Sub-prime Reasoning
I'm not great economic genius, but every day I read or hear someone say the economic crisis we're afflicted with at the moment is the fault of people taking out mortgages they couldn't afford. This is specious.

The majority of mortgages in all the history of mortgages are unaffordable, and the borrowers do everything they can to make ends meet. I don't blame anyone for wanting a home of their own, even if their reasoning, their calculations, have been flawed. Nobody much was out there explaining the positive balance to be achieved by renting over buying, certainly not to the extent that so many of these people would have had the access to the information or wouldn't still have had that other voice, the bad angel, if you will, whispering just the opposite, something we're all susceptible to, even if it's more a matter of having that extra piece of chocolate cake or not.

And I still don't blame the mortgagees, and certainly not to the tune of trillions of dollars. Sorry, that's where I have to get off this train-wreck of an argument. There are just under 300 million people in the U.S. How many of them would have to take out a mortgage-they-can't-afford to run up the debt into the trillions? Even leaving aside the fact that there aren't 300 million people eligible for a mortgage, even as subprime holders - because many already own, are smart enough to do the math, are children, own in tandem with someone else - you'd need many more than you can comfortably blame for the problem, I'd reckon, but, like I said, I'm no math genius, even if you do give me a calculator.

Not to mention it's money on paper, for one thing, which brings me to where the fault really lies: corporate greed.

It's been a long-standing problem for corporations, private and well as, although especially, publicly-traded, that their focus is not on their existence, but on providing "shareholder return." This can only be accomplished by maximizing profit. Fair enough, that corporations should be in the business of making money, but that's not quite the same as "shareholder return," something that's more about accounting tricks than actual revenue versus cost. There's only so much any company can do to maximize profit, you know. There's a minimum number of employees, after which the company can't fulfill it's commitments to its customers. There are overheads, costs paid to government, suppliers, etc. It takes money, we always hear, to make money, and it's true. But shareholder return doesn't care about that. Show a downturn, show a slow-down, and shareholder return shrinks, the market gets itchy, shareholder return shrinks more, and so on, until you're out of business and shareholder return is zero, anyway, or worse, as we're seeing today.

So Joe Plumber, to take Senator McCain's new icon, loses that home he couldn't afford the mortgage on, even if he was making his payments, because his bank sold his subprime mortgage to someone else who sold futures on it to some other cabal who leveraged whatever that was worth in some other obscene transaction, until somebody had to have some cash and it had to come from Joe Plumber or Joe Sixpack or me or you.

This isn't new, it's just snowballed. We've been headed this way for a few decades now, although things really started getting out of hand in the eighties, when the GOP decided it ought not to be too concerned with how people got along and focussed instead on ensuring they got along so long as they were incorporated. The Democrats haven't helped, frankly, and as much as I hear from back home that Obama is no less in bed with the usual corporate suspects and beholden to the lobbyists, I have to agree. My only hope is that he really will prove to be a leader. I know McCain won't. He's too old and too beholden and too bought-and-sold-out. In some ways, I wonder about Hillary Clinton, but, then again, what did Bill do? I mean other than to set in motion a lot of the regulatory changes that are killing us now.

AU$ down to US$0.65, in a decline as precipitous as it's gain, and during a period where the expectation from the analysts was that we'd be at par. Goes to show: you can't trust the experts. Makes me feel a little better about my own thinking on the topic.

The Uses of Power
Of course Sarah Palin abused her power as governor of Alaska, that's what power is for, and that's what she wanted it for. Her entire history is about power and its (ab)uses. She didn't like property taxes, so when she had her chance, she got rid of them in Wasalia. It didn't matter that she replaced a progressive tax with a regressive one. She got what she wanted. And when the GOP power brokers needed someone they could put forward who wasn't implicated in any of their major corruption problems, she was a logical choice, someone who'd do what they wanted, but not so smart as to start running them. Of course, she was also not so smart as not to end up in a scandal of her own, but ya pays yer money and ya takes yer chances, as the saying goes. And this is the kind of person John McCain thinks is Presidential material, the legacy he'd leave us with, once his own two terms (assuming he can take a second, let alone the first one, and assuming his health holds out) expire? Sure, why not? George H.W. would have left us with Dan Quayle if he could have, after all. The GOP is beyond cynical. They believe power is a right, their right. And look what they've done with it. Since Nixon, look at what they've done. (Skip Ford, he was pretty much a nonentity.) Reagan's "trickle-down" bankruptcy of D.C., Bush I's . . . o.k., skip him, too; all he left us with was his son. Bush II, who's Reagan lite, if only from a intellectual standpoint, which is saying something in itself, even while he tries to out-Reagan Reagan. And now McCain, the most cynical of them all. And his legacy? Unending war and Sarah Palin appointing Supreme Court Justices. I've never been happier to be an ex-pat. What my first country could come to with this crowd in power for just four more years, let alone eight, or twelve, or sixteen . . . it's beyond belief.

The Election the Democrats Have to Win (But Do They Want to?)
In the run-up to the last Australian Federal election, and, in fact, well before, there was a fair amount of talk from both sides that Labor might be better off losing, so that the Liberals would take the heat on the economy. With stocks collapsing, rates going up, coming back down, and the AU$ in free-fall, we may well be looking at joining the U.S. in a recession, which is bound to hurt Labor at the next election, maybe even cost them their narrow majority.

If the U.S. doesn't pull out of its own tailspin soon, maybe the Democrats would themselves be better off not taking the White House, and it could cost some House seats. The problem with that is, whatever you think of Obama, he's better for the U.S. and the world in the medium- to long-term than McCain, who'll only give us the same as we've been getting from Bush, except worse, because it'll be for that much longer.

Meanwhile, because I moved, and my forwarding notice has long since expired, I've had to cast a write-in ballot. I'm confident I've voted for the right man and in time, but I dislike the uncertainty of this method.

Gig Guide
It ran pretty late for a school night, but M. & Astrid & I hit the Annandale Hotel for The New Pornographers - how could we not? We came to them relatively late, but so what? The show was just "wow" all the way through. Hearing them live offered an opportunity to fully appreciate just how much precision these musicians bring with them. It's a tight, tight band, playing dense music, with unusual virtuosity. No sign of Neko Case, which was kinda too bad, but I'd almost rather just savor that experience separately anyway. The ELO cover ("Don't Bring Me Down") to close the set was inspired.

Limits of Power
So Bloomberg wants a third term as Mayor? I guess I can’t blame him, or fault him too much for trying to overturn term limits. I always thought term limits were stupid, but the legislature enacted them, and I think they ought to live with them, and that includes Mayor Mike. After all, he ran for the office knowing he could only have two terms, so it gets a bit “president-for-life” to wait until the end of your second term to reconstitute the constitution. Suck it up, Mikey, you’re through.

Bailout
All this stock market volatility is distressing, at least insofar as my 401(k) is concerned, which is probably down to practically nothing by now, and, because I no longer contribute to it, unable to take advantage of diminished prices for the inevitable return to growth. So much for retirement. Speaking of which, Mom & Dad – and millions like them – are disproportionately affected by this crisis, since they were smart enough to invest for their post-working lives, but now are unfortunate enough to rely on stocks and so forth to fund daily living. Will the Bush plan help them?

There’s a reason I used the phrase “disproportionately affected” before. While banks and brokerages and insurance companies are in turmoil, and the Chapter 11 filings and mergers and takeovers will result in many employees at many levels being turned out on the street to fend for themselves, adding financial stress to the system already burdened by too many people unable to meet their mortgage or credit card repayments, pouring billions of dollars into these companies to prop them up until the good times roll again is, by and large, going to benefit the ones who always benefit, the CEO’s and others in the upper eschalons of power.

Already receiving remuneration at a vast percentage difference from their employees, the mechanisms of their pay are designed for them to ride out these perilous times and reap their reward at a later date. It’s like watching some secondary bandit troop come riding through to raid the fields after the first Mongols came through burning everything behind them and you’ve just managed to coax a few fresh shoots of grain back among the ashes. No Congressional or independent oversight is going to stay their hands. They’ll have their stock options to exercise, and they will. They’ll have their golden parachutes, and they’ll float gently down into their next cushy berth in a new corner office or boardroom. And it will all start over again.

Meanwhile, while the wealth of CEO’s is largely intact or carefully immunized from the effects of corporate greed and the foolhardy deregulation of the last twenty years, millions of us won’t see dime one out of the Bush bailout, but we’re the ones who really need it. Those retirees who can’t put gas in their cars, those marginal middle-aged middle-class mortgage-holders who have to decide which bills not to pay, nobody’s looking out for them. Why, it’s really their fault, isn’t it? Taking out a mortgage they couldn’t afford, spending up big on their credit cards, retiring before they absolutely had to . . . what were they thinking? Look what they’ve done to the economy! Personal Responsibility!

If you’re twenty-five or thirty, you’ll have a chance to rebuild. You might end up moving back in with Mom & Dad, but this, too, shall pass, and if you’re careful, you’ll get it all back eventually. But the pain you’re experiencing is suffering for many others. There is no coming back from seeing your retirement funds slashed, even wiped out. Bush, certainly, and Congress, most likely, aren’t going to help you. You’re not a market.

Self-Explanatory
When they say “Police ‘Need Criminals to Boost Numbers’” is that one of those chicken-and-egg puzzles?

Cutting Heads
If there's one good thing that's come from having finished training for the marathon, it'd be that I was home for the telecast of the 1st U.S. Presidential debate. I respect Jim Lehrer as a newsreader, and, in the PBS News Hour, when I catch it, as a moderator of discussion, even though I think he could stand a better set of commentators than he's got. As the moderator of the debate, let alone as the author of the questions, he was pretty weak, I thought, but be that as it may, the debate showed up a couple of points.

First, McCain often approached the point of incomprehensibility, struggling to finish a phrase, let alone a sentence, or to make a point, and always striving mightily to accomplish two things: sound like Ronald Reagan and to portray himself simultaneously as Beltway insider and "maverick" outsider. For anyone who's been paying attention, for even just the last year, neither came off.

Obama was measured and reasonable throughout, often crediting McCain when he didn't have to (and McCain certainly never saw any reason to offer any such courtesy), even when there wasn't so altogether much to hold praiseworthy. Don't forget - don't ever forget - that for all McCain's principled stand against torture as an interrogation method by U.S. troops, he rolled on the CIA and other paramilitary arms of U.S. power. I think he came off well, particularly on domestic issues, but he never stumbled on the foreign policy issues, either, even if he did let McCain slide on a few porkies.

Admittedly, I'm an Obama supporter, but that's not to say I'm blind to his faults. He doesn't have years (and years and years) of history on Capitol Hill, or any great depth in matters military, economic, or whatever. McCain certainly has more personal experience as a legislator than Obama on any matter of governance you can name. But experience doesn't translate into leadership, and that's what the Presidency is about.

Congress makes laws. The Judiciary ensures they are applied or can be. The President leads the nation. Bush has led America into a terrible economic crisis, two wars where one would have been sufficient, and a general malaise of neglect and abandonment of the needy. McCain will do nothing different. Obama will. At any rate, Obama will try. McCain is for McCain, and that's all. Obama is for America, the one we Americans are raised to believe in, the one where if you try you can succeed, where anyone can grow up to be President. That's not McCain, and he's not the President I want to see lead the country for the next four years, let alone eight.

And God help us all if his running mate ever came to power. No, let's not even mention what she could do to the Supreme Court.

Yes, I'm o.k.

That's me at the end, the only one of the five of six runners included in the video being asked if he's in need of medical assistance. I must have looked as healthy as I felt.

Feel better now, though, thankfully.

A Supposedly Fun Thing to Do
That I'll probably NEVER DO AGAIN. ZOMG. 4:32, by the clock over the finish line, and pretty much by my clock, too, although maybe a little less, since it was a couple of minutes before my brain would function enough to remember to stop it. I literally hobbled to the nearest city street after picking up my finisher's shirt and silly medal, and my gear, which all took far longer than I liked. But after buying a sports drink, which I consumed walking home the last block, and then polishing off the one I bought yesterday, I discovered perhaps the most painful aspect of doing silly things like this: showering. Yes, even though this is something you'd think would be a blessed relief, in fact, removing the salt from certain sensitive areas hurts a lot. Pain was inevitable, as previously mentioned, but this was suffering. Only briefly, of course. After that it was a matter of getting the water hot enough to restore my internal body temperature to normal and then drinking lots of water.

It was, however, a really interesting course. Starting on the north side of the harbour, and crossing the Harbour Bridge on a beautiful Spring morning, was a splendid start. Even better, the race then loops through the Domain and Botanical Gardens out to Mrs. Macquarie's Point, and past the naval base at Woolloomooloo, before heading back through East Sydney and into Darlinghurst along Oxford Street (strangely deserted, for the most part, although you could hear the Saturday night gay bar discos still pumping out the jams). The best part of this stretch was the bandit who jumped in: "I've been drinking for eight hours! And I'm going to run with you!" I'll never know what happened to him, but I doubt he lasted long.

The course took a loop through Centennial Park, out to Randwick Racecourse, and doubled-back on itself a couple of times along the way. Very annoying, but oh, well. After that, it was straight through the heart of the city via Surry Hills, my old stomping ground, as it were, and off along a stretch of highway to Leichhardt. And it was a stretch. By this time, we'd passed 28k, and I was looking for that 32k marker, with the excuse that, if I can get past that, it will be the longest I have ever run continuously and maybe there'll be a water station and I can take a little break. There was, I did, and it was the first one that still had some Gu. Up until then, I'd been making do with the two I'd carried - and consumed by about the 18k mark, jelly beans and diluted sports drink. Jelly beans, I think, are not as good. Sort of reminds me of that NY'er article, where they talked about Frank Shorter shaking up Coke to remove the fizz - a stop-gap measure until technology catches up. Of course, it has, and judging by the wrappers I saw, there was Gu provided, or maybe those were just the packets people had brought of there own.

Hairpin turn at Norton Street, and back up through Ultimo to the city. Nice working-harbour views. My training run had taken me - literally - over some parts of this course. Normally the Old Glebe Bridge is closed to traffic, but I'd had a nice look at it many times, crossing the Anzac Bridge above it. The loop through the Rocks was strangely desolate, although there's not much reason for anyone but a stevedore to be there generally, so I shouldn't be surprised. Suddenly, however, we were under the south towers of the Harbour Bridge and making the loop around Circular Quay. Packed to the rafters it was (and it was the first time anyone called out, "keep going Keith Richards"). By this time, walking was long since not an option. If I walked it became harder and harder to start running again. Murakami's mantras and examples did little, but I employed them - I am here to run; I am a running machine. Helped, I suppose, as I managed a bit of a kick over the last K and crossed the line better than I had any real reason to expect.

I was done in. I've regained a little energy, and the blisters I thought I felt coming up over the last 8K never did materialize. Clearly, taking the advice from the salesperson at Rebel Sport to buy a half-size up was worthwhile.

Now if I can just make it into work tomorrow. . . .

Last Gasp
Well, the training is over, so it's all on for Sunday. I missed a few days, unfortunately, but most here at the end, during the tapering off period, so maybe it's not so bad. I've done 93% of the training, all up, although I admit to being fairly slack about the cross-training element. I mean, if I ride my bike around town for a couple of hours doing errands, stopping here and there, does that still count? I guess I'll find out.

The race pack is seriously disappointing. Not only did I have to buy the shirt, but the stuff they hand out for free is handbills - not even discount coupons. I mean, in NYC, even if the shirt was just a cotton T, it was part of the entry. It's not like I'm in contention for any prizes, so it's all down to personal achievement, now.

The NY'er had an interesting piece on marathoning a couple of weeks ago, centered around the great hope of the nation for the Beijing games (but, my, didn't that Kenyan dude kick it?). Basically, all the big races and Western elite runners are subsidised by us hundreds and thousands of slowpokes. So why can't they hand out an advance tube of Gu?

I'm also readying Murakami's memoir, "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running," which is just annoying. Blah, blah, blah, I run every day and at least one marathon in under 4 hours every year. . . ." Bastard. No, actually, although I don't think memoir is his form, there's some good stuff in it here and there. I especially like: Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional (which I've since learned is Ghandi's). I may write that on my arm for Sunday.

Obligatory
Saturday was local council elections across NSW, so I got to vote for Mayor - Lord Mayor, no less - and a referendum (on whether Sydney should be divided into wards, and guaranteeing 3 councillors each, theoretically making the overall body more representative. At this level of government, party politics doesn't get in the way quite so much as it does at the State and Federal level. Clover Moore, for example, is an independent, and while Labor otherwise has been dominant, the Greens have a significant influence. The independents and Greens in the bigger houses play much more of a spoiler role, when they play any role at all.

Now the NSW State government (Labor) has been getting kicked around lately, what with the Premier resigning after sacking his cabinet, the new guy making some poor picks of his own and so on. The conventional wisdom basically runs that the State would kick Labor out, if there was a decent opposition. And it's true; the Liberals have been woeful. As for the Greens, well, you might just as well not vote as vote for them. They just don't have the power base. But if the Liberals can't make a go of it at the next election, they really ought to just stay home. WA just went (barely) for the Liberals, making Labor's wall-to-wall government stranglehold a thing of the past, and probably enlivening the hopes of the party here, too. We'll see. If the new guy manages to find the money for the infrastructure spending, and doesn't run into any more ministers-without-pants scandals, Labor could still pull it off.

And it's not like the Liberals nationally are all that, although having ousted the pathetic Brendan Nelson in favor of silvertail Malcolm Turnbull, they might yet have the nous to stand up to the Rudd government and make a challenge in 3 years. I don't think Turnbull's really got the credentials or the charisma, but that's just me. Peter Costello finally turning down the leadership sort of definitively probably helped Turnbull, but for all the fun it's been to listen to the whinging about Costello's memoir and will-he-won't-he (get real; he never had the nerve) stand for leader, it'd be nicer if they'd just get on with the job.

In some ways it's been a relief to focus on the U.S. Presidential run. McCain just gets nastier all the time. How anyone could ever have believed he was a politician of a different sort - a maverick - should have been put to rest as soon as he was shown embracing Bush in a bear hug after losing the nomination in '04. You is my bestest friend, George, no matter what anybodys says (including you). Jeez. Principles, eh? And look at his running mate! I mean, Obama picking Biden was a little bit of a surprise. What? He needed a daddy? O.k., that was unfair. Biden's not bad. Every time he turns up on t.v. here, he's asking the pointed question of somebody who needs to be poked with something sharp. He's not a bad speaker, he's got the credentials for the top job, he's got the gravitas. So why Alaskan Governor Palin? What was Johnny thinking? Was it really just his infamous temper flaring up over being denied Lieberman? Screw you guys, then, if I can't have Joe, I'll pick this no-name chick? Nah. And it's not all about the oil (in ANWR), either. Don't forget, McCain is fully aware that all the crude under the tundra would have zero net effect on gas prices and wouldn't last a year, even if you could pull it all out at once, or before two years from deciding to drill there. Is it the guns? The anti-abortionism? The mommy factor? She's freaking clueless, even if she isn't afraid to open her mouth and let everyone know. She won't melt down, and she won't make (quite) as much a fool of herself as Quayle did, but she's just a stunt.

I sit next to another ex-pat at work. I knew, the instant I met him, that he was a Republican, but, since he's from Chicago, and since he's recently spent a fair amount of time laughing at Palin and McCain, I asked. Yeah, die-hard, dyed-in-the-wool GOP. Voting Obama. Wouldn't have voted McCain even before Palin. For all the talk of stealing Hillary voters off the Democrats, I reckon John'll have driven off a few others who might have stuck with their party just like he did this guy. What a maverick.

Into the Infinite
David Foster Wallace, an author whose novels I've enjoyed immensely - including the immense "Infinite Jest" - hanged himself. I can't say how sorry I am to hear that. Other authors of his generation have pointed to him as the "smartest guy in the room", but I guess there are sometimes just demons beyond endurance even for such as Mr. Wallace.

Boom
The Large Hadron Collider is up and running, and so far no black holes sucking us into another dimension. At least, not that we’re aware of. Let’s see what happens when they actually start smashing up protons.

Closing in
Today's 19k was nearly as fascinating to me as Thursday's 6k, for the latter of which I turned in a clocked time of under 5 minutes per K. Today, however, at just under 6k, even if slower, showed something remarkable: after all these weeks, 19k, which was unimaginable 16 weeks ago, doesn't even require the kind of effort it did the first time I ran it, just the motivation. And there's the rub: I'm very tired, so psyching myself up for the training runs is getting a little old. Gu does seem to help - thanks, bro, but what helps even more is knowing this will all end soon.

Although there is still to be a running cabal at the office, at least until summer hits its stride.

Prep Work
Well, that's the longest training run done now. From here on, it's tapering off, up until 21 September, when I'll run 10k further than I did today. I gotta say, my only hope at this point is that the taper does the job, resting me, but still keeping up whatever little stamina I've developed these last 15 weeks, because the 32k kicked my butt today. I took the Gu(tm) the Counselor thoughtfully shipped past Customs, one shot before I went out, one at about 10-15k, and another somewhere around the 20k mark (all distances are approximate, based on my vague recollection of where the markers fall while I'm drafting the route on Map My Run), but the first on-route shot fell short of helping within the next 5k covered, and I can only hope the last one was what enabled me to shuffle through the remainder of the run. By the time I was on the last 2k, I was thoroughly done in, unable to accomplish any chores, which will now all have to be done tomorrow, along with some swimming or bike-riding. Given how my back and neck were seizing up over the last 10k, maybe I should go for weights and push-ups and the other exercises the trainer I'd been working with over October-March set out for me.

Racing
Yesterday's 23k felt o.k., and that may have been helped by the contribution of a case of Gu(tm) from the Counsellor. It couldn't have hurt. I'll carry some with me for the remainder of the training, especially next Saturday's 32k, the longest training run of all. I'll probably carry some on the day, too, just in case they're not handing it out with sufficient frequency to support my caloric requirements to complete the race.

Meanwhile, speaking of races, did Obama really choose Biden? I mean, not to be unduly rude, but WTF? It's better than Gore's Lieberman choice, but, still. It's a little Bush-istic, isn't it? Picking the old guy to add gravitas/experience? I'd have been happier with Richardson. I'll admit, Biden plays well on the news here, asking the hard, pointed questions. That can't hurt. Anyway, Democrats, go figure.

American Humor
Monday, M. took me to see David Sedaris. I guess the Counsellor and others of us had spoken often enough of how funny we found Sedaris' material that she thought it would be a special treat, given I'm such a fan. He is funny, and I enjoy his memoir pieces and so forth in the NY'er, but a book launch and reading was probably more effort than I'd have gone to on my own. Strangely enough, he was originally booked into a theatre venue, but things took an even stranger turn when they moved it to the Opera House. Nevertheless, it was packed to the rafters, nearly. I didn't hear many American accents, so he must have a following of his own. No doubt Sydney's gay population would have had something to do with it. The readings were very good. He got a lot of laughs. In fact, and in keeping with one piece that's never been published, he's better out loud than on paper. The interview with Judith Lucy, an excellent Australian comedian, was perhaps less successful, but mainly because it took some time to warm up, so that Sedaris spent a little time repeating himself, essentially. He's good, though, despite the odd nervous tic of introducing each piece with "I wanted to read something from [x]," as though apologizing for reading something different. He wanted to, and he did. I particularly enjoyed a Thurber-esque animal fable. Dead on. A nice treat, in the end, and I may have recruited a new member to Democrats Abroad.

Yes, It's Boring, But There's Nothing Else
29k yesterday, and it took just under 3 hours. I'd pretty well psyched myself out regarding my chosen course two weeks ago, doing the erroneous 32k, but now that I had some landmarks, it actually went pretty well, getting out to the Olympic Park, anyway. Somewhere along the trip back, though, with enforced stops to wait for traffic lights, I started stiffening up badly again, so that - again - by the time I got to Leichardt, I was reduced to jogging a K or two and walking a block or two, which seriously ate into my hoped-for two-hours-and-forty-five minutes intention. Not too bad, but it pretty much put paid to the rest of the day, which was spent largely in hobbling out to the laundry and back and watching the Olympics.

I know that NBC back in the States had a hand in the scheduling of the swimming, but the coverage here seems largely to consist of water polo, basketball, soccer, and archery. I think you've got to be pretty die-hard to stick with any of these, let alone badminton and ping-pong. Sheesh.

Meanwhile, so far so good for Michael Phelps, superfish. Eight today? Alas, I'll be out watching the Rabbitohs take on the Manly Sea Eagles, one of the best sides in the premiership.

Navigational
For this week's long run, 26k, I decided the best option was to run straight out Parramatta Road until I reached a reasonable cut-off to the Olympic Park. Easy to navigate, I thought, and a bit of a change. It would mean crossing some traffic intersection choke-points, but that oughtn't to delay me more than a couple of minutes here and there. However - and there had to be a however, didn't there? - I missed my turn. Suddenly, I was right behind the park, just the same (o.k., not suddenly; by this point it had taken damn near forever), so I swung in and started looking for the interior loop I'd plotted. Never did find it. Nevertheless, on the theory that I should do one anyway, I ended up following a longer loop than expected. By the time I got back on track - and stopping to examine a wall map helped me reorient myself - I was nearly done in. When I got home and replotted the route according to the path actually travelled, I'd done nearly 32k. What's killing me is, despite walking a lot of the path home, I did the course in two-and-a-half hours, i.e., 148 minutes, which works out to something like four-and-a-half minutes per k. I gotta be doing the math wrong, because I was very deliberate in keeping a "reasonable" pace, and probably walked most of the extra 7k. Even better, somewhere along the way, my ankle wallet unzipped, and my house key fell out. I had to spend 30 minutes waiting on a locksmith, while the salt of my perspiration dried in snail trails along my arms. I'm well sore, too. What a day. Swimming tomorrow will be just the ticket to loosen up, but I've also got to do the shopping, and bring my bike in for repairs.

Meanwhile, tonight's the Rabbitohs, so I'll spend some time out in the wind-chill just to top things off. The way I feel, they'd better bloody win, or I might not make it through the 80 minutes.

More Gloating About the Marathon
My running mate at work has pulled up with microfractures along his right shin, requiring rest for at least a week, if not putting him out of contention altogether. He's very committed, so I hope not, as I'm also looking forward to beating his time, since our runs together tend to be just a little slower, more often than not, than my solo runs. Still, he's twenty years younger, at least, so I won't feel bad about a different outcome.

I screwed up my Saturday run, though, when I was supposed to do 24k and only accomplished 22, as a result of not studying the mapped route carefully enough in respect to the final 4k, which led me to cut off a loop at the end. It's actually getting rather difficult to find longer and longer runs that aren't just loops around the same stretches of road, with a couple of final turns around a couple of local blocks, which also led me to a really difficult bike ride across a few bridges up north, and which probably won't end up as an new route, simply because I got so thoroughly turned around trying to find the bike paths.

Of course, I also recognize that all these marathon-related posts must be getting dull, a failing I think that inevitably occurs in those of us who train for such things, but it does become an obsession, so please don't think it's all just gloating smugness at how fit I'm becoming. I am pleased to go have some trousers taken in, just the same.

Long Weekend
I planned my weekend around a Saturday afternoon Rabbitohs home game, and the fact that I had to go to the bank, the post office, and visit a doctor to have some stitches removed (minor kitchen incident). In the end, since the knots had come undone, I did the stitches myself. The remaining chores, at opposite ends of the city, presented similar levels of difficulty, but provided plenty of opportunity for riding my bike. It was only having to navigate the crazed Catholics meandering through town with absolutely no awareness of anything around them but themselves. Nice they had a good time, I suppose, but there were more barricades up than for APEC, and not all of us were headed for mass at Randwick Racecourse (where, I suppose, a trifecta bet could only be Father-Son-Holy Ghost). I’m not a little glad to see the end of “World Youth Day”.

The Rabbitohs game, however, turned out to be on Sunday, which meant I had to do my 16k run and head straight out to Olympic Park. (Speaking of which, Olympic Park, where the various venues left over from 2000 have little to occupy themselves, was used as a gigantic shelter for many hundreds of WYD pilgrims, sleeping on the floor of various gymnasiums and so forth, serviced by semi-trailer showering and toilet facilities.) But the Bunnies lost, badly, outplayed by Wests Tigers, and I returned home tired and a little muscle-sore, in rather a bad mood, facing a large load of laundry to complete, exacerbating the gloom of the evening.

Wascals
The Mighty Bunnies won last night, against the Parramatta Eels, in what was probably one of the most fun evenings I've spent at a sporting event. It was a bigger crowd than usual, which may be attributable in part to (a) their winning streak, now at 5-in-a-row (for the first time since 1994); and (b) World Youth Day, for which a special seating section was on offer, although I can't say that there was any evidence of Catholic pilgrims visible.

Talking Down
I never voted for the man, but I have had little, if anything, against the Reverend Jesse Jackson, even admiring him as a candidate for President, perhaps especially in knowing he never stood a chance. But he’s a showboat, and known for his inappropriate commentary - remember “hymie town”? I’ll bet there a lot of Jewish NY’ers who do. Unfortunately, like the Reverend Al Sharpton, Jackson is regarded as an African-American spokesman especially when he does or says something harmful to himself or his community, a situation you’d think he’d recognise and try to mitigate, rather than offering the Bill O’Reilly’s of the world more ammunition. It’s not going to hurt Obama among his supporters, but it’s going to give aid and comfort to those who will irrationally oppose his candidacy, which will have the inevitable effect of swaying the weak-minded into a knee-jerk vote for Bomb-Iran (with cigarettes) McCain, just when they might very well be willing to try something different, as well as to support the disgruntled Clintonites in doing something equally stupid. Why do Democrats seem so intent on shooting each other in the foot?

This Little Light
M. & I caught the Rolling Stones concert flick, Shine a Light, over the weekend, about which I'll say, it's a well-done concert movie, if not necessarily a stand-out; the Stones are pretty much, by the evidence of the performance documented, very set in their persona, very much aware of themselves as performers, as The Stones, and don't offer much in any way new or fresh of themselves; Buddy Guy, who appears for one song, blows them all away, as acknowledged by Keith Richards, who, in a gesture of submission, hands his guitar to Guy, saying, "this is yours". I really have to find a copy of Stop Making Sense, now, to round out the concert movie experience, but I don't expect it to exceed Berlin.

Highways
I bought a bike last weekend, to help me figure out new routes around home, as the distances get longer, so I won't be left just doing loops of the shorter distances already plotted out on Map My Run. My specific first inspection tour, last Sunday, was to find a way, if such existed, across the Anzac Bridge. It wouldn't add much distance, per se, but it would mean crossing a bridge, which would be beneficial for race day, when, last year, anyway, the marathon crossed three bridges. Hill work, essentially. I didn't find the bike path until I was already well into highway traffic, at which point I discovered myself running parallel to the pedestrian/bike lane, separated by a concrete barrier. At the first break in traffic, I hauled the bike across and proceeded normally. All well and good, but this week, for my 19k run, I figured on hooking up with the bike path on spec; that is, I made an unfortunate assumption of where it started. Nope. It actually starts on the other side of Victoria Road, and has a overpass of its own to join up with the bridge's bike/footpath. So, as usual, it seems, I was left with bushwacking my way to a point where I could rejoin the plotted route. Less dangerous than the previous weekend, but frustrating. I'll have to make a trip into town, soon, to see about something similar for the Harbour Bridge, not to mention finding a way over the Lane Cove Bridge. That'd put me three-for-three on the previous route's bridges, although I hear this year the route's been changed. Apparently, international participation rates are low because the course has been considered too hard. (Too hard? These people run marathons for money. Wimps.)

Meanwhile, as we all know, intensive aerobic exercise shuts down certain autonomic processes, i.e., digestion, which I've discovered affects me rather dramatically, post-run, at distances more than 10k. We shall have to hope not to be "caught short" come race day. Say no more.

Sound and Vision
If I don't write about it shortly after the fact, it seems I just forget, but I'm finally getting around to mentioning the Sydney Film Festival screening I attended with M. two weeks ago, at the Metro Theatre, sort of an odd venue for movies, as it's a concert hall normally, but it worked out well enough, in a cross-referential way, as the movie was the concert film for Lou Reed's Berlin, performed live for the first time ever in Brooklyn's St Ann's in 2006. It played the Sydney Festival, the annual arts-around-town event, in 2007, but the tickets were terribly expensive, so we didn't go, even though M. is a long-time devotee of the album, as am I. A lot of people disparage it, and there are elements I find a little over-the-top, but nevertheless, it is as complete a concept album as was ever produced during the period when concept albums were all the rage. Because it was the follow-up to Transformer, I think a lot of people were just so disoriented by the album's thorough departure from its predecessor, that they never gave it a proper chance. And having seen this concert, or film thereof, anyway, I have to tell you it's time to go back and listen to Berlin again. Julian Schnabel did a great job as the director, capturing the concert experience quite effectively. Antony Hegarty, of Antony & the Johnsons, was a featured backup singer, performing an encore on lead vocal of "Candy Says," from the Velvet Underground's eponymous third album, and, it's rumoured, Schnabel's daughter was one of the choir members. What was most remarkable, somehow, was the pure emotionality of Lou Reed's performance. He was deeply involved in the story he was telling, and I even thought he was on the verge of tears. This is a concert film to stand up with all the best concert films. I may see about renting Stop Making Sense, well, after I go see Shine a Light, just to round things off.

Trail Mix
Wow, that mid-week 8k could have gone better. I went into the nearby park, following the road that winds along the river, crossing Delhi Road over into a small subdivision that more or less backs onto the industrial park I work in, intending to cut across a bit of the Great Northern Walk trail to loop back through and around. It amounts to nearly 8 1/2 kilometers, but that was about as close as I could plot, and a better route, on the map, than the 5-6k extension I'd worked out earlier. I didn't get lost, but still ended up having run for more than an hour, well beyond what my pace should have led to, largely as a result of the trail turning out to be far more difficult than anticipated. Having reached a rocky escarpment, I discovered the trail had disappeared, and had to spend some considerable time locating a marker. Once that was done, I was faced with a steep, winding staircase, cut in among the natural rock, leading back down to Delhi Road. By the time I got down, I was breathing normally, so the run back wasn't too hard, at least not until the final stretch leading out of the park, which, while not terribly steep, is a bit long, at least for that stage of the run. God only knows what I'm going to end up with once the kilometers really pile up mid-week, or where, for the matter. Tomorrow's 5k will have to serve as a muscle-loosener for the 16 on Saturday. I am ow.

Progress
I've been tracking my marathon training in Map My Run. I'm pretty satisfied with how I'm going, although Saturday's 8K was harder than I expected. I guess I didn't get enough sleep or went out too hard at the start, probably the latter, since I still finished within the 5:30/K range. I don't know that the MMR reports are particularly useful. I suppose if I was tracking calories or weight loss, maybe more so, but the bars seem to be pretty even. (I also don't know if that link will work for anyone, although I believe I've allowed my training profile to be public.) It's not reasonable to suppose that I'll keep up the 5-5:30 pace over the upcoming weeks, as the kilometerage (?) piles up, let alone over the actual race, but wouldn't that be something? This Saturday, Hal Higdon ups the ante to 14K, and the midweek runs go from 5-6-5 to 5-8-5, and pretty much every week thereafter just climbs and climbs. Ow.

Luck
According to the package insert, "Shisa" (talismans from Okinawa) are paired decorative sculptural images, more or less like a cross between a lion and a dog, which are placed on rooftops or flanking doorways or gates to one's home. "Shisa are wards, believed to protect from various evils. When found in pairs, the shisa on the right traditionally has an open mouth, and the one on the left, a closed mouth. The open mouth is to let good spirits in, and the closed mouth is to keep bad spirits out. Originally, pairs like this were called 'shisa and guardian dogs': the left, with its mouth closed, is the guardian; the right, with it's mouth open, is the shisa. Some people believe that one is male and the other female and provide various justifications for which is which. For example, the female has her mouth shut, as she should; or, the male has his mouth shut to hold in all the family's good fortune. The shisa is a variation of the guardian lions - fu dogs - of China. mine I picked up in San Francisco when I was there last.

Now, they're sitting outside my front door, helping me win the lottery or something.

Wooden Spoon Premiership
I reckon the Rabbitohs are pretty well assured of the wooden spoon this year, even if we're only just coming on to halfway through the season. Round 12, at ANZ Stadium, against the Dragons, started off with an early try by Souths, only to see the opposition take the lead, with only a (very) late final try to make the score remotely more even. Still, it was a good game, with only a very little of the kind of poor ball handling the Rabbitohs exhibited early in the season, and some remarkable moments of play on either side, particularly when Illawarra failed to capitalize on a series of knocking on advances in one that should have ended with a try, save for the persistence of one defender. That was one of those sporting moments that only come up rarely, and worth the game.

Go Souths.

Winter Morning Walk
This is the view as I walk to the bus station each morning. Kinda pretty, especially for one of the less attractive buildings in the city.

Tony Stark makes you feel, he’s a real cool cat with a heart of steel
But Iron Man, all jets ablaze, something something something. Yeah, I used to know all the songs from the original Mightly Marvel Marching Society so-called animations, but never mind. The Iron Man movie is terrific. Robert Downey Jr. nails the part, as does Gwyneth Paltrow (although I don’t recall her particular character from any of the comics I ever read, she’s does the role about as cartoonishly as possible), Jeff Bridges as Obadiah Stane, a star turn as a villain if ever I saw one. The movie manages the complete Iron Man history through the 1990’s, including the Iron Monger vs. Iron Man climactic battle, and moving straight to one of the better armor designs (Monger fought the interim red-and-silver Man), without the digressions thirty years of comic history inevitably require. I guess if they ever decide to do Captain America and Thor, an Avengers movie wouldn’t be far off, but I’ll settle for a sequel, and even a third, despite the screw-ups in the Spiderman and X-Men franchises.

New Camera
My digital camera gave up the ghost eventually, which was sometimes frustrating, but not disheartening at the prospect of having to buy another, since it was free, but it took me a while to get that done. I now have a baby digital SLR. O.k., it's not really an SLR, but you can attach lens adapters to it to achieve that effect, and it does allow manual overrides of f-stops and so forth, so it very nearly comes to the same thing. As far as I'm concerned, it's an SLR. Pathetically, the first thing I did with it was take pictures of the cats.


But I did get a nice autumnal shot the other day of some local eucalypts that I rather like.


I took a walk through Sydney University, too, but I'm not as happy with those. Still, the Newtown hipters always hand me a laugh. Funnily enough, only one guy in a triby.

Tracking
I suppose I ought to post my progress training for the marathon here, but it’s still early days. In fact, looking more carefully at my calendar, I discovered that I’m only now in Week One, so I’m a week ahead of schedule, having hewn to the Hal Higdon method’s recommended mileage last week. My clever little spreadsheet, which converts Hal’s mileage to kilometres, is apparently too clever by half, since I was recording distances covered last week in the next week’s row. Well, no harm in being more conditioned for the big day.

Which reminds me of something one of the other runners here said about days off: they’re “scheduled deconditioning” days. Makes being lazy sound better, doesn’t it?

News
So, I’m in the new flat (week four) and the new job (week three) and have now newly enrolled for the Sydney Marathon – 21 September, if anyone’s interested – which I’m newly training for (week one; nothing much happened last week)

The new flat is working out well. I got the dryer installed finally, although it’s a little problematic, in that the space allocated in the laundry for me means I’ve only got one tap hook-up (I only ever use cold anyway) and it sits too love above my top-loading washer to get the lid all the way up. Since the washer is only a couple of years old, I’m not replacing it anytime soon, even if front-loaders are more efficient. I do still need to replace the basin in the bathroom, though, which the previous owners had cracked. It’s not bad, either looking or insofar as leakage is concerned, but a new one was purchased and sits in its box in the hallway, just waiting for me to stumble over it in the dark. And I’ve never lived anywhere darker since that basement apartment in Ann Arbor. Daytime’s not bad, but I’m not there in daylight much, especially as we head into winter. Luckily, it’s not cold.

Meanwhile, the cats have worked out the pet door and are off enjoying the great outdoors, what there is of it. The upstairs cat, who goes from window to next-door-rooftop direct, is not happy to find new competition for exploration rights.

The new job is demanding. I’m here at eight and don’t leave until five or later. This is partly due to the demands of learning the new software and new company and partly due to the fact that I need to run three days during week for the marathon training (yes, I am using the Counsellor’s recommended Hal Higdon method, although one of my colleagues, also in training for the marathon, is using their official novice’s program; insofar as we coincide with our schedules, we’re mapping out routes in the vicinity using Map My Run).

The buses are terrible. Mornings aren’t so bad, although it’s always a scramble for boarding before the seats are all taken, and the seats are cramped anyway. Nights, however, are where it all comes apart. If the bus arrives, instead of sailing by, either full or “Not in Service”, it’s almost always not the one that takes the freeway, which means an extra twenty minutes or more travel time, winding through the northern suburbs. It would be a lot easier if their signage was better illuminated and larger. And once we get to the CBD, it’s a crawl to the last stop, where I transfer to a George Street line, where there are no bus lanes, so we contend with all the rest of the traffic (and not to complain unduly, but also with every other businessperson trying to make their way west).

That all will change, eventually. The Chatswood-to-Epping project is underway (as it has been nearly since I got to this country – which sounds like a longer period than it’s been) and due to finish sometime this year, theoretically. I’ve heard that they used the wrong glue on the vibration-reduction matting under the rails and had to tear them up to start over, but I don’t know if the 2008 schedule is still, ahem, on track. The North Ryde station is five minutes away, so I’m anxious they should finish. There looks to be a fair bit of work yet to go, though.

Jasper Johns: Watch Out Crossing the Street
Robert Rauschenberg is one of a small pantheon of modern artists whom I revere. I’d probably revere more of them if I could remember them all, but never mind.

I remember the first retrospective show I saw, at MOMA, including the fabulous “Bed” and “Obelisk”, among many others I knew largely from books. A later show at the Guggenheim was somehow less compelling, and consisted largely, if not exclusively, of more recent work (so I guess not so much a retrospective).

Anyway, I guess that signed screen print of the Talking Heads “Speaking in Tongues” limited edition cover art I’ve got up on the wall just got a little more valuable. After David Byrne departs this mortal coil, it ought to be an eBay killer, but I only wish him well, really.

Shh
Today's the last day at my present job, and I've already put my forwarding order in place for my mail and switched off the land-line in preparation for moving next week. It's not that this blog's terribly active, but it's about to become much less so for a little while, until I've straightened out home internet access and so forth.

Talk among yourselves.

Bitter Draught
Does it help that Obama's right? And it's not just small towns, either. I've known plenty of bitter people in cities who cling to emotive issues or draw distinctions between themselves and others over inane political discourse, people who simply won't accept reality and back their arguments with religion, or simplistic interpretations of the Constitution, or nothing at all, just resentment that someone else might not be treated as badly as they have been. And, frankly, I'm tired of Clinton running the GOP playbook. I wonder if she isn't a little bitter herself. I'm sure McCain is.

New Job
I'm moving on, commuting to North Ryde every morning, starting in the next two to four weeks. That maternity leave replacement job has been turned into two jobs, with one of them for me. The offer came in around lunchtime, and I snapped it up.

Working at the Catholic Education Office was a good job, especially as it came just when I needed employment rather badly. They've always been supportive of me, especially during such periods as life was difficult, and I'm grateful to them. It turned a bit sour last year, when we abandoned the SQL database I was hired to install, and returned to an bit of 1980's legacy technology. But although I started my job search the moment that decision was made, it's taken all this time for someone to be willing to take a chance on me.

Bloody North Ryde, though. That's not going to be fun.

I'll be working

Not Sweeps Week
I rented a few weekly DVD’s, including one Australian film I’d neglected while it was in cinemas, Ten Canoes, a movie of Aboriginal Australia, a tale-within-a-tale of jealousy and desire and living the right way. I don’t know why I didn’t get to this when it was a new release, even, let alone why I didn’t go see it in a movie house, especially as I’d seen a fascinating short documentary on the making of. Anyway, it’s terrific. I liked the framing, with the top story in black-and-white, the present and past in color. Presented in three formats – all aboriginal language, aboriginal language with subtitles, or English voice-over narration with aboriginal language and subtitles (the theatrical release version) – it’s very accessible and offers a glimpse into aboriginal culture not commonly found. I highly recommend that if you haven’t seen it and can get it you put it on your list. Internationally renowned aboriginal actor David Gulpilil narrates, and that’s his kid, Jamie, as the young man.

Can the Nobel Be Far Now?
At least Dylan got his Pulitzer while he’s still alive.

”Vive Fafnir, Vive Giblets”
Fafblog’s back with the Medium Lobster & ever’body – and not so hard on the eyes anymore.

Employment Matters
With reference checks underway, it’s entirely possible that by this time tomorrow I’ll have a job offer. Unfortunately, it’s for a job I don’t think I want.

While my present employer is wonderfully flexible and pays generously, the work, well, there is no work. I’m bored beyond belief here, and there’s little I can do about it. The database can’t be managed by me, only by consultants, so I can’t actively improve its functionality. There simply aren’t enough reporting requirements to give me much joy in running the extracts. The underlying database is technology from the 1980’s, unused in mainstream corporations, and clunky at best. But I’ve been trying for a new job for nearly two years now, getting nowhere. So what’s wrong with this one?

It’s a maternity leave replacement contract, mainly, which means it’s employment for a set period of time. Given my current job-hunt experience, that presents a worrying condition. It’s also located in a relatively remote suburb, accessible by public transport (a bus + a train + a bus or a bus + another bus), but far from most recruiters and most major corporations. This means that interviewing for a new job would be difficult and time-consuming, whereas right now I need only adjust my hours by 30 minutes and I can make any interview anywhere in reasonable time.

Although it affords a marvellous opportunity to work again with mainstream software (SAP – about co-equal with PeopleSoft, and probably well above Oracle – a program I haven’t used before, but by learning would increase my profile in the HRIS marketplace), can I risk short-term employment?

Sure, new mothers don’t always come back, and some extend their leave, which would mean no guarantee of returning to the same job, and some want to come back to a modified role, potentially leaving room for me (and there was some suggestion that the function was perceived as requiring two people, although also that there wasn’t room in the headcount). In the course of the two interviews, I got different impressions of the incumbent: she didn’t care for the job was one, but the other was suggestive of her investiture in it. The company also does consulting work, so there’s a potential to transition to that team, if they’re satisfied with my work, get the impression that I’d make a good consultant, and have enough projects to go around.

What to do, what to do? New jobs come up all the time, although I don’t always get the interview, or the second interview (and, obviously, haven’t been getting the offers). Is this just too vague to take the chance?

’70’s Nostalgia Moments
Remember Phantom of the Paradise? Well, it just kind of jumped out at me when I was looking for a DVD to watch, something trivial to relax with after spending the day doing various chores and a little more packing, so I revisited this rather cheesy Paul Williams vehicle, directed by Brian DePalma, of all people. It’s not nearly as bad as I remembered. I doubt Mr. Williams will perform any of the songs at his Enmore gig, though.

On the other hand, Eastern Promises is one tough film, even if the logic of how Naomi Watts gets involved is more than a little unlikely.

Quiet Sunday Night
Except for all the Irish yowling from the DVD I rented, Once, featuring Glen Hansard, of the Frames. (There will be those reading this – and I’m looking at you, Mom & Dad – who should be warned against the movie purely for its soundtrack, for which the movie is actually more a vehicle than is usually the case; nevertheless, I loved every song and every repetition of the theme.) M. had recommended it to me and supplied me with a copy of the soundtrack, but I never got around to it at the cinema and hadn’t really thought much about renting it. However, faced with either this or 30 Days of Night, and oddly enough I chose the grownup movie. It’s very beautiful. It also addresses relationships unusually. I also enjoyed the bit with the vacuum cleaner.

The rest of the long weekend was largely spent packing.

Gloom
I am going to find every poem I ever wrote that uses “darkness” and submit them to Virginia Quarterly Review right away. And cats. (Thx, Kottke.)

Obligatory
Now that I’m an Australian, it is required that I like Nick Cave. I suppose I ought to go back to the days of The Birthday Party, or even just the start of the Bad Seeds, but really, I’m only coming to this recently. I mean, I love “Into My Arms,” mid-period Bad Seeds Cave, one of the only three purchases I bothered to make on iTunes, but most often I’ve found him too dark and self-indulgent, that kind of moody, emo stuff. I saw the clip for the title track off his new record, Dig, Lazarus, Dig!, and on the strength of the one song took the chance and bought the album. It’s terrific, full of the kind of biblical allusions and religious philosophizing angst he’s best at, and full of groovy beats (man). This is some rock gospel at its best. I especially like “We Call Upon the Author to Explain.”

Next up: AC/DC. (Has any other band in the history of rock employed bagpipes? Okay, better use?)

Weekend Update
I joined the Rabbitohs this year. 13 games at ANZ Stadium, out at the Olympic Park, and the home opener was Friday. (The Charity Shield, which I was unable to attend, doesn't count; it's pre-season.) This is Rugby League's 100-year anniversary, and it was a blast to attend a grudge match between two of Sydney's progenitor teams. It's just a shame that the Roosters trounced the Bunnies. Anyway, I was thrilled, and my seats are terrific, just on the 40-meter line, and only 20 rows back. They put on a fun opening ceremony, with a thousand kids out on the field, essentially doing drill-team stuff, spelling out "1908 - 2008", running around in a synchronized fashion (more or less), etc. Anyway, energizing. I was, however, kind of appalled at the level of booing, but more so at the cheers by Souths' supporters when one of the Roosters had to be taken from the field injured. While some measure of revenge was at work for the season-ending injury inflicted on our Craig Wing by the Roosters employing a tackle that seems deliberately designed to cause harm, that's really no excuse. Bitterness, at childish levels, was on display, so I was in among both the best and worst aspects of the Australian sports-centricity. Tough game, that rugby.

After spending a few hours Saturday packing LP's for my upcoming move, and a late night in among the warehouses of industrial Marrickville looking for the Tactics gig (which I abandoned after the first opening act, a duo calling themselves Real Estate, faced with the prospect of a second act, only just setting up at 10:30, meaning it would likely be midnight before the main act, and the venue was pretty horrible), Sunday was to be a day of pure rest. I had, however, some need to return to the shopping mall, so while I was there I stopped at the movies and saw No Country for Old Men, which I had expected to miss and have to watch on DVD, since I spent so long in not reading the book.

I really like Cormac McCarthy's novels, especially when they're not half in Spanish, and had enjoyed this one. I hadn't thought it terribly cinematic, although Tommy Lee Jones was an obvious casting choice. It's a very controlled, evenly paced movie, a kind of anti-thriller, in that you're never very emotionally involved with the characters, just kind of fascinated, snake-and-bird fashion, particularly in the case of Anton Chigurh. I guess it's prize-worthy, but I also agree with David Denby's assessement.

Moving House
It’s a little counter-intuitive at my age, but I’ve exchanged contracts on a new home of my own. Over the next six weeks I’ll need to pack everything up and hire a mover, but as of April 25, I’ll be in a nice two-bedroom garden flat in Glebe. And there’s a pet door already installed for the cats, conveniently enough. I’ll probably never see them again, outside of dinner time.

It all happened rather quickly. I’d been thinking of Marrickville, where I’d seen a nice flat, and Alexandria, where I’d seen a one-bedroom, loft-style unit, and which was very convenient to transport, if not to anything else, very modern, but when I asked about the Glebe place and found the price was more in my range than I’d expected, I “gazumped” – that is, made an offer above the one that had already been accepted, but where the contracts had not yet been signed. We moved very fast thereafter, with me handing over some tens of thousands of dollars in downpayment yesterday afternoon. Before close-of-business, I was the new home owner, at least contractually.

Properly, I’m in Forest Lodge, but convenient to transport, shopping, and all the best bits of Glebe (like Gleebooks, the best independent bookstore in the city). Anyway, I don’t know how long the real estate webpage will stay up, but if you want a look, there’s photos and a floor plan here. Don’t be put off by the purple feature wall.

Politics and Sex
How is it that sex scandals seem to fall along party lines? Democrats have sex outside of marriage and Republicans impeach them is starting to look like a pattern. Gary Hart, Bill Clinton, Eliot Spitzer . . . and here we’ve got a Labor Councillor in Wollongong sleeping with developers for favors and the whole council sacked. At least it was the ICAC recommending their dismissal, rather than an opposition instituting proceedings, but still. Can the left keep their pants on? Can the right try to keep their outrage muted? Frankly, Spitzer’s actions, unlike Clinton’s, need investigation: US$5,000 hookers probably aren’t being charged on his personal credit card, but it would be good to know if it was his own money he was spending. The Wollongong thing is just mind-boggling. Sleep with me and I’ll approve your development application? Weird.

Christianationalism
It’s beyond silly to still be having these debates. The question, is Australia a Christian nation, comes up at least as often as the query is posed in America, it seems, and just as often engenders furious back-and-forth commentary. Fred Nile’s right in that statements made by federalists at the turn of the century indicate their firm intention to maintain Christian standards of morality in the laws and constitution, but that isn’t any more definitional of Australia as a “Christian nation” than that Elizabeth II was crowned in the context of a “Christian Coronation Service”; the preservation of medieval ritual doesn’t imbue her with any spiritual authority over her subjects, or at least none that any of them would acknowledge or that she herself would attempt to exercise.

Religion is personal. It may be that if enough people take up a particular set of practices and beliefs they can form a subset of society and extract some spiritual benefit (and from my viewpoint that’s an emotional, psychological benefit, really, howsoever difficult it may be to define; so’s art), but that doesn’t translate into an entire national identity.

Admittedly, Australia is about the most Christian-looking country I’ve spent much time in, what with public holidays including Good Friday, Easter Monday, Christmas Day, and Boxing Day. Some states also do Easter Tuesday (Tasmania) and “The Day After Good Friday” (South Australia [psst, that’s “Easter Saturday” for those of us who know the days of the week, everywhere but Tasmania and West Australia]), but most of the public holidays are secular: New Year’s Day, Australia Day, ANZAC Day, the Queen’s Birthday, and various Labour Days and days devoted to county fair-type events or horse races.

Insofar as other nations may be designated “Muslim” or “Hindu,” we, like most of Europe and the Americas are, technically, Christian, but in many respects no more so than you’d call some Asian nations “Buddhist.” (I wonder if any African nations have these debates? How do they categorize themselves?) Yes, Parliament, weirdly, opens daily with the Lord’s Prayer, a practice I believe should cease, but we haven’t enshrined the separation of church and state as thoroughly as was managed in the U.S. Constitution, something that could perhaps be rectified at such time as we become a republic. Our principles of governance, the laws we have enshrined and value, may come from a centuries-old tradition that grew, in no small part, from the ancient embrace of Christianity throughout Europe, but that tradition has evolved, even as Christianity has, itself breaking into a variety of sects, and the principle of secular government has a firm hold on how we perceive our civic lives. This does not devalue religion, if that’s your flavor. Remember, Jesus told us not to do as the hypocrites do, making a show of our adherence to religious rules, and to keep what our right hand does hidden from our left hand.

Gigs
Saturday night, alerted by M., I headed out to the Hopetoun, in Surry Hills, to see the reunited Tactics. Described as Sydney’s answer to the Talking Heads, a designation rejected by the band themselves (in the liner notes to the CD I bought), I’d compare them more to Pere Ubu, an avant-New Wave band I came to rather late in their career, although not so late as I have to this one. Now, I admit, I mainly went to this show because a mutual friend is a member, and I like to think I’m one of those people who support their friends, especially in their artistic endeavors, but now I’m a fan. The show was hopeless, mainly because the acoustics were hideously bad, maybe because the band members hadn’t been rehearsing long, probably because they’ve got to be the loosest band to ever have a recording contract (except the drummer, who was tight – and how does that work, that only one band member can be described that way; never mind, it’s the only way to describe it). The CD is a reissue of both the first two albums the Tactics put out, “My Houdini” and “Glebe,” and it rocks. I fully intend to turn up at one of their next sets, maybe the Annadale, which is close to home, but I’m interested in the CAD Factory itself.

Life, Meet Art
Finding Nemo: it’s all true.

I Blame Myself
First-home buyers are causing their own pain from interest rate increases and rising home purchase prices. It’s true, somewhat. But I blame the willingness of home buyers to accept auctions as the default sales mechanism, rather than whopping great home loans. Mortgage repayments are normally viewed as a percentage of income, rather than whether or not your carrying $300-500,000 in principal, although that, too, can indeed be a problem, mainly, again however, because a rate rise could put the monthly repayment percentage over what you’re reasonably capable of managing, cutting into your food budget, for example.

I also blame the State and local governments, which tax so heavily that, if you buy an apartment, you’re also stuck paying building levies that have no return value. Our apartment in Surry Hills cost us significant money on a quarterly basis, in addition to our own council and water rates, essentially meaning we were paying twice for those services. The rest of the building’s budget was mainly hallway lighting and elevator maintenance. Heat and hot water were our own cost. This makes city living a pretty expensive proposition.

Now add on to that sitting in a room with a dozen other people who want to buy the property, often just as an investment, because they accrue tax advantages, whereas residential home owners do not, and everybody’s adding a thousand, five thousand dollars every 10-30 seconds until they’ve blown out whatever budget they came in with and yours, too. Suddenly, a property worth $400,000 is now $500,000. If private treaty were the norm, one offer over your own, and you’d go looking for the next place, you’d stick to your budget more easily. I’m a bit of a cheapskate, so it was easy for me to hit my limit at auction and stay there, when I could have kept on, offered a thousand more than the winning bid, and maybe taken the place. But I’d have to live with seeing my savings entirely wiped out, with little chance of rebuilding enough for emergencies, let alone another, soonish, trip back to the US. And these are relatively minor concerns.

So blame my mortgage, if you want, but own up: State and local taxes are sources of financial stress in home ownership, and auctions are a blight.

And There Was
I hadn’t actually planned it, but finding myself by the Dendy in Newtown at the right time, I stopped in to watch There Will Be Blood. Daniel Day-Lewis is beyond terrific. Barely holding on to a civilized façade, he goes so entirely bat-shit crazy over the course of this movie, it leaves your own mind reeling. I was also quite taken with the music, which I recall the New Yorker pointing out as a highlight of the production. It’s very spare, but highly effective. Paul Thomas Anderson was certainly a viable contender for that Directing Oscar. I’ll have to go see No Country for Old Men (I’d been waiting until I’d read the book) to see how the Coen brothers beat him.

Low Bid
I am not a new homeowner. And I despise auctions.

It was interesting to see and a little unnerving to participate. The auction was held off-site, and multiple properties went under the hammer on the day. I’d inspected the first property for sale, so I was surprised when it went for $561,000. It didn’t have the rising damp problem of the house I was going for, but it was still a total renovation job, with electrical work and plumbing required, years of wallpapering, damaged plasterwork, and a roof that was going to come off in the next strong wind. Bidding was fierce for a while, then fell off into a price war between just two contenders, each offering another $500 on top of the last, until finally one jumped five grand and finished off the other.

The next house was to be mine, and I opened the bidding. It seemed more dispirited than the other property, which was, admittedly, in a better location overall, and I thought for a little while that it might come off. We were at the point of going to the “third and final call” on my bid when somebody new jumped in, and the bidding took off again, well beyond anything I thought was reasonable. In the end, it went for about 20 grand more than I was willing to spend in purchasing it and about 5 more than my bank’s valuation had it.

I’ll have to find a new place in the next sixty days, or I’ll be into the bank for $600 in fees. No more auctions.

Progress Report
The Rudd government’s 100-day report card is a good idea, something similar to what Mayor Bloomberg does in New York (publicly, but for his own benefit, as well, since he’s then able to keep track of what still needs doing, as I understand it), but why isn’t it online? A booklet’s nice, but will I get one in the mail? Will further progress reports be issued? Maybe I should join the 2020 conference so I can suggest more effective use of HTML. (And I could meet Cate Blanchett.)

Questioning Question Time
Question Time is a venerable tradition in Parliament, carried down from the British House of Commons, in which members may query responsible ministers about matters pertaining to their portfolios, all the way up to the Prime Minister. The new Labor government decided that Parliament would sit on Fridays, but that there would not be Question Time, although they have not abolished it the rest of the week. This has not gone down well with the newly opposition LNP. First, under the previous government, Friday was not a sitting day. But it should be noted that it’s only a half-session, so offering an hour to QT just cuts into the regular business of governance. Today, the first Friday since Parliament was convened under the new rules, the opposition pushed the House into chaos, even temporarily routing the Speaker. It was a dummy-spit.

What I’ve seen of Question Time suggests what should be a worthy practice of ensuring government transparency and ministerial accountability is really nothing more than childish taunting, teasing, baiting, and point-scoring stunts. Members on either side hoot and holler like a pack of monkeys at every smirk and jibe. It is useless for anything more than letting off steam and seems at best merely to degrade the parliamentary system. I much prefer the system employed in the U.S. Nevertheless, this has been truly shameless behaviour, and represents – along with the various other showboating by former front-benchers like Peter Costello and Alexander Downer – an utter lack of leadership by Brendan Nelson. Is this how they intend to conduct themselves for the next three years? They’ll stay in opposition a long time, that way.

Update: It just gets worse. The opposition are clowns. No wonder they lost.

This Doesn’t Help
The house I intend bidding on in less than two weeks is going to cost me plenty, especially since I’ll “have to” renovate the kitchen and bathroom (it’s all in working order, just in need of a substantial upgrade), so reading about someone else’s trepidations, even, or especially, from the perspective of what it means as an investment, only heightens my nervousness over the financial predicament I’ll be in for the next fifteen to twenty years. (I’d go the full thirty of the mortgage, but I do hope to retire before I’m eighty. Even seventy.) At least I can borrow against the projected cost of minimal renovations and still afford the repayments, barring coming out of the three-year fixed rate period only to find whopping great interest rates. At the pace taken by the Reserve Bank, even the five quarter-percent increases (as they’ve been applying pretty much every month) that I’ve budgeted for will be quickly eaten up, leaving me with having to contemplate new sources of income or substantial cuts along the way in various lifestyle areas. Like lunch. Savings could be a problem, too, which would infringe on my ability to travel for leisure. But I want this settled, and I don’t believe renting is viable, given that rents are going up nearly as fast as interest rates and in substantially greater dollar amounts per annum and a notable dearth of alternative accommodations. The reno should also provide, at resale, for a bit of a profit, even if I only stay in the joint for ten years.

Off On Again
Last year’s inaugural Earth Hour in Sydney has expanded, now, to 28 cities, worldwide, set to switch off their lights on 29 March at 8 p.m. Out in Camperdown last year, the effect wasn’t particularly notable, because it’s already pretty quiet out there, once you get off the main drag. Still, the expansion would seem to indicate the event’s success, even if only 39,000 individuals and about 2,000 businesses have registered their support, so far.

The Future of Death Valley
I don’t usually buy into the standard time estimates for the development of some technology or whatever that will change the future. You know, “in 5 years,” “10 years,” etc., we’ll be doing this, having that, live like this. So when somebody tells me we could have 69% of America’s energy supplied by solar power by 2050, I’m sceptical. Not because I don’t believe the technology is possible, but because the implementation is projected as taking place in less than 50 years. I’m sure it’s possible, just not probable, and certainly doesn’t factor in the opposition it would face. Vast swathes of southwestern desert don’t get converted into solar farms that easily. The studies that would have to be done are as immense as the areas of land to be converted. Should we care about all the gila monsters and cactus species to be dispossessed? What would the effect be on the weather? Global warming? It’s hard enough to work out what’s going on as things stand, but such a massive implementation would have to be transformative in many ways, and not just on reducing fossil fuel dependence and carbon emissions. On the other hand, I know a country with an even bigger area of desert where such a project could be accomplished, although the subsidies projected in this study may be out of reach.

Airpain
An argument against the house in my present suburb. Not that it'd necessarily be much better in some of the other locations. Pretty much the entire inner west is under the flight path, especially now that Sydney airport are undertaking renovations to the east-west runways for the next two years.

Bush Wins Forever
Every time the House or Senate rolls over for Bush on one of his expansions of executive power, I lose more faith in the idea that a Democratic President will accomplish any meaningful change from what the present administration has done to damage civil liberties and the Constitution itself. Hillary, locked in an increasingly tight run against Obama, didn’t even turn up for the vote, but it’s Harry Reid I blame for this, and I’m sure Pelosi will roll, too, in the end. With the Supreme Court packed for the foreseeable future, the more-co-equal-than-others executive will surely prove just as susceptible to abuses under Clinton/Obama/McCain as it has now under Bush. The U.S. is screwed.

Update: See what I mean? (Maybe I should add a new tag: "Scalia sucks.")

Remakes
In a conversation with S., one of M.’s oldest friends, we somehow got on the subject of movies, specifically Hollywood’s apparent present tendency towards remakes and sequels. As a result, I rented Infernal Affairs, which is the movie Martin Scorsese finally got his Oscar for, by remaking it as The Departed. S. said something to the effect that this was the one time he’d watched a subtitled movie and wasn’t distracted reading the dialogue, and I can echo that sentiment, and his recommendation. It is at least as good a movie as Scorsese’s, or, rather, Scorsese’s is as good as it is, failing, in the end, perhaps because the American version gives the audience a moral resolution, as Hollywood is wont to do, whereas the Hong Kong original retains the ambiguities from start to finish.

Still, whereas I won’t be bothered over the next umpteenth remaking of King Kong, and know that the 3rd in a sequel series will inevitably be a disappointment at best (but still go see it), I’ve heard good things about 3:10 to Yuma, but may not bother over the Glenn Ford original.

Housing Crisis
I guess it’s official enough: I’m looking for my next home ownership experience. I spent a significant part of Saturday running around the inner west, checking out houses for sale. Last weekend, I’d see a place at the far end of Petersham – really only another five or ten minutes by public transit from where I am now, at least in non-peak hours – with a terrific garden, gas cooking, one bedroom. It’d work, but the renovations were incomplete, requiring probably a few grand to finish, and the bathroom is outside, which would mean going out in the weather (whenever there is weather, like most of last week) at all hours. Still, it would be quiet, close to transport, and not far to shopping. Most importantly, I could afford it, so long as the price doesn’t get jacked up insanely during the auction.

Auctions, now that’s a problem. There’s a lot of competition out there, too. I saw three properties on Saturday: a very small one-bedroom in Newtown (with a non-existent garden; I’m not even sure my furniture would fit), a complete renovation job in Macdonaldtown (apparently a deceased estate, but how anyone lived there in their declining years seems hard to imagine), and a weirdly panelled (walls and ceiling) house in Camperdown, my present suburb. There is a place in Newtown that isn’t open yet (appointment only) and that is being sold directly, but I’m thinking I might go for the auction in Camperdown. It will probably go low 400K’s, so it’s not only affordable, but I could even manage a little extra on the loan to pay for the minor renovations it would require, mainly painting and pulling down and replacing the built-in wardrobe in the bedroom. Well, and also tearing out the second toilet, a cubicle in the back garden (yeah, weird, I know). The garden’s no great shakes, but there’s plenty of room for the potted plants already in my possession. Still, there were a lot of people through, mostly couples, probably with two incomes, so there’ll be competition. It would be nice to stop renting, though.

Reprise
I hadn’t previously heard of the Don’t Look Back Concert series, but when I saw the Died Pretty were slated to play the Enmore as part of the Australian sets, running through what’s considered one of their best albums, “Doughboy Hollow,” I knew M. (who’d been on the scene with these guys and even has a co-writing credit on one of their songs) and I had to attend. The series has had some real classics, and this was no exception. Ed Kuepper, originally from the Saints, later the Laughing Clowns, opened with his album, “Honey Steel’s Gold,” putting on a terrific show in his own right, but it was the Died Pretty’s night, and I’ll never understand why these guys didn’t make it in the States, let alone much bigger globally. Ron Peno’s vocals are terrific, and he’s got real stage presence. When he cuts loose, Brett Myers plays a mean guitar, and has lost none of his chops. They hit the stage at about 9:30, and for the next two hours the audience was enthralled. A couple of encores allowed them to run through a near “best of” (including M.’s number) and kept the place rocking right along.

Whose Law?
One of the difficulties of multiculturalism in respect to Islam is that the Koran is the codification of all aspects of society, not just a set of religious precepts. So while the Archbishop of Canterbury may say some integration of Sharia with English law is “unavoidable”, it isn’t that hard to see what he’s getting at, although it has nothing to do with, as opposition leader Brendan Nelson puts it, ”chang[ing] your basic values, culture and law” to suit some malcontents unwilling to integrate with society, British or Australian. In fact, we already make accommodations, recognizing the authority of tribal law among the Aborigines, for example, but also in granting priests and rabbis and imams etc. the authority to conduct marriages then recognized under civil law. Granting some limited jurisdiction over financial disputes, divorce, and so forth, doesn’t seem much of stretch, when you think about it, although there would have to be some standard of equal protection applied.

Nevertheless, I oppose such accommodations, at every level. Government should remain resolutely secular, and social transactions should be conducted within that framework. Church, or mosque, weddings should be a separate process, as should divorce. You want religious or tribal recognition in addition, fine, go for it, but it’s extra.

(It's interesting to me that Nelson's the one to come out in the news with this. I assume the Rudd government saw Rowan Williams' remarks and didn't think it worth bothering about. Nelson's probably just trying to stay visible, wedge Labor if he can, and perpetuate the LNP's politics of xenophobia.)

Sorry
One of Kevin Rudd’s promises during the election campaign was to say “sorry” to the Stolen Generation. He’s going to do it next Wednesday, when the new government sits for the first time. This is an historic moment that is sure to help bridge the modern, multi-generational rift between whites and the aboriginal peoples of Australia. I say “modern” because it is only after we have moved beyond the colonial mindset that we have even been able to perceive the problem as a problem. But multi-generational shouldn’t be conceived of as ignoring the pre-Federation centuries, and modern shouldn’t be thought to have coincided only with the post-Federation decades up through the nineteen-forties. In fact, the policies that led to the Stolen Generation persisted well into the ‘60’s and ‘70’s.

But the now-opposition LNP persist in failing to understand the need for us to say and for aborigines to hear “sorry”. They insist on knowing the precise wording for the apology before committing to standing with Labor in offering it. Well, the option exists for Labor to apologize on behalf of the government, rather than the Parliament, which would be, perhaps, sufficient, but still a shame. We could have a national healing moment and a national commitment to improving the lives of the most damaged, most vulnerable, most disadvantaged among us, or we could have the commitment of the sitting government, for its term of office, to address the problems of the aboriginal communities. This is Howard’s final legacy to the party he led. This is Howard’s shame, and now Brendan Nelson perpetuates it. By doing so, should the Coalition fail to join in, the LNP condemns its present members along with the Howard government, and along with all its constituents, to the ash heap of history.

Force Majeure
Is it significant that four of the states hit by tornadoes on the same day voted for Huckabee?

Sweetness
I’ve met sixteen-year-olds I’d trust at exercising a right to vote, but very few, and mostly relatives. There have been recent studies regarding maturation, and it’s accepted fact at this point that girls mature, physically and mentally, well before boys, but that the brain is still developing well into the twenties for both. So enfranchisement of youth, while an admirable ideal, has less of an argument than does extending the age of consent. We already don’t allow young people to purchase alcohol until age 21. Perhaps we should be doing the same with voting, military service, criminal justice, etc.

Yesterday's Voting
Still underway, back in the podes (and pending here in the antipodes), and I don't know much about delegate allocations, within or between the states, but here's a prediction anyway: even pending California, the Obama/Clinton match-up will continue all the way to the national convention, but McCain will lock up the Repugs. What I'm really interested in now is, who are the possible VP's? You wouldn't think it's a job that has much push, but when it comes to the general election, it seems to count for a lot.

Super Wednesday
Tomorrow, Democrats Abroad Australia will host an election watch at the Agincourt Hotel, in Sydney, and the Queensberry Hotel, in Melbourne, both starting at 11 a.m. Over the next few days, we'll also be running on-line primary voting for U.S. citizens who haven't already voted in a primary by absentee ballot. Democrats Abroad, the parent organization, sends delegates to the national convention, so this is our shot at being heard as a bloc of our own. Sydney ballotting will take place, again at the Agincourt, on Saturday, 9 February, from 10:30 'til 1:00, and on Tuesday, 12 February, between 7:00 and 8:30 p.m. Melbourne will go to the polls on Thursday, 7 February, at the Queensberry, from 11 a.m. to 11 p.m.

Summer?
Rain all weekend. Rain today. Rain all week. Sure, it’s good for what’s left of the drought, but I’ve only been to the beach once so far this year. And the cats are not terribly happy, either.