Our Tax Dollars at Work
Colin Powell has appointed James Brown Secretary of Soul, Foreign Minister of Funk. Huh. I feel good. Yow.

SHX
After the venerable Ian Rilen's stint as the resident musician at the Surry Hills Excelsior (during which time we were able to go see Penny Ikinger for a guest appearance, Louis Tillet has taken over Sunday evenings, gathering a band and performing new material and old and generally doing a service to pub music in Sydney. We got to spend a little time chatting, as he's a long-time friend of M.'s, and we hope to see him socially soon, not to mention catching up on another Sunday, perhaps while our first international visitor is here. Louis is a terrific musician, singer-songwriter as well, with a very jazzy feel, which is a direction I'd like to see him explore further. At AU$5 a head, it's the cheapest musical outing in town, and well worth a stroll up the road.

Look What the Cat Dragged In
Yes, the link in the heading is a gratuitous plug for “Abbie the Cat Has a Posse,” but no, I’m not going to write about my own companion animal (a nervous little creature), despite the investment she represents in my daily life. Actually, this post’s title is a touch of self-referential acknowledgement that it’s been a long time between entries on the ‘blog. Well, what has there been to ‘blog about? Since my employer folded its project tent and sent me on my merry way along with a hundred others like me, I’ve been looking for work, looking for ways of looking for work, and so forth. I’ve also managed to re-read a few books I haven’t looked at in a decade or three, and there’s been enough money in the kitty to rent a video now and then, and I’ve been spending enough time at home that taking over a bit more cooking has just been natural. I’d like to lounge around the beach or out on the balcony more often than I’ve managed so far, especially with a coldie (beer) or a vodka-tonic. That it’s been raining non-stop for the last two weeks has put a crimp in those plans, as has my ingrained work ethic, a sense of self highly dependent upon having a job.

What particularly galls me is how much this period of unemployment has altered my ability to enjoy my new hometown. Sydney is a wonderful place – comments on previous posts notwithstanding (yes, we don’t have Katz’s, but there are other places, and they’re not a constant and evident breach of health codes the minute you set foot there, and no, I don’t argue for Sydney’s ranking as a place to live by its tourist population, but then we don’t get the same level of as some other places to begin with). But this is my home now and I actually do – surprise, surprise – love it, warts and all. I could take a train from the Upper East Side out to Coney, or I could take half the time on a bus and swim in pristine Pacific Ocean and loll on cigarette butt-less white sand beaches. I could cab over to the theatre district and have some second-rate Thai, or just practically step out my door here and get Asian cuisine fresher and more authentic than any I’ve ever had before. Not to mention that the beer – even the cheap stuff – is head and shoulders above anything outside of the local microbrewery anywhere in the U.S. Hah. That’ll fix you.

Look, not that anyone needs fixing so much. Well, maybe. But what do you actually know about it? My guess is that 90% of those who come here would love to come back and more than half of them would like to stay forever. I have never lived or visited an urban environment anywhere else so clean or so leisurely. The pressure’s off (or it would be if I was working) and there’s so much to enjoy. Not everyplace in the world is New York, but I don’t miss it (o.k., weirdly, I did have some strong feelings arise after watching Spike Lee’s 25th Hour, but that’s mostly because it was largely set in my old neighborhood, and Lee got the feel of the city and living there better than any movie I think I’ve ever seen before). I have a home, and it’s here, and we’re all just going to have to deal with it. But let’s all be honest, too, o.k.? You don’t have to like it; you don’t even have to visit. I do like it, and I’d love it if you want to come enjoy it with me.

Just don’t scare my cat.

Dear Sir or Madam
I know how this feels. (Another useful tidbit unearthed by the folks at Metafilter.)

Disney and the Trains
Remember that Hong Kong subway decorated with Disney characters? No, never mind, it doesn’t matter. But in case you missed it: the MTA in NYC went and joined the advertising onslaught, if only temporarily, with its theme-train entry of the Times Square-Grand Central shuttle done up with ents, hobbits, etc. All this for a DVD. I can understand if you really, really want to go ride that train: you are a geek.

PS: I can also understand if you go and ride the PATH train today: you want to commemorate the resumption of service to the World Trade Center.

I Am Matisse
O.k., the collage machine is more Colorforms(tm) than Rauchenberg (and it's for kids, but shut up), still it's pretty fun and a nicer use of Shockwave software than you'll see more often than not. So go ahead, play with the pre-set forms, pretty colors, and cut up a caper.

Memento Mori
Of the 8 designs for the WTC memorial, as much as I like the votive candles (a maintenance nightmare), my preference runs towards the outdoor designs (except the Mya Lin knock-off). Some of the indoor memorials are effective, evocative, emotive, etc., but they tend to make me feel a bit oppressed. And I'm not even a claustrophobe. Perhaps it would be different being there, and I concede a park-like setting might be less inspiring of reflection.

Aussie, Aussie, Aussie! Oi, Oi, Oi!
This sports-related chant will soon replace the former Number 1: "U-S-A, U-S-A . . ." following the results of a BBC poll in which Australia outranks the US for must-visit tourist destinations, particularly in ranking Sydney over New York. What else is on the list? #13 - Uluru vs. #15 - Niagra Falls; the Great Barrier Reef at #1 is ranked well above #23 - Yosemite, which is probably enough of a disparity to also account for #24 - Hawaii. If not, we'll have to find a way to get the Whitsunday's on the list. Since New Zealand should probably be part of Australia anyway, let's also add #4 - South Island to compete with #3 - Florida; #25 Aukland vs. #7 - Las Vegas (and how did they make the list anyway? It's all cigarette smoke, neon, and eyeball-drying heat). Look, I'm just pleased my new city outranks my old city, really.

Welcome to the Sydney Real Estate Market
Government sponsored housing developments here in Sydney might perhaps be the envy of those administering or living in other such projects back in the U.S., scattered as they are throughout the entire municipality, including the most desirable areas, low rise, low density (mostly - there area couple of notable exceptions around town, one of which belongs in a science fiction prison movie), and except for the cheap brick that characterizes their facade, not entirely unattractive: they could be condos (strata, as such units are known here) anywhere. And now NY: the City and State have long been chipping away at the control systems set in place to provide housing for their low- and no-income denizens, but it appears to be reaching a head, particularly with the end of Mitchell-Lama programs in the city. Sure, it's only been a 2% decrease in three years, but don't discount the effects of loosened rent control and rent stabilization on the overall pool of housing for the poor. Not to mention the effects of the Bush II imperium's economic direction. NYC housing prices are certainly steep, although San Francisco has traditionally outstripped them, but as the reins are let loose, look to see the prices rise accordingly, and before long - public housing notwithstanding here - the real estate market will be as overheated as it is here in Sydney, and without the natural amenities we have here.

Being at Bondi
This Sunday, M. and I took the Bondi-to-Bronte cliff walk, where Sydney Water sponsored the "Sculpture by the Sea" exhibition. It was the last day, so the walk was packed, but the sun was out, the breeze was cooling, and the sculpture - some of them at least - were pretty good. There was an inevitable bit of Christo, and some flat-out "why?" pieces, but others actually suited the environment, and these seemed to me the best of the lot. It's one thing to sculpt, but if it's for an outdoor exhibit, especially where the environment itself is so much on display, there ought to be a fit between the two. In any event, here's the NY Times getting gushy about Australia, a seasonal event, specifically with Bondi. The picture captions are backwards, by the way: Bondi Icebergs is the 2nd picture (and if you're planning a visit, plan also to stop at the bar there for a coldie, as the view is worth pausing for, as is the beer).

Watch the Watch
I've been a big fan of Madison Smartt Bell for many years, although his output can vary in quality from book to book. Washington Square Ensemble, Soldier's Joy, and his novelization of the Haitian slave uprising, All Souls Rising were terrific, but Ten Indians, the Haitian follow-up Master of the Crossroads disappointing. I was also disappointed with Doctor Sleep, but I'll have to give it another go, even if the movie that's now been made from it, Hypnotic is getting mixed-to-negative reviews. That way, I'll know if I want to see it or just have to.

La, La, La, La, La, Means I Love You
Actually, it's the sound the Bush administration is making these days to avoid hearing questions from Democrats. Yes, George II doesn't want to even hear so much as a peep from the opposition, so he's stuck his fingers in his ears. Any questions? Put them in writing and send them through the House or Senate Committee Chairperson (Republicans, for the most part) for submission. And good luck. First, he stops taking questions from the press, now he's stopped taking questions from the Legislature. Is this the Madness of King George all over again? Well, Dean's a doctor, maybe he can help.

"It's Not Us, It's Cuba"
We've got nearly a dozen non-Afghani prisoners in Guantanamo, held as enemy combatants, including a couple of Australians, whom the Supreme Court will decide can or cannot use the U.S. court system to get out of their present circumstances. The Justice Department is arguing that Cuba has jurisdiction over the U.S. military base, not the U.S., because we lease the property. So Fidel Castro should decide? Look, I understand the argument that we need to have these guys available because they're Al Qaeda-trained and may know others who trained in the terrorist camps. So when we break up a cell and arrest some suspects, they can be paraded in front of the Guantanamo prisoners for identification. That makes a certain amount of sense. Except we haven't really caught anyone else, have we? The Lackawana Six or Seven or was it only Five? That doesn't appear to have required the use of anyone in Guantanamo, and neither did those guys they picked up in the Northwest. In fact, other than actual members of the Al Qaeda hierarchy, has there been any value in holding the Brits or the Aussies? If they can make a case in court, they should be allowed to, whether military or civil. Military if they were captured with weapons, civil otherwise. But it's all supposed to be rule-of-law in America, so let the law happen. But let the lawyers work it out, and don't hide behind the razor wire.

Appropos of the Shark . . .
O.k., it's a little strange to go to the theatre when you're unemployed, but the tickets were cheap and we hadn't been out much and it was the Belvoir Theatre, whose Company B are one of the most respected theatrical troupes going, and I've never actually seen the Three Penny Opera, even though I have heard a lot of Kurt Weil in my life, including, but not limited to, the Bobby Darin rendering of "Mack the Knife." It was a good enough production, although in the end I'd have preferred if they'd avoided the common error of contemporizing the content, which was done without a full effort at relocating from Soho (London) to King's Cross (Sydney), despite the use of Australian colloquialism. This is the same group who worked on the theatrical adaptation of Cloudstreet, the celebrated epic novel by Tim Winton set in post WWII Perth, which M. and I saw at the Brooklyn Academy when their Next Wave festival featured a lot of Australiana. That was a major piece of theatre; this was just o.k. But now I know the story and have a better sense of the Brecht/Weil collaboration.

Puzzles
I must not have been thinking clearly - certainly I didn't think it through - but when I named this 'blog, I set myself up for a wealth of visitors none of whom would actually want anything to do with me or what I post here. My weblog appears to turn up in every Google, MSN, Yahoo, etc. search by gamers looking for on-line crossword puzzles. I spent years filling out these word grids myself and don't fail in my estimation of their entertainment. I even grew to appreciate the variations in clue styles (and I still think the NY Times is the best, although the Sunday themes can be more than a little too obscure, a failing I share, according to some). Still, maybe I should have thought up a better title.

Talk Radio
I enjoyed having comments and Squawkbox was a good service - I particularly enjoyed the ability to ban the obstreperous and to edit out blank submissions - but if they're not going to let me continue, fine. I've gone over to the Klink Family's Blogout service, already in use by Outside Counsel, Make 1, and Berlin Blog, regular reads all. Now, remember, this commenting service doesn't include administration, so play nice.

Bye, Bye, Redbird
When I moved out of Mom & Dad's on Long Island, the best apartment I could afford was a gigantic one-bedroom in a pre-war building in Elmhurst, Queens. The Manhattan apartments in my price range, what few there were, were unrenovated pits with wavy floors, to walk upon which left one feeling distinctly drunk, and the Brooklyn units were in rather unsalubrious neighborhoods. So there I was, situated equidistant between the E/F/G line and the number 7 elevated. At first, working as I did in midtown, the 7 was the train of choice, to be supplanted in later years by the E/G when I moved employment to the Wall Street area. Shortly after moving in, the MTA declared the need to completely refurbish the entire 7 line before it collapsed into Roosevelt Avenue, and announced a 5-year moratorium on express service. It didn't matter too much to me, although the effect on Flushing residents was fairly extreme. Every morning I rode the "Redbird" into Grand Central and back again every night. These ancien regime carriages have now reached the end of the line. I know they're old and that the cars that will replace them are sleek, more efficient, even roomy (comparatively), but there are aspects of these trains that anyone would miss, and probably should, primarily among them the "wishing spot," a childhood story that claimed a place in the front car as a magical location. It was, too, if not in a fairy tale fashion. The lead car, with the motorman's compartment, was no differently constructed than any other, any car therefore capable of serving as the "engine," if you will. Each car had a doorway at either end so that passengers and crew could pass between the cars (although you weren't supposed to, especially while the train was in motion, a hazardous undertaken routinely employed by subway riders to achieve a more desirable situation, a seat, even). The lead car's front door was located next to the motorman's compartment, the door to which was sometimes left ajar, and it had a window, making it the most coveted spot of all - for subway enthusiasts and children. Many times I made it a practice to insist that out-of-town visitors stand with me in this spot. Even underground the view thus afforded was spectacular, magical. I particularly enjoyed the burst of light that occurred upon leaving the tunnel and arriving at the Grand Central platform, but also the expansiveness that lightened my heart once we left Hunters Point for the elevated tracks through Queens. There was also the little thrill of seeing the rise and fall and gentle curves of the track ahead once Queens Plaza had been left behind, and the suddenly looming presence of Shea Stadium as you approached Willets Point. There will be windows in the new trains, but not that front one, so no more wishing spot and a forever altered commutation, one that lacks the communion with the trains themselves.

Eh? Speak Up, Sonny, I'm a Little Deaf
Comments by Squawkbox have expired. They said I had until May next year, but that appears to have come sooner than I expected somehow. And there I thought Daylight Saving meant only 16 hours difference between here and the Northern Hemisphere. I had considered upgrading, although I'm unemployed and can't afford it, but now I'll just have to consider finding a new service. Meanwhile, if you don't have something nice to say, you have to say nothing at all. (O.k., fine, yes, you can always email.)

Dullness and Depression
Not working has got to be the most consistently dull situation of all. A boring job would be less dull than the tediousness of looking at the same jobs advertised week after week after day after day, not to mention the depression of not getting any of them (sorry, so many candidates - and you're not one of them). Sure, I could sit around and watch t.v. all day; I could even watch endless videos if I had the income to support the rental volume required. I am reading "Look Homeward, Angel," and that will take up a bit of intellectual effort and the time dripping through my fingers, but I think more is needed for a fulfilling life than catching up on re-reading my entire library. Unfortunately, blogging doesn't seem to pay (not that I have a large enough audience to even warrant sticking a Paypal account link here). Perhaps I should learn a musical instrument. Recorders are probably pretty inexpensive. Twinkle, twinkle, little bat . . . now I know I'm losing it.

Hands Across the Waters
I've added Expats Against Bush to my weblog community block, although I'm not technically an expat myself. It seems worthwhile, however, to remind and provide a resource for expats who may come here that Bush II is bad for America in the world at large and there are others out there - a support group of a kind.

Years
I don’t know how I missed it, although the flu may have had an effect, but it’s been a year since I moved to Sydney. A lot has happened: M.’s grandfather, Johnny, died, we got a new apartment, I got a job and the job dried up and blew away. . . . A year’s a long time, although it doesn’t seem so when you look back at it. When I think of all the years yet to come, depending on the perspective I bring to it, the next twenty can seem short or long, but I know that there will be a lot happening in the future that will affect me (even more that won’t), and I know that as each year passes I’ll look back on it and wonder where the time all went to. It’ll probably be a while yet before I have an Australian accent, but.

Have a Copy of Argosy While You Wait
When Bush II was still just the dauphin, running for office against Gore, I lived in fear the country would be stupid enough to elect him. It was a very close thing, close enough that he did become President. Even at my far remove geographically from the incipient race of ’04, I take great interest in the Democratic doings, particularly those of Dean, Kerry, and Edwards. I don’t put much stock in Gephardt, and none in Mosely-Braun or Sharpton or the little UFOlogist, but the others look like the contenders needed to unseat the usurper, so I’m keeping my eye on them. I was put on to Edwards by an article in the New Yorker, and I still find him a viable candidate for all his campaign’s lack of momentum, such as that enjoyed by Dean. David Brooks’ op-ed piece in the NY Times points out a failing in my party that I think Dean ought to look at, but probably won’t. Although Gore had the election stolen by the Supremes, and arguably Bush won in the Electoral College, the popular vote is what swings these events if you have the real numbers – not a few hundred or a thousand in Florida, but the big numbers in the fly-over states. Edwards’ campaign may have the appeal in those places more than Dean’s, but if the doctor could get in with Floyd the barber just as well. It also makes me think of Flannery O’Connor stories, but that’s a fear with a slightly different source, so we’ll let that pass for now.

350 Covers and Beyond
Back in the day, when Outside Counsel and The Knitter were living in Brooklyn, Smith Street wasn’t much of a place one wanted to be after dark, neither was it noted for the culinary arts, despite the corner grocery with the fresh smoked mozzarella. For the past few years, this area has been coming up, by all food critic accounts, and suddenly, it’s got the best restaurant in town. Statistically, anyway, and we all know about statistics.

Provocation
When you are a professional athlete – even a baseball player (they’re more athletic than they often appear) – you have an obligation to conduct yourself with non-athletes with physical restraint. You are likely to be stronger, and unless your sport is boxing, fighting isn’t what you’re employed to do anyway. If anything marred the post-season this year, it was the conduct of the Yankees and Red Sox in the playoffs. Beanings are “part of baseball” (fatuous – there’s no need to throw at anyone’s head), but brawling with the grounds crew? It’s only right that the police charge Jeff Nelson and Karim Garcia. They’re not children that some taunts from a guy with a rake should send them into such a fury.

Laid Off, Laid Out, Lay About
While the job search continues (if not apace or aplenty, it is yet afoot), M. and I spent last week down with more ‘flu than seems absolutely necessary, so when we could muster the strength to do so, we’d gather a few videos in and spend our sick time on a film festival of sorts: Zelig plus Sweet and Lowdown, both of which I’ve seen (S&L with M.), but which share the false documentary stylings of Woody Allen, which can be entertaining indeed and which I think make S&L a better movie than it would have been otherwise. We also watched Punch Drunk Love, the touted Paul Thomas Anderson movie with Adam Sandler. I think it was touted because Sandler’s movies are usually unwatchable and the role was a significant departure for him – call it the Jim Carrey/Truman Show effect. PDL was very pretty, even poetic, but not a great filmic experience.

Now that M. & I are back on our feet, time is spent in productive pursuits – at least from an income perspective, we hope so.

Flu
Blah. Whole household. Except the cat. Bad timing. Job search ongoing. Maybe tomorrow.

The Government You Deserve
Schwarzenegger is Governor of California. If Pumping Iron is any indicator – and not his fictional roles (Hercules in NY, Conan, etc.) – then I suppose politically he might be quite an adept operator. As for effective governance, Outside Counsel is probably correct in that Arnold will be the front man to a group of pros. But I don’t expect to see any positive results, really, because the man’s a Republican and bills himself as a businessman. That’s the same profile GWB uses.

Which Way the Wind Blows
Last night our friend George stopped by on his way to the cinema and we ended up making a night out of it, getting some lovely Thai stir-fries and being among all of ten people tops at the early evening showing of The Weather Underground, a new documentary on the SDS radicals who attempted to "bring the war home" and include America in the perceived world revolution going on during 1969-75. Along with the cringe-inducing exploration of the state-sponsored repression of dissent in the U.S. at the time - more than sometimes violent, and including the use of police as de facto death squads - and the ludicrous rhetoric of the far left movement, the movie also manages to allow a real understanding of the kind of ethical dilemmas faced by these individuals. How do you allow your country, a democratic nation founded essentially on the principle that the government represents the people, acts on their behalf - how do you allow that country to perpetrate and persist in an unjust war? And how, then, do you act, if you want to ensure that war is ended? Can you not be a participant in the violence if you do not act out? Especially frightening is listening to Nixon stand firm against the many hundreds of thousands protesting his policies and actions in Vietnam and Southeast Asia with exactly the same words and determination Bush II uses today defending his policies and actions in Iraq. We may not need a weatherman to tell which way the wind blows, as the Dylan song goes that gave these radicals their name, but maybe we need a little of the determination of the Weathermen to get us into the streets again. Without the pipe bombs, of course.

Careering
Part of the cost of terminating the project I was working on was for the company to hire an outplacement firm to counsel all the redundant staff. I get a lovely little portfolio, essentially unlimited internet time, a copier and fax machine and printer - all the amenities. I'm not sure but I'd rather they spent the money by handing me more cash, but I'm not particularly hopeful they'd have done it, so I'll take what I can get. Outplacement is another of those terms that don't seem to quite fit with what they mean. In this case, I'm already "out" and looking for placement elsewhere, and the service provided is largely a do-it-yourself program. We make the best of these things. I can dress down all the time now, for example. It's not much, but at least I'm comfortable. And as for becoming a jackaroo, as has been suggested, well if some molly-coddle British royal can do it, so can I! Yippie-yi-yo.

Suit and Tie
If nothing else, I get to forego the corporate uniform for a while. Actually, it was kind of interesting to observe the cultural shift moving from the Soho-based publisher in NYC to the global behemoth in the Sydney suburbs, in that a suit was mandatory. Turns out that was the influence of the South African military-trained project director more than anything else, and when he was gone, the ties mostly went, too. Nevertheless, now that I'm spending time in Martin Place, kind of the heart of the CBD, I see that the standard is very broad indeed, if not quite so liberal as extended to Soho. Next up: a beer on the balcony.

Redundant
I've never quite understood the British usage of this word. To me, redundant means extra, superfluous, duplicative. When an employee is made redundant, however, it isn't because the company's hired someone else to do that job (ostensibly, although I'm sure it happens), but rather that the job itself is eliminated, usually along with a few others. Not by computers, mind you, which don't actually replace workers as displace them, similar to the effect computers have had on office paper production (which was to increase it dramatically). Similarly, "retrenched" - what does that mean? If there are meant to be connotations with trench warfare, wouldn't a worker be retrenched by moving them from one job to another, that is, moving them from one trench to another? It doesn't matter, I guess, so long as you get your redundancy payout. And I'm still out of a job. Well, at least I can still say I've never been fired, since technically I've been "let go." (As if they could have stopped me, given half a chance - never mind, I'm being bitter.) Well, there's some benefit in having survived the past four months since the first layoffs, in that most of them will have gotten jobs by now, so I don't face quite as much competition as I would have. Meanwhile, once I've got a few resumes out the door, this looks like a good time to preview the beach. Perhaps tomorrow while I'm out and about papering my resume around the CBD, I'll stop and get a cheap Eski (n.b. to non-Australian readers: think about the abbreviation, and it will come clear. Yes, Eskimo, so ice, and therefore cooler. It all makes sense, doesn't it?).

Swans on the Grass, Alas
For all the time I spent out by the Olympic Park when I first started working, I didn’t make much effort to walk around and see it. For the most part, the grounds are dominated by the (now) Telstra Stadium, a gigantic venue holding about 80,000. So Saturday night was a bit of a tourist venture as well as an opportunity to attend the Swans bid to go to the Grand Finals of Aussie Rules football. Only 71,000 were in attendance, but even at that it was quite a crowd, with quite a lot of red-and-white on display. (I have to give the Park designers some credit, as well as to the overall Aussie character, in that everyone proceeded in and out along the roadways and parking garages smoothly and efficiently.) The field of play is significantly larger than the Swans home field at the Sydney Cricket Grounds, but unlike American “gridiron,” the goal posts are set at the ends of the oval regardless of its size. This may have been a factor in the humiliating loss the Swans suffered at the hands of the Brisbane Lions. Sure, I enjoyed the game, and I don’t have the dilemma of being asked if I’d like to buy a ticket for the Grand Final (which would have been expensive as well as hard to resist), but it was too bad they didn’t win. The Lions, with the assistance of what appeared to be some pretty dodgy calls in the first quarter, handled the ball very well indeed, especially in the air, while Sydney never managed their air game well at all, except perhaps in the third quarter, where they overcame a significant deficit, only to lose it all again and more in the 4th. Their ground game, where AFL is at its least effective from what I can see, was spent mostly on the bottom of a tackle. I figure the week off they had put Sydney at an over-rested disadvantage, which combined with Brisbane’s squad of veteran players probably meant the outcome was never as much in doubt as I’d gone in thinking.

It’s a (Too) Small World
If the Disneyification of NYC had continued just a little longer – and it might yet – the subways could have looked quite a bit different than the current model. An interesting example of psychological torture, or an attempt to pre-empt the graffiti taggers? (Thanks, Big White Guy.)

Eisenhower
There have been only a few career military men in the White House (right now occupied by a hot dogging National Guard AWOL), so the entry of Wesley Clark into the Democratic candidates line-up is an interesting development beyond the fact that it increases the field to an unwieldy 10 potentials. But what does it mean, and is he any good? From where I sit (on the other side of the planet, looking forward to a visit to the embassy next November – no, not really, just an absentee ballot), Dean’s looked like the man to beat. Clark’s hat in the ring seems to reduce Deans’ chances, potentially making better candidates out of Kerry and Edwards, hopefully making it all the move obvious what a bad choice that creep Lieberman would be. There’s also been a good deal of vibe about a Dean-Clark ticket, and I could see that, but only just as much as I can see any of the others doing the same thing. I wonder if a Clark-Dean ticket would be more than just alphabetical?

Correction
I really ought to look at this thing more often to see if it's working as expected. Here I saw this great new Blogger feature, a field to enter a title on each post, which was added to the "featureless" product following the elimination of the fee-based Blogger-Pro. No more formatting a headline to my posts, just type and go. Well, it turns out not to be so. I'm not sure what the point of this feature is, and I'm not using it. In fact, I've gone back over the week's posts and added back the headlines that were sitting in the title field, uselessly. I ought to move to a new 'blogging medium, but look what happened to Outside Counsel after he started threatening such a change.

Can’t Get Enough of Politics
The DNC is running a weblog, just in case you are so addicted to reading these things that you’ll even follow the content posted by a faceless political organization. The GOP apparently eschews such plebeian technological usages.

Blue Skies, 25? C
If there’s a rainy season here, I must have missed it. Meanwhile, back in NYC, they’re expecting 60 mph winds and lotsa rain. Looks like it missed M&P, at least the center, anyway.

Arr
Ahoy, ye lubbers, today be Talk Like a Pirate Day. Drink and the devil have done for the rest.

Genie: Well and Truly Out
Iraq wanted them, Iran’s working on it, Pakistan and India threaten each other with them, North Korea gleefully pursues the capability, and now Saudi Arabia is considering the option of building their own nuclear weapons program. Can I blame Bush for this, too?

Apply Patch, Buff with Turtle Wax™
A nice story of people helping an animal who ran afoul of technology, by using an ancillary technology: auto body shop mechanics repaired the damaged shell of a snapping turtle hit by a car. Kinda like that Star Trek episode: I’m a Doctor, not a bricklayer! or in this case, I’m a panel-beater, not a vet!

I’ve Looked at Clouds
And snow-capped mountains and volcanic craters and . . . all from 300 miles up. Spectacular photos from space.

Back for Your Legal Opinion Needs, et al.
Now that Outside Counsel’s back, if not complete with archives, I can look forward to some thoughtful content (I even enjoy the law-related posts) and useful links, like this one, to an archive of Wire’s “100 Records That Shook the World (When No One Was Listening)”, which includes all of three records I actually own, references to another dozen or so by artists I’ve heard of, and many more that appeal to my collecting urge, an aspect, I suppose, of having a 17% geek quotient.

Quiet, Kept to Itself
How does someone get killed by a tree? I wouldn’t have thought that it wasn’t possible to get out of the way of a tree falling over in the forest – you’d have to have heard it coming, unless they don’t make any sound! There goes that Zen koan. I wonder if this means I’m a butterfly?

Lab Fees
Because I did my degrees in Literature, I was pretty much more than happy to buy my text books and keep them forever, and the cost never exceeded list price anyway. But most actual text books, the kind you buy for Economics 101 or Biology of the Cell or whatever, are very high priced items indeed, and apparently that cost is rising year by year. I’ve had some experience in this, and I didn’t keep any of those books, not surprisingly, since they go through frequent revisions, at least one purpose of which appears to be to ensure a revenue stream to the publisher, who would otherwise see very little return on the investment, largely because these are not books that have a market outside the university system, often only even the university at which the professor who wrote the thing is working. It always seemed a little suspect when the course text was written by the course professor (or worse, his personal friend), but I realize that’s probably an extreme reaction. It does seem to me, however, that since the professor is teaching from what he or she has learned from primary sources, one of the things I’m supposed to learn is how to understand those sources myself, so to use a text that essentially summarizes the source material in parallel to the instruction provided during class hours – well, I wonder if I come away with everything I should. It’s very expensive to run a college, and expensive to attend even a mediocre one, so I have to wonder if there isn’t some way universities could manage their budgets and material requirements in such a way as to improve affordability? Perhaps ensuring that professors have scanning equipment and a CD-burner so as to create course-packs of supplementary material (riding under the copyright threshold)? Working out a deal with major publishers to create a university-use-only imprint of required texts? A little innovation might go a long way. (No word from Smith, where an Ivy-leaguer of my acquaintance has just started, but I’ll bet books are pricey. Perhaps she’s making good use of her parents’ extensive and varied library?)

Fallen Idol Infrastructure
When the US won the women’s soccer World Cup for the first time in 1991, the country went absolutely soccer-mad. Now the WUSA has folded, and no one knows if it can be revived. Soccer has never been much of a sport in America, but this is a real shame. It’s not entirely unexpected – not even Pele could save men’s soccer in the U.S., so what hope did Mia Hamm have? Still, it’s surprising, if only because of all those kids I’ve seen playing the game year after year. More than any other, soccer is a global sport, and in these days of multinational corporations, it is reasonable to expect the kind of funding necessary to maintain a national league. I guess there are only so many stadiums, so much television air time, so many fans, and none of them enough in the end.

Summer's Over
At least in NYC, so the Flash Mob phenomenon has been officially laid to rest. Sure, there will still be mobs, although maybe only the less-than-good-natured ones seen at WTO meetings, but “Bill’s” mobs are over. I suppose I knew that once they were co-opted as a political joke in Doonesbury. The second Sydney mob sounds like it was just as fun as the first one, and now that we’re heading into summer, I wonder if there will be more? There doesn’t seem to have been much from Europe lately, so maybe the mobilization power of cell phone-internet combination has been sufficiently demonstrated.

The Sunburnt Country
Melbourne is looking to enact permanent water restrictions, and I don’t imagine Sydney will be very far behind. Even though the El Niño system has dissipated for now, the effect won’t be truly felt for another year or more, after which we’ll be building towards the next one. Drought, it appears, is to be a constant. I’d venture to suggest, however, that drought can be managed in Australia, although it will take a significant and fairly long-term effort towards behavioral changes from city residents refraining from hosing the pavement, to suburbanites foregoing non-native lawns and shrubs, to farmers relinquishing the use of European traditional agricultural practices. I’d like to see apartment blocks, including mine, install a rainwater tank to support their fire suppression systems, for one example, but perhaps that’s the zealotry of the converted.

Hugo Redux?
Back in ’89, hurricane Hugo hit the Carolinas, and messed up a swath of coastline for some miles inland from Charleston, South Carolina all the way up into Brunswick County on into Charlotte, North Carolina. In the next three days, Isabel may do the same. Warnings to stock up on flashlights and batteries and bottled water are being issued along the Eastern Seaboard as far north as NYC and New England. Even Canada’s getting nervous, and no wonder, as the storm has hit category 5 a couple of times already, before easing off a little. It’s just as well I’m in Sydney, I suppose, since I didn’t much care for what little hurricane blow-by I got myself over the years. Mom and Dad are enjoined to supply email to good effect over the coming days, situated in the crosshairs as they are.

Does QUIRO™ Dream of Electric Sheep?
O.k., it’s just a robot. When will it be a replicant, and run for office.

90
Way out in the west yesterday, for M.’s grandmother’s 90th birthday party. The cousin hosting lives in a nice cliff-side home overlooking some national parkland, in the foothills of the Blue Mountains. No sign of wildlife, for all the rumors of the black panther haunting the neighborhood. (Well, he’s been there for 30 years, so he probably doesn’t get around much anymore.) In any event, it was a nice time with all the family around, although it’s a mighty long trek there and back. G. got lots of nice pressies and quite enjoyed the event.

Eenie, Meenie . . .
7 pages of candidates on the California recall ballot. Aside from the unqualified actors running, other celebrities include Larry Flynt, the pornographer and First Amendment activist, and Angelyne, the self-promoting billboard pin-up. I still favor Georgy Russell, but only because no one I personally know is running.

Totem
Every culture develops a concept of totemic animals, often hierarchical (hence the totem poles of the Pacific Northwest). This is not something that has passed away or been superseded by some more “enlightened” point of view vis a vis man’s relationship to the rest of the natural world: Russia’s relationship with bears, America’s with the bald eagle, and so forth, are the direct descendents of this ancient tradition. Here in Australia, Aboriginal tribal structure is based on “dreamings,” which have a direct relationship to the animals of this place, and the relationship between the creation beings of the Dreamtime as represented by those animals. Thus a tribe might be the “kangaroo dreaming” or “goanna dreaming” clan, bearing their own relationship to the animals and places. Individuals will also have their own personal totem animal, as North American’s are familiar with from the culture of Native Americans. It’s all very hard to describe, but where all this is leading is that although as a person of European ancestral origin I should probably have to accept “rabbit dreaming” or “cane toad dreaming” if such an option were actually open to me, I would prefer “platypus dreaming.” I’ve always loved these animals, and after watching a documentary on them, feel all the more compelled now that I’m here to see one in the wild. It’s my latest Australian mission.

’Til Death Do Them Part
You have to admire the kind of commitment exhibited by Sally Baron: even in death, she seeks the removal of Bush II. This is the kind of final request I think deserves to be honored. Rest in Peace, Sally Baron: Defeat Bush in ‘04.

Food Products
There are many comestibles that are not food, but we eat them anyway and even express a preference for them over other actual food. Cheez Doodles™, Twinkies™, Pringles™, etc. are not food; that’s why they have a trademark. Real food, however, has also been subjected to the forces of marketing, and that’s why Red Delicious apples don’t taste the way they did once and why tomatoes are but pale imitations of what once they were. Some will have you believe that it is the force of consumer demand that has brought us to this sorry pass, but don’t you believe it. If the tomatoes on your sandwich are pale and mealy, it’s because it’s easier for corporate growers to produce such lacklustre produce. That’s why in better restaurants now you’ll see “heirloom” tomatoes on the menu (which I’m here to tell you are fantastic – I’ve got to get some seeds). Pass the ketchup.

Reckoning
Two years ago I stood on a roof in Soho and watched the World Trade Center towers burn about a mile and half south. Within minutes of seeing the explosion of the second plane strike I was heading uptown on foot towards 34th Street and Madison Avenue, where my wife was working at the time, in the now ominous shadow of the Empire State Building. While there was no lack of news from overheard cell phone conversations and a balancing satisfaction in seeing the fighter jets mobilized overhead, only my purpose – get M. and get home – gave me any reason not to be afraid.

But call it the Tel Aviv Syndrome if you want to put a name to it: I am not afraid, as it turns out. Like the citizens of that city under siege, I acknowledge that there are no geographical limits on terrorism and I live with it, calmly. Is that resignation or complacency?

I grew up in the shadow of the H bomb deluge promised by the Cold War, with airline hijackings taking place regularly, and the Munich Olympics massacre, but I wasn’t afraid. I saw the Berlin Wall come down and briefly thought politically motivated mass death might become a thing of the past, but lived for a year one to two levels down from imminent attack, and yet John Ashcroft’s color-coded alerts did not instill fear in me, neither did I tremble when Tom Ridge came on television for a press conference, despite his apparent incapacity to perform the radical restructuring of law enforcement and intelligence gathering with which he is charged.

I did then and still do experience a sinking feeling whenever George Bush speaks, especially when he issues childish taunts and dares or otherwise indulges his authoritarian bloodlust, or when that grinning death’s head, Condoleeza Rice, is treated as an expert on anything current in the world. There is a different root to these reactions, however, than they would have me acknowledge.

I’m not in America – I moved to Australia about a month after the first anniversary of the WTC atrocities (coincidentally flying just the day after another radical Islamic terror group struck in Bali) – and some might suggest this is a factor in my calm. Perhaps it is, even though Australia is a partner to the U.S. in the Iraq adventure, and its conduct there and previously in East Timor has brought it the attention of Al Qaeda and Jemaah Islamiah. John Howard and his Defense Minister, Robert Hill, tell me that Australia is a target, that a terrorist attack is certain – “a question of when, not if,” using the same phrase as is heard every day in America – but I don’t believe them, not the way they would like.

I don’t believe Bush, Howard, Ashcroft . . . any of them. I don’t believe the tapes from Al Qaeda. They seek to inspire fear, but they only inspire derision and disgust.

I know that there are those who would harm me, and I know that I am weak. I’m still not afraid. Once the world was a much bigger place and the threats against me smaller, because they lived in my neighborhood, but the world is smaller now and the threats more numerous and just as immediate. Still, I know that when I hear of new security alerts that there are more intentions at work than appear on the surface and that actually I’m quite safe – just as safe as I was before the 11th of September, 2001.

Bush and his ilk want me to be afraid so I will allow them to keep their power and privilege; they have no true concern for me. Osama bin Laden and the like-minded disciples of hate want me to be afraid so that I will cede my soul into their hands. But I know now and have always understood that the contempt and the hatred such people have for all who are not them are the greater threat to me and the rest of the world than the death and degradation they pursue. The suffering of others is as often an end as a means to these people, as it has been over the ages. When the Roman legions salted the earth of razed Carthage their action was no different than that of three dozen murderers flying their stolen planes into buildings, neither was it different from the pursuit of “tactical” nuclear weapons or stockpiling anthrax.

The examples of wealth and power begetting hate and destruction are rife through history. With each new episode we say, that was the past, the future will be different. But the past continues to rise up before us and assert its own power, one which is exerted over everyone who refuses to learn its lessons.

We cannot beat the past into submission, but we can draw those who would remain mired there into the future with us if we try hard enough. If they won’t come, let them will pass into history as others have before them by their own failure, their failure to embrace the world beyond some petty power base or short term gain. If we are truly now more aware of the world outside, we can use that to our advantage and move forward into the future with the boldness the situation requires. We can spend billions to reconstruct what we have destroyed or we can elect not to destroy in the first place and spend our dollars raising the low up, building lives instead of taking them. Two years ago I was in the midst of improving my life, and today I still am.

(See also: TNL.net's "Who were you" project.)

Cheesy Robots
I’m taking an early mark every day next week so I can be sure to get home in time for Dr. Who on the ABC. They’re starting from the very beginning, with Dr. Who battling the evil Daleks, the most inane alien robots ever devised. But evil.

www.Satan.com
The devil has a website, where you can get a quote on the value of your soul. I came in at a disappointing AUD $38,495 ($59,115 US). If I didn’t rent videos at Blockbuster, I’m sure I might have done better. Thank God I don't drive an SUV.

Buena Vista
Can we please get past the issue of whether Cuba is communist or not? Every time it seems like the U.S. is going to make an effort, something messes it up. The embargo has been in place for 40 years and that’s probably 39 years more than was necessary. Certainly the fall of the Soviet Union should have allowed us to develop an entente cordiale with Fidel, not to his benefit necessarily, but certainly to the benefit of Cubans overall.

In Space, Nobody Can Hear You Moan
Yes, I stole that, but I’m keeping it, because it seems appropriate to the story about sound waves from a black hole. I don’t really get this, because I thought that black holes are supposed to be so dense that not even light can escape their gravitational pull – so how does sound? (Can it be the giant sucking sound Ross Perot promised us?) And if the sound is making the interstellar gasses out there warmer, should I pump up the bass on my stereo in winter instead of ratcheting up the thermostat? I should give up on physics now while I still can.

”. . . And Anything Else”
Why is the Patriot Act bad and why does any extension seem so wrong? Well, Slate has been running a series on the contents of the existing Act and what effect they have. A particular aspect of the law’s language that scares me is the use of the phrase “and anything else” in delineating what law enforcement may seize or search (all on a pretextual claim before a secret court). Shouldn’t laws be a little more specific than this?

Americana
I realized over the weekend that although I have a copy, I’ve never read J. P. Marquand’s novel H. M. Pulham, Esq., and since I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the conduct of living, Marquand is probably among the foremost authors to read for an understanding of how this has and has not evolved. Pulham, which I’m about halfway through, is a portrait of a particular class in a peculiar era on its surface, but because it documents a life and a society on the cusp of change and having already seen enough of change. It also exerts a degree of insight that remains useful now. Although the late ‘thirties are certainly Modern, the Postmodern world is underway, so watching Henry Pulham pass away, so to speak, you are not left wondering how his contemporaries manage to stay afloat, but if their awareness does not destroy them all the more thoroughly than H. M.’s dawning understanding will spoil him for the coming age, since they, too, are lost, despite their efforts. Looking back over my own lifetime, what little there is so far, I see the changes that have gone on around me and that have happened to me, and I wonder if every generation is the Lost Generation.

The Public and Public Transportation
Commuter services always cry poor, because they have to spend the money they receive on keeping up and improving services instead of keeping it themselves. Yes, there is a government subsidy, and yes, it is an investment in mass transit over private vehicles. But the arguments presented to change the fare structure don’t really make sense. Persons with a low income buy single, full-fare tickets, and middle to high income persons buy weekly or even quarterly periodic tickets, which are discounted. Why is this so? Because middle and high income persons can afford to shell out a larger sum of money at one time than poor people can. A poor person who puts down $30 a week has the perceived disadvantage of not having some part of that sum to spend on daily necessities, while the higher wage earners can make it part of their budget. It is much more difficult for someone earning a marginal wage to even have a budget, let alone live by it. So how do you make fares fair? Do you remove the incentive for the middle class to use public transportation by raising periodic fare rates? That doesn’t actually help anyone, does it? You’re not going to discount the single fare ticket, are you? Instead, everyone pays the full rate and the subsidy goes away and nobody who can afford it takes the train anymore because it just got cheaper to use your own car and to hell with everybody else. Traffic gets worse, pollution increases, the rail system crumbles (more), and before long it’s L.A. and it will be decades before you can fix it. The way to fix the system is to invest in it: upgrade the tracks and trains and build more lines with more connections; clean up the graffiti while you’re at it. This can be done with the subsidy still in place. The CityRail executives will just have to defer getting richer.

Press on Press
Andrew Denton had Helen Thomas on his show last night. Enough Rope is probably the best interview show on television in Australia, not just because Denton is a capable interviewer (he does ask the fluff, promotion-related questions, but also poses tougher, more insightful queries), but also because he gets more interesting guests than the shows on the commercial stations. Helen Thomas is the longest serving member of the White House Press Corp, and she doesn’t shy away from asking tough questions of every President since Kennedy. As a result, Bush II and his minions don’t call on her and make sure she’s stuck up the back of the conference room for the briefings they hold (fewer than any other administration). This is disrespectful and childish, but what else can you expect? They are afraid they will be caught in their lies. Too late, of course. I hope Ms. Thomas will get another, different administration to ask pointed questions of in 2005.

First, Fill the Bathtub with Water
Then make sure you’re stocked up on canned goods. That way, when the big one hits, you’ll be prepared. This Flash™ animation tool lets you learn a little about building in an earthquake zone by setting up the construction parameters for your office block and then setting off a tremor. Stack ‘em up and watch ‘em fall.

”Man, Average is Dumb”
I only ever saw a couple of American Splendor comics, but they stuck with me in a way even the X-Men never have, so when M. said she really, really wanted to see the movie, I was more than happy to go. I’m very glad I did. Although it is a sort of anti-Dogma movie, in that it uses fictional techniques to tell a true story, it is also as unpretentious as the comics and their author. Harvey Pekar’s masterwork deserves the attention it garners as a result of this movie’s success, so get right out and ensure it is successful. They may be slobs, but they care about life, man.

Burp
Are women picking on men too much? Or has the media power base shifted, giving women the forum to speak out against the bad habits and attitudes of men? Well, if men are being abused on t.v., they’re not happy about it, and starting to speak up. Darn ol’ girls. They’ll stop once Arnie’s governor of California, won’t they? I know it’s not a universal truth, but I actually find Australian society to be quite egalitarian in the attitudes of men and women. Here, everybody’s football-mad.

Fortress of Solitude
Or Bat-cave, anyway. This lovely home comes complete with bomb shelter, suitable for riding out a devastating nuclear attack, plotting your next bid for global domination, or conducting your secret identity crime-fighting activities, and at under $295K, it's priced well below other well-known headquarters.

Urban Awareness
Sydney needs the Big Urban Game. In fact, if Minneapolis can do it, I think it’s worthwhile in every major city. (Can we use Monopoly™ tokens instead of the generic game pieces? I bags the Scottie.)

Everybody’s 007
Put on your wingsuit (with lightning jacket of course), jump in the car, and head out to sea. It’s no flying car, but it doubles as a boat, and that’s pretty good. What superhero gear do we want next?

Now I Get It
Ikea naming conventions have structure. This is the next biggest meme on the web. We all [have] shop[ped] at Ikea and giggled over the Billy bookcases. Now that we know that “billy” is an occupation, what does someone do who has that job? Does it have anything to do with books? If you ask someone for a particular lighting fixture, will you be accused of “swearing like a sailor”? (From Margaret Marks’ Transblawg, a specialist ‘blog within both the language ‘blog and law ‘blog specialities – talk about niche – by way of Boing Boing.)

George Washington Bush
Maybe he wasn’t paying attention in school, or maybe in this more cynical age, the lessons we were taught have no real meaning anymore, or maybe this son of privilege just doesn’t care, and the American people are too weak, too entrenched in bureaucracy, too vast and disorganized to do anything about it, but unlike in the story of our first President, George Bush is a liar and it’s a long way ‘til November 2004. Maybe some nice ads highlighting the results would help.

(Yes, the LA Times link requires registration, but so what? Don’t you keep an email address just for spam? Works for me.)

Hostess Fruit Pies of Crime
Aren’t comic books just the most fabulous advertising medium in print? Who doesn’t remember the miniature spy cameras and x-ray specs and Charles Atlas body-building offers? And when you read about a bank robbery, don’t you always think, if only the police had had some Twinkies or chocolatey frosted cup cakes. Seanbaby remembers, and now you can, too. (Note to Patty Hearst: if you’re ever kidnapped by a bunch of fake revolutionaries again, evidently they’ll surrender for fruit pies.)

Goofus and Gallant
Just in case you still have trouble with ethical dilemmas, this lovely teaching tool, originally published in the inestimable Highlights children’s magazine, is now available on-line in a Choose Your Own Adventure format. Each choice leads you through to the next stage of the story and another choice. What would I do? I know what I’d like to do: beat up Gallant for making me look bad!

Stand and Deliver
With all the hype on either side over internet song-swapping and copyright, the RIAA’s recent actions to locate and prosecute pirates has now produced a counter-suite. nyfashiongirl is suing over violation of privacy by the RIAA. I have my doubts that she’ll prevail in court, but I imagine that the judge’s opinion will have to be fairly carefully drawn in order to balance the rights at issue. If the RIAA is immune from privacy restrictions, as they claim, does that mean they can use that immunity to spam internet users? Or do they only have immunity insofar as they are operating in the capacity of a private investigator? If Outside Counsel [no link] were running, I’d look for an opinion there.

Crazy Hep Cats
Dr. Geoffrey Wills of Manchester has published research that appears to show that jazz musicians are more susceptible to mental illness than other “creative types,” but based on the statistical use of Bud Powell’s life, I wonder if he took into account police beatings and head injuries?

Blah, Blah, and then He Said . . .
Thousands of unremarkable people are posting their diaries on-line or does the Globe & Mail not understand ‘blogging? Yes, like the early days, the internet is full of “home pages” (remember those?) posing as weblogs, but there are also – even more – weblogs that serve a much different purpose. I’d say my ‘blog is better than a gossip column, but not by much, as it serves mainly for me to communicate my interests and opinions to a very limited audience, but who is the audience for Abbie the Cat or Tailors Today? If mainstream media embraces weblogging, either by setting up columnists with ‘blogs or hiring ‘bloggers as columnists (Instapundit is the prime example, but see also Andrew Sullivan), then surely there is more to the growth of the format than high schooler dishing. The level of specialization – whether topically as in “lawblogs” or “warblogs” – or regionally, as seen in the number of NYC-specific or ex-pat run ‘blogging communities, also show there is more to ‘blogs than gossip. I’d venture to suggest that quite a lot of information is being gathered and made accessible in ‘blogs that would otherwise be lost in the depths of the internet maze and that quite a lot of extraordinarily good and entertaining writing can be found on such “diaries” – more even than some columnists in the Globe & Mail are providing, if I can be allowed the odd catty remark.

Mob Mentality
Flashmobs, which have been discussed here previously, are essentially an internet phenomenon, making extensive use of mobile phones as an ancillary organizational tool. But the internet has a strange effect on the persons using it, in that the more time you spend there the more computer-technologically informed you become until EVERYONE’S A GEEK. It’s true. Witness the birth of flashblogging. In this activity, participants are organized to assail a single post’s comments. Like chatrooms, the internet takes social interaction and makes it antisocial. (Via Anil Dash.)

Note: Sydney had its first flashmob not long ago, and it sounded like fun. Sorry I missed it, but at least there’s a website where you can get information.

Support Literature
Original screenplays are important, but if Hollywood is going to adapt stories, can we have more books in the mix and fewer comic books? Not that I mind: Spiderman was terrific, and I’d enjoy a nice Batman vs. Superman match-up. But as much as I can do without a live-action Cat in the Hat, making movies from books supports an art form I really love, and publishers don’t seem very open to non-genre fiction these days.

First Rule of ‘blogging
I read Abbie the Cat Has a Posse because it’s funny, but I’m reading Tailors Today because it’s mental.

Schooldays Fun
Aw, remember cutting up a sheet of paper and making snowflakes? Neither do I. But if you want, there’s a Flash™ animation page where you can make a paper snowflake. (Via Idle Type.)

Sim City for Cheapskates
Enjoy Sim City™? Too cheap to buy a copy of your own? City Creator at your service. Have fun. (Also via Idle Type.)

New York, London, Sydney
At least the blackouts are getting smaller, but it isn’t ever summer here yet. Does anyone suspect a pattern? Nah, too easy.

Corporate Scalping
There has been graffiti advertising, where companies have mysterious and no-so-mysterious spray painting stencilled though a city or neighborhood, and now the corporations have taken to their bosom another marginally criminal subculture practice: scalping the tickets they sell. Ticketmaster is putting their tickets up to bid in an on-line auction format that will set the highest price for seats at concerts and sporting events at whatever the market will bear. The $2.50 to $13.80 service charge per ticket (depending on the processing option selected) wasn’t enough, and it no doubt galled the company to see hawkers outside the stadiums muttering, “got tickets? got tickets?” and reaping the kind of profit rapacious capitalists can only dream of – until now. I suggest going to see your favorite team or band now, because you’re not going to be able to afford it soon. Because the venues will share the proceeds on a pre-arranged percentage basis, direct sales are going to disappear, too, and only the Hollywood stars and corporate elite will attend a ball game at Yankee Stadium or a concert by any band signed to a major label.

Who’ll Go a-Waltzing with Me?
The entire stadium during any Rugby World Cup match featuring the Australian team, of course. Despite reports that the song had been banned, in fact you can sing “Waltzing Matilda” at the game. You just can’t have two national anthems played. Seems fair to me, so don’t let your billy boil over.

Sprung
Blue skies, mid-twenties temperatures . . . except for the fact that the birds have never stopped signing and the flowers have been continuously blooming, I’d be sure it’s spring. I am assured, however, that because Australia measures its seasons differently from the rest of the world, equinox or no, it is indeed glorious springtime. Meteorological prognostications are that with the termination of El Niño, we shouldn’t experience the same conditions as had been prevalent over the last 18 months.

Batman
How prosaic. I was hoping for Green Lantern, although his superpower is jewellery. And which superhero do you want to be when you grow up?

A Night on Our Own
With Russell back in Bellingen, you might have expected us to stay home for a quiet night and another episode of Inspector Rex, but we’d booked tickets to see Tex Perkins weeks ago, so off to The Basement we went for dinner and a show. It’s a very good music venue, and I’d like to go in for a jazz evening sometime, but Mr. Perkins is pursuing a different line than he had in the past, most notably perhaps with the Cruel Sea, his new band, the Dark Horses, having a folkier, country style, relying on his voice to do the muscular work, so it was as well suited to the stage there. He had a nice collection of sidemen with him, including Charlie Own and Joel Silbersher. I would, however, recommend against going to The Basement for dinner – it’s hard to mess up salmon, but they managed – too much microwave cookery, I’d wager. I can’t say anything good for the opening act last night either, except that individually they managed to play well enough. Maybe it’s just that I was too tired by the time they finished, but all their songs were the same and none of them ever got off the ground: too much time noodling to no good purpose; a they didn’t strike me as having spent much time practicing in the same room. In the end, it may be a while before we get out again, to the Annandale for the next heavyweight championship of Sydney, for example, although it does seem the music scene is having a nice resurgence, and I’d go see Tex Perkins again someday.

Tourism
No one should get the idea that I haven’t been spending lots of time getting to know my new city, but I took off two days this week to spend in wandering through Sydney with my father-in-law, and it’s been quite a lot of fun toting a camera and seeing the city accompanied by someone with a few extra decades of history here to impart. Russell was sometimes lost in contemplation of his past in Sydney, which was, I think, a fairly significant part of why he came to town, but he never failed to engage me with stories and lore of the places we visited. We spent nearly half an hour circumnavigating the Department of Lands building, for example, while I learned who and why certain persons were enshrined along the façade. As fun as it was to examine the sandstone buildings of the Victorian era, it was even more delightful to stroll through the Botanical Gardens out to Wollomolloo, where we had lunch and discussed the merits of the sailing ship berthed across from our table. The ‘loo – an unfortunate but evidently previously apt nickname – is a neighborhood that has changed a good deal over the years, although once you begin the climb up through Darlinghurst into Surry Hills, the old character of the suburb becomes a bit more clear, as well as the evident disregard local government continues to exhibit towards the residents of such places, the Eastern Distributor having been plowed straight through it, an overhead rail line above, and now the latest tunnelling project underway. As much as Sydney needs the relief from traffic, it’s easy to see why people get so upset over the plans: they will go through regardless of objections in an eminent domain taking and I’ll bet they’re only as effective as current conditions allow. In a year or more, new projects will be required. We also went through Milson’s Point, a fascinating district on the other side of the Harbour Bridge, where in addition to our sightseeing M. and I hoped to locate a situation for viewing the New Year’s fireworks, for which we will be hosting our first international visitor. (I’m voting for the old pub we found, but there are some other places still in the running.) There are some wonderful sights to see from this side of the city, including an archaeological dig (which may yet become an apartment block), as well as areas where sandstone was evidently cut for the purpose of supplying building materials elsewhere in town. Lunch in The Rocks, the oldest surviving part of Sydney, in a garden abutting a great wall of sandstone and overgrown with towering plants that look straight out of an episode of the Lost World. I feel we have thoroughly scouted locations throughout the city to which we will make all visitors march and express sounds of delight. I’m also somewhat inspired to take up Russell’s suggestion of a photographic project: the stairs of Sydney. They’re everywhere, some only by suggestion of where they had been, others that no longer take you anywhere, others more extensive and still in use, but all highly photogenic. I’ve got to get better versed in f-stops, though, or fix the light meter on my SLR.

North Head
My revered father-in-law, Russell is down from Bellingen for a visit. We’ve been having a splendid time, and yesterday travelled out to Manly, where Sydney meets the Pacific head-on, to pun a little. The entrance to Sydney Harbour is flanked by headlands, North and South Head, and we spent a little time there watching ship traffic and bracing against the westerly wind that had kicked up overnight (and which has caused a bit of damage up and down the coast, but aside from one death, nothing too severe). The view was spectacular, the sun just past its noon height, with some sparse clouds adding dramatic effect to the skyline in the near distance. At the edge of our vision, we could even see the Blue Mountains, like a wall rising up from the horizon. The Harbour itself was churned into whitecaps by the wind, spreading the spray across a larger area than normally from the wake of the few vessels out there. Some might have thought of sailboats, but the wind was much too strong to be safe, and most people stayed home, although we did pass one adventurous soul making excellent progress with his jib at a minimal height. He was close enough to Manly at that point that I didn’t worry for him making land before New Zealand, although he was making nearly as much sideways progress as forward. There’s a great deal to see up Manly way, and scouting through the reserve on North Head, we located a nice little sheltered beach with a fall of fresh water and which didn’t appear to get much traffic, at least not at this time of year. As it turns out, this is where Captain Phillip caught a spearing from a local Aborigine – which became the source of the later town’s name, as he remarked without animosity that the fellow who attacked him was a “manly” fellow. Do I believe this bit of lore? It doesn’t matter; it makes a nice story. More adventures with Russell are sure to come, but if they just involve going down to the water, I’ll be more than happy. The Harbour is one of the loveliest places on the face of the earth. As for Manly, well, the surfing looks pretty good out there, and by the familial expert’s account, I needn’t worry over being short-sighted to have a go.

Comic Book Life
Haven’t we seen this movie? Mitsui is implementing a joint venture to produce a robot suit, essentially an exo-skeleton and assisted musculature. Iron Man, here we come, or M.A.N.T.I.S, anyway.

Klaatu Barada Nikto
Apparently the trouble all started in Ohio. I’m very glad to hear that everyone’s all right, just as glad as I was to be confirmed in my immediate supposition that the problem was all those air conditioners and weeks of high temperatures. “Third World Grid” is correct, as it appears to date to the same approximate era as can be found sub-Sahara. Not that I should necessarily be one to talk, with the overhead wires everywhere here, and the telephone lines in our Glebe building were 70 years old. Looking at the news coverage I was immediately reminded of The Day the Earth Stood Still,” the movie in which the galactic citizen arrives to warn us of the dire consequences of pursuing global warfare and demonstrates his power by shutting down (selectively) all the electricity on Earth. It must have been strange, quiet and dark, with the stars overhead. Did anyone go out and look? I would have.

1977
While the rolling brownouts California experienced one recent summer were the result of corporate malfeasance, it appears so far that the blackout presently occurring in the middle of rush hour in the Northeastern U.S. is a “natural” disaster, with a power plant fire disrupting the energy grid from Detroit, across Ottawa, and down to NYC. It appears the heat this summer and the demand on the system have combined in just the way Con Ed has been warning everyone lately. The nice Russian lady who sells coffee at Central Station broke the news to me, after she’d gotten off the phone with her family in Brooklyn, so they’re not completely cut off, although apparently cell phone networks are out. As much as I’m glad not to be there (I remember ’77, not to mention more recent events), I’m also a little sorry, wondering a little how Buffalo is getting on and our friends in Brooklyn and Queens and Manhattan, my former colleagues. . . . I hope no one’s caught in the subways or an elevator.

Update: "A normal day" tomorrow is being predicted by the Mayor. Except there won't be an ice cream anywhere, I'll bet, and there will be a pervasive odor of spoiled milk. And that many more people will be a little more nervous heading down to the subway.

George O.
Why does Bush II’s administration sound more and more like 1984: because John Ashcroft is the Attorney General. Among other reasons. Ashcroft’s latest is the Victory Act, and he’s going on a national tour to promote its passage. Not satisfied with the discriminatory violations available to him under the USA Patriots Act, Ashcroft is looking to this new bill (formerly a supplement to the original) to target Islamic banking and businesses as well as being able to eavesdrop on wireless communications at will. The Vital Interdiction of Criminal Terrorist Organizations [RY] Act also includes provisions for increased penalties in the failed “War on Drugs” the US has employed as a club in South and Central America for the last 40 years. (It’s nice they almost had an acronym, isn’t it? It would have been clever marketing if they’d come up with something for the last two letters to do. Perhaps we can email suggestions to the DOJ. Unless they meant “Victor” Act, because they think they’ve won already.)

Sunnydale, California: RIP
From what I’ve seen on the internet, Australia appears to be the last country to play the final season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which means it’s probably safe to write about the closing episode of the season without spoiling anyone’s fun. It was a lot of fun, too, although as it turns out, Buffy was really about Title IX all along. O.k., that’s a reference only Americans will understand straight off, but Buffy is a very American show. Title IX is a provision in federal civil rights legislation that requires that schools and universities fund men’s and women’s extra-curricular activities – e.g., and to the point, sports – equally. Basically, if a college is going to have a men’s soccer team, it has to ensure the women’s team gets the same level of funding and opportunity. Sounds fair enough, but the impact of Title IX has been huge since it was enacted, and it continues to have an evolutionary effect on education and society in general. The US didn’t have a World Cup-winning women’s team in soccer out of nowhere, you know. So last night Buffy enacted her own Title IX, which made for a perfect end to the season and to the series overall. Buffy has always been about giving women power, and it’s always been the female characters that have grown the most from show to show, season to season. Although most people will have seen kung fu and vampires, these were bait, hiding the real hook waiting to draw you in: the exploration of growing up and learning to be an adult, interacting with other adults. Well-written overall, if not terribly subtle (but never without humor), Buffy was one of the best shows on television.

Keep Watching the Skies
Haven’t we already seen this movie? Over in Perth, a 10-year old boy was nearly clobbered by a falling meteorite. They’re checking to see if it’s really a meteorite, but I think there’s two things they ought to be checking for: is there a bigger piece on the way, and will the boy develop super powers?

Publish or Perish
Check out They Came from Hollywood soon, as my haiku on The Crawling Eye is featured!

Syd-ney, Syd-ney!
Out to see the Swans play the Hawthorne Hawks on Saturday at the Sydney Cricket Ground, a fine old stadium, smaller than the Telstradome (formerly the Olympic Stadium). AFL is a thrill-a-minute came, borrowing from rugby and soccer and (God help us) basketball, by all appearances. After having seen a bit on television, I’d come to the conclusion that it is a game of no little precision, not to mention a lot of tearing around the field, but that really depends on a number of other factors. The Hawks kept Sydney’s possessions huddled into the center of the field for the most part, while managing to take the ball outside and in the air themselves, allowing them to score nearly at will. Sydney’s passing looked good, but wasn’t getting them very far, although they did manage to bring the game to within three goals in the second half. Still, for all that you can say it was a tight score, the Hawks outplayed the Swans, and playoff hopes now rest on next weekend’s game against Collingwood.

Enough sportswriting. I left the house a half an hour or so after dark and walked up to Moore Park, where the SCG is located, eventually joining a fair throng wending its way through Surry Hills. Saturday had been a little chilly, sunny overall, but with nightfall had cooled off still more, so I was a little surprised to see fruit bats swooping through the fig trees and over the ornamental ponds, hunting bugs. (When I was younger and went every year into the Adirondack mountains, we’d see bats, but little ones, and their flight was quite distinct from the swallows which would also be out hunting over the lakes; fruit bats, too, have a distinctive flying style: they look like those rubber bats you’d see in vampire movies, a heavy, leathery but languorous flapping.) I picked up a copy of the Record and paged through to glean what information I could prior to meeting my friend, Andy, who’d secured a place for me in the member’s stands from a friend of his, part of a group of nearly a dozen who go to the games quite regularly. (And yes, we had a mobile-moment: engrossed as I was in the Record, I wasn’t really watching for Andy, and he didn’t recognize me, either, rugged up as I was. We’d each brought our phones to triangulate our meeting, but when he placed the call, he was standing right behind me. Hilarity ensued.) I was very impressed with the crowd overall, the majority wearing their team’s colours, mostly knit hats and scarves, but also tall, stovepipe hats, striped like the cat-in-the-hat’s, lending a certain air to the proceedings they may not have intended. (I also learned that it’s the swans in western Australia, near Perth, that are black; otherwise, Australian swans are white, just like their northern hemisphere cousins, which fact I seemed to have gotten mixed up on. That explains a lot, but not, however, why Sydney teams seem to prefer less-than-fearsome beasts as mascots.) Ross and Andy and the others were very helpful, straightening me out on some of the finer points as well as correcting the assumptions I’d made.

In the event, Aussie Rules strikes me as the game of choice. Rugby’s all well and good, but it’s a game of brawn and grit, while AFL seems to employ more – and varied – skills, keeping the proceedings lively, even thrilling. I suppose I can still claim the Rabbitohs as my League team, but it may only be by rights of my status as a foreigner that I get away with it. Most people I’ve spoken to disparage (good naturedly, although I suppose there are those less even-minded) one sport over the other (and let’s not even address the difference between Rugby League vs. Rugby Union). There isn’t really a correlative sports divide in the States, though, so we’ll just mark up my inability to fully choose between them to culture.

Summer Tips to Remember
Windows open at the top and bottom equally for a reason, one the Victorians knew, and that we’ve apparently lost track of with the advent of electric fans and air conditioning. Because CFCs and global warming and drought conditions that last three years are a significant source of environmentalist concern, it seems reasonable to use low-tech solutions to the situations brought about or exacerbated by technological innovation. But window screens are essential.

Athletics
This weekend is the City-to-Surf, a 15K foot race through Sydney. I won’t be participating this year – I’ve been pretty slack getting into shape for even 5K – but I’m ready for the next one, at least insofar as the gear’s concerned. This past Monday, an official Keith Richards Athletic Club singlet arrived in the mail. I probably need to promote some participation among other, similarly minded athletes here, but this establishes the Sydney chapter. Now to hit the streets. . . .

Green Pastures
A couple of years ago, a sewage treatment plant up in Harlem was roofed over with a pretty, grassy playground. I haven’t heard much lately, but at the time it was a pretty dismal affair, as it apparently smelled very bad indeed, angering the neighbors, as they felt slighted that the city expected they wouldn’t mind using a smelly playground. Maybe things have improved. Meanwhile, another greenway effort is underway in Milwaukee, where the sewer district’s headquarters has installed a rooftop garden. O.k., it’s not a garden; it’s a stormwater management system. At 11,000 square feet (about 1021 square meters), it’s a fairly large building, and the effect is expected to be significant. There’s a big call here by the government for homeowners to install rainwater tanks, but I wonder if a similar hydroponics approach might be another way to go? Perhaps strata and company title buildings could pursue an organic co-op effort on their roofs? But would the natural rainfall be enough? It’s starting to look like another year of drought, after all. Well, there’s always cactus. (Thanks to Nick Aster, at Beyond Brilliance, Beyond Stupidity for the Journal-Sentinel link.)