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.