% believable and what a good choice it proved to be!
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[A blank canvas]posted by peter at 12:58 .......Due to a complete lack of ingredients* in my cupboards and fridge, I've lately been turning more and more to what I like to call 'blank canvas foods'. By this I mean combining incredibly simple ingredients, but really concentrating on achieving flavour despite the bland contents.
A big favourite of mine is firm tofu, thin noodles, spring onion, basil, soy sauce, sweet chilli, lime and ginger. So quick and easy – even in times of great cupboard barrenness – and amazingly delicious.
Try things with lentils, chick peas and rice too. Using these as a base, even one vegetable can be converted into a stunning meal. As long as you've got Vietnamese mint on hand...
*Fortunately I do have diversity of ingredients – just not quantity. That's probably the key to the whole 'blank canvas foods' concept; a tin of chick peas and some tomato sauce just won't cut it. There has to be diversity. That said, it's amazing what you can concoct with a few unrelated foodstuffs.
[Child]posted by peter at 09:52 .......Nothing could have prepared me for this: I was standing in the photocopier room before, as I am wont to do, when a lady I see from time to time came in to make herself a cup of coffee. Pausing, she turned to me and proclaimed enthusiastically (and a tiny bit maternally) "I hear you've had a baby?"
Mmmm, no.
You can imagine the wide-eyed pursed-lipped expression of astonishment that adorned my face.
"Oh. Pregnant, then?"
No.
"Oh."
Turns out we traced the source of the mistake to someone else who I'd worked with briefly, a few months ago. Then, in an attempt to restore comfort to the situation, I asked her whether she was enjoying her virtual retirement. To which she replied that actually she was still working full-time, only at a different site. For some reason I thought she was only working the odd day here and there.
Oh.
Could two people be more wrong in their understanding of one another?
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[Tired, stressed]posted by peter at 22:11 .......After the quixotic beginnings to my Melbourne adventure, the harsh reality of it is beginning to set in. Particularly on the logistical front, as I agonise about what I need to transport and how on earth I'm going to get it there. Then of course there's the teeny tiny issue of employment, but one obstacle at a time so I'll suppress all thoughts of that for now. *stresses*
So I've sent off my first load of possessions. I spent the evening gathering them together – predominantly clothes, a bit of bedding and a large number of CDs (with many still to go). I'm most grateful to Mike for making the space in his car. It feels good to know that at least I've started the damn relocation... it's such a hassle, but on the bright side I'm really purging my life of all extraneous items, which will form a perfect basis for my 'very few, very expensive things' philosophy.
On the life-in-general front, I'm certain that I've written before how I have a thing about routines. I'm not interested in falling into them, and I worry that other people notice when I'm doing things in a routine-like fashion.
Today I thought the girl at the bagel shop had perceived that I'd fallen into a routine. (This story makes me look so neurotic and sad.) So I attempted to counteract the effect of that by making it clear that I recognised the fact that I always buy the same two bagels. She said that she hadn't noticed. (This old thing of me assuming other people take far more notice of me than they actually do.) She said she knew I came in a lot but she had no idea what I usually bought. And then she said that she'd memorise my order so that she'd know next time, thus reinforcing the routine that I want no part of.
Isn't it funny how things backfire so completely?
[Threads and screen print]posted by peter at 09:11 .......In a spectacular display of systematic preparation, I have audited my wardrobe in readiness for my interstate reality. Together with Ange and Trish, I sifted through everything and placed garments into one of four categories: 'keep', 'charity', 'unsure' and 'bin'.
I kept many, was unsure about a few, filled a large black plastic bag with charity donations and only threw out one particularly grotesque tshirt.
It was a bit of a journey down memory lane, as I revisited experiments from my university days. OK, so an orange jacket with a silver badge and GT stripe may not have always been interpreted with the irony that I intended. And the grandpa cardigan and retro shirt combination is a look that has had its heyday. It felt very cleansing as one faux-pas after another made its way into recycle-land; perfect for the new wave of tertiary students.
The new me has now emerged – the epitome of style, an archetypal fashionista. (If you overlook the eccentric shoe collection. Actually that's a whole new story, I can't realistically be expected to part with any of them.) Or not. As long as I keep one step ahead of the street, that's all I care about.
Imagine having the wardrobal resources of someone like Björk. "Oh, I've been invited to the Academy Awards – I'm going to wear a swan!" Well, the sky's the limit, as they say.
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[Abrasion]posted by peter at 08:38 .......She knelt in the shower alcove and applied a bleach-based cleaning product to the white tiles. The scourer made a harsh sound as it slid over the surfaces. She paid particular attention to the grout in the corners, because some mould had begun to grow there. Dark trails crept slowly downwards, only to be intercepted and obliterated by a fresh swipe of the sponge. Tiring of the humid bathroom, she stepped out into the laundry where he stood, stooped over the washing machine. He did not turn and she did not smile. Instead, her eyes displayed a brief flicker of hatred.
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[Early to rise]posted by peter at 22:16 .......What possessed me to arise at 5am and walk around the streets of Victor Harbor this morning, I do not know. It's certainly no fitness regime on my part, but it was an interesting experience nonetheless. Early morning conversation has a character all of its own.
We were crossing the causeway to Granite Island when the sun came up somewhere behind an overcast sky. It was one of those 'I wish I had a digital camera' moments, with the lights of the causeway, the shapes of the island, the astonishing colour of the sea and the bright orange rifts far away on the edge of the horizon. I think that was the moment I had hoped for when I'd clawed my way from beneath the blankets in Sandra's glorious house.
Now, I'm not suggesting that Goss is soporific, but for some reason I'm usually out of my mind with tiredness whenever I'm around her in an environment that isn't Adelaide.
Examples that spring to mind include:
-Melbourne a few years ago when I hadn't slept for I don't know how many hours and subsequently got hit by a van on Little Collins St
-Most of the second week of our New Zealand trip last July
-Almost any occasion when we've been down on the South Coast stumbling blindly in search of a sit-down with a magazine and a mugaccinoNo doubt the 5am thing played its part today.
Happy birthday to Jessica! I think you're a wonderful girl.
And thanks to Pippa and Josh for a fun evening of friands and frivolity. Or perhaps 'friands, honey-chai-tea from the Czech republic and good conversation' provides a better synopsis of the evening's events.
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[Textual]posted by peter at 11:21 .......As usual, I have several books on the go at the moment. Where my tendency to juggle texts has come from I do not know – I guess it stems from impatience and also a need to read different things at different times.
I'm partway through the appendices of Tolkien's The Return of the King, which has proved as enjoyable as the last two times I've read it. I tend to read this one when I have enough time to stretch out on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate and work my way through a couple of Joni Mitchell, Goldfrapp or Múm CDs – whole afternoons fly by in Tolkien's realm, accompanied by soundtracks that teeter between sophisticated jazz and otherworldly electronica.
Long photocopying sessions at work allow time for me to continue with Harm, which was written by Stephanie Luke. Providing an engaging and compelling insight into the world of psychosis/schizophrenia, this book has an unusual narrative structure and has held my attention with its honest account of dark and disturbing events. It's interesting to read a book that is set in Adelaide (they are few and far between), and she manages to deal with issues arising in same-sex relationships without getting bogged down in queer theory or whatever (heaven knows I got enough of that at uni, oh, let's talk about gender and sexuality AGAIN...).
Finally, just this morning I have commenced Tolstoy's classic Anna Karenina. I'm familiar with the story, but this is my first real attempt at the novel. My mum's enthusiasm inspired me to undertake a reading of this vast work (good old Eleanor!), as did the fact that Pippa recently enjoyed it, and we all know that I'm trying to be her! :) Anyway, so far I'm hooked!
[Maelstrom]posted by peter at 11:06 .......He gathered the clothes in a dark blue plastic crate, carted it downstairs and separated the lights from darks. The faded reds had not enough malice to bleed through the wash – they went with the darks. The compact twin-tub filled quickly as cold water streamed from the tap through groaning pipes. The first load of fabric landed on a mass of foam, and a white cloud billowed above the waterline. When the motor hummed and the first cycle began, he stared at the whirlpool and wondered what was happening to his life.
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[In addition...]posted by peter at 16:37 .......My student card expired today. So, goodbye to all the discount movies, cheaper bus tickets and the like. Move over world, I'm a worker. At least for another six weeks, that is.
Which leads on to another question: is it unAustralian for me to miss my graduation? It's, like, three days after I move to Melbourne, and I hardly feel like flying back for a day of sappy ceremony in which I'd have to listen to a bunch of academics harp on about mind-blowing research standards and amazing employment outcomes (apparently demand exceeds supply for graduates from my program; I'm yet to see it) while swimming uncomfortably in a lame-R-us hired black gown. I'll take the certificates and run, thankyou very much. All this from an institution that initially left a whole degree off my academic record. Thanks again.
Also, Deb has informed me that Battle Royale will be screening in Australian cinemas from March 20! How exciting, I can't wait to go and see a whole bunch of Japanese students blow each other up. Seriously though, it should be a very interesting cinematic experience.
[The right cut]posted by peter at 13:05 .......Low-cut hipster jeans really come into their own when you sit on wooden floorboards amongst other people, as I discovered in The Jade Monkey last night. I'm a bit concerned about the view I may have provided to those behind me, with the ever-widening gap between the top of my jeans and the bottom of my shirt. Somewhere in the middle a black belt was the last bastion of decency, holding all manner of ground against the straining forces of the jeans' denim loops.
But there was nothing I could do. Sitting down seemed the only option during the performances, because I was too close to the stage. And my shirt just wouldn't go any further downwards. So I left my garments to have their way and reveal what they would. Apologies to anyone behind me; I didn't intentionally inflict such trauma.
I awoke today to find that everything is improving with the onset of Autumn. I'm wearing long sleeves again. The air has a tiny bit of bite, and jackets are now an option in the evenings. Red wine is tasting better, as I found out so well at yesterday's work lunch. I'm projecting optimism again; could things be more perfect?
It's a new day, the weather is fine, the shops are open and the Designer Guys are still camping it up on the Lifestyle Channel. (Probably. I don't actually get pay TV.) The list goes on, but I'll say no more in case something wonderful passes me by while I'm distracted.
And so the world holds true while everything else around me changes.
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