Embracing the New
Everybody’s doing it: setting up MySpace pages, that is, including Australian politicians. I’m intrigued that Mr. Howard doesn’t have an individual page, just Howard Government (L’etat, c’est moi?), and that his only friends are six of his fellow Liberal party members – only two of whom are on the front bench – the “How to Vote” page, and Tom, a resident of California, who, with 190,943,913 friends, may be the most popular person on the internet, or just the most amiable. Meanwhile, over at the various Labor politicians’ pages, the friends keep building, as does the overall response. Even the Greens are doing better at making friends (Bob Brown lists the Dalai Lama.

Combating Terrorism One Case at a Time
Dr. Mohammed Haneef leaves England for a job in Queensland. He hands his pre-paid mobile phone SIM card to a relative; why not? It won’t work in Australia and still has a couple of pounds sterling on it. The card turns up in the car used in one of the failed attacks. England asks that Australian Federal Police investigate. Haneef heads to the airport the next day, with a one-way ticket to India, where his family is, including his wife and brand-new baby. He’s arrested. He’s held for days while the police continue investigations. He’s charged and granted bail, his passport confiscated and a requirement that he check in with the authorities every couple of days. But instead of going to the home the police tore to shreds during their search, his visa is revoked and he’s off to Villawood detention centre. Or he could stay in jail, if he’d rather. Immigration Minister, Kevin Andrews, says Haneef “failed the character test”, and I guess there’s an argument to be made that his “reckless” support of a terrorist organisation (here, take my SIM card; I can’t use it), does show him to be undesirable, but how is justice seen to be done here? He hasn’t been tried, let alone convicted, and that’s a fairly long bow to draw in court, although a jury trial seems a fairly foregone conclusion in the current climate. Isn’t this just a way of subverting the legal system? And yet, PM-in-waiting, Kevin Rudd, will keep the current anti-terrorism laws that allow all this. If Haneef is convicted, that’s one thing, but he deserves his time in court, just like anyone else.

Update, 27 July: It's unclear whether Dr. Haneef will still be deported, now that the Department of Public Prosecutions has dropped the case against him, but I'd say it's likely. It's also not clear from the initial report whether the case was dropped because the AFP made it too difficult to achieve a conviction or because there just wasn't enough behind the charges in the first place.

Chinese Food
The summary justice meted out to China’s former food-and-drug agency director doesn’t inspire me with confidence (besides my categorical rejection of the death penalty), and if I were an Olympic athlete, I’d be bringing a sandwich to the games next summer.

Serenity Now
Stuck for something interesting to rent, I picked up the entire series of Firefly, Joss Wheadon’s post-Buffy endeavour. Just sixteen episodes, but I can see why it didn’t go any further, or any further than the movie (which I’ll have to rent again, I suppose, as it’s supposed to be the culmination of the series). First, cowboys in space just means lots of shooting and cheesy accents, regardless of Gene Roddenberry’s characterisation of Star Trek as “Wagon Train in space,” so making the joke explicit doesn’t mean you’re making the next Star Trek. The idea of drifters working the edges of a galactic empire borrows from Star Wars, but maybe not the best bits, which were in the conflicts between the two groups or their representatives. More importantly, however, is that the characters never do much to drive the series as anything other than a collection of episodes, so the producers learned nothing from Buffy’s success. In that series, everybody grows, so even if each episode can largely stand alone, there’s usually a threaded storyline throughout, driving to the end of the season, where what’s been learned can be applied. Not so, in Firefly. Finally, and most importantly of all, is the clear impression left that while the producers may have had a goal for these characters, particularly the doctor’s mysteriously brain-damaged sister, they took fourteen of the episodes to even start hinting. It’s just not going to hold anyone’s interest, especially not in the era of the multiple-plot series. Remember Hill Street Blues, ER, etc.? More characters, maybe, but pretty much everyone gets something to do, often affording parallels and linkages, but forcing audience attention. Missed that, too. Oh, well, I suppose it would be wrong to write off Wheadon at this point (he’s busy with the Astonishing X-Men at the moment, as well as a Buffy comic), but I’ll be more cautious in the future.

Climate Change
Winter’s setting in, and I appear to be adjusting to life in the antipodes: I’m cold. Funny, but with overnight temperatures in around the 40’s, I ought to be quite comfortable. At least, that’s the way I remember life back home. Of course, I’ve always had heat wherever I’ve lived, even if in some places it was kept quite low, to save on cost. So waking up, it’s tough getting out of bed lately, to face the chill in the bathroom before the shower adds some steam. And there’s the other sign of my acculturation: I’m whinging about the cold.

Independence Day Visitors
The Kitty Hawk’s in town, and Sydney will see a fair few American sailors around town, particularly down in the Rocks, around Circular Quay, and, of course, up to Kings Cross. I’m grateful to be out in the Inner West now, as I’m sure Oxford Street’s vicinity will also see an increase in activity, which is pretty much never a good thing, but I won’t be surprised if a few tars show up at the Hampshire Hotel anyway. Meanwhile, it’s also a good time not to live in Woolloomooloo, as the NSW Police use their newly enhanced powers to lock the suburb down. Hooray for freedom. (Just wait until APEC, in September.)

Doctors?
What kind of doctors set off car bombs?

Weasel
I didn’t expect Bush to pardon Libby; I figured Bush to be too chicken to try it on. And, whaddya know? He found a different expedient: commuting the prison term. Libby’s still a convicted felon and owes a quarter million in fines, but he walks, and Bush gets his cake and eats it, too.

There’s no way Bush thought this up on his own. This is a Rovian move if ever there was one. But, look, in all the years as governor of Texas, with all the death-row appeals that came across his desk, how many commuted sentences did Bush make? How many even just commuted to life without parole? Yeah, Libby didn’t kill anyone, but he committed a serious crime, arguably more serious in his case, as a lawyer, than perjury might otherwise be considered. The sentence was just, and Bush’s weaselling him out of serving time subverts justice.

The Bush Court
We’re really starting to see the effects of GWB’s appointments now, aren’t we? The latest decisions roll back the clock on affirmative action, anti-trust, the separation of church and state, campaign finance, and free speech. It’s almost a surprise that an insanity defense got a death penalty sentence overturned. These decisions, and many more to come, will stand for generations. The consequences of eight years of George W. Bush will not be easily overcome.

New Geography
Via Rebecca Blood, the Strange Maps blog collects and comments on unusual maps, whether fantastical or, in the case of this 1838 map of Australia reorganized into ten states (rather than the present 6 states & 2 territories).



I like that Guelphia includes both Melbourne & Sydney, as it would perhaps help reduce the inane “rivalry” and help promote the acceptance between the two of the alternative football codes (rugby in the present NSW and Australian Rules in Victoria).

Ultimately, this reorganisation has to fail. Renaming Tasmania in itself is not a bad thing, returning it to its original Van Diemen’s Land, but then sticking a new Tasmanian state far from the Tasman Sea just confuses things. I get Carpentaria and Torresia, but where does “Guelphia” come from? And does “Dampieria” have anything to do with the swagman’s campfire bread “damper”?

Also fun is this GDP comparison, where Australia comes in as equivalent to Ohio. Which is why we’ve got John Howard, I’d guess.

Classy
According to the NY Times, depending on whether I categorize myself as being in Human Resources or as a computer support worker, I’m either in the 79th percentile or the 88th, assuming, of course, that my income there would be the same as my income here, in a straight dollar-for-dollar conversion. Interestingly, income has only about a -5% effect on my class standing when I factor in the exchange rate.

Techentropy
Being more or less in the business myself, I enjoyed reading this list of Top 10 Dead (or Dying) Computer Skills. It had particular meaning for me in that I’m currently stuck using #2 on the list, a non-relational database. Coming from a SQL background, having to figure out how to use this kludge drives me up the wall. There are resources for higher-skilled users, but nothing for beginners, like me.

Funnily enough, I had an interview recently with a company using another non-relational database, even though the company had purchased the full suite of Oracle ERP dbms. I think I didn’t get the job because I said I’d push to move over to Oracle right away. The main reason the article requires the caveat “(or dying)” in its title is that users tend to cling to the technology they know, rather than learning something new, even if it’s better.

This is why COBOL is only now looking at the downward curve. A lot of significant systems were built in that language, but it worked so well, requiring highly structured, careful coding, nobody needed to learn it anymore after a while, until the Y2K debacle. Interestingly, many of the programmers brought in to fix the code prior to the millennium were from Russia and India, where the language was still in current use.

The other suggestions are often hilarious, not to mention nostalgic (Turbo Pascal – how well I remember how hot that once was), but I’d argue that documentation by programmers is not a dead or dying skill but mythical in the first place.

Twitchy
I never had a name for it, all the years I’ve suffered from it, but it’s called “Restless Leg Syndrome,” and it seems to be a real medical condition. Well, if you can believe the rather equivocal encapsulation on Yahoo! Health. (And why is it listed under depression?)

It first manifested itself on long car trips, and I found that massaging my leg or stretching as much as the cramped back seat would allow relieved the sensation that would, if left alone, make my leg twitch uncontrollably, with a kind of itchy tingling behind my knee. Later, as an adult, I’d often get this when I was trying to sleep, and doing stretches or lightly keeping my foot moving would relieve the urge, almost always restricted to my right leg. Eventually, I noticed something else: it would strike most often during the early days of a period when I wasn’t running regularly, or after I’d started back up again. In either case, after a couple of weeks, it would ease off, only happening rarely. My father-in-law, a former naturopath prescribed an increase in magnesium. I can’t say whether it helped, but it’s been a while since I was taking any in supplements, and the exercise-related pattern seemed to persist, anyway.

Then I found out Mom had it, too, which reinforces some of what’s presented in this article: it runs in the family, and mothers with multiple children may find it persists beyond pregnancy. I’m not anemic, so that’s not the problem, but could I have some kind of dopamine issue? How would I know?

In addition to its use in treating Parkinson’s, to assist patients in controlling involuntary motion, which is the applicable purpose for RLS, there are other functions affected by dopamine in the brain. My memory stinks, so there’s that, but I don’t breastfeed, so that’s not an issue, but I’ve always been a bit shy, so maybe there’s a relationship after all.

Next time I talk to my doctor, perhaps I’ll inquire about trialling some ropinirole or something. Of course, I could just drink more water or ensure I’m running every day.

Sorry
When the subject of widespread child sexual abuse in Aboriginal communities was first raised, many months ago, there was much tutting and argument and the usual lack of agreement or action. Now we have a thorough assessment and the impetus to action. The PM has taken the lead and will send in some police, maybe some of the army, and the first thought going through many heads was “Stolen Generation.”

The Stolen Generation was the result of paternalistic practices whereby the government forcibily removed Aboriginal children from their parents and placed them in white homes or orphanages to be raised without their language or culture, to ensure the assimilation of the indigenous population, eradicating it, in effect. This was still taking place into the 1970’s. The effect continues, and has a part in what we’re now seeing in the Northern Territory and elsewhere, what we’re now having to fix.

The first thought going through most heads was “thank God someone’s doing something; better to act swiftly and decisively than not at all.” True enough, as far as it goes, but what we need to think about is how to avoid the mistakes of the past, because when you look at what’s being proposed, what you see is power being exercised over the powerless in much the same fashion as has been done before and for much the same rationale.

It’s true we have to send in the police and social welfare service providers and monitors now, but we also need a bigger plan, a more long-term approach. David Tiley at Barista provides an excellent summary of what’s happening and what should be. What should be happening, essentially, is taking effective, immediate measures – banning alcohol and porn (and I’d add getting that unsniffable petrol in sooner), controlling access to Aboriginal communities, medical assessments and assistance, the abuse reporting desk (but what’s all this about 5-year leases?). Great care, however, should be taken over the issue of controlling welfare payments. And greater care needs to be taken in drafting the legislation, because the point, ultimately, would be in creating a plan for building Aboriginal communities positively, rather than furthering the breakdown. Stripping more power away from powerless people forces them into further dependence. Building power where it’s needed is a medium- to long-term project, and I’m just not hearing anything from either side of Parliament to suggest that’s where we’re going. I don’t expect it from Mr. Howard, so I can only hope that opposition leader Kevin Rudd will do more than just support the government’s plan, and come up with something more for when – if – Labor next takes over.

Reconciliation redux is something we must avoid.

The Cheese Factor
Please: Celine Dion? That’s what Hillary’s campaign theme song’s going to be? “You and I”? A Canadian? A cheesy Canadian? A strident, cheesy, Vegas-act Canadian? Celine freakin’ Dion? Yes, my mind reels so thoroughly that no analysis is possible, no coherent commentary. I’m freakin’ out, man. And the video clip, aired on the news here last night, complete with Sopranos comparison clips, how cheesy was that? And is there any synergy between HBO gangsters, Celine Dion, and running for President? Oh, I can hear the moonbats already. O.k., so the Dixie Chicks would have – maybe – been a problem, due to their “we’re ashamed to be from Texas” crack about Bush a couple of years ago, and the Smashmouth song is a cover of a Monkee’s number and probably just a little too obvious. I’ll have to go back to my Temptations compilation CD and listen to “Get Ready”, but that has to have been a better choice – Motown, after all, so it could grab off some African-American soul cred from Obama (whose only song so far is the one some fan put up doing a Marilyn Monroe-style tribute). Oh, I’m voting Edwards for sure, now.

President Mike
Bloomberg for Prez? Gimmie a break. First, I admit I left the city before he entered City Hall, so I have no first-hand experience of his mayoralty. I’ve followed events in my former home as closely as the on-line New York Times and various other sources, like Gothamist allow, however, although, as a second point, I’ll concede some measure of bias in the coverage thereby afforded. But no government executive at any level is immune from criticism when they do something wrong, and praise for their right actions often comes off as muted. So balance Mayor Mike’s performance during the GOP convention or the police harassment of bicyclists since against the 311 information system. Sure, he rides the subway and lives in his own home like a regular person. He did those things before he was mayor, too. What else has he done? How else is he qualified as a potential President. And please leave aside the fact that he’s got the dough to run on his own hook, no public financing or campaign contributions needed.

Actually, his wealth may be the one qualification no one can match: he’s beholden to no one.

No, no, it’s not enough. Ross Perot and Stephen Forbes were beholden to no one, either. Neither one was a viable candidate, and thank God for that.

Well, he’s not running yet, so there’s time to find out after, if, he announces, what President Bloomberg would be all about. I’ll admit I’m intrigued, but I’m also suffering from campaign fatigue already, what with all those Republicans and all those Democrats already running, not to mention all those Democrats who aren’t. Yet.

Silly Victims of Self-Inflicted Wounds
I am beyond tired of reading self-identifying liberals who buy into every myth perpetrated by the reactionary right. Matt Taibbi cites every clichéd example of the “latte left”, chardonnay-sipping Che enthusiasts, and Democratic elitists he can think of, but they’re all recycled canards straight out of Rush Limbaugh and Bill O’Reilly. When was the last time anyone wearing a “I Read Banned Books” t-shirt turned up at your door? Or at Matt Taibbi’s door, for that matter? It never happened. The problem with liberals in America is that they’ve accepted the lies as truth and the ones working for the media spend their creative efforts wringing their hands over how unfocussed and misdirected they are. We’re most of us, 90% of us, far better than that, far more active, and far more thoroughly integrated into American society than we admit. Victimhood? Taibbi’s got it in spades. If we’re victims of anything, it’s supporting middle-of-the-road candidates because they’re “electable.” Go ahead, I say, vote for Kucinich.

Famous
Congratulations to Radio Birdman, former angry young men, on their upcoming induction to the ARIA hall of fame.

Movie Notes
28 Weeks Later is scary, but not as good as 28 Days Later, although I admit the zombie Dad is a more haunting image than anything from the first film, and I did have a more disturbed night’s sleep than I’d expected, even after watching The Big Lebowski when I got home.

Candy is about the best adaptation I’ve ever seen and a pretty damn good movie, too. The casting is too perfect to be believed. Heath Ledger’s junkie-performance is first-rate, although – naturally – nowhere near as humorous as that of David Wenham in Gettin’ Square.

Ousmane Sembene
Sembene, who died today at age 84, was one of the great figures of modern African literature, although he abandoned novels in favor of movies, from the belief that film was a medium better suited to African literary sensibilities. I still re-read God’s Bits of Wood, his novel centered on the railroad strike in pre-independence Senegal, every now and then, but have only ever seen Black Girl, his first movie. His influence, however, in African arts, is undoubted.

Feast vs. Famine
The storm that grounded a ship in Newcastle passed the reservoirs pretty thoroughly, but left the Hunter Valley and Central Coast pretty well done in by floods. Here in Sydney, it's all just tree branches and soggy playing fields, but the game between Wests Tigers (my local footy team) and the Newcastle Knights was played at the Knights' home field without anyone getting even a little muddy. Must have had the tarps out.

And now it seems that the ships lined up outside Newcastle when the storm hit were all warned to pull out to sea, but not everyone did, reluctant to lose their place in line. So while the ship's captain is responsible for the safety of his crew and vessel, there's still a message here to the NSW government to get this port in shape.

Infrastructure Upgrades
This freighter might have run aground in a storm anyway, but if there was a reason to upgrade the Newcastle port facilities before, there’s even more reason now. Honestly, if the ships weren’t lined up 75-deep to enter the harbor, I’m betting we wouldn’t be rescuing the crew in a driving storm right now. If the NSW Labor government isn’t embarrassed by its inaction, it ought to be, whether you want to blame Bob Carr or Morris Iemma. I’m sure everyone will come out o.k., but it’ll be criminal if anyone gets hurt.

Rash
They let that woman out because of a rash? Put her back; she isn’t done yet, not until she’s flaking all over with eczema.

An Album Cover
For anyone who's wondering, colonoscopies are not fun. (And if you don't get the title reference, watch the video; that line makes me laugh just thinking about it - but don't make me laugh right now.)

(Oh, and, yes, everything's fine, thanks.)

mp3
I cashed in my Coles-Myers “Flybuys” points on an iPod Shuffle. (It’s worth it, the points expire faster than I can build them up enough for anything really expensive, like an airline ticket.) It hasn’t arrived yet, so I’m still using the $20 job I bought some months back. I get about 50 songs on it, which is usually enough to get me through a few days’ running. The Shuffle will be a whole gigabyte, so I expect not to have to refresh the mix too often. But I’ve got a peeve, and a don’t expect the iPod to offer any improvements: the headphones wires are very thin, subject to breaks, so you’re left, at some stage, to fiddle with the wires, trying to get a stable connection, or listening to music only coming through one ear or breaking in an out. Yesterday, I replaced my player’s stick-this-in-your-ear headphones with the over-the-ear model my gym membership bought me. They were useless immediately, perhaps because I’d been carrying them in my bag for a few days, banging around with the rather large hardcover book I’m reading (“Wizard of the Crow”, from Ngugi wa Thiongo, of Kenya). The nice thing about earbud headphones is that if you are in the midst of a run and need to remove them, you can stuff them in a pocket or otherwise get them out of the way, whereas over-the-ear models pretty much have to be pulled down around your neck, which is how I spent the next four kilometres. Surely the wires could be thicker, sturdier? It wouldn’t add much weight, and they’d hold up under exercise. I recommend this to anyone producing sports-model headphones. Thank you.

Please Hang Up the Tights
How bad is Spiderman 3? Everyone who worked on this movie, particularly Tobey Maguire, should take a very long vacation and maybe think about retiring forever so we don’t have to think about the possibility of a fourth movie. O.k., actually Thomas Haden Church was good. Or anyway, well-cast, since that’s pretty much exactly the way I remember the Sandman being drawn in the comics. That could have just been the shirt, though.

Everywhere, But Not to Drink
Walking past the Camperdown oval the other day in the pouring rain, I was not amused to see the sprinklers on, watering the grounds. In fact, over the course of the next few rainy days, I noticed the grounds continued to receive their regular watering, which, as the weekend approached, I couldn’t imagine the local footy team appreciating, as they’d be playing in quite a quagmire by Saturday. In any event, it comes, therefore, as no surprise, that business and government are eating up the water savings made by Sydney residents, with little recycling going on, and on-going infrastructure-related losses. It’s not good enough. Local councils and the State government have to step up their game. Earth Hour is a nice stunt, but there’s more to the situation than kilowatt hours, and it’s not just a matter of desalination plants.

Health & Well-Being
I joined a gym about a week ago. It’s probably a bad move, since the only branch convenient to me is just down the road from work, but in the opposite direction from the train, and I’ll have to make a special effort to go there instead of for a run in the park, but I’ve heard that aerobic exercise is of reduced effectiveness without strength-building activities. So now I can play with the weights machines. (Yes, there are also free-weights, but I’m intimidated by the guys in there; I’m foolish-looking enough, compared to all these young, muscle-y, and, frankly, thuggish-looking people. It’s bad enough that the arrangement of the machines is, as always, such that you are constantly faced with facing others working out on their pecs or abs or whatevers, and none of them are ever over-stuffed middle-aged nerds. I’m not there for pick-ups; move the machines to provide some semblance of privacy, please.) I can also use the cross-trainers or the treadmills.

Last night I went in for the first time. I made the rounds of some of the weights machines for half-an-hour or so, then went to explore the aerobics machines. The cross-trainer I got up on squeaked horribly and it was difficult to find a rhythm. Plus, my shin splints kicked in hard almost immediately. I persisted for a few minutes, but since the panel wasn’t operable, I don’t really know how long. I moved off to a treadmill and put in a few kilometres, gradually building up my speed, as I do on the street, and pounding along. These machines are not built for hard running, since as my effort increased, so, too, did the noise, pounding along under my feet. I’m a bit of a flat-footed runner, normally, although lately I’ve been making more of an effort to land on my toes. I read on the BBC news site at some point that the foot is designed to take impact better that way, and it’s easier on your knees. Since running up on my toes also means my shin splints don’t bother me, I’m happy enough, but it’s more effort, and I can really only manage a couple of K’s that way.

The aerobic machine room is a tiered rank arranged in a semicircle in front of an array of television screens, the centre eight playing music videos, and the nine to the left and right playing one of the three commercial broadcast stations. The machine noise drowns out the music, so it would probably be best to bring headphones. I think there’s a jack you can plug into. Or I could just listen to my own mp3 player, I suppose, although I think there’d be some level of audio conflict. Still, I find when I get off a treadmill – and this isn’t new, just something I’m mentioning now – I’m actually a little dizzy. I don’t know why that is; it doesn’t happen running on the street, no matter whether it’s an easy run or hard. It’s disorienting, so music might be a bad idea, might throw off my balance more. I wonder if that happens for everyone. Maybe I’ll get used to it. Or maybe a branch will open near home and I can skip the treadmills and go run in the street after the weights. That’d be good. There isn’t really enough time for both at work, unless I go after hours, and then I feel bad about the cats, waiting for their dinner. Maybe I’m too co-dependent to use a gym.

Connected
I bought a t.v. and DVR over the weekend, with the idea that I’d catch up on some quality viewing. What I’d forgotten is that there just isn’t any to speak of. Right now, it’s pretty much all about Big Brother, and who cares? These are all incredibly stupid, narcissistic wannabe’s behaving badly in enforced intimacy, occasionally required to participate in truly pointless and spiteful activities to garner the attention of a purportedly vast audience of viewers seduced into believing they are also participating in the show, although they’ll walk away at the end with nothing more than a significantly larger telephone bill than usual for any similar period of time while somebody else gets a car. Idiots.

I don’t get home in time even to enjoy a nice Simpson’s re-run, thank God.

Also, I opted for the 61cm screen, instead of the 48cm, or whatever, and really regret that. It looked a lot smaller in the store. Stuck in the space under the stairs, it’s truly immense, and I have to sit on the other side of the room in order to see it, or wear reading glasses. I guess it’s not just ceiling heights that affect how we live, but every element of room size, including the stuff we jam into them.

Look, I bought the damn thing for the DVR, mostly. There are a large number of movies I’d like to see that I missed in the theatres, for a variety of reasons, so now I’ll watch them. I’m debating over The Departed vs. the Kill Bill’s first. Yes, it goes that far back, maybe further. In fact, yes, further. Plus, when there’s stuff on late, I can whack a disc in and program to record whatever old movie or late-night U.S. show, like Bernie Mac, I’ve been missing. If I got Foxtel (never; no Murdoch anything in my house), I could even watch baseball again. I’ll leave that as an excuse to go to the pub.

Emboldenning the Terrorists, or the Liberal Party, Anyway
Oh, no: Tony Blair's set a deadline for pulling out! What will happen in Iraq, now? All they have to do is wait until June 27, and then John Howard will announce an election, and then next year will be the U.S. primaries and Presidential election . . . why, by the end of January 2009, the whole thing could be over.

Sui Generis
I decided to pass on the complete Naked City recordings in favor of the single-CD package, once I saw the price tag, and while that was probably the right decision, I can only imagine just how far the full set could have gone. John Zorn is a fascinating musician, composing and performing material unlike anything else I’ve ever heard from anyone else. Yeah, somebody’s sure to say, oh, no, there’s this guy, and so on, but, look, this isn’t Ornette Coleman or John Cage or any of that post-fusion stuff from the ‘80’s (although Fred Frith plays bass here). Zorn’s music isn’t for everyone. It’s often very hard to listen to at all, and I like it. He’s got a very pointed fascination with movies and television, or their music, anyway. One of the first Zorn albums I ever bought was The Big Gundown, a collection of Ennio Morricone movie soundtrack songs. Naked City is like that, sometimes, with “A Shot in the Dark” and the James Bond theme being the most easily recognizable offerings. “Batman” and “Re-Animator” are in there, too, although I’ll probably have to rent those again just to refresh my memory of their dominate musical themes. I could do without the vocal gymnastics – screaming, really – but Zorn’s of that school where Diamanda Galas and Meredith Monk come from, pushing the boundaries of what constitute singing. And look: Frith, as mentioned, and Bill Frisell, the latter of whom, if you are listening to his current work, you’d never imagine here. Now that I’ve had one listen, I know I’ll start wishing I’d just bought the box.

Not Conservative Enough
Imagine: Newscorp owns Dow Jones. Not yet, but just think of what would become of the Wall Street Journal’s editorial page if it were operating at the behest of Rupert Murdoch. The mind boggles.

The Lives of Others
There seemed to be a large serving of sentimentality throughout this movie, but it avoided cliché and kept its honesty, pretty much, all the way through. Maybe some small plot-serving quibbles, but nothing that really detracts from a very powerful story. The movie’s a little long, but not uncomfortably so. I had to ask my German-speaking friend, K., to clarify one thing for me. At one point, the head Stasi officer tells a joke about the GDR’s leader, Erich Honecker, and it just wasn’t funny. That’s because it’s impossible to translate, one of those idiomatic usages that only makes sense in its native language. “Why is Honecker like a telephone? It doesn’t matter, just hang up and try again.” Yeah, look, it’s been a long time now since the Wall fell, and a lot of us have left all that behind. It’s not really gone, though, just like the war that divided Germany into East and West. The shell holes and damaged buildings and unexploded shells that still turn up in farmers’ fields and the survivors . . . these all remind us of that, but the damage and the damage they represent are no less real than that inflicted on the oppressed people of the Soviet Union and its client states, and it’s good to be reminded of it now and then, especially when the free nations of the world seem so intent on employing similar methodologies. The movie is well-acted, well-designed, well-directed and deeply moving. Having now seen two movies in a row where I walked out nearly in tears, I think it’s time to go see Hot Fuzz.

12
Based on - well, it wasn't a recommendation - word from the Counsellor, I was killing time browsing a CD shop and ended up with Patti Smith's Twelve. I have a lot of respect for Patti Smith, as a songwriter, a poet, a singer. The songs selected here are all interesting, but I have to agree with most of the reviews: sticking to faithful renditions wasn't the best choice for how to cover them. Smith's voice and phrasing are distinctive, but that's not really enough. It's good, just not great, but will bear repeated listening. "Everybody Wants to Rule the World," the Tears for Fears number, kinda sticks in my head, in particular, which may just be me being stuck in my 'eighties self.

The Namesake
For the Anzac Day holiday, K. and I went to see The Namesake, Mira Nair’s latest film, based on a novel, apparently, although it was most recently, in my experience, a short story in the New Yorker (which must have been an extract). This is probably the best movie I’ve seen since the last best movie I’ve seen in the last year. The camera conveys as much or more of the story as any of the dialogue. In fact, I’d say the dialog supports the cinematography more so than is often the case, and the visuals are stunning. Even though India looks entirely overwhelming, I was often left with a desire to visit. More importantly, however, the family saga presented is deeply affecting, as well as liberating. This movie ought to win some prizes.

Scare Tactics
What nonsense. Opposition Leader Kevin Rudd wants to set up a different national industrial relations watchdog organization than the one Howard’s put up, so we’re supposed to believe it’ll be ”hand-picked” by the unions. First off, is that worse than having it “hand picked” by business groups? Any IR oversight body needs to be fully independent, and Howard’s is no more so than what he claims the ALP will create. It’s perhaps worse, as it’s stocked with Howard/Liberal Party cronies, predisposed to the WorkChoices regime, itself weighted in favor of employers. Unlike many other areas of policy, Howard’s abandoned dog-whistling in favor of just arm-waving hysteria. Unions! Unions! Evil commies on the march! He thinks we’re idiots.

Sunshine
I’m a sucker for a science fiction movie, so I headed off early on Sunday to see this one. It’s about as improbable as any science fiction, maybe more – really, my math was never good enough to get me through high school physics, so I don’t even have that much of the necessary grounding, but just how likely is it that if the “sun is dying,” dropping a big ol’ H-bomb would restart it? What does that mean, “the sun is dying”? Is it running out of fuel? Is it collapsing? Apparently, it isn’t going nova, anyway. Does a bomb with the “mass of Manhattan” have enough to keep it burning at life-sustaining levels? Who cares? The point isn’t the pretty, pretty outer space stuff, it’s the adventure, and Sunshine manages to maintain tension levels at a high pitch pretty nearly throughout the movie, although without any relieving moments or sudden shocks. There were some pretty daggy bits of cinema business sprinkled through the movie, often enough to be distracting, particularly the “echo” of one character’s earlier remark at the moment of truth. I promise to go see something grown-up next.

New Commandments
I'm with ikkyu2, over at Metafilter
it's an amusing video, worth a youtube link.

People-Smuggling Goes Legit
Australia plans to ship illegal immigrants to America in exchange for legal, Cuban refugees, currently being locked up in Guantanamo (presumably right next to the "worst of the worst" terrorists?). Opposition Leader Kevin Rudd is struggling over the logic of this arrangement, but clearly the message is that Australia won't accept illegals, but since America already does, they might as well go there, and on Qantas, too. The nice part is, Howard won't have to act counter to Australia's international agreement not to ship refugees to countries where they would be subject to human rights abuses. I'm not sure what America gets out of the deal.

Moved
My photographic skills are insufficient to record the charm of living in a two-up, two-down terrace house.

The renovations performed on the one I’m living in were well done, creating a sense of openness even while maintaining the separation between the rooms.

And while it’s equal parts nice and annoying to have a (largely) private outdoor space,

due to the leaves and such descending at this time of year, and which the cats also enjoy (one more than the other, who remains shy of open spaces),

there’s also the neighboring oval, where the local kids play rugby,

and the local architectural features.

So, although I’m in the flightpath, the overhead planes are neither so frequent nor so low as would be oppressive, and I’m far enough back from Parramatta Road that the traffic is only noticeable from that distance in the otherwise immense quiet of very late at night, I’ve found a place to live that’s only marred by the fact that I don’t own it myself.

Sorry Sorry
To call him a “shock jock” is to excuse years of bad behavior. To pander to him, as so many, politicians often, have done is to offer support for the bigotry he perpetrated or enabled so frequently on his radio show. Firing Don Imus for his latest racist slur is only to correct a situation perpetuated for so long out of greed. That it took CBS two weeks to figure out that they couldn’t just slap his wrist and send him off to bed without supper is shameful. His apology was empty, worthless. It’s about time CBS acted. Years past time, I’d say.

Gnashing of Teeth
We hope for Iraq every day, even though we hear, every day, of new violent deaths, of soldiers or civilians or both, and yet we hope. We want their government to work, to find a way to stop the bloodshed. But they cannot even protect themselves, and we are left with unholy visions of unending violence and death and no clear way towards stopping any of what’s happening there, whether the civil war or the inflammatory massacres perpetrated by al Qaeda. There is no reasonable expectation that Iran or Syria or any other of the more militarist Arab nations would or even could stem the violence. There is little enough indication that the U.S., despite the President’s 20,000 troops escalation and 15-month tour extension, can do anything other than watch the whole country go straight to hell-on-earth. We screwed up badly and continue to make the mess worse, having failed to learn or apply, except piecemeal, any lessons from the early days of the invasion and occupation. We stand in the midst of a civil war, where either side is willing to shoot at us, to blame us, and we don’t know who to shoot at, or even which side we’re on, except to say, we’re on everybody’s side, we’re on Iraq’s side, we’re on Democracy’s side. Empty platitudes. There is no side. There’s only being stuck in the middle or getting out. If they won’t, I say we should. But that would require Bush to admit he was wrong, and he’s never done it yet.

Thirty Years On
I have no problem with Kevin Rudd going to Long Tan for an ANZAC service. The Australian veterans of that war deserve the same recognition afforded to the soldiers of Gallipoli. Yeah, it’s a political stunt, but I can hope Rudd goes in a different spirit to that offered by Mr. Howard last year, when he said he hadn’t changed his mind from his support for the Vietnam War thirty years later.

Home Economics
If I'm using this NYTimes buying vs. renting calculator even close to correctly, by not buying my own home I stand to save a considerable sum better put towards other investmentsover more than 10 years, if the present real estate conditions and other factors continue to hold true. A home would have to increase in value by nearly 20% annually for it to make sense to buy within the next 2 years. We saw something like 4% on our sale, averaged over the time we were there. At that rate, my present rent could increase by 30% annually and it would still be cheaper not to own.

Swedish Blondes
At last, back to work, a blessed relief from what seemed would be endless trips to Ikea. Sure, the furniture bought last week got delivered on time, all fourteen out of fifteen flat-packs. Only the Swedes know what happened to the coffee table, and they're not telling. But the bookshelves went up pretty quickly and everything finally got unpacked, so the house looks like home. Really, I don't mind going to Ikea, so long as there's no track-work, forcing me onto alternative bus service, which adds an hour onto the trip. And I don't mind putting the stuff together, either, although at this point, if I never see an allen wrench again, it'll be too soon.

Now, in keeping with my theme, i.e., culture-shock temper tantrums, I should just mention that the Ikea experience is slightly off from what I came to expect from trips out to Elizabeth, N.J., whereat a serve of Swedish meatballs came with red bliss potatoes. Here, in keeping with a different starch tradition, it's chips, i.e., French fries. Not that I'm actually complaining, you know, just saying, is all.

Meanwhile, I also bought some new audio equipment. For once in my life, I not only went to a dedicated hi-fi shop, but chatted with the salesman, getting the low down on the different brands and what they delivered. I could have bought a package and gotten a good deal, but went with components instead, relying on the principle that it all comes down to the speakers, which is where I spent a bit more than I'd budgeted. Nevertheless, having hooked it all up and tried out the different options: CD, tape, phono, radio, I'm amazed. This is easily the best set-up I've ever owned. The sound's so good, it's scarey, and I'm dialling down the volume just so I don't rattle the plaster off the bricks. Yeah, I'd go back to the HiFi Trader anytime, but don't expect to have to. They sold me solid, reliable equipment that'll last for years and will sound good wherever I live, I have no doubt.

Nightlight
So there I was, at 7:30 p.m., Saturday, 31 March, in my new residence, all the lights off, all the electric outlets switched off at the wall, sitting in the dark with the cats, experiencing life without electricity for the first time in many years. Funny, but the house where I’m living goes back to the 19th century, so the experience would not have been entirely unusual for its original inhabitants, who, at least, would have had gaslight, but no radio, no television, no refrigerator, telephone, any of the things we pretty well take for granted. Earth Hour would have to have been reckoned a success.

Except for the older couple next door. I could hear they were watching the rugby, cheering for some notable play. Sports-mad, some people.

But there you have it, yes, all moved in. The movers turned up late on Saturday morning, just two guys, but big, and fast and professional, too. They were flying through, until someone stole the lift key for themselves about halfway through, so moving out ended up taking three hours. By then it was just after noon, so before unloading, we stopped for some Thai food in Newtown, just the next suburb over from our destination. There are a lot of Thai restaurants in Sydney, and sometimes it seems like most of them are in Newtown. This one was pretty good, and we all felt energized for the remainder of the job, which only took another hour, even though they had to haul the bed in over the front rail of the upstairs balcony.

I unpacked for a bit, just getting some of the necessary stuff out, and headed back for the cats. I’d left a few other things back in the apartment, with the idea of cleaning and so forth, to leave the place in good shape for the new owners. I spent an hour or so on that, stuffed the cats into their carrier and headed back to Camperdown.

For the next little while, I unpacked some more, but the cats wouldn’t leave the security of the carrier. It took about an hour for the brave one to venture forth, but I’m not sure when the other got his nerve up. It wasn’t enough, however, because he went straight in behind the couch.

By Sunday morning, they were pretty free with making their way through the house, having finally ventured upstairs to sleep on the bed with me overnight and to be there to ensure they got breakfast on time. They needed a lot of reassurance throughout the day, but Felix is a nicer cat with some of the arrogance knocked out. He’ll be a trial before long, I’m sure.

I went out to Ikea for bookcases and some incidental furniture, probably buying more than I should have, but did pretty well for myself. The carts they provide to self-serve your furniture don’t take but two sets of bookshelves, though, without becoming nearly unmanageable, and I ended up employing three of them, and having to get some staff to help me move them through check-out and over to the delivery counter.

After a lot of back and forth, trains, busses, cabs, walking along Parramatta Road, I was done by about five, and even unpacked, with the flattened boxes put away in the attic. There are still things to sort out: no phone jack in the room set aside as the office, for example, so I’ll need an electrician, and I’ve got to talk to the landlord about hanging a few pictures (most of the art’s up, because there were posts in the walls already, albeit in odd positions). I’ll fill out my copy of the condition report today and that’s the lot.

Next weekend, I’ll spend Thursday putting together Ikea furniture, loading up bookshelves, and then it’s off to explore the neighborhood.

Serving Justice
David Hicks has pled guilty to the only remaining charge (revised) against him. He faces a potential term of life imprisonment, but it’s possible he’s entered this plea under some arrangement based on the 5 years he’s already spent in Guantanamo. Arrangements are already in place for him to be returned to Australia to serve out any additional time locally.

I’m pretty much on board with Democrats Senator Bob Brown here: we’ll never know what Hicks did or didn’t do, but we’ll always remember that John Howard let him rot for 5 years, never saying a word, until the political pressure became too much and his government’s hold on power, just a few months out from the next election, started to slip. When Tony Blair got his people out, Howard was happy to let Hicks be labelled and judged and condemned, blaming Hicks himself for the length of his stay, due to the challenges he and other prisoners made against the Bush administration’s illegal detention and illegal military commissions. So, yes, I’m with Nationals Senator Barnaby Joyce, too, in that the system itself is guilty, as guilty as John Howard. As for Foreign Minister Alexander Downer, his statement, that he was one of those taking the middle view of Hicks’ guilt or innocence, “really,” is not to be believed. He sat idly by, smugly smirking, happy to let Bush do whatever he pleased, however long it took, also frequently blaming Hicks’ appeals for the duration of his illegal incarceration.

I’m glad for David Hicks’ family, that their son will now be allowed to return to Australia, but reserved in my relief for them and for Hicks himself, until it’s known under what conditions his return will take place. Certainly, ASIO will have him declared a “person of interest,” like the last released Australian detainee (again, with no help from this government), Mamdou Habib, and place him under perpetual surveillance. He’ll never have a job, never be free to go where he likes when he likes, without knowing at all times, he’s being watched. Unlike any other properly tried offender, David Hicks will get out of prison, but he’ll never get out of jail.

Lies, Damned Lies, and Statistics
We've heard a lot about WorkChoices, the pet project John Howard rammed through Parliament last year, once he'd achieved a majority in both Houses. We've heard it's working great, we've heard it's hurting women, we've heard what it does and what it doesn't do. From all the descriptions I've read, not to mention the number of instances of employers using it to attempt to do the wrong thing by their employees, both individually and collectively, regardless of the tribunal outcomes, I regard this legislation as a very serious setback for all working people, especially those working in large corporate environments, which employers the legislation is meant to benefit, for all the government's touting it on behalf of small business owners. But now the government is desperately trying to work the numbers to their benefit, and claiming the statistics cited by the opposition are being "spun." The numbers are the numbers, boys, so fudging them now isn't going to do you much good. Well, except for the people who still believe only what they hear from Mr. Howard himself. But they're poor lost souls already.

Monsters
It's been a long time since I've seen a monster movie - as distinct from the overall horror genre, where the monsters is us - as good as The Host. The monster itself doesn't occupy nearly as much screen time as we've been led to expect over the years, so, like the Alien franchise, we get more of what makes a monster movie so good: pure tension, of course, but also, the characterizations, the why, why we ever battle against even things we cannot hope to overcome. The tension is unrelenting, even though there are many light moments. I found myself gripping the arms of my chair, and having to consciously relax, poised with a forward lean and searching the screen for a clue of what might come next. Yes, there were the usual shocks, though only one or two, but more often the most affecting moments were the ones you didn't see, but had to come to grips with afterwards, especially at the end. I've been an afficiando of the genre for many years now, and this is the kind of movie that reminds you of why the genre exists. I've also espoused the idea that this was a format that America did better than anyone else, but having long ago ceded the horror ground to slasher flicks and the like, The Host takes on Hollywood and wins.

Transitions
And there you have it: ballot cast. The NSW election results will be interesting, but at the moment, I don't have a television, so it'll have to wait until the papers come out in the morning, before I know what's happened. I'm not completely sure I figured it out: two sheets of paper: one massive, one very small - handbill-size. The former the State ballot, the latter the city ballot, I guess. I should have asked, but instead just followed the basic directions for assigning preferences and threw them in.

Preferences: now that's an interesting thing. After the 2000 debacle in the U.S. there was a lot of talk about Electoral College reform, and often the idea of voting preferences came into it. I like the idea, and, especially in my Sydney vote, saw it as a way of registering a positive vote both for my preferred candidate and for a better result if my first choice didn't win. On the State ballot, however, I was flummoxed: vote the party or vote around them? In the end, I elected to assign my full vote to one party, as I expect many others will have done.

In the end, I marked it down as "practice" towards the next Federal election.

(Meanwhile, I've also largely finished packing, and the move happens next Saturday. It's all more chaotic than it ought to be, and unpacking will be a trial to last several weeks, especially as it will require a trip to Ikea as soon as, in order to achieve sufficient bookcase capacity. Really, I ought to have an estate sale pre-estate, at least of the LP's, even if they are, many of them, Held in Trust, for brother T.)

Edwards
It’s almost awe-inspiring, that John Edwards will continue his Presidential campaign in the face of his wife’s diagnosis, mostly for the determination exhibited by Mrs. Edwards, as well as the dedication of Mr. Edwards himself, both to his wife and to his goal. (Some would say “ambition,” but I actually believe he means his campaign to be about policy, about making the country a better place, rather than just some desire for power, and I see the changes he proposes as positive and progressive, rather than the regressive Reaganomic revisionism of the man he’d replace.) I tagged Mr. Edwards as a “twitterer” to follow before I heard the news, just because his take-up of new internet communications strategies struck me as appealing, and I suppose now it can be a method of personal support. The health dramas of last year in my household leave me more than a little sympathetic to what they’ll be going through.

Citizenship in Action
Tomorrow I get to cast my first Australian ballot. Labor looks headed for a landslide, and they’d be my preferred party, but pretty nearly everyone’s saying don’t do it. What’s most remarkable about the editorials I’ve read is that they don’t make much of a point of actively advocating a Coalition vote. And, of course, none of them endorse the Greens or Democrats. I’ve met the Labor candidate and read her literature, and there’s not much there there, and I’ve had dealings with the Greens candidate, who now, due to redistricting, finds himself head-to-head with Clover Moore (whom I’ve also met – she swore me in as an Australian; we fed each other lamingtons at the after-party. O.k., not that last part), and I like him. But he is going up against Clover, so he doesn’t have much of a chance, unless the new district puts more people into the electorate opposed to her having two seats, one in State Parliament and one in City Hall, where she also serves, as Lord Mayor. I have no idea who the Liberal candidate is, and don’t much care. While the Herald advocates change for change’s sake, I still have an ideology of my own. I’ll go into the booth juggling my preferences: Chris Harris or Clover Moore. That's if I can figure out the ballot.

Black Sox Redux?
There were rumors immediately, and now it’s been confirmed: Pakistan cricket coach, Paul Woolmer was murdered at the cricket World Cup, now underway in Jamaica. Rumors persist that it has something to do with match-fixing, apparently a perennial allegation regarding Pakistani cricket, but with the team’s early departure from the Cup, there’d seem to be a whole lot of potential issues, even leaving aside the well-known crime problem of the West Indian nation. (Yeah, nothing was stolen, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t have been just a straight-up, garden-variety murder.) It’s kind of amazing to me, but probably because I never followed cricket at all (and still don’t track more than who won the Ashes, really), leaving its pristine image of gentlemanly conduct and clean, white, elegance to hide the sledging and other bad behavior, even despite Shane Warne.

The Urge to Cover
Bush protects Rove like a mama bear does her cubs. At least in part, it’s because “Executive Privilege” is the watchword of the administration, but I think it’s also because Rove himself must be maintained as the evil genius of the GOP resurgence post-Clinton, at least insofar as having him loom over the elections process provides some public impression of the Republicans as an indomitable force. It’s silly, really, as we’ve all seen his clay feet, especially lately, with the mid-terms gone wrong. And it inevitably raises questions: just what is his involvement? How much of this constant covering-up is actually meant to hide anything? Is it all just red herrings, keeping the Democrats distracted, while Bush-Cheney consolidate power in the White House? Rove, after all, really isn’t much more than a marketing wonk, a PR man straight out of Sweet Smell of Success, except dumpier, of course. Go ahead, Rose, testify under oath. After all, as you neocon jerks are so fond of saying, if you’ve got nothing to hide, you’ve got nothing to worry about.

Objet d'net
Jason Kottke's been going on about Twitter for a few days now, and, what can I say? I signed up, as evidenced by the "badge" over to the right. It's "public" instant messaging, as he describes it, a kind of social networking site, and it's got a pretty nice feel to it, although at the moment, it doesn't seem like much is happening, like going to a party where nobody knows anybody else so they're all furiously signalling their bona fides as someone worth taking to. I suppose that's unfair. But I'm interested, and I'll see what comes of it.

Moi?
So most Australians consider the PM arrogant, the PM, naturally enough, not being among them: ”I don’t feel very arrogant,” he tell us, “I don’t behave in an arrogant manner.” It’s true, too, he doesn’t. He’s much more usually behaving like a petulant schoolboy, well, when he isn’t sneering his way through Question Time. Oh, yeah, the sneering. Maybe that’s why he started out saying “I don’t have anything to be arrogant about, not at the moment politically, nothing at all.” Right, because the polls have him and his party down under 40% and no amount of mud-slinging seems to help. So, nothing, politically, anyway. Maybe if he comes on all humble, he can get another term. Start snivelling, John, it couldn’t hurt.

Unplugged
The Sydney Morning Herald is promoting an environmental awareness campaign, called “Earth Hour,” wherein, on March 31, at 7:30 p.m., Sydney will turn out its lights. O.k., well, so far 25,000 of us will turn off our lights, including me, although that’s the day I’m moving into my new accommodations.

It’s an interesting idea, and I’m hoping they’ll get a satellite photo. It would be really good if it could spread across the industrialized world. Imagine Earth Hour NYC. Or across the Eastern seaboard of the US, an area that appears in space photos as a dense band of white, light bleeding up into space. I wonder what the space aliens would think if the entire planet went from light to dark and back again in a rotating band?

Socialists
I went to the Sydney weblogger meet-up tonight, at the Art House Hotel, a pretentious little CBD watering hole, but never did find the group. I didn't see anyone I recognized - not that I expected to, given that the last one I attended was at least two months ago - and didn't see any evidence of the plush toy meant to be displayed for attendees to locate the group. It was a big place, although not very crowded, but I just don't know if going to something like this is ever going to do me enough good to bother about in the future. From the last group, these are not people who could provide much professional benefit, so it's all down to just being sociable. Frankly, I don't see forcing myself into such situations. Finding myself in one and being friendly is one thing, but this just feels like I'm being intrusive. Well, I'll try once more; I was early tonight, so maybe nobody was there before I left. In the end, I can stick to the Democrats (although they're not really radical enough to suit me).

Mr. Hitchens Spins His Web
It’s been said that the more venomous a spider is, the messier it’s web. That’s probably not anything based on fact, just some anecdotal observation that Black Widows don’t use the same more-or-less symmetrical design of some other, less-dangerous-to-humans arachnid. But for a human analog to this principal, you need look no further than Christopher Hitchens, in Slate. He spins and spins until he’s so dizzy, he’s lost all track of his own argument, spewing up his righteousness and spraying us all. He starts out well – he’s a smart guy, as we all know, right – but by the time he gets to just his fourth Q&A, he’s lost control, dizzily reeling through his self-constructed little press conference. By the end, he’s just embarrassing himself. Perhaps a more fulsome attempt at justifying the Iraq debacle for its fourth anniversary would have been more effective. I doubt it.

Bunnies!
When I heard that Russell Crowe was buying into the Rabbitohs, as part of a bid to regenerate the inner-city perennially last-place club, I didn’t expect Armani, just a rebuilt Redfern playing ground. But Crowe and the rest of the new ownership not only got the players well-dressed, it may be they get well-respected, too, with last night’s 18-6 win over the Roosters starting off the season with a bang. Good on ya, Bunnies. (Now, about that oval. . . .)

Double-Dealing Double Standards
I’d thought to give Liberal MP Santo Santoro a pass on his failure to disclose shareholdings that put him in a bind over his portfolio. He did the right thing, I thought, oversights happen, and when he realized he’d missed the disclosure, he gave the profits to a charity. I was wrong. Santoro’s portfolio as Minister for Ageing meant his stock portfolio needed to be disclosed. This isn’t so difficult, so it’s more than an honest error. He should at the very least have offered his resignation. Howard should probably have accepted it, under the ministerial conduct guidelines he himself put in place back in 1996. But Howard’s not one for saying sorry and not one for enforcing the conduct of his ministers; that would be admitting a mistake. But to make matters worse, that “charity” Santoro donated to? It’s a lobbying group. It isn’t a charity at all, not registered, nothing. Yes, other actual charitable organizations, including the Salvos, the Catholics, and others, funnel money into it, but the “Family Council of Queensland” is not itself a charity. So he took the ill-gotten gains and made a political contribution. So he lied. Twice. And he still hasn’t resigned.

Crooks and liars, the Liberals, every damn one of them, since the beginning of their present reign. No wonder Howard’s approval ratings are tanking. Perhaps at last the Australian people will demand accountability at the polls.

Rhetoric Ramp-Up Alert
When John Howard says he’s going to work harder on improving the now-dismal poll results being returned against him as preferred Prime Minister and his party overall, believe it. Sure, Costello’s on record now saying the budget’s tight, so don’t expect any pre-election tax relief or hand-outs, and after a few weeks of playing the man rather than the policies during question time, childish taunts and all (“they started it!”), he’d seem to have his work cut out for him. But listen, “I think one of the reasons is that the Labor Party has successfully created the impression that it doesn't matter who is in Government, the economy will continue to grow.” Ah. Back to interest rates and scare tactics. I wonder how well that’s going to fly, with all we know about the negative effects of “WorkChoices” and the interest rate rises that haven’t come back down yet and the property market that’s turned into a rental nightmare as well as depressing growth. No, I think Mr. Howard’s got a tough row over these next eight months, and it’ll only get tougher in March, when NSW returns Labor to power despite Morris Iemma, et al.

Lose Weight – In Your Dreams!
Now, if I apply the ”I think I can, I think I can” fitness method short, intense intervals, I can lose weight fast. Well, if I cut out all the pie.

Relocation
We got the word today: our real estate agent has been given the deposit check and authorization to put in the bank, so the sale is on. All that’s left is to finish packing, hire a mover, schedule the settlement date, sign the papers, and walk away. Not necessarily in quite that order. Oh, and find a place to live.

That latter part, however, appears now to have been done. I’m moving a few suburbs west, to Camperdown (sounds like a Boy Scout emergency call, doesn’t it?), assuming my application clears its final hurdles, which shouldn’t be a problem. Of course, there’s also changing my address details with all and sundry, most especially for magazine subscriptions, cancelling or transferring various utilities, and so forth. All in about three weeks. Normally, these things are done in 5 to 6 weeks, but our buyers want to move fast, and I’m just as happy to let them.

The new place will have a small back garden, which I’ll have to “improve” a little bit for the cats (see previous post). But it’s really nice. I just hope the massive sofa will fit through the door.

Every Night I Go Home and My IQ Sinks Through the Floor
This has to be one of the funniest cartoons I’ve seen outside the New Yorker.

I’m living proof.
(From XKCD, via Larvatus Prodeo.)

Gruesome
Tonight, hot as it was, air conditioning seemed called for, so I went off to Broadway to see The Last King of Scotland, the Idi Amin movie. While fictional, or fictionalized, by the addition of Dr. Garrigan, the dictator's personal physician, the story's focus on Amin is otherwise factual, and that makes this one of the most effective horror movies ever made. Forest Whitaker deserved that Oscar. The moment he appears, and despite everything we already know about Amin, we are the in the grip of a terrifyingly charismatic evil, a monster all the more evil for being real. Little enough is shown or even directly referenced of the terrible things Amin did, but there's no doubt left, no room left for any verdict other than to consign that man to damnation and condemn any complicity, even if from ignorance. It's the kind of movie that makes you want to delve into the history.

Perils, Part Two
First thing this morning, after a quick stop at the supermarket for some essentials - cat litter, mostly - I headed off to start looking at properties. Although I've thought that I have no good reason to reveal to anyone that I have cats, and thereby to increase the pool of housing available to review, i.e., by including apartment blocks, where strata title committees, as well as individual flat owners, frown upon pets, I focussed today on houses. The first was just a few streets away and it was terrific. I don't think my sofa would fit through the door, but around the back, on the lane way, was a roll-up shutter forming the car park. The owners have elected to pave the entirety of the back garden, and also to seal it off with corrugated plastic roofing, and all I could think was, well, but the sofa out here, wrapped in plastic, until you find a place to buy again, and throw a sheet over it: this place would be perfect for a man with two cats more active than he is. Nevertheless, I proceeded out to Newtown to review small terraces out that way.

Again, none of them will accomodate the sofa unless I can find a way to take it apart and put it back together again, probably by some form of molecular transportation, like on Star Trek. Absent that technology, I'll have to sell it or leave it on the porch to get ruined in the first good rain. Still, only one of the terraces actually had a rising damp problem, unsuccessfully masked by new carpets (it also had the television aerial cable in the kitchen, oddly enough). But that first place was too good.

Of course, putting down an application is one thing, but until the 5-day cooling-off period is over, on Wednesday, I don't dare commit any money, because it would be forfeit if I had to pull out. Monday may be soon enough for paperwork, so long as I can wait until Thursday to start spending the big bucks.

Perils of Real Estate
Today, having secured a new buyer after the last one bailed over whether or not he could be sure of having access to the AFL events on Foxtel - no, really, although also because all the bankruptcy foreclosures we've had over the last year made him think our flat was overpriced - I went to look at my first potential rental after 10 years, all up, of being an owner (if you count having massive mortgages being "an owner"). It was a 3-bedroom terrace up at Taylor Square, tucked back in a lane and so away from the hedonism of that particular corner of Oxford Street. Very nice from the outside, it was an entirely different matter when the estate agent opened the front door.

The first thing I noticed was that it smelled musty. Not just old dust, but that underlying mould-under-the-carpet smell, which made perfect sense, because this place hasn't seen carpet since wall-to-wall became available. It's possible I might have overlooked this, although the next thing I noticed was that the entrance hall was uncarpeted, and the exposed floorboards hadn't been sanded in at least a century, let alone polished and sealed. I got splinters enough on old wood floors as a kid, and didn't relish more. It's not like I was going to take my shoes off even to walk on the carpets, though, so maybe I could overlook that, too.

The kitchen was large and L-shaped, and its linoleum was the kind that goes down in one big sheet, cut to fit around the cabinets and so forth. It was also bubbling up all over, not to mention ugly.

The two front rooms were dark, dingy and built for a race of humans who never exceeded four feet in height before becoming extinct. This also probably explains how they would have navigated the stairs to the two upper rooms, each much more light, though no less mouldy, than the downstairs rooms. I'd probably have to close one of them off, though, and use it for storage, if just to avoid that much extra cleaning effort, but it couldn't be the one at the front, because it was the better of the two, and if it was the one at the back, there'd be no place safe to end up having come to the top of the stairs.

Out back was a paved-over courtyard that could, with minimal effort, be made perfect for two young cats who can probably never be trusted to roam on their own, and looking around, I discovered the "internal laundry." Underneath the house. In a space about three feet high. With no hook-ups for a washer, let alone power outlets, but a nice tub to do everything by hand. Drying racks would have to serve, as no Hills Hoist was available, to say nothing of where I'd put a dryer.

The bathroom - and there was only one (admittedly my preference; as a single man, I'd rather not have to clean two) - was the final touch. The shower was set in the corner and the thought of touching bare anything to the tiles there induced a crawling sensation, as if the fungus was actively at work already. The toilet was the cheapest plastic, and the basin nearly invisible, set about two feet off the ground behind the door.

I could live here, I thought, and took an application. It took the rest of the day, a day spent ringing agents to hear them say "no pets" over and over again, when they didn't say the property I asked after had been snapped up already, to convince myself that I have at least 5 weeks to find a place and move, and that's assuming these buyers weren't so spooked by the stock market "correction" on Wednesday that they hang in and go to settlement.

Tomorrow, I've got two places to look at, in Newtown and Camperdown, both houses, so at least I can have a place to keep Felix & Theo.

Why Am I Still So Slow?
Believing in your workout = a workout? That’s the only kind of exercise I get. I ought to join the KRAC team in Los Angeles.
(Ref. Rebecca’s Pocket.)

Responsibilities and Privileges
When my application to become an Australian was being reviewed, I was required to recite two or three of my “responsibilities and privileges” under the law. It’s a responsibility for example, to vote and to keep my enrolment current. It’s a responsibility to defend the country, too, if called upon to do so (a nice mirror to my privilege of being eligible to join any of the branches of the military). It’s a privilege that, if I were to get in trouble with the law overseas, I could have recourse to ambassadorial assistance. So it’s surprising to me to hear the government now arguing before the High Court that the government has no obligation to assist David Hicks. It sounds like a losing argument to me, but then I take my civic responsibilities seriously and expect my privileges to be honored in the same spirit.

Twisted
We've had a second run at open inspection this weekend, and about the same amount of interest, if not the same dollars on offer. Everybody who's come up with an offer this time has come substantially lower than where we'd like them to, so, after a few chores, I took myself to the movies, Pan's Labyrinth, by Guillermo Del Toro. It was a bad choice, if what I was hoping for was to be cheered up. This has to be one of the saddest movies I've ever seen, aside from the ones with animals. Yes, it's beautiful, and it does things with mythology, like his earlier film, Cronos, that's become unexpected in mainstream cinema. It's brutal, in fact, which, I guess, is the political point it's trying to make, but beautiful, aside from that. I've come away from it saddened, but also angry. Set in facist Spain, in the period after the civil war there was effectively over and Franco's forces essentially just "mopping up," the sadism indicted is still present in our own time, and in places it shouldn't be. Do we hold ourselves so far above those evils, yet scuff and mumble over abuses in Iraq and Guantanamo? And who's harmed thereby? Not just the innocents, but our own selves, for every moment of silence, every second's delay in taking up our courage in both hands and changing the world however much we can. It's an awesome movie, which I mean in a non-slacker way. I'm gladdened by such artists, even as much as I'll probably be depressed for days.

Opinionated
One wonders upon what VP Cheney bases his declaration that David Hicks is at
“the head of the queue” and that his sentence, if found guilty, as is sure to happen, under the circumstances, will be reduced by time served, let alone the remainder to be spent in an Australian prison? What cynical impulse is it that suggests a deal’s been made?

Protestations
The Stop the War Coalition organized protests for yesterday and today against Dick Cheney, who’s visiting Sydney, and, of course, the usual cast of characters were out to join the fun, including, among those arrested, a couple of transvestites (apparently – ahem – busted for mocking the cops.

There seem always to be some trouble-makers at these events, although with only a dozen arrests in total, yesterday and today, it seems any attempt by Cheney supporters to denigrate the protestors as “the usual rabble” is just the usual sour grapes-level nonsense we’ve been getting from the Bush crowd ever since that gang got into office.

What’s more troubling is the attempts to shut down the protests at the last minute. The police filed for an injunction (which appears to have failed) because, after the Queen Mary 2’s arrival generated tremendous traffic snarls due to thousands of gaping onlookers driving in from all over Sydney (what? it’s big, but, c’mon: it’s a boat, people), the State government was embarrassed. Not the city, mind you, where Clover Moore seems more than happy to have civil civic participation of all kinds (perhaps especially when it brings on blushes over on Macquarie Street), but never mind. So the cops can’t handle a march down George Street? Or a rally in front of a hotel? Or trannies shaking their groove thangs at them? Weak.

When Life Imitates Economics
The white elephant apartment is all but sold now, contracts exchanged and the buyer on the hook after Monday, so in addition to pulling all the books and records out of the bookshelves and into boxes, I've begun the daily review of Domain.com for an over-priced one- to two-bedroom flat somewhere between "Sydney,", that is, Darlinghurst, Surry Hills, the CBD, etc., and the Inner West, i.e, Newtown, Glebe, et al. No way am I going past Erskineville, though.

Meanwhile, I'd like to know what's really meant by a "New York style" apartment. I think it means a slightly-bigger-than-usual studio. Probably it just means a studio. I've also discovered that having two cats is going to put me out of the running for most apartments. Please note, however, that this seems largely due to the reluctance of real estate agents to bother the landlords for more details than whether or not they'd like to get $450 per week or $500 for a unit that hasn't seen fresh paint in better than five years or new carpet (let alone a steam-clean) in ten.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Cats: no. Mildew: I'll start finding out this weekend, when I start attending open inspections. Meanwhile, I'm running two parallel searches: one for any housing, and one for houses. The stand-alone rentals have fewer problems with pets.

Update: it's awful to say, mere hours from putting this post up, but the buyer's pulled out. While we keep a portion of his earnest money (which will defray some of our advertising costs), that he's done so as late as this leaves us little hope of a quick turn-around re-advertising and having another open inspection by the weekend. It cools my search off, too, although that could yet be a timing problem, since I know there's some nice stuff opening up in mid-March. I'm also sorry I packed up as many of the books and records as I did, since the built-in bookshelves look enormous without their stock. Maybe one of the other interesteds from Saturday will still want it, probably for a lot less than asking-price.

Micro-Manager and Commander
The President appears to have made a concession regarding his status as Commander-in-Chief, saying ”[Congress has] the right to try to use the power of the purse to determine policy.” Well, there’s two things about that statement that strike me. One, of course, is the word “try.” Congress can try to shape policy by tightening up on spending, although they may not succeed. The other element is more interpretive. If the President were to change tactics, or otherwise alter the conduct of policy in Iraq, as a result of spending measures enacted by Congress, then he’s off the hook for any failure as a result of that change. Now, that doesn’t mean he has to follow precisely any strategic conditions attached to a spending bill, but it does mean that the new Democratic majority could walk right into a giant bear trap of blame over whatever Bush does in accepting those conditions. And then nobody wins. Except maybe the GOP in ’08.

Verdict
I agree with Malcolm Fraser: David Hicks is guilty not because he’s guilty, but because he must be guilty. (Note, for example, the charge of spying, insofar as it largely amounts to having collected information on the U.S. Embassy in Afghanistan – which was closed at the time.)

So Much for the BBQ Invite
Remember Paul Hogan throwing another “shrimp” on the barbie for the hoards of US visitors? Maybe not after 21 February, when Biosecurity Australia rules on whether the white spot virus poses a threat, and blocks all those cheap, Thai prawns to reduce the supply.

Circular Reasoning
As I said yesterday, the PM’s free to make as much of an ass of himself as he pleases, but he ought to apologize when he’s been insulting, as he has to Barak Obama and the Democrats now in the majority in Congress. He has, however, committed himself to the Iraq debacle, committed Australia in the first instance to causing the problems there now and exacerbating them by “sticking by” his ally. (Unfortunately, as Tim Dunlop continues to point out, Mr. Howard’s ally isn’t the U.S., but George Bush, mistaking a personal friendship for a larger political position of mutual support.) Now Defense Minister Brendan Nelson weighs in, explaining that Howard is just standing up for Australia by committing the nation to an indefinite tour of duty in Iraq.

"Only when we get through the next six, 12 months or whatever period of time it takes will we be in a position to make any reasonable and responsible judgement about whether the United States, Britain or anyone else is in a position to withdraw."

Round and round we go, and where we stop, well, we’ll know in six months. Or twelve. Or someday long in the future. But that’s not what’s really at issue. What matters is that John Howard knows he made a mistake joining the “Coalition of the Willing”, that Iraq was a disaster from the start, but that more and more of his constituents have also reached that conclusion and will blame him and the Liberals at the next election. Mr. Howard’s sounding increasingly like Donald Duck with a limp.

(Oh, and in case anyone was wondering how the Howard government’s domestic policies have been working out, ”WorkChoices” is putting the bite on women, hard, as well as harming employment growth and productivity.)

Weekend Politics
On the train coming home from Ikea Saturday, we ran into two fresh American ex-pats, in Sydney for a year now, lately working on a rap video for Anthony Mundine, and started up a conversion to recruit them into Democrats Abroad. They seemed very enthusiastic, and I hope they’ll come to a meeting, but I mention it because, now that Barak Obama is officially in the race, it was somewhat notable to me that they were suggestive of their support for Hillary Clinton, Obama’s biggest rival for the nomination.

That aside, Obama’s in, and he’s getting a lot of notice, including this latest nonsense from John Howard, interjecting himself in American politics, in a way that if an American was doing it during one of his campaigns, we hear plenty of complaints about. Is he going to start calling Obama “Osama” next? Mr. Gibbs, the Obama campaign spokesman, is right, up to a point, about the commitment to Iraq; although I don’t intend any criticism of the soldiers, on a pro rata basis, Australia’s troop deployment is 15% of America’s, and faces apparently far less immediate danger. Mr. Howard should just butt out. Or, as Obama suggests, supply more troops (although my calculations suggest only an additional 7-8,000, not 20,000).

otter drinking
Originally uploaded by eilidhmacaskill.

Too Good to Let Pass
I found this over at Crazybrave, and it reminded me of someone: my younger brother at about age 2. Except for the whiskers. Although now he's got a full set, so they probably look even more alike. (Photo by "eilidhmacaskill, who's got more.)

Big Time
Ol’ shoot-from-the-hip Dick “dead-eye” Cheney’s on his way to Australia to say “thanks” for the Australian troops in Iraq. He’ll be visiting between 22 and 27 February, so get your placards out. Suggested themes for the protest would be Iraq (of course), global warming, and gay rights (particularly regarding adoption, a re-newly contentious issue here in Australia, and marriage). The trial, or lack thereof, of David Hicks is also more than worth mentioning, although I sincerely doubt John Howard will bring it up. He’s happy, now that a trial date’s been set, although Hicks will be held to a different juridical standard than would apply in his native land. No doubt, the VP will apologize for taking 5 years to bring the kid to trial, and then go on to thank all Australia for having kangaroos, the inspiration for the type of jurisprudence to be applied in this case.

Wetlands, Drylands
Foreshore development on Sydney harbour has been controlled for many years, although that hasn’t really stopped a lot of buildings going up, mostly of the hugely expensive kind, but including some public projects. The city’s commitment to extending greenways on the foreshore has seen some positive change along Blackwattle Bay and Glebe, and we might once have hoped for even more. Except the State government doesn’t want things that way: they prefer development.

It’s not so long ago that the harbour was so thoroughly polluted that we aren’t yet still feeling the effects. Commercial fishing was recently halted, due to PCB’s, for example. The idea that huge developments may go up, adding to the problem of sewerage, let alone that new and existing home owners and commercial operators could extend access and boat use, ought to concern the entire city, but probably doesn’t, much, at least not yet. As so often, it will become more of a concern only after the problem has occurred.

We need better environmental managers in government. Look, the UN just put out a huge report about global warming and there are predictions that Sydney’s going to cop it bad. We should be working on every element of the city to see to it that we’re better off, all of us, not just the property developers and the cabin cruiser set. There’s an election in March, and normally I’d be glad of the current Premier’s commanding lead in the polls, but right now, my vote is tending elsewhere.

Climatological Notes
I was wrong about the Parramatta River fish ladder project. It seems what they’re doing is letting the river “fill” overnight, then letting it drain again during the day, as seen in these two photos, the first from this morning, the second from yesterday afternoon.

This must be a relief for the carp (some large ones are visible from overhead when the water’s low, and can be seen to struggle over ridges and weed clumps, looking for deeper pools), although the water fowl appear to benefit both ways. Of course, the benefits of the work may only prove effective for now.