Wild West Meets East (Beware: long post)
The Europeans who travelled to the New World to start a new life had various motivations: religious freedom, escape from class-based restrictions on status or prosperity, the accumulation of wealth, and so forth. From the very earliest days of settlement, the country was built up into a land of opportunity, but for the most part emigration was restricted from the Old World, so few enough were able to make the trip anyway, not to mention that immigration has never been without restrictions of its own, a condition that began to change as the full scope of the resources available came to be understood. Of the 13 original English colonies, Georgia stayed in the game longest as a settlement purposed toward indentured servitude, but the overall population of what became the U.S. Eastern seaboard was never particularly devoted to being a “dumping ground,” a place where the undesirables of the Empire could be relocated to relieve the homeland of poverty, criminality, and political insurgents, not to mention its responsibilities in those regards. The far reach and daring of the English on the high seas soon provided a place sufficiently removed from commercial traffic to serve these purposes: Australia. Even with the development of high-speed clipper ships, Australia was so far away, that those relocated appear to have been more inclined to maintain their connection to the home isles, and their “administrators” sufficiently empowered to ensure the maintenance of a kind of status quo, even while allowing colonization and exploration to proceed. It also turned out that environmentally the new continent was encouraging of such attitudes, the vast interior being largely inhospitable, forcing the new residents to cling to the outer edges even as they clung to their support lines back up across the equator. There are points of divergence as well as convergence therefore between the two former colonies as their histories have respectively played out ever since. America, settled earlier, and having achieved revolutionary independence, was able to easily tap its natural resources and favored geographical position to grow into a commercial empire of considerable strength. The entrepreneurial spirit that drove its population could upon necessity be engaged in a collective effort that eventually gave it miliary pre-eminence as well. Although Australia followed a similar developmental pattern, its isolation as a western state in the Asian region, its inhospitable interior, and the dominance of Empire over it politically conspired to nurture a culture distinct from Britain’s and from America’s in ways the Australian’s have been contending with for the last hundred years as a matter of psychology to be overcome, a kind of middle-child syndrome. The U.S. struggled with a similar problem for many decades, and still does to some extent, but insofar as it attempts to distinguish itself, to be the first among equals. America seeks to reconcile its composite parts into a whole, to define a culture and achieve the recognition of its parents for its accomplishments, but like any eldest child, those distinctions it wins do not come without some admonishment for being too proud and even some resentment for being too successful. The struggle has, however, produced a remarkable character, worthy of admiration and emulation, and this is evidenced in America’s continuing status as a destination from which to launch oneself into grand dreams and glories. This is the sensibility that drives many millions in the U.S., and they have much to thank that it can be so, not least all those who came before them and that the land itself is so supportive of them. Australia has not been without political will, enterprise, or resources, of course, although a number of factors have together forged a different character from that of the U.S., some of which I’ve already mentioned. Being as remote as Australia has been in its development, confronted with the East as “other,” a condition which by-and-large prevails even now, its settlements encircling a vast, blank desert, the country has been inclined and supported in its inclination to rely on an ever-less tenuous technological while ever-increasingly febrile political connection to the social mores that populated the land in the first place. Non-Anglo immigration was not a source of diversity for Australia for the majority of its early life, World War II putting a final end to that, as it did for much of the rest of the world for that matter. Now, Africa, Asia, South America, Southern and Eastern Europe, and the Middle East, as well as the more usual WASPish immigrants of the U.S., Canada, and Great Britain, stream in as best they can. Australia’s immigration policy has always been very strict – I couldn’t have gotten in without having married M. – but that doesn’t stop them, and the society’s liberal core is finally very open indeed to the plight of refugees (despite the Howard government’s disreputable exclusion zones and detention camps). Still, this has all come a bit late here, and the society of Australia grew up more in line with its paternity than did the U.S., again the classic pattern of eldest vs. middle child. Modern Australia moves further away from its European origins and further towards the path taken by the U.S., but having taken these steps more in the post-industrial age, has been able to stand apart from the perceived flaws of that capitalist society to pursue a more egalitarian result. The Menzies and Whitlam governments have done more to create a sustainable socialism than France, Canada, or Britain, while maintaining the economic opportunism characteristic of the best vitalism in the U.S. It’s a very difficult balance to maintain, and various pressures have been brought to bear in this era of globalization that could end in having seriously undermined Australia’s ability to continue in this line (not least is the continued military and economic dominance of the U.S., now thoroughly unbalanced following the end of the Cold War and the “someday all this will be mine” mentality of the present Bush administration), but the country continues to do so, and this is because of the Australian character, forged across its history. These are tough people. They carry with them a spirit similar to that which populated America’s western states, not so much pioneering, though, as homesteading. These are people who land and stick, who fight to hold on and make it work come hail or no water. This has its paradoxes. Australians are committed to the “fair go,” the idea that everyone deserves a chance to make their way in the world, but they can also be strangely taciturn about it, at least until someone comes along who takes things a little too far, who takes advantage – an unfair go, if you will – which sets them out as a “tall poppy” whose head needs shortening. Sometimes this gets taken a bit far, which causes some resentment, Germaine Greer offering a recent example, Robert Hughes as well, and generally a number of others among the intellectual ex-pats. This may not be surprising in the comparison between Australia and the U.S., insofar as the states most like in character to Australia are those of the middle and far west, where the U.S. often exhibits its most conservative character as well as its most desperate strivers, those whose sense of difference drives them to the margins: NY, L.A., etc., where they can, strangely, have less room but more chances. Australia exerts a similar push, but its population is largely already out at the edges, so the noisier ones tend to head overseas. Somehow, Australia being so far “out there” makes it seem that the best place to achieve the most is itself “out there,” so the country as a whole ends up pushing its developmental boundaries socially, culturally, politically, scientifically . . . even while it suffers from a perpetual sense of undeserved inadequacy. I understand this feeling, a middle child myself. Nothing delights me more than the achievements of my older brother, unless its seeing his pride take an occasional licking, but my own success is forever overshadowed by the sense I am never successful enough. I am carried forward with my sibling, even while a chafe to break away on my own. Well, moving to Australia ought to help in that respect, someday.

Christmas Planning
I read Independent People, by Halldor Laxness, some few years ago and believe it to be one of the most beautiful pieces of (translated, but excellently) writing I’ve ever read. So if anyone’s interested, the latest volume in English is on my list.

Pond Life
Having just returned from seeing Big Fish, I’ll agree with Outside Counsel’s assessment of the film. There are two aspects I’d like to address of what made the movie work for me, which I guess amounts to criticism, although it doesn’t feel that way, putting me in line with the television pundits more than I’d like, I suppose. The first thing that struck me was in the father-son relationship, which had its surface “factuality” in the son’s dispute with his father’s fabulism: who is his father, if his stories are unreliable. I don’t buy this entirely, but I’m bringing a bit of baggage with me. My father’s stories were undervalued by me as a child, and he didn’t tell a lot of them, to my recollection, until lately, and now I’m a bit further off in the world than makes hearing the story of his life particularly feasible. M. had the inspiration from her brief talks with Dad to offer him a leather-bound diary one year for his birthday, but I left the movie feeling rather sad, not to mention fairly desperate, at the thought that this might be my best hope of getting his version of events. I’m not sure what else I can do, but I know I need to hear a lot more. Everything so far has been gold: sometimes ore, sometimes refined, sometimes tarnished, but always worth its weight.

After I’d thought about this for a while, it also struck me that this is a particularly American movie, not the way some movies are – horror films are the most peculiarly American; gangsters and westerns quintessential forms, along with musicals – but in that it was expressive of something that in the last hundred years, certainly in the years since the invention of cinema, something that is characteristic, idiosyncratic of America itself: it is a country founded and grown up on the absolute belief in the infinite possibilities of life. America recognizes no boundary to what can be achieved or what might yet happen, and I cannot recall a movie I’ve seen that is so thoroughly in itself expressive of this, Gone with the Wind’s “After all, tomorrow is another day” philosophy notwithstanding. I say this even knowing that I am now living in one of the few places on earth where this sensibility may be equally applied, and once I’m over being homesick right now, I’ll have to give the comparison some time.

Meltdown
What is it about commuter trains and summer? CityRail is falling apart, and I can’t get a train that isn’t 30 minutes late. Officially, none of the trains I ride are affected, but then I get to the platform to hear that city services trains are “not running in order or according to schedule. Please listen for announcements.” All week, and it’s hotter this week than it’s been at any time all summer, not to mention more humid. The problem appears to have started last year when a rail accident saw a commuter train derail and many people ended up killed or injured. An investigation followed, and there was plenty of blame to go around. State government, CityRail, train drivers (funny, they’re not engineers anymore; I guess that’s so we can call the university-degree-holders by that designation). The drivers were found to be at fault because they engaged in unsafe practices (including some who showed up to work without being able to pass a breath test, and not because they didn’t brush). CityRail was at fault for not managing their people and their equipment better. State government was at fault for not spending enough money to upgrade the system and for allowing CityRail to get away with cutting corners. So what’s happened? Government cracks down on CityRail who cracks down on drivers who then proceed to spit the dummy and go on a work slowdown. Bob Carr has responded to commuters’ frustrations by offering us a free weekly pass (or a free day next month if we aren’t regular commuters), but I’m not satisfied yet. First thing I want to know: if you’re cutting back on the number of trains running, shouldn’t there be more equipment available to run, in which case, why am I riding in un-air conditioned carriages? The workers were out in force today handing out postcards with the phone number of the Transport Minister, Michael Costa, and proclaiming their innocence in all this, but it won’t wash. It almost makes me homesick.

Anywhere But Here
(Yes, I appropriated the title from Monica Simpson’s novel. Sue me.)
Long Island is in trouble. A new study cites a number of factors contributing to the decline in living standards, but of the factors they cite, I seem to recall seeing every one of them in operation while I was growing up there. Lower pay? Industry was moving out fast, even the military contractors at the height of the Cold War. A decrease in development? Well, once the east end filled up with aging pop stars, Yuppies and the lifestyle purveyors they rely on, what did anyone expect? Even where redevelopment was possible, nobody was investing in it, because there was no percentage in doing so. Main Street died on Long Island, and no attempts at resuscitation were ever successful. What’s the biggest problem: the decline in numbers of a younger generation. It’s getting old and tired out there. The effect is an increased marginalization, a growing discrepancy between rich and poor, as usual coinciding in expression with a disparity in ethnic groups. But the evidence of this trend existed there when I was a kid. The study also cites a “brain drain,” but that’s been going on a long time, too (hey, I got out; I think it’s a sign). The major difference, I suppose, is that now there’s a study, and a sense that something ought to be done, that Long Island can be a case study for other suburban areas around the country. Best of luck, but look at it: it’s an island. A long one, with only one way out. Granted, if you never make it further than NYC, you’ve done well, but you’ve got to make your way to the front of the pack if you don’t want to get left behind.

Ignatius of Loyola
The Jesuits are a fascinating group, the only remaining viable church organization left from the Renaissance. They have a deserved reputation as a scholarly order, in addition to the political sensibilities and machinations ascribed to them, so I’m very tempted to head over to the other side of the harbour to hear them discuss the refugee crisis in Australia. The principle of giving everyone a “fair go” is one of the characteristics of Australian society that make it one of the most truly democratic societies on the planet, but short-sighted politicians can get bound up in the need for an immediate response to events, acting against higher principles, such as has happened here and in the States with various laws granting extraordinary powers to the police following September 11. Although I’m sure there are those who would argue otherwise, I’d prefer not to see a return to the fear-mongering of McCarthyism or the re-institutionalization of “White Australia.” Even if I don’t make it to the lecture, then, I’d like to think John Howard or Mark Latham might make the trip.

Humane Research Tools
Back in high school we learned Cruelty to Animals. I mean sophomore biology. It involved dissecting “lower order” creatures. There were always those who rejected participation, but now it’s no longer necessary to object: the frog is online and interactive. Honestly, I never learned anything from the exercise I couldn’t have gotten from a lecture and diagrams, so what was the point? Meanwhile, for those of us who are most thoroughly enlightened – or just Hindu – Edward Doughney has invented the spider ladder, a device that let’s the bug do the rescue work for itself. (All links kindly supplied by Troy at Idle Type.)

USA Patriot in Action
Is the grand jury investigation of the Catholic Peace Ministry a result of John Ashcroft being anti-papist or anti-terrorist? (From The Daily Kos, via the Famous Buffalo Blogger.)

Presentation Preparation
And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith? Therefore, take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or What shall we drink? or Wherewithal shall we be clothed? For your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. (Matthew 6:28-34)
It’s my new context, I suppose, that makes me think this way (nothing to do with tricks for speaking in front of an audience), but I’ll be leading a reluctant group for over 4 hours in “process mapping.” What have I got prepared? The opening prayer.

On the Job
I’ve completed three weeks at my new job and thought I’d make a bit of an assessment of the experience so far. (Actually, Mom wanted to know, and specific questions she had led me to the idea that this might be interesting.) First, the work here is very much the same as what I’ve been doing for the last 15 years, but I do and have been facing increasing levels of “professionalism” in the conduct of selecting, installing, and supporting a Human Resources Information System. This has required me to learn new business techniques – negotiations with IT and Finance, project planning, process mapping – and new business philosophies – Human Resources vs. Personnel, Enterprise Resource Planning vs. “my, what a big database you have,” etc. This has been accomplished by changing jobs. When I left the law firm and re-entered a corporate environment, I entered a realm where I was accountable to vast numbers of people – executives, staff, and shareholders - and where what I did was fully visible to the organization for its effect on the bottom line but recognized as well for its contribution to the effective operation of the company overall, instead of an office where nobody knew what I did but since they were fully devoted to achieving partnership status and thereafter to grinding every speck of money they could out of the firm’s income it had to be costing them a sailboat. We used project plans and we wrote technical specifications and we talked about process change. Then I came to Australia and the company formerly known as Chubb (o.k., yes, they still are, but now they’re just a subsidiary of UTC), and the game was at a whole new level, with flow charts and interactive learning tools and consultants and much, much more. And now I’m with the Catholics in the closer reaches of Sydney’s outer west, and the game is being played at a new level, both higher and lower at the same time. In some respects, it’s like going back to the law firm, in others it’s more like my days at Scholastic, although I’m expected to bring what I learned from playing with the big boys at Chubb to the project here. Finally, in a little added twist, it is a religious-based organization, much as my very first job was, at the American Bible Society. (I used to joke that I’d started in publishing, moved to IT, then to HR, and then combined my experience, but that was when I thought I’d be at Scholastic for years to come. Nevertheless, the joke still works – I started with the Bible, then IT, HR, IT & HR, and now IT, HR, & Jesus.) What’s the real difference between the Catholic Education Office and previous jobs (including the Bible Society)? First, there are prayers. Not all the time, mind you, but there weren’t any at the Bible Society (too sectarian) and everybody else was, well, non-denominational. When we have a meeting, there is always a prayer to lead off, and it is always antiphonal. Sometimes there’s a hymn, too, although the last one turned out to also be the recent Rugby Union World Cup theme song, too, which caused a bit of tittering among the footie fans. This is quite a change for me, as it’s been some time since I was a participatory Catholic. There’s good-natured joking about it sometimes, and I’m not the only one more roaming than Roman, so it doesn’t cause any particular stress. There is also a chapel and a brief service on Thursday mornings for those who would like to attend. I’ve seen the chapel but not the services; there’s a big evening Mass in March out in Blacktown to welcome all the new staff in the office and the schools, and I’m expected to attend, and that will be sufficient, I think. There are also small displays at all the entrances: an illustrated bible or (when I was interviewed) an Advent wreath, and there are portraits of the Madonna and Child everywhere you look, not to mention the crucifixes, luckily not of the extreme gore variety. An interesting factor particularly present in my interactions from within the Human Resources department is the focus on “pastoral care.” Because much of the office staff come from within the schools or are otherwise affiliated with the Church as a community of believers, there is a significant focus on making work here part of one’s spiritual life, that your faith as a Catholic should be enhanced. An example of this is the elimination of the standard 3-month probation period. Most companies give themselves this escape clause, although it’s probably unnecessary in some measure, so that a hiring decision can be unmade before it costs too much (agency placements generally have to complete 90 days before the fee is payable). Not here, because it would go against the office’s pastoral commitment to its employees. I think they’re being silly about this, especially since nearly all the staff are employed under a contract anyway, which doesn’t seem particularly expressive of the pastoral duty, does it? Never mind, these things don’t bother me or change what I’m here to do particularly. Besides, I like very much being able to use Bible verses and lessons from the catechism in conversation and have people around who get the joke. It’s not every day you work in a place where you can refer to cakes and snacks brought into the office as an “occasion of sin” and get a laugh instead of a blank look.

Literature and Diaspora
African literature is a subject that’s had considerable interest for me for many years now, and every now and then a new book or a new author will turn up, although it’s more usual to find only the usual shelf contents or nothing at all. Nigerian author, Chris Abani, who is new to me, has turned up in the news because one of his books has finally been published in the U.S., although he’s been serially imprisoned and exiled since the 1980’s for his activities as a writer. Nigeria has a long post-colonial literary tradition, Chinua Achebe and Wole Soyinka being the most notable of those with a visible presence outside their continent, Achebe because Things Fall Apart is on pretty much every high school or college freshman introduction to literature syllabus in the U.S., and Soyinka because he won the Nobel. It’s very good to see someone else getting notice – and getting published – although I do wish there was more notice taken sometimes. Ayi Kwei Armah from Ghana, Ngugi Wa Thiongo from Kenya, Mongo Beti from Cameroon . . . there are a host of others, some more or less notable, but most only published in France or England and then only in marginal press runs, limiting their availability. The “African Writers Series” published by Heinemann is a resource worth reviewing for anyone who’s interested.

Holy Super Lawsuit!
It?s hardly worth posting about the claim that DC and Marvel own the trademark on the word "superhero." I?d really like to see that enforced.

(Editorial Note: I meant superhero™.)

Evil Empire Status Averted
The resemblance of Joe Lieberman to Galactic Senator Palpatine is one of those internet memes that only a certain few are likely to enjoy, but doesn’t reduce my relief that he’s finally dropped out. Now he won’t develop those terrible powers and turn Anakin Skywalker into Darth Vader. No, I mean, now he’s gotten at least some of the comeuppance I think he deserved for his behavior as Gore’s running mate.

Ramsay Street Neighbours
Germaine Greer is a name to conjure with, but that doesn’t make her infallible. Actually, like most storied talismans, Ms. Greer lately appears to offer the good right along with the bad, a sort of sociopolitical Monkey’s Paw. For Australia Day, Ms. Greer offered her assessment of Australia, but insofar as what she says has any validity, it is well outweighed by the injustices she perpetrates (and perpetuates from her own life for that matter). So when the headline on her recent opinion piece is “Slack and Insufferable,” I have to wonder if she recognizes the irony. Her piece is itself as insufferable as its research is slack. By the end, I’m left wondering if she wouldn’t rather live in Iceland than England. First of all, England is where Australia gets most of what she complains about. Second, Iceland is the only country I can think of that didn’t decimate a native population, has a robust political and intellectual life, where urban or rural life dominates over suburban, and where the economy’s development doesn’t rely on the decimation of natural resources but harnessing them instead. Since summer in Iceland is mercifully brief, the kinds of relaxation that offend Ms. Greer are less available to the population, so although they, too, rely heavily on imported manufactured goods, at least they’re probably pretty wound up over it.

Making Ends Meet
Based on a Metafilter item I did a little look-up to discover what’s minimum wage in Australia. It’s AU$11.35 per hour, based on a 38-hour week. Don’t ask me how they get a 38-hour week, though, since that’s 7.6 hours per day. 0.6 hours is 36 minutes. I guess that’s lunch. Meanwhile, back in the States, minimum wage varies, with US$8.50 in San Francisco vs. US$5.15 in NYC. A Federal standard seems worthwhile, so long as it raises the bar for everyone, but then Australia’s workforce is much smaller and more easily administered, perhaps. Oh, and at the current exchange rate, AU$11.35 is US$8.63. (Adjusting for a 40-hour week, the wage would be approximately US$8.20. I’d say our waitresses can outspend service personnel in the U.S., by and large.)

Who’s That Man?
I have had to travel for business with some considerable frequency in the past, a bit less for personal reasons, but the experience of checking in at the gate for a flight I booked was always the same: show your ticket and show some airline clerk an ID. I was once told that I could have my ticket dishonored, be thrown out, or even arrested if I failed to produce a valid driver’s license. Corporate ID has been rejected in my experience if the clerk didn’t recognize the company. I actually spent a couple of months traveling on the same flight once every two weeks, checking in with the same clerk every time, only to have my ID rejected after about three months without any explanation. Presumably the clerk had gotten in trouble for accepting as ID something other than a driver’s license or passport. In any event, the following trip everything was back to normal. The FAA issues regulations and recommendations to the airlines regarding the administration of their passengers. The safety demonstration is an example of a regulation. The ID check is a recommendation. Airlines treat them both as mandatory. It’s easier that way. For them. It doesn’t do any good at all. The airlines are happy to require an ID check because it enforces their policy that tickets are non-transferable. It makes sense to say that the luggage stowed in cargo and the passengers match up, but what about mail? Who’s checking that? Besides, why would a suicide bomber tag his luggage under a pseudonym anyway? Look, if you don’t want me to fly, don’t sell me the ticket. Up until the point when you take my money, you can refuse me service. After that, you’d better get me on the plane even if I did have a beard when I had my ID photo taken. Want real safety? Impose realistic safety measures.

Three Years On
M. and I have been married for three years today, two in NYC and one in Sydney. We’ve done quite well, if I say so myself, having survived a move across the planet; finding, buying, and furnishing a new home; four months of unemployment; and the continuing trials daily met by any couple anywhere. Tonight we’ll celebrate with a fine dining experience, as it is our tradition to meet the anniversary with as posh an event as we can devise, although we may have to save up for milestone years before trying to match the night at the Waldorf with which we instituted that ritual. We’ve got great hopes for the future, and I know I couldn’t have chosen a better partner with whom to meet the years ahead.

Morning into Evening and Again
As I stood on the platform the other day, dazed with sleeplessness from a later night than expected due to a fire alarm that brought the fire department (just smoke; somebody cooking something that got out of hand or some such) and an earlier awakening than usual (the cat punishing me for helping stuff her into her carrier and haul her out to the street: but we were saving your life!), I was considering the necessity of familiarity and what my present situation provides in that regard. Beyond the cultural divergences and geographical reversals, much remains the same in kind while distinct in the details. Business is business, I’d say while we were planning our relocation, speaking of the kinds of change I’d face in seeking employment here, and that’s been true overall, even though I’ve come to discover just how untrue it is at the same time. Take contracts, for example, a very common employment condition here, whereas “employment at will” is much more the rule back home. My duties under contract are no more explicit nor my performance of them any more measurable than when I toiled under the vague conventions of the U.S. system, although I’d guess that’s really only because individual contracts are simply a legal mechanism, a formality, setting out the “at will” condition of the employment. The same late nights and lunch-at-your-desk assumptions appear to be at operation here as anywhere else I’ve worked, and will probably only spread to exert influence on increasing numbers of workers as more and more categories are reclassified as “professional” and therefore exempt from overtime. (There is more than one reason secretaries are more often Administrative Assistants these days, and it won’t be long before most of them are Administrative Officers, at which point they might as well just set up a cot next to their desks and sign up for child care services.) But I like routine, knowing when I will do something and where I will be day-to-day, even as much as I enjoy breaking out of the routine to do something, go somewhere different. “Different” is, however, a relative term. Different is going to the movies when you haven’t been in a while, or even just going to see something with subtitles (that aren’t translating from the Klingon). Different is going to a restaurant you haven’t tried, having the green curry instead of the red. Different is familiar – most of the time. I would like something truly different, which is pretty remarkable considering that I am on the other side of the world, living in a distinct cultural milieu, amid a unique set of environmental conditions (no koalas or kangaroos, but there have been kookaburras sittin’ in the ol’ gum trees, but that’s beside the point; think heat, drought, desert, serious UV exposure, and the eucalyptus scent of the trees), under unrecognizable constellations. The language is different, too: colors are coloured, authorizations are authorised. . . . It’s the little things. And the big ones. But every morning during the week, I get on a train to travel west for work and for the first twenty minutes of my ride I’m travelling on the same line I did to get to my last job. The train leaves from the same platform to go to Parramatta as it did to go to Epping. When we travel to Windsor, we’re still on platform 18. Reliable and efficient. At the office, I have the same job I did in NYC, although the larger context is quite different from that in which I have previously operated. As Kath ‘n’ Kim say: Nice, different, unusual. What’s it all about? After four months of unemployment, I find myself more than ready to retire, except for the part about the money. Damn.

Social Deconstruction
George II has been going on quite a bit lately on the topic of gay marriage, without of course addressing marriage itself except to say that it must be preserved. There have been a couple of ‘blogs I track to one degree or another where the subject has come up from a self-interested point of view. Since the topic came up in public debate, I’ve always taken the liberal line: everybody should have the right to get married if that’s what they want, regardless of sexuality. Follow Me Here posts a report on the decline of marriage in Scandinavia, tying the situation to the rise in the acceptance of gay marriage in Sweden and across Europe. I wonder how much of a relationship there really is, but even before I get to that question, I wonder if I shouldn’t have reservations about expanding the institution of marriage to same-sex couples? In the end, there isn’t much of a debate for me. The distinction between marriage and “civil union” seems like splitting hairs: except in a religious context, it’s all “civil union.” Government is involved in registering marriages to ensure that some level of social equity is maintained regarding responsibility towards one’s partner and towards any children resulting from the partnership, as well as to take advantage of the taxation situation. To be fair, “take advantage” is a relatively modern development, I expect. The “marriage penalty” many couples encounter paying taxes is a development of the increased number of dual-income households. It was much more the case that getting married improved one’s tax situation, albeit at the same time as imposing an increased financial responsibility at home to offset it. So why should government perceive a need to “defend” marriage? The institutionalization of relationships has been in decline for a very long time now, particularly as the benefits of stamping your commitment “official” have declined. There are only two reasons I see for government to insert itself into the debate: tax revenue implications and political expediency. If allowing gays and lesbians to marry causes heterosexuals to stop marrying, this could have a negative impact on taxes. Couples would be able to file singly, at least one of them claiming any children as deductions, and millions upon millions of dollars would stop flowing into the coffers of the IRS. Society would crumble. Democracy would fail. O.k., the rationale isn’t reasonable, and no sane politician would argue this way, because it would just admit to the greedy nature of governments. Political expediency, however, is meat and potatoes to those in or seeking public office. What is the perception, the opinion (regardless of whether it’s informed or not) of the public, and what stance will ensure I get (or don’t lose) votes? Does allowing gays to participate cheapen the social imprimatur of marriage? Is the average married man or woman (non-gay, obviously) offended by those dirty gays signing up at the courthouse? The only thing I find offensive is that straight and gay don’t sign up under the same laws. I’d rather see laws regarding marriage amended to include gays and lesbians than distinct (not to say “special,” which implies unique entitlements that aren’t really being enacted) legislation. On the other hand, a special law had to be passed to give women the vote, and nobody much minds that anymore. Some step has to be taken to provide equitable treatment under law, and enacting gay marriage rights may be a clumsy move, but inevitable as our perceptions and understanding of the human condition expand. Watching the first instalment of Michael Apted’s Marriage in America last night, we heard a lesbian couple explain their decision to go to Vermont as a way of demonstrating to their families and friends the seriousness of their commitment. The civil union was merely a step towards encouraging participation in a subsequent ceremony enacted with the more traditional appurtenances. If the churches don’t want to permit homosexuals to marry, that’s up to them. Such bodies have long operated separately from civil institutions, one of the benefits we got from the schism caused by Henry VIII wanting a new wife. George II and others who would seek to prevent everyone from marrying really ought to look to their roots: unless you’re a Roman Catholic, your principles are the result of the Protestant Reformation, the Medieval course of events that led to the separation of church and state, in which case you should probably mind your own business and let others mind theirs. As for the Catholics, well, I think the Paulian doctrine would say that living in a society where the state constitutionally operates without regard to the tenets of any church doctrine obliges you to honor the separation regardless of your religious principles.

Going to Bat
The parallels are fascinating, but it does leave you wondering how we’ve come to this pretty pass, that the Democrats are turning the next election into a battle between what John Edwards calls the “two Americas,” highlighting George II’s kleptocratic assertion of the privilege of the privileged in the U.S. economy, and that here in Australia, Mark Latham is asserting a similar agenda, describing that the Howard government has done more in Australia to create “battlers” while doing less than any previous administration for them. The anger and activism of the Left in both countries is a great relief – in the U.S. after less than four years of blatant pandering to corporate interests over those of the lower and middle classes, while Australia has suffered John Howard for nearly a decade longer. But that’s the worry: can the U.S. unseat Bush on the present Democratic agenda? Is the example of Howard getting in time and again an augury of how easy it may yet turn out for the Bush-Cheney ticket to renew its presence in Washington D.C.? Perhaps it’s wrong to allow my fear of November back in the States to color my expectations in my new home, and vice versa. I’d like Mark Latham to get the top spot here and to be able to hold on to it for long enough to put a halt to some of the present tendencies of the Federal government, just as I’d like to see Dean or Edwards or Kerry or, well, no, maybe not Kucinich, but a Democrat get the White House back, but it’s tough to unseat an incumbent, especially when there’s so much fear and it’s so easy for them to keep us alert if not alarmed.

Dr. Dolittle Resources
I once saw a diagram of a group of European dogs greeting one another, the French Poodle saying “ouah” to the German Shepard, who responded “wau,” triggering the Puli to say “vau,” etc. The idea that animals were also affected by the curse of Babel was a source of some amusement to me at the time. In case you’re going overseas, this online animal dictionary offers a way for you to talk to the animals. No giant Luna Moth, though, and no Pushmi-Pullyu.

Get Into the Groove
Baby, you got to prove you want to loose weight. Probably Dance Dance Revolution takes up less room even than a fold-up treadmill.

Food Good, Monsanto Bad
Mendocino County is pushing a referendum to ban cultivation of genetically modified organisims, and as the chef of the first fully-certified fully-organic restaurant in California, younger brother endorses the effort, naturally enough. I see his point, and the County’s, but I’m afraid the genie is well and truly out of the bottle on this one. Aside from the glow-in-the-dark fish, there’s the corn and the rice, and soy is reportedly one of the most extensively modified foods on the planet, although I don’t think that involved direct genetic manipulation. On the other hand, those who would argue that these things can be controlled should probably know that there are organic farms in Canada currently being sued for infringement of Monsanto’s patents. How? Well, pollen is pollen, and I wouldn’t trust anyone who tells me they can prevent bees from travelling from one field to another. So for the privilege of no longer being able to claim organic status, these farmers are in court and the businesses they supplied have to go elsewhere. Vote Yes on H: you are what you eat.

All the Way with JFK?
That’s John F. Kerry, of course. Anyway, more to the point, the perennial question during the primaries is: which front-runner will choose which also-ran for Vice President? This round, the answer is: not Kerry-Edwards. It is a tradition of long standing that a candidate for President cannot win unless he can deliver the South, and that to do so, there needs to be some ticket-balancing. Kennedy is supposed to have tapped Lyndon Johnson because Texas is technically a southern state, but sufficiently maverick that he’d owe nothing to the Deep South that might otherwise preclude social change in respect to civil rights for blacks. George II, of course, is “from” Texas, giving him southern credentials that he balanced with Cheney, who is “from” Wisconsin. (They’re really from Maine and Texas, respectively, aren’t they? Still, North & South, isn’t it?) That Kerry, a Boston Brahmin, would tap Edwards, makes sense. Earlier, everyone wondered who would grab Wesley Clark. I’m not even sure where Clark’s from, but as career military, he’s honorarily southern, at least. There have been those who have said Dean ought to match with Clark, and I can see some anti-war benefit there, but Kerry’s got the momentum right now, so the ticket questions are being lobbed his way. A bit early.

Urban Philosophification
I sometimes find myself engaged in a discussion of “do I miss NYC” which sometimes turns into “why don’t you miss it?” or even “I know you miss it, but you won’t admit it.” I don’t give it a lot of thought, most of the time, really, unless I’m asked, and that does happen even now more than you might think. I suppose I would if we’d ended up in some dismal suburb, but even at that I might not, having spent my early years in the hundred acre wood (without the imperialist subtext of the Milne stories, of course – more like the inanity of Peanuts). I spent time in and around farmland and out in the Midwest, traveled to Europe, met people from all over the world, studied other cultures, etc., and NYC is pretty much an aberration as cities go. NYC extends well beyond Manhattan, of course, but nobody much thinks of it that way. Queens, Brooklyn, Staten Island, and the Bronx are just dense suburban extensions (as are the near reaches of New Jersey and Connecticut for that matter) of the city proper, which is a macrocosmic city forced into a microcosmic scale by confining it to a (relatively) tiny estuarial island. Paris may have the Île de Cité, but the majority of that is taken up with tourist destinations. NYC’s central island is larger and contains the majority of midsized to large businesses as well as a sometimes overwhelming density of housing. Most cities in my experience are sprawling constructions, especially if they haven’t been culturally or commercially superseded by time or their neighbors (cf. New Orleans), having started from a central point but grown well beyond it, eventually developing ancillary “center” points. This can have a dismal effect on a city’s starting point. Downtown Los Angeles, for example, is very nearly a wasteland outside of business hours, and hubs of activity of one kind or another have taken up position around it, each operating as a distinct urban environment for the area residents. Similarly, however, the original center and its outpost locations can equally thrive. Atlanta is a possible example; Sydney definitely is. Perhaps it’s my understanding of this that’s colored my experience of having relocated across the globe. Parramatta and Chatswood operate as remote branches of Sydney city center, and the suburbs that string themselves along the access routes offer distinct tendrils of enterprise and culture characterized by the populations having driven the overall pattern of growth. You can go as far as you like, or not, in availing yourself of what’s on offer. Sydney, like other cities, presents its idiosyncrasies as well. Over Christmas and New Year’s, Sydney offers a distinct experience from any comparable period in NYC, but what sometimes doesn’t get taken into account is that there is no worthwhile comparison to the northern hemisphere. It’s high summer here, school’s out, the ocean is warm and inviting. Nobody stays home, nobody goes to town. We’re all on holiday, and we like it. Now think about what’s summer in the city up north. Different in kind, if not in detail, isn’t it? Just like the weather. My first year in Sydney presented this as a remarkable experience, but this year it was only lacking in normality because we had our first international visitor in and therefore sought to overcome the entertainment limitations we perceived. It turns out, naturally enough upon reflection, that we overestimated those, as Bondi and similar excursions were more than sufficiently engaging. Well, this is what other Sydneysiders do, as do other visitors to this country at this time of year, so I don’t know why we should have been surprised. The uncertainty principle of quantum physics (whatever; what, I’m a scientist now?) asserts itself philosophically: what is observable in time makes space indeterminate and so forth. Christmas in NYC is not Christmas in Sydney, etc. The Fourth of July is not paralleled by Australia Day. But why should I want it to be in either case? Just so that the experience I have is familiar or that more restaurants are open when I feel like going out for a meal? There is actually very little requirement of me to adjust my expectations. Just like moving here in the first place. Adapting to life in Sydney has required no more than learning to know where what I want is, not in having to learn what what I want is. I say kilometres and think miles, speak of temperature in centigrade rather than Fahrenheit, but that’s not very different from most born Australians my age. I have my cross-cultural temper tantrums, to one extent or another, just like anyone else would (and there’s a television serial out of Britain, called “A New Life Down Under” about just that, with a group of English ex-pats moaning over their problems adapting to their new environments: whingers, all of them), but don’t you just hate those people who come from one place to another and believe their prior experiences are the template for all future experience, who arrive in a place and believe they should be able to behave, to think, as if their presence in a place confers ownership, without taking responsibility? If I’m going to live in Sydney, don’t I have to participate in the city? I did in NYC, and although there were enough people there who didn’t, there were plenty of us who did. Listen, just because you can get a bank to loan you the money for a home or to open a business, that doesn’t privilege you above all others in the neighborhood, just like there is no privilege in having tourist dollars to spend versus spending your daily wage. There are some things I’d like to change. I’d like Sydney to be more pedestrian-friendly, for one. The infrastructure is there, the attitudes are not. I expect that will change, however, over time as the population increases and the sprawl can’t keep up. The inevitability of urban life in this and many other respects is that all these people cannot live together so closely unless civility prevails, although I’ll admit that this is paired with the inevitability of some level of conflict, too. Sydney is just not as accustomed yet to a densely urban life as it is becoming, but it will be: it’s inevitable. One of the factors that have made Australia such a distinct place is that it has always been separate, an isolated continent whose dominant culture existed at such a physical distance from its roots and has been so desirous of retaining a connection that it has foisted off change even while it has been forced to accept it. This is not the same place Germaine Greer and Robert Hughes and their ilk refuse to live in, although you can still find that place here. Australia’s position in the Pacific, in Asia as a cultural region, is much more acknowledged than it has been, and that’s having an inevitable effect, and not just in population density and disparity. In many respects, this is where East meets West, and it may well be the place where that scale of change begins to spread across the rest of the world. I feel like I may be getting in on the ground floor.

Globalization Role Play
The Morning News includes an RPG outline of the Ikea experience, and it’s just like that. The gaming instructions fail to mention, however, that despite your best intentions never to return, you will go back again and again until you have more non-identical allen wrenches lying around the house than you can ever think of anything to do with them except maybe as some kind of post-ironic art. And just what is a lingonberry?

Justice in Operation
I figure this case, shutting down part of the egregious USA Patriot Act, to have been decided by the Ninth Circuit, yeah? If only all our civil liberties suits could be brought there. It does bug me that the Humanitarian Law Project is also trying to help out the Tamil Tigers, but under the rule of law, everybody gets a witness.

Open and Shut
Thank goodness Kim’s really Australian, because she’s the last one in now that Lleyton and Mark bit the dust in the fourth round. Is it the U.S. Open if Roddick and Agassi go to the finals?

Net Results
The Bottom Line is closed forever. I only went a few times over the years, most often probably for John Cale, who was a regular, but always saw a terrific band and a solid performance, sometimes unexpectedly, as when I saw the Violent Femmes while they were both still good and new as well as only just signed to a label. Lou Reed is probably the most memorable musician I saw there from an iconic NYC standpoint, and although I can’t think of an exotic night, at least I never had to sit behind one of the pillars or posts that framed the outer seating area. Sure, the Palladium in its heyday was a better overall concert venue, but in my time, only Folk City would have rivaled the Bottom Line for an intimate musical experience. To be fair, they couldn’t pay the rent, but a 250% mark-up is pretty severe.

Advance, Australia, Fair
Yes, happy Australia Day. I don't know that commas belong in the lyric of the anthem like that, but it seems correct. The final line is, after all, an admonisment to the nation to give all and sundry a "fair go," a noble sentiment worth pointing out on the country's national day, especially in light of the last year's refugee crisis and various other multi-cultural hiccups. I probably ought to look up the rest of the words. Meanwhile, tall ship races down on the Harbour, military fly-overs, hot air balloons, fireworks (of course), time on the beach and by the barbeque . . . so much to do, so little time to do it in.

Maintenance
Dear Editor: I am not a crank. But your comments don't work. O.k., I changed the comments to HaloScan, and we'll hope for the best. Of course any comments previously posted are now gone (sorry, but tough), but I promise I read them all. Really.

Year of the Built Environment
The Australian Federal Government has named 2004, as it has named other years, for the particular area of improvement it wants to highlight. 2002 was the “Year of the Outback,” and 2003 was “Year of the Child.” 2001 was the Centenary of Federation, so there wasn’t any activist sponsorship, probably because in 2000 the effort for making Australia a republic failed. I thought this year was supposed to highlight Volunteerism, to judge by the fifty-cent piece in ciculation (or as of yesterday, the Monkey), but the so-called “built environment” seems a worthy enough effort, given the present and increasingly problematic global warming situation. It seems too little too late to tout the latest business efforts towards energy-efficient buildings, especially when we’ve had a hundred years or more of greed working to the opposite end, but every step is one in the right direction, even if I may yet end up with waterfront property in my lifetime, but without any effort of my own to that condition, especially since the Ross ice shelf is collapsing and the North Polar icecap is thinning already. We probably should have bought our property at the top of Surry Hills, but there’s lots of room for more Harbour in front of the Opera House. Meanwhile, the greening of office buildings and new efforts in developing more environmentally friendly homes, especially given the nature of the country’s nature – extended periods of drought, increasing problems with soil salinity, etc. (not to mention the problem of foreign fauna, such as the Indian mynah, mucking with the locals) – could prove to be another front on which Australia advances the cause of the planet. Advance Australia fair, indeed.

Parramatta Parameters
Welcome to the Outer West. Maybe not so much as Windsor, where M.’s grandmother lives, or even Penrith, where the t.v. weather reports provide the difference in daily temperatures above those given for the city, but enough that when it’s hot in the CBD, it’s sure to be notably hotter by the time I get to work. It figures that the patron saint of Finland also has oversight of refrigeration, but since that’s given us air conditioning, he’s the go-to guy in heaven this time of year. (Yeah, sure he’s made up, but so was Mr. Christopher. I’ll have to keep searching for the official version. Meanwhile, Catald, Goteberda, Heribert of Cologne, Solange, Swithun, and Trophimus of Arles all have drought relief in their purview, and perhaps that will do.)

iOWa
William Safire is an astute political commentator, but he’s also a cat. He’s got his claws out for Dr. Dean without fail, and Iowa has provided a nice little scratching post. If I don’t vote for Kucinich, maybe I should go for Kerry.

The Deconstruction of the Constitution
The USA Patriot Act will be renewed. I say this based on the final paragraph in the NY Times article reviewing George II’s State of the Union, which reads, in part: ”Democrats have promised to oppose renewing many important sections of the law . . .”, clearly indicating that Congress is going to roll over for seeing this law enshrined permanently. Politics is about compromise. (But you can’t sell just a little bit of your soul: the devil wants it all.)

Rock the Vote
On the President Match quiz, Kucinch comes up on top from my answers, followed by Kerry, with Sharpton edging Dean for 3rd place. Maybe if I answered “Yes” on the question of previous electoral experience, I might have gotten a better answer, but why do I always end up thinking I should look more closely at Dennis? (Dear Editor, I am not a crank.) No more on-line quizzes until after the primary.

Meanwhile, Back in the States
Keeping a weblog turns out to be mostly about keeping up with the folks back home – which isn’t a bad thing, of course, although I suppose I ought to relinquish any imagined vast audience interested in this particular New York Yankee in the Opera House forecourt. Still it lead an old friend into contact, and this developed into additional familial news: off-line brother T. has ventured into the commercialization of his cartooning, and even gets a staff credit. Tomz Comix appear in the back of the Ukiah Bullhorn, the current issue of which features the adventures of California’s new governor as he ventures into Mendocino County. I smell syndication: watch out, Boondocks.

Wait for the DVD
My everlasting thanks – o.k., today’s thanks – to C.B., one of Buffalo’s famous ‘bloggers, for locating and posting What Not to Do During Return of the King. By the way, I think Gandalf is Dumbledore, but the names have been changed to get around licensing restrictions.

When the Moon Hits Your Eye
I’ve finally gotten around to reading T. Corraghessan Boyle’s collection of short stories, Greasy Lake, which has proven far more appropriate under the circumstances of Bush II’s latest announcements regarding space exploration, i.e., putting a man on the moon again, to wit: the story “The New Moon Party,” in which a candidate for the highest office in the land succeeds to the office by promising to build a brand new moon to replace the shabby, meteor-pitted old one. Similar tactic: similar effect? Of course, since the success of the fictional effort turns into a global debacle that leaves the protagonist reviled and discredited forever more, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Salt Mines
Back to work at last. The CEO (Catholic Education Office) of the Parramatta Diocese has undertaken a big push to create an HR database, and I'll be leading the charge on making it happen. Today was like being thrown to the lions, to use an apt metaphor, but immersion (to use another, less apt, metaphor) may be the best way of getting started. There was a full staff meeting first thing, complete with opening prayers and a hymn, which was sort of surprising. The Bible Society never did that, but then they had to contend with a variety of sects and so forth, whereas the Catholics, despite their name, can be more . . . discriminating. After four months of unemployment, this could take some getting used to, but I'd better gear up fast by the look of things.

More Oscar Contention
I figure Mystic River is bound to pick up a fair raft of nominations for Academy Awards. Sean Penn, Tim Robbins, the ubiquitous Kevin Bacon are all very good in their roles, and Clint Eastwood's direction is solid. Best Picture belongs to Lost in Translation, however, and maybe even Best Actor, and surely Best Direction. Mystic River is good, sure, but the characters are pretty horrible and the story isn't all that much in the end beyond the usual thriller material. In the Cut, as a thriller, wasn't much better, but the direction and cinematography were so far beyond what Mr. Eastwood did that I think it's got to put the screenplay etc. for his film out of the running. That said, I did enjoy it, if only up until Kevin Bacon delivers the most B-grade cop speech to Sean Penn at the end of the movie.

Because I'm a Geek
I have always approved of space exploration, and under other circumstances I'd be glad to hear about a new program to the moon and beyond, even despite the ongoing International Space Station debacle, but this, along with other major spending plans of George II (specifically, the US$1.5 billion for discriminating against homosexuals), comes at rather a bad time, as leading international economists have fingered the US deficit as putting the entire world's economy at risk. Thanks, George; screw it up for everyone but your friends, why don't you? Of course, that's all he's ever cared about anyway.

Hollywood Excursions
I've now been to see two movies in two days. These being the final days before I (finally) start work at my new job, I'm getting in a bit of holiday activities. I'd go to the beach, but the weather has turned again. Yesterday I went to see Lost in Translation, which M. had been to already (and yes, she's still in trouble), accompanied for my part by a friend of ours who teaches Japanese. I think she got more of the jokes than I did, but I got enough, the communication discrepancies being what the film's all about. Vanity Fair referred to Sophia Coppola's remarkable ability to make a movie in which the atmosphere is the plot, but I think that's a fairly fey description of what she's really done here. There are so many forms of communication being explored in the movie, they're hard to list, but there's that layering that the best novels do and that so many movies never even begin to attempt. And Bill Murray is perfectly cast.

Today I went to Master and Commander, which Peter Weir has subtitled with one of the titles from a later volume in the Patrick O'Brien series, I think to forstall sequels, which is just as well, and I'm sure Russell Crowe (whose performance is excellent; he's a better actor than I think he's sometimes credited for, what with the brawling and boasting and so forth) appreciates, as this way he won't have to make a career out of Jack Aubrey alone for ever after. I think the late Mr. O'Brien's fans are going to get the most out of this movie, but it's a well-crafted piece, as I'd expect from Mr. Weir, and lovely to look at.

The final Matrix episode has moved on, so I'll have to wait for the video. Maybe the weather will clear, and I can go to the beach tomorrow.

He Probably Meant "Cuba"
The AP is reporting an attempted hijacking where a passenger demanded to be taken to Australia. More than likely, the plane landed at Dulles when the man gave up his attempt because he needed to use the toilets but there was already a queue. Seriously, I am very saddened to know that we are back in the age of hijackings, which I had thought were left behind 20 years ago. While the terrorism of Osama bin Laden and his ilk (and born of the PLO actions of the 1960's and '70's) are surely to blame, we also need to lay fault at the feet of Tom Ridge, John Ashcroft, and (of course) George Bush II for fomenting a culture of paranoia, exacerbating the condition of already marginal mentally ill members of society with endless escalations and de-escalations of meaningless alert statuses. Security measures are called for, but the games this administration is playing are not meant to make anyone feel safer, only to keep us off balance so as to maintain their hold on power. God, what a hippie I sound like. Still.

Enter the Hive Mind
- or "I like how older people have grammar online"
When I moved to Australia I didn't start a 'blog straight off: that was M.'s job as the writer in the family, and an extension of her work in the days after she moved to the U.S. in emails to her friends (the "postcards from New York"). This represented a misapprehension on my part, because M. was in some measure subverted as a writer by maintaining a weblog, while her e-correspondence had not, and whereas for me a weblog was ultimately a more natural progression from my participation in computer technology from my work life into my personal life, an extension (or intrusion) as natural as that of watching broadcast to subscribing to cable television, or from adding a pager to one's telephonic capabilities to carrying a mobile and "texting" friends. I began - and continue, despite what I've learned in this time - to use this technology as it should be used: to my own ends, that is, to maintain communication with friends and family outside my more immediate geographical (and economic) reach; but I also use these posts from the same kind of vanity described in the NY Times article: to self-publish, in effect, the kind of philosophizing or poetics otherwise unavailable to me. In some ways, starting a 'blog of my own, recognizing (or having revealed to me) the diametric opposition of 'blogging to creating writing, provided insight to aspects of internet-facilitated communications as distinct forms of dialogue, separate from the traditional forms they resemble: email is to letters, as instant messaging is to phone calls, as weblogs are to journals. Not so, at least not when examined closely for the social effects. The e-forms are as revolutionary to communication and interpersonal relations as that of moving from horse-drawn carriages to mechanical locomotion. Internet-based communication is fulfilling the evolutionary changes presaged by telegraphy, the telephone, radio, television, becoming so pervasive and so permeable that thought and action nearly merge. This is only frightening when you spend time reading a Livejournal written and participated in by someone twenty years (or more) your junior, at which point you may well be inspired to curl up and devolve into your constituent protoplasmic particles. Don't despair: it isn't exactly the Matrix, after all, just a bunch of youngers getting ready to change the world the way it must. They do really need to use some of the basic rules of grammar, though, if they want to be understood.

In Other News, Wrap-Artist Christo Announced His Retirement
The most painstaking prank of all time has got to be wrapping a friend's apartment in aluminium foil. Down to the change on the table, but also even going so far as to ensure everything was still useable, including the CDs and books. And when he's done unwrapping everything, he can have a foil ball like nobody's business. (Link via Boing Boing.)

Election-Year Prediction
If "Wolf Blitzer" can do it, so can I: CNN will do whatever it can to beat the ratings of every other news channel, including inflammatory reports before, during, and after the polls close.

Trilogies
It's a bit out-of-order, I know, but M. & I went to see the Return of the King prior to the final installment of the Matrix. I'll probably end up seeing that on my own in the next two weeks: M. was sufficiently put off by the second episode that she lacks the commitment to see the cycle through. Not so Peter Jackson's Tolkien efforts, although as we exited, both of us felt the Two Towers was dramatically the best of the lot. What I really need is to get my hands on the complete DVD set when it's available (note to U.S. based gifts enthusiasts: DVD, like VCRs, has a different format, a deliberate tactic by the cinematic industry to promote sales, er, prevent piracy). With the extra footage - especially the deleted Christopher Lee/Saurman ending - it would be worth watching again. Of course, for the price, nothing's worth that much.

P.S. Since Steve Martin is evidently intent upon remaking every William Powell screwball comedy he can, when should I expect him to do My Man Godfrey?

Beyond a Boundry
Yes, I cribbed the title above from C. L. R. James, but in light of Steve Waugh's final Test match, it was too good a steal to let pass. Mr. Waugh captained the sledgingest (read "trash-talking") cricket team of all time, but also the one to take the World Cup and to make Australian cricket the most successful national sporting enterprise shore-side of swimming. His final innings were conducted here in Sydney, and if he couldn't bring the team victory, he at least managed to snatch a draw from the jaws of outright defeat. I'd have liked to have seen him get a final Test century, but 80's nothing to sneeze at. Good on India for making the match so very memorable.

Next!
14 hours in the air from Sydney to Los Angeles, and if you want to avoid deep vein thrombosis or kidney problems, go by boat instead: Qantas has banned waiting your turn for the toilet in response to US demands over airline security. It could be hard enough when the waitresses came on the intercom 30 minutes before landing to demand that everyone stay seated regardless of the demands of biology, but how are they going to manage this? Over 300 people on board a 747, everyone drinking water to stay hydrated, many wanting to stroll the cabin to keep the blood from settling in their lower extremities, mothers with small children and infants . . . . You there! Sit down, now! Will the air marshalls shoot them? Cuff them to their seats? It's going to get a lot messier before it gets any easier. I spent years taking the train instead of flying whenever time permitted, and now I may resort to the shipping lanes, restricting my travel accordingly, just because it's more civilized, which was my contention previously as well. Look, I know we have to do something about safety, but I don't feel safer because there's an undercover cop with a gun on board or because I have to wait in my seat for no one else to be waiting for the toilets. Screen the baggage, scan the customers, seal the cockpit doors (in other words, spend the money necessary to establish security), but don't just start blaming everyone but yourselves. The airlines are too cheap to spring for security, and the government is too corrupt to force them. I say don't fly; not until they - airlines or Federales - step up to make air travel a safe business.

Up the Rainbow Bridge to Asgard . . .
The Harbour Bridge is not guarded by Heimdal, nor does it connect Sydney to Valhalla, but as you ascend the arch, you are right up at the very height of heaven seemingly, so Thor's theme song seems appropriate to head this post with, prefatory to extolling the virtues of this very expensive tourism activity. I'm actually thinking of making it a requirement of all overseas visitors that they fork out the dough and scale the Coat Hanger with me. That way I'd get to do it more often. It's that good. Groups of a dozen at a time are sent up with a guide, everyone dressed in identical jumpsuits and a harness that clips onto a safety cable and from which everything else you wear depends, including a standard-issue hat, eyeglass thong, radio and headset. Everything that might snag or fall off is left behind in a locker (and the key goes on a cord around your neck, tucked inside the jumpsuit). From check-in to setting off takes about a half-hour, mostly because of the safety lecture and practice run. But once you're on your way, there's no turning back. It only takes about two hours to do the whole climb, stopping along the way, moving fairly slowly to get the most from the views. Pictures are snapped for you at the top, and you get to take one of them home "free," the others being available as prints or CD-ROM, two or more in a set, at a variety of exorbitant prices. Pictures, however, aren't the point. Even the views aren't really the point. Climbing the Bridge is an experience like no other I've had, and I've stood on some of the highest structures built. The only thing I can compare it to is standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon. For those Sydney-siders who would scoff and deride the climb as a tourist trap, I would argue that many New Yorkers have felt the same of going up the Empire State Building - but only until they've done it.

Bridge Theatricals
December 25 saw the arrival of SB, my most excellent friend of - gasp - 25 years, who is our first official international visitor, an accomplishment he has expressed some satisfaction in achieving. Although Sydney over the Christmas/New Year's holiday period sometimes gives the impression of a deserted metropolis in one of those post-apocalypse movies, in truth there is quite a lot to do, and we were doing every bit of it would could. SB's arrival with a minor cold kept us from staying up late every night, but we indulged most other pursuits quite fully: dining out, sunbaking at Bondi and bodysurfing nearly daily. One of our first major excursions was to climb the Harbour Bridge, an endeavor I had not looked forward to as I have no particular head for heights. It proved, however, to be great fun, not terribly taxing, and didn't involve a whiff of vertigo, just splendid views all around, including, fortuitously, the hotel where we were booked to have our NYE dinner, the Palisade, an old public house in Miller's Point with a three-quarters view of the Bridge (albeit technically on the "wrong" side). Nevertheless, I would book a table there every year if it were feasible to do so, as the view was incomparable even just from the second floor (3rd floor in the U.S.), let alone the roof, and the food was delicious, well-prepared and presented by a highly amiable staff. The fireworks, as the television-viewing world must know by now, are quite a show, although this year there was no "theme" - just as well if you ask me, if only because we would have had to read right-to-left to figure it out if there had been. SB left this morning, which leaves me, in these next two weeks, more time to 'blog - although that's not to say I'll necessarily take full advantage - while I wait to start my new job in Parramatta on the 19th. Meanwhile, summer in Sydney is finally in full swing, the December doldrums having passed, and there are more beaches than Bondi to explore more fully than I've managed so far. I ought to end up with a tan that lasts through 'til next spring.

Down in Front
I have been an habitue of live performances for many years and derive great enjoyment from them. Some theatrical events have been nearly life-changing in their effect: I am still able to return to the thrilling sensation with which I left the Brooklyn Academy of Music's Majestic Theatre following an all-night performance of Peter Brook's Mahabarata. Sometimes, the performance has been enjoyable and no more, other times I've witnessed just flat-out bad theatre, dance, music, whatever (that's a category, too). The curtain call is often an opportunity to get a look at the cast while they're not moving and speaking, and this is part of the experience as well (and beats the headshots in the Playbill). Applause, I've come to conclude, is like tipping. If the dining experience is good, tip well; if it's very good, tip very well; if it's bad, tip, but tip minimally. In theatre, applaud for the good stuff, stand up for the extraordinary, and leave after the first curtain call when it's been bad. Yes, you should always clap - the actors tried, or the director did, or the stagehands . . . somebody was working at any rate and deserves to feel some acknowledgement of the effort. But you don't have to give everybody a standing ovation at every performance. It's just not possible for everyone to get an A+ every time. In this, I join the public denunciation of the inevitable as it now seems to be, and call upon audiences to sit down for God's sake.

The Employment Process
I've been working in Human Resources a long time now, specializing in database systems, so I'm as familiar with the ins and the outs of the process perhaps even a bit more than many. It came as a surprise, then, that the Catholic Education Office didn't even bother with a second interview, but went straight to the job offer. Just in time for Christmas, too. I'd been looking at a couple of other jobs, and had even interviewed: with Prada (but that was a long shot and wasn't going to pay well), with the University of Technology, Sydney (walk to work: what's not to like?), and a niche HR software development and consulting outfit looking to make a presence in Australia (travel, and a lot of it). The Catholics are the only ones who made an offer and they acted two days after my interview. I suppose I have my referees to thank as much as my qualifications, not to mention my desperate need for new employment. As the product of 12 years' education in the Catholic system, I should do like the athletes (Hi, Mom!) and thank God, too, but I think it's tacky. Tonight we'll celebrate a little - the job doesn't start until the end of January, so we still need to be careful with money. Maybe we'll get a pizza. Meanwhile, because I've taken a pay-cut, too, a little extra revenue won't hurt. Visitors are hereby notified of the following changes to our fee schedule: each time you pet the cat, it's a dollar. Thank you for your patronage.

Faith and Hats
France's move toward banning religious garb is mean-spirited, foolish, even stupid, and just plain wrong. No one is protected, and only those whose faith includes precepts regarding apparel are affected, institutionalizing descrimination. It is antisemitic and anti-Muslim. France has evidently decided that democratic socialism and fascism are compatible. They aren't, and the French are likely to find out about it the hard way. Les Idiotes.

How to Keep Yourself Entertained During Lulls in the Hunt
Riding the trains or busses out to various places around town as I seek new employment, besides the newspaper I try to ensure I am well-stocked with reading matter. I got a little tired of lugging massive hardcover books around, although it is good to get back to some of these volumes after years of neglect and having to say, yes, I did read it, but I don't remember exactly what it was like, so I guess someday I'll have to re-read it, but not right now, because I'm reading something new. This led me to pull down one of the books I got during my phase of buying and reading pretty much anything Penguin published in their Contemporary American Fiction series of the mid-1980's, Paul Auster's City of Glass. In this novel, Auster writes of a psychotic father and religious scholar's attempt to discover the original, prelapsarian language of man, i.e., the language of God. Scarey, then, that later in the week, while on an excursion in Newtown, I ran across a branch of Elizabeth's Used Books and the first thing I saw was a book by Umberto Eco on exactly that subject. Perhaps, instead of North America, the new Jerusalem will end up located in this other, old new place. I'll have to think about this and 'blog about it more. It's a fun topic.

Space Odessey
As I recall, the original conception of the spaceship used in Kubrick's 2001 to send a manned mission to Jupiter included the use of atomic explosions to propel the craft, but controversy of some sort eliminated that detail. Two years later, and proposed for no earlier than a year beyond Arthur C. Clarke's sequel, 2010, a nuclear-powered Jupiter orbiter is being proposed. No HAL, no Bowman, no mysterious obelisk, though, unless there's something we're not hearing.

Down in the Root Cellar
It's a good thing for Iraq, ultimately, that Hussain has been captured at last. "A hole in a farmyard" makes his hiding place sound more degrading than a "specially outfitted root cellar" would, and I guess that's the point, much the way Bush I regularly and deliberately mispronounced the ex-dictator's name in the 1990's so it sounded like the Arabic for "shoeshine boy." It's a smug kind of political expedient, and I hate the way it's going to give Bush II an edge in November 2004, or even just a boost right now. Hussain's capture does not justify the war. It just closes a chapter in a dirty little story. I'll have to keep an eye on the reactions from the opposition candidates.

P.S., I did enjoy the description of where they're holding Hussain: in an undisclosed location. Isn't that where Cheney is?

Dept. of Full Disclosure Addendum: O.k., so he really was in a hole. The SMH reports he tried to bury himself in the floor of the root cellar.

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.)