10,000 Steps
Seven Bridges Walk today, a nice excursion of 25 kilometers that takes you west and north and back around for a circuit of the Harbour and its suburbs. Depending on where you start, which was, for me, Iron Cove.
Followed by Gladesville (over)

(and under, which presents something of a monumental aspect the "over" image misses),

Tarban Creek

and Figtree, which, as far as bridges are concerned, is as far as I got last year before (a) getting a little lost and (b) soaked in a thunderstorm that also included a temperature drop that left me as cold as I've ever been in this country.

I did manage, last year, to bear with the course, until the next downpour, which coincided with my arrival at Waverton Station, at which point I bailed in favor of a train.

This year, however, the threatened storms never came, so that, by the time I got to the vicinity of North Sydney, it was actually getting a bit more warm and sunny than I was fully prepared for. Nevertheless, the Harbour Bridge is a magnificent ediface, and it was gratifying to arrive within view of it, even if I was starting, at this point, to seize up.

Once across, I was in the CBD, but lost the route. Not that it mattered much, as I work close enough to Darling Harbour to know the approach to the Pyrmont Bridge well. I probably saved my self a kilometre or so as a result.

Then home again, home again, across the ANZAC Bridge, leaving only another 2 or 3 kilometres from my starting point to home and recuperative measures, such as a shower and a cold beverage.

So all up, 25-30k done in 6 hours, and best of all, parts of the city normally left unvisited. I took note of some good running areas that will help when training for the SMH half starts up in January, over paths I didn't even know were there, but will take advantage of proximity to the Harbour.

Next year I'll take the divergences into the bushwalks and really make a go of it.

Autumn into Winter
Leaving aside the issue of "World" in baseball's World Series, and, for the moment, the teams now scheduled to commence that tournement on 27 October, since when did baseball last into November? Accordingly to the remarkably speedy update on Wikipedia, this is the third time, and the second in a row, although no citiation is provided.

I caught the last few innings of the Giant's game, sorry, from the news reports, to have missed the whole thing, but there were some local enthusiasts there, too, to appreciate the tactics employed as the Giants clung to a one-run lead, and the Phillies threatened credibly. With the Rangers, however, having beaten the Yankees for the AL flag, I'm somewhat reluctant to watch much more, as it'll surely entail shots of George W. in the stands, but I can hope San Francisco stomps all over his smirks.

St. Mary MacKillop, Oi! Oi! Oi!
A relatively modern nun’s gotten the nod to become Australia’s first saint, which got rather extraordinary media coverage in a supposedly secular country, but I’ve never found it so to begin with. (Look at our public holidays: Good Friday, Easter Saturday, Easter Monday, Christmas, Boxing Day – half are religious. Hardly surprising, I suppose when about 26% of the population identifies as Catholic, 19% as Anglican, and 19% as other Christian.) But if anyone’s going to get elevated in the 21st century RC Church, MacKillop seems a good choice, if not so much on the basis of the requisite miracles, than in her order’s role acting against child sex abuse by clergy, resulting in MacKillop being excommunicated for two years, until the bishop who’d issued the order, rescinded it on his deathbed. Already there are calls for her to be nominated as the patron saint for victims of abuse. There’s a good else deal about her life that makes her fairly interesting as a person, and certainly respectable as a nun. I don’t much hold with saints – a little too much like semi-demigods, I suppose. I mean, if you’re going to believe in God, there doesn’t seem any need for intercession off-siders. But congratulations to the order, I suppose.

Nobel Tipping
Ngugi wa Thiong'o is looking good for the Literature Prize this year, the first African since Wole Soyinka, but with Haruki Murakami and Cormac McCarthy as competitors, it's still hard to call. I guess the Nobel Committee's recent statements regarding American literature may leave McCarthy out. Ngugi would be the political choice, which seems in line with recent picks, and Murakami doesn't have as extensive a body of work. I'll go with the Kenyan. "Wizard of the Crow" was a good read.

About Art
Sydney's Art & About is, I think, one of the better public arts events around. Sculpture by the Sea being the other one. I particularly enjoy the Hyde Park photographic exhibition.


(Can't say I much like the staturary dress-up, all a bit more foppish than seems necessary, but I understand the impulse and enjoy the humor anyway.)

Still, I had the chance to wander through town and take a couple of photographs of the city. The light here is amazing, something NYC is known for differently, and this building shows it off.

Age Appropriate
I don't remember the last time I saw Todd Rundgren in concert. It was probably something like 30 years ago and most likely it was a Utopia show. All that tech and exuberance was not on show last night at The Basement, where he ran through his latest incarnation: Bluesman. "Todd Rundgren's Johnson" is a tribute to Robert Johnson, although it's more Chicago than Delta Blues. While there's plenty of expertise on display, there was little heart in it. That could be the size of the venue, in part, although I did get the impression that Todd's feeling a little put out that he's never lived up to his reputation. I mean, I loved the guy back in the '70s, buying all his records and going to pretty nearly every show that came through town, but a Wizard he may be, but not a True Star. He had a very appreciative audience and ran through some of his back catalog (although I thought "Open My Eyes" was a bit muddy) for us, so it was a decent show, and I'm glad I went.

But I'll never go back to The Basement, even if Jesus Christ and His All-Star Prophets Revue Featuring Joseph Smith on Bagpipes turned up. It's a dinner club, but if you don't book one of the very few tables, you're standing up all night. Since the doors open at 7:30, you'll stand for three to four hours before the opening act comes on stage and then three or four more to see the finish of the headliner. (And the opening act, an unnamed duo on guitar and keyboards, were horrible last night.)