Oh, Noes! Is He Still President?
Chief Justice Roberts fed the new guy his line wrong, so Obama swore in under a "revised" oath: does this mean that crypto-Muslim, non-citizen Barak Obama isn't really President anymore? ZOMG!
I fully expect there to be some of this kind of stuff around the internets today.
In the real world, however, much jubilation is evidenced. Congratulations, Mr. President; please fix the world.
20 January 2009
Open-ing Note
I've got to come back and add links and pictures all through these posts, but we've been in Melbourne one-and-a-half days now, including what amounts to a full day at the Australian Open. Yesterday we got in around noon, unpacked, had lunch, and marched around a little. The plane did Dad's back in pretty well, so we cut it short and basically just chilled with the t.v. coverage of Day One of the tennis until dinner. I arranged a meal at the French Brassarie, which is one of the city's famously tucked-away restaurants, and which lived up to its hype in the in-flight magazine review that led me to it - all that internet research, and Qantas found my dinner; well, it all worked out.
Today, thinking it would be good to scout the venue and the offerings, we headed out pretty much in time for the gates to open, along with many hundreds of others, it seems, at least by the time we got to the tennis. Our journey along the Yarra river was peaceful, but presaged a hot day. And that it was. I have never in my life sweated so much sitting still as I did today, other than sitting in a sauna. It wasn't terribly humid, but it was hot, and no amount of sunscreen could in any way help endure that, other than insofar as we didn't leave roasted red as a cooked lobster.
Dad had a couple of particular matches in mind, so we trooped along with him to watch a seeded Frenchman desultorially beat an unseeded Argentenian, who at least gave a good account of himself, winning the first set, doing o.k. in the second, but, despite his opponents' struggles in the third, giving it up in the end.
The second match, pitting an American-born Swiss player against a French woman, was not well attended, the previous crowd having left their favourite behind. The wind picked up, and it was clear the Swiss was struggling with her serve and her shots as a result. After the third let, we took off to allow Mom to conduct her mandatory souvenier shopping.
The plan tomorrow is to head in later, which is both a good and a bad idea, I reckon, as we'll miss any chance at morning shadows, but at least have an afternoon cool, if the temperatures rise. It was easily well over 30 degrees today - 90 for the post-equator crowd, but is forecast only into the high 20's/80's for tomorrow.
At least we've discovered some inexpensive dining options nearby, including an "Irish" pub (which at least has the most extensive whiskey offerings of any bar I've been to in this country).
I've got to come back and add links and pictures all through these posts, but we've been in Melbourne one-and-a-half days now, including what amounts to a full day at the Australian Open. Yesterday we got in around noon, unpacked, had lunch, and marched around a little. The plane did Dad's back in pretty well, so we cut it short and basically just chilled with the t.v. coverage of Day One of the tennis until dinner. I arranged a meal at the French Brassarie, which is one of the city's famously tucked-away restaurants, and which lived up to its hype in the in-flight magazine review that led me to it - all that internet research, and Qantas found my dinner; well, it all worked out.
Today, thinking it would be good to scout the venue and the offerings, we headed out pretty much in time for the gates to open, along with many hundreds of others, it seems, at least by the time we got to the tennis. Our journey along the Yarra river was peaceful, but presaged a hot day. And that it was. I have never in my life sweated so much sitting still as I did today, other than sitting in a sauna. It wasn't terribly humid, but it was hot, and no amount of sunscreen could in any way help endure that, other than insofar as we didn't leave roasted red as a cooked lobster.
Dad had a couple of particular matches in mind, so we trooped along with him to watch a seeded Frenchman desultorially beat an unseeded Argentenian, who at least gave a good account of himself, winning the first set, doing o.k. in the second, but, despite his opponents' struggles in the third, giving it up in the end.
The second match, pitting an American-born Swiss player against a French woman, was not well attended, the previous crowd having left their favourite behind. The wind picked up, and it was clear the Swiss was struggling with her serve and her shots as a result. After the third let, we took off to allow Mom to conduct her mandatory souvenier shopping.
The plan tomorrow is to head in later, which is both a good and a bad idea, I reckon, as we'll miss any chance at morning shadows, but at least have an afternoon cool, if the temperatures rise. It was easily well over 30 degrees today - 90 for the post-equator crowd, but is forecast only into the high 20's/80's for tomorrow.
At least we've discovered some inexpensive dining options nearby, including an "Irish" pub (which at least has the most extensive whiskey offerings of any bar I've been to in this country).
19 January 2009
So Far
South Australia isn't but an hour's flight from Sydney, or thereabouts, but Adelaide is a distinctly different city. We didn't have all that much time actually in town, committing our only full day off to a winery tour of the Barossa. This was very nice, as it was just four of us - Mom, Dad, me, and a very nice woman from Vancouver, who, it turned out was also a sommelier for a restaurant there, which sources some notable portion of its wine list from a vineyard on the list. I ended up buying a bottle of wine on her recommendation (and my own palate), and it was swell. We all ended the day dining in an Argentine restaurant - a little over-priced, but decent, and finishing the bottle. I also bought some port to bring home and cellar for the next ten years, at which point it's expected to be magnificant. It was pretty good already.
Kangaroo Island was interesting, especially day three, which I'll get to shortly. Day one was spent on the bus tearing around hither and yon, stopping to sample products of one kind or another: eucalyptus oil, sheep's cheese; or else looking this and that landscape, all quite pretty and picturesque; or visiting sad animal shelters. The raptors exhibition, however, was terrific, although we've got to find a camera shop to see if we can restore the shot of Mom holding the kookaburra, which photo got accidentally deleted.
Day two was a day off, which was nice, spent lounging by the pool reading, although we did go out at sunset to catch the kangaroos and wallabies at their work: eating, hoping, crossing the road suddenly. The highlight of the evening was the "Little Penguins" (formerly known as "Fairy Penguins", an appellation which has gone in favor of political correctness). Cute, but immensely noisy. Apparently, they'll cross the road and set up burrows under people's houses when they're all at home at once, setting up quite a hue and cry all night until they're ready to go swimming again, at 4:30 a.m.
On the third day, we had a bus tour again, before catching an early evening plane back to Adelaide for the night. This tour went out to the western end of the island into the national park. You may have heard that December '07 included some horrific bush fires, which consumed about 20% of the island's vegetation. Well, the evidence was everywhere, although so, too, was the regeneration. Still, it was clearly devastating and extensive. "Remarkable Rocks" and the Admiral's Arch are magnificant natural stone structures. Sea lions are, apparently, dogs de-evolved back into sea creatures, and they sound and smell like it. (We'd seen a colony of Australian sea lions on day one; the second set were New Zealand sea lions. It was quite enjoyable to see them gamboling in the surf, especially the young, who seemed to be learning their ocean-going skills in relative safety, since there'd be no White Pointers up by the rocks.)
Another early morning flight, and now we'll do an afternoon of Melbourne, with dinner booked nearby. Tomorrow and Wednesday - Monday & Tuesday for the podeans - will be spent at the Open, although I have to see if DAA are doing anything locally for the inauguration, which will be broadcast, but I'd rather catch a party, if there is one.
Pictures anon.
South Australia isn't but an hour's flight from Sydney, or thereabouts, but Adelaide is a distinctly different city. We didn't have all that much time actually in town, committing our only full day off to a winery tour of the Barossa. This was very nice, as it was just four of us - Mom, Dad, me, and a very nice woman from Vancouver, who, it turned out was also a sommelier for a restaurant there, which sources some notable portion of its wine list from a vineyard on the list. I ended up buying a bottle of wine on her recommendation (and my own palate), and it was swell. We all ended the day dining in an Argentine restaurant - a little over-priced, but decent, and finishing the bottle. I also bought some port to bring home and cellar for the next ten years, at which point it's expected to be magnificant. It was pretty good already.
Kangaroo Island was interesting, especially day three, which I'll get to shortly. Day one was spent on the bus tearing around hither and yon, stopping to sample products of one kind or another: eucalyptus oil, sheep's cheese; or else looking this and that landscape, all quite pretty and picturesque; or visiting sad animal shelters. The raptors exhibition, however, was terrific, although we've got to find a camera shop to see if we can restore the shot of Mom holding the kookaburra, which photo got accidentally deleted.
Day two was a day off, which was nice, spent lounging by the pool reading, although we did go out at sunset to catch the kangaroos and wallabies at their work: eating, hoping, crossing the road suddenly. The highlight of the evening was the "Little Penguins" (formerly known as "Fairy Penguins", an appellation which has gone in favor of political correctness). Cute, but immensely noisy. Apparently, they'll cross the road and set up burrows under people's houses when they're all at home at once, setting up quite a hue and cry all night until they're ready to go swimming again, at 4:30 a.m.
On the third day, we had a bus tour again, before catching an early evening plane back to Adelaide for the night. This tour went out to the western end of the island into the national park. You may have heard that December '07 included some horrific bush fires, which consumed about 20% of the island's vegetation. Well, the evidence was everywhere, although so, too, was the regeneration. Still, it was clearly devastating and extensive. "Remarkable Rocks" and the Admiral's Arch are magnificant natural stone structures. Sea lions are, apparently, dogs de-evolved back into sea creatures, and they sound and smell like it. (We'd seen a colony of Australian sea lions on day one; the second set were New Zealand sea lions. It was quite enjoyable to see them gamboling in the surf, especially the young, who seemed to be learning their ocean-going skills in relative safety, since there'd be no White Pointers up by the rocks.)
Another early morning flight, and now we'll do an afternoon of Melbourne, with dinner booked nearby. Tomorrow and Wednesday - Monday & Tuesday for the podeans - will be spent at the Open, although I have to see if DAA are doing anything locally for the inauguration, which will be broadcast, but I'd rather catch a party, if there is one.
Pictures anon.
13 January 2009
09 January 2009
Collector's Item?
No way: every geek and half of all Obama supporters under 65 are going to go out and buy a copy of Obama Meets Spiderman, I reckon. And it'll be cheesey. Any hints what Spidey villian will be trying to stop the inaugeration? Doc Ock? The Lizard? Yeah, that's it, the Lizard.
No way: every geek and half of all Obama supporters under 65 are going to go out and buy a copy of Obama Meets Spiderman, I reckon. And it'll be cheesey. Any hints what Spidey villian will be trying to stop the inaugeration? Doc Ock? The Lizard? Yeah, that's it, the Lizard.
08 January 2009
Price Strike
When I was a kid, I walked a picket line. It was the Long Island Meat Strike, a period during which the supermarkets were jacking up prices on meat and housewives across Long Island were galvanized to find out just what was going on and to achieve some measure of fairness. It achieved some measure of national stature, including a Congressional hearing, and one incident in which a farmer shipped a calf to the leader of the strike, saying, here, you raise it, see how much it costs and how much you get back when it's steaks. The leader of the strike adopted the little doggie (as a motherless calf is known), until re-homing it to an upstate farm, where it could live out its life. (It probably did end up as food, I suppose.)
Anyway, one of the significant outcomes of the strike was to require that all supermarkets provide unit pricing. This is a scheme whereby every consumer good on the shelf had a label expressing its purchase price, but also a shelf tag that provided comparative value, i.e., price per ounce. This allowed the shoppers to calculate relative value. This jar of mustard was 8.33 and this was 9.85, but the first was 10 ounces and the second 12.5. While it would be easy enough to calculate the differential, this was in the days before hand-held calculators, so many people were left with making their decision simply on which price was lower, even when that meant they ultimately paid more for an equivalent product.
The Australian Retailers Association to claim that mandatory unit pricing won't bring down prices is simply - no, scratch that - it's deliberately disingenuous. They are lying to you. It won't achieve an immediate effect on prices - or any, it's true - unless we consumers use unit pricing to our own advantage. Look at the unit pricing and buy the less expensive but comparable option. If there are two organic olive oils on the shelf and one gives you a unit price-based advantage, buy that one. Same same for everything else. Compare and save, as so many discount shops advise. Back in NYC, Sym's, the discount clothing retailer, advises: an educated consumer is our best customer; same principle applies.
Yes, let's get this done, Australia - nearly forty years after we achieved the same victory in New York, and ultimately across the nation, thanks to a decent Congress at the time. We need it, and we deserve it.
Meat Strike! Meat Strike! Meat Strike!
Union! Union! Union!
When I was a kid, I walked a picket line. It was the Long Island Meat Strike, a period during which the supermarkets were jacking up prices on meat and housewives across Long Island were galvanized to find out just what was going on and to achieve some measure of fairness. It achieved some measure of national stature, including a Congressional hearing, and one incident in which a farmer shipped a calf to the leader of the strike, saying, here, you raise it, see how much it costs and how much you get back when it's steaks. The leader of the strike adopted the little doggie (as a motherless calf is known), until re-homing it to an upstate farm, where it could live out its life. (It probably did end up as food, I suppose.)
Anyway, one of the significant outcomes of the strike was to require that all supermarkets provide unit pricing. This is a scheme whereby every consumer good on the shelf had a label expressing its purchase price, but also a shelf tag that provided comparative value, i.e., price per ounce. This allowed the shoppers to calculate relative value. This jar of mustard was 8.33 and this was 9.85, but the first was 10 ounces and the second 12.5. While it would be easy enough to calculate the differential, this was in the days before hand-held calculators, so many people were left with making their decision simply on which price was lower, even when that meant they ultimately paid more for an equivalent product.
The Australian Retailers Association to claim that mandatory unit pricing won't bring down prices is simply - no, scratch that - it's deliberately disingenuous. They are lying to you. It won't achieve an immediate effect on prices - or any, it's true - unless we consumers use unit pricing to our own advantage. Look at the unit pricing and buy the less expensive but comparable option. If there are two organic olive oils on the shelf and one gives you a unit price-based advantage, buy that one. Same same for everything else. Compare and save, as so many discount shops advise. Back in NYC, Sym's, the discount clothing retailer, advises: an educated consumer is our best customer; same principle applies.
Yes, let's get this done, Australia - nearly forty years after we achieved the same victory in New York, and ultimately across the nation, thanks to a decent Congress at the time. We need it, and we deserve it.
Meat Strike! Meat Strike! Meat Strike!
Union! Union! Union!
07 January 2009
Swears and Curses
It's not exactly comforting to see that the more things change, the worse they get in American politics, or the Senate, at least. This is a poor example to set of the kind of behavior the new President can expect from the legislature. This is not "the change we need."
It's not exactly comforting to see that the more things change, the worse they get in American politics, or the Senate, at least. This is a poor example to set of the kind of behavior the new President can expect from the legislature. This is not "the change we need."
06 January 2009
Urban Renewal
My inner-west suburb appears due for literally big changes. While I’m not likely to be directly affected for some time, the prospect of increased population density along the Parramatta Road corridor isn’t terribly appealing, at least not when it’s meant to increase the demand and thereby provide the impetus for improved mass-transit. As with so many new developments in the outer-west, the support seems to wait for the need. What this will mean is more traffic, more crowding on the busses, and more people packing into an already limited set of grocery, shopping and entertainment centers and precincts. More stress all around, as such increases are likely to require more call-outs to cops and firemen and EMT’s, et al.
When I was living in Surry Hills, part of Sydney’s south, but pretty much contiguous with the CDB’s borders, essentially, the Council conducted a survey to address zoning changes. The area was a thorough mix of building types, with many warehouse-conversions and commercial buildings scattered throughout the otherwise mostly terrace houses and low-rise blocks. What was proposed, and, I expect, enacted, albeit after I relocated, would allow considerable change, so that low-rise blocks, houses, and open areas abutting high-rises (anything more than three stories, essentially) would be permitted to be (re)developed proportionately to their neighbors. Living in a seven-story warehouse-conversion (on the 1st floor, the one above Ground level), we were next door to a four-story block with a large courtyard area. That four-story block, including the undeveloped courtyard, was to be permitted to climb another three stories, which would have had the effect of blocking the morning sun (the good sun, that is, afternoon sun being so very much longer and hotter) for many units, whose owners, no doubt, had based at least some part of their selection on light and view.
Looking at the neighborhood dispassionately, however, the plan made sense. Nobody was jumping in on the development options right away, tearing anything down or building anything up. It would bring a measure of coherence to a largely chaotic jumble of building styles and would likely also gentrify an area that suffered from its fringe status. There were at least three homeless shelters within a block or two of our unit, as well as numerous backpacker hostels, but little in the way of services. All that would probably improve.
But that close to the CBD, we had good bus service to pretty much anywhere in Sydney, Central Station a five-minute walk away, and good shopping and entertainment options. That’s not quite so true for the inner-west, as much a development jumble as anywhere else among the older suburbs. For example, the development of the Broadway shops, sitting between the CDB and Glebe, was the death knell for movie theatres, supermarkets, and many other shops from Newtown to Strathfield. Yes, a few IGA’s and shops survived, but many didn’t, or they had to alter their offerings to refine their specialisation. And it’s not as if big-box shopping centres don’t suffer attrition in what they offer. Even Broadway recently lost even it’s HMV, most likely as a result of increased internal competition, with the addition of Target to a complex already including Kmart, both of whom sell popular CD’s and DVD’s
Yes, stacking some thousands of new homes in among the existing is going to increase demand, but nothing’s going to serve that demand until it’s present. Parramatta Road is a desolate strip of car dealerships and failed enterprises. There’s hardly even a fast-food chain all the way out to the Olympic Park. The furniture store that burned down a few years ago remains burned-down. More people probably come in from the outer-west, only as far as Parramatta, than come out from the inner-west, but they’ve got highways, for one thing, allowing Parramatta to serve as an alternative city-centre, much as Chatswood does for the northern suburbs.
I’m all for development, but it needs planning, it needs to be done along with the integration of services to support it, and that’s not easy to achieve. This plan seems a little too free-market for me.
My inner-west suburb appears due for literally big changes. While I’m not likely to be directly affected for some time, the prospect of increased population density along the Parramatta Road corridor isn’t terribly appealing, at least not when it’s meant to increase the demand and thereby provide the impetus for improved mass-transit. As with so many new developments in the outer-west, the support seems to wait for the need. What this will mean is more traffic, more crowding on the busses, and more people packing into an already limited set of grocery, shopping and entertainment centers and precincts. More stress all around, as such increases are likely to require more call-outs to cops and firemen and EMT’s, et al.
When I was living in Surry Hills, part of Sydney’s south, but pretty much contiguous with the CDB’s borders, essentially, the Council conducted a survey to address zoning changes. The area was a thorough mix of building types, with many warehouse-conversions and commercial buildings scattered throughout the otherwise mostly terrace houses and low-rise blocks. What was proposed, and, I expect, enacted, albeit after I relocated, would allow considerable change, so that low-rise blocks, houses, and open areas abutting high-rises (anything more than three stories, essentially) would be permitted to be (re)developed proportionately to their neighbors. Living in a seven-story warehouse-conversion (on the 1st floor, the one above Ground level), we were next door to a four-story block with a large courtyard area. That four-story block, including the undeveloped courtyard, was to be permitted to climb another three stories, which would have had the effect of blocking the morning sun (the good sun, that is, afternoon sun being so very much longer and hotter) for many units, whose owners, no doubt, had based at least some part of their selection on light and view.
Looking at the neighborhood dispassionately, however, the plan made sense. Nobody was jumping in on the development options right away, tearing anything down or building anything up. It would bring a measure of coherence to a largely chaotic jumble of building styles and would likely also gentrify an area that suffered from its fringe status. There were at least three homeless shelters within a block or two of our unit, as well as numerous backpacker hostels, but little in the way of services. All that would probably improve.
But that close to the CBD, we had good bus service to pretty much anywhere in Sydney, Central Station a five-minute walk away, and good shopping and entertainment options. That’s not quite so true for the inner-west, as much a development jumble as anywhere else among the older suburbs. For example, the development of the Broadway shops, sitting between the CDB and Glebe, was the death knell for movie theatres, supermarkets, and many other shops from Newtown to Strathfield. Yes, a few IGA’s and shops survived, but many didn’t, or they had to alter their offerings to refine their specialisation. And it’s not as if big-box shopping centres don’t suffer attrition in what they offer. Even Broadway recently lost even it’s HMV, most likely as a result of increased internal competition, with the addition of Target to a complex already including Kmart, both of whom sell popular CD’s and DVD’s
Yes, stacking some thousands of new homes in among the existing is going to increase demand, but nothing’s going to serve that demand until it’s present. Parramatta Road is a desolate strip of car dealerships and failed enterprises. There’s hardly even a fast-food chain all the way out to the Olympic Park. The furniture store that burned down a few years ago remains burned-down. More people probably come in from the outer-west, only as far as Parramatta, than come out from the inner-west, but they’ve got highways, for one thing, allowing Parramatta to serve as an alternative city-centre, much as Chatswood does for the northern suburbs.
I’m all for development, but it needs planning, it needs to be done along with the integration of services to support it, and that’s not easy to achieve. This plan seems a little too free-market for me.
29 December 2008
Gone with the Long-Winded
Baz Luhrmann's epic, Australia, is, as everyone has said, the Australian "Gone with the Wind," with the WWII bombing of Darwin by the Japanese standing in for the American Civil War. It's got it all: love-match misunderstandings, race relations, scenic backdrops in place of on-location shoots, set-piece chapter breaks - plus digital effects George Lucas would be ashamed of. Oh, o.k., the story's not bad, and for a tear-jerker, it's effective enough, but Nicole Kidman, for all that she makes a go of it, struggles throughout, and Hugh Jackman basically alternates between trying to be an Aussie Rhett Butler and otherwise Snowy-Rivering his way through all the other scenes he's in. The Aboriginal kid is good, but doesn't get to do much, and everybody is pretty much left to caricature instead of character. Jack Thompson gets killed off so fast there's pretty much no need for him to even have been in the movie. David Wenham, an actor I've really enjoyed in many other roles, is given little more to do than sneer through his nose in sound bites, more like John Lovitz's pathological liar than anything else ("Yeah, that's the ticket, yeah"). It's pretty, it's loud, it's got a story, but it has no substance. The narration is repetitive, and so's the plot, finally.
One of the standard tropes is that at 165 minutes (plus twenty minutes or more of advertisements and trailers), the movie's about an hour too long. I reckon I'd really only ask for about twenty minutes of my life back, discounting the ads, which I'd get even for a 90-minute flick, and basically just because that's about how much time in total is spent lingeringly on cliches.
Oh, and the songs over the closing credits are terrible. Really, get out while you can.
Baz Luhrmann's epic, Australia, is, as everyone has said, the Australian "Gone with the Wind," with the WWII bombing of Darwin by the Japanese standing in for the American Civil War. It's got it all: love-match misunderstandings, race relations, scenic backdrops in place of on-location shoots, set-piece chapter breaks - plus digital effects George Lucas would be ashamed of. Oh, o.k., the story's not bad, and for a tear-jerker, it's effective enough, but Nicole Kidman, for all that she makes a go of it, struggles throughout, and Hugh Jackman basically alternates between trying to be an Aussie Rhett Butler and otherwise Snowy-Rivering his way through all the other scenes he's in. The Aboriginal kid is good, but doesn't get to do much, and everybody is pretty much left to caricature instead of character. Jack Thompson gets killed off so fast there's pretty much no need for him to even have been in the movie. David Wenham, an actor I've really enjoyed in many other roles, is given little more to do than sneer through his nose in sound bites, more like John Lovitz's pathological liar than anything else ("Yeah, that's the ticket, yeah"). It's pretty, it's loud, it's got a story, but it has no substance. The narration is repetitive, and so's the plot, finally.
One of the standard tropes is that at 165 minutes (plus twenty minutes or more of advertisements and trailers), the movie's about an hour too long. I reckon I'd really only ask for about twenty minutes of my life back, discounting the ads, which I'd get even for a 90-minute flick, and basically just because that's about how much time in total is spent lingeringly on cliches.
Oh, and the songs over the closing credits are terrible. Really, get out while you can.
Packaging
Public Image, Ltd., has re-released "Metal Box" in a CD analogue to the original packaging. I know I only bought it because I fell for the marketing gimmick, but it's a terrific record anyway, and now I'll have those "poptones" turning up on my iPod.
Public Image, Ltd., has re-released "Metal Box" in a CD analogue to the original packaging. I know I only bought it because I fell for the marketing gimmick, but it's a terrific record anyway, and now I'll have those "poptones" turning up on my iPod.
23 December 2008
Conveniences
There were a number of considerations I had to make when I took this job in North Ryde, some of which included the fact that in Parramatta I had convenient lunch-hour access to doctors and dentists, whereas the desolation of a big-box industrial park offered limited prospects even for so much as a cup of coffee (it being a cultural practice here to provide instant coffee in the workplace in preference to what is considered horrible American drip machines; many people prefer to bring a small French press, but then I'm just bringing home clean-up chores along to the office, and I've got enough to do). Other factors include: home deliveries (Australia Post does not open on Saturday and only from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. on weekdays, severely limiting my ability to attend the local branch) and household repairs.
A month or so ago, my oven stopped working.
A month or so ago, my Parramatta dentist called to remind me of my six-monthly appointment, prompting me to find a local dentist, who, delightfully, doesn't work Saturdays, but 8:30 to 5:00 on weekdays.
A month or so ago, I bought tickets to a big event that the Sydney Festival organisers thought best to send to my home address via registered mail without offering me a different mailing address option.
I booked the dentist and a day off. Probably I could have done a half-day, but let's make a long weekend out of it, I thought.
As long as I've got an early dental appointment, I thought, let's book an electrician for the same day.
And on the Wednesday preceding, the registered mail pick-up slip arrived in my mailbox. It all worked beautifully, serendipitously. Hooray for me.
The dentist, despite accepting my insurance, charges $60 above the "reasonable and standard" rate established by my private cover. (And let's not even get into the whole water-boarding experience it proved to be; don't tell me that's not torture.)
Yesterday the dishwasher broke.
If these things go in threes, there'll be a problem with the tickets, I reckon (although it could be that the NY'er's international distribution company has decided to reallocate my subscription to somebody else), but that'd be the least thing to go wrong.
There were a number of considerations I had to make when I took this job in North Ryde, some of which included the fact that in Parramatta I had convenient lunch-hour access to doctors and dentists, whereas the desolation of a big-box industrial park offered limited prospects even for so much as a cup of coffee (it being a cultural practice here to provide instant coffee in the workplace in preference to what is considered horrible American drip machines; many people prefer to bring a small French press, but then I'm just bringing home clean-up chores along to the office, and I've got enough to do). Other factors include: home deliveries (Australia Post does not open on Saturday and only from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. on weekdays, severely limiting my ability to attend the local branch) and household repairs.
A month or so ago, my oven stopped working.
A month or so ago, my Parramatta dentist called to remind me of my six-monthly appointment, prompting me to find a local dentist, who, delightfully, doesn't work Saturdays, but 8:30 to 5:00 on weekdays.
A month or so ago, I bought tickets to a big event that the Sydney Festival organisers thought best to send to my home address via registered mail without offering me a different mailing address option.
I booked the dentist and a day off. Probably I could have done a half-day, but let's make a long weekend out of it, I thought.
As long as I've got an early dental appointment, I thought, let's book an electrician for the same day.
And on the Wednesday preceding, the registered mail pick-up slip arrived in my mailbox. It all worked beautifully, serendipitously. Hooray for me.
The dentist, despite accepting my insurance, charges $60 above the "reasonable and standard" rate established by my private cover. (And let's not even get into the whole water-boarding experience it proved to be; don't tell me that's not torture.)
Yesterday the dishwasher broke.
If these things go in threes, there'll be a problem with the tickets, I reckon (although it could be that the NY'er's international distribution company has decided to reallocate my subscription to somebody else), but that'd be the least thing to go wrong.
20 December 2008
Genre Nostalgia
It's funny that I never got into The X-Files, but I didn't, and watching the movies confirmed it. I rented both yesterday and watched them back-to-back. I guess I already knew that that wasn't going to offer much continuity, but it seemed the best way to address the second, to provide context. Now, this was a show that essentially pioneered the techniques used in Heroes, Lost, etc., that sense of dislocation as the different plot lines within and between episodes swirled around, touching, almost but not quite converging, and it was all going to be the aliens all along, of the secret world government, or maybe just some mad scientists operating all on their own, so even if you weren't going to get a straight answer, it'd be a fun ride. It just wasn't. Largely, David Duchovney goes around blank-faced, beaten up, and carrying on through, like the good hard-boiled detective he's modeled on, but without the force of personality to make you care, and Gillian Anderson wanders through every scene she's in looking like a startled squirrel, which is the full range of her acting ability from what I've seen elsewhere. So even when you get any kind of plot, there's not a lot of it - which may be a movie-length translation problem - leaving the majority of what's on screen mere atmosphere.
As we're now in the summer television doldrums (not that we aren't usually, there being nothing much to watch on free-to-air to begin with - and even if I had digital, the broadcast options don't vary), I've been reading a little more after dinner than usual (and just to keep adding parentheticals, since most of what I watch are the hot shows out of the U.S. and these are usually played at or through past what time I go to bed, I usually knock over at least the NY'er in short order), which has led me to the Smiley series of John LeCarre's spy novels. I remember when these were the hottest spy novels going, and the third of them was made into a BBC show with Alec Guinness, but the novels aren't holding up particularly well. Is it post-Cold War malaise? Is it just that they're too British, too English, really? Is it just the narrative voice, one that seems to go off into an aren't we clever tone, speaking suddenly quite directly to the reader as if regaling its audience with an amusing story? Big, overwritten, these books are nothing like LeCarre's recent stuff, books where he's found an anger not expressed in these. Maybe that's the key, finding the anger, because there must be some, repressed, stiff-upper-lipped into a gruelling slog through minutia.
Perhaps instead of renting a movie tonight, I'll focus on finding Smiley's edge.
It's funny that I never got into The X-Files, but I didn't, and watching the movies confirmed it. I rented both yesterday and watched them back-to-back. I guess I already knew that that wasn't going to offer much continuity, but it seemed the best way to address the second, to provide context. Now, this was a show that essentially pioneered the techniques used in Heroes, Lost, etc., that sense of dislocation as the different plot lines within and between episodes swirled around, touching, almost but not quite converging, and it was all going to be the aliens all along, of the secret world government, or maybe just some mad scientists operating all on their own, so even if you weren't going to get a straight answer, it'd be a fun ride. It just wasn't. Largely, David Duchovney goes around blank-faced, beaten up, and carrying on through, like the good hard-boiled detective he's modeled on, but without the force of personality to make you care, and Gillian Anderson wanders through every scene she's in looking like a startled squirrel, which is the full range of her acting ability from what I've seen elsewhere. So even when you get any kind of plot, there's not a lot of it - which may be a movie-length translation problem - leaving the majority of what's on screen mere atmosphere.
As we're now in the summer television doldrums (not that we aren't usually, there being nothing much to watch on free-to-air to begin with - and even if I had digital, the broadcast options don't vary), I've been reading a little more after dinner than usual (and just to keep adding parentheticals, since most of what I watch are the hot shows out of the U.S. and these are usually played at or through past what time I go to bed, I usually knock over at least the NY'er in short order), which has led me to the Smiley series of John LeCarre's spy novels. I remember when these were the hottest spy novels going, and the third of them was made into a BBC show with Alec Guinness, but the novels aren't holding up particularly well. Is it post-Cold War malaise? Is it just that they're too British, too English, really? Is it just the narrative voice, one that seems to go off into an aren't we clever tone, speaking suddenly quite directly to the reader as if regaling its audience with an amusing story? Big, overwritten, these books are nothing like LeCarre's recent stuff, books where he's found an anger not expressed in these. Maybe that's the key, finding the anger, because there must be some, repressed, stiff-upper-lipped into a gruelling slog through minutia.
Perhaps instead of renting a movie tonight, I'll focus on finding Smiley's edge.
03 December 2008
Rate Cuts
It’s a dilemma: when the Reserve Bank cuts interest rates, commercial banks can pass that along in part or in full to their customers, but when they do, reducing mortgage repayments, for example, and everybody cheers, they also cut the return on savings or new term deposits, which everybody seems to forget. Granted, these are not the preferred investment instruments these past few years, and if you’re holding a mortgage, your savings may not be doing you much good (better if you pay the maximum extra and then bank what’s left), but mortgage rates simply aren’t all that high at the moment and while the global economy is bad everywhere, we’re not at much at risk of massive foreclosure exposure as others are. Banks, like any other company, need profits. They shouldn’t need the kind of profits that have provided CEO’s around the world with income in excess of 60x that of their lowest-paid employees, but enough to stay open and keep handing out compound interest and offering loans. I say all this in the first year of a five-year fixed-rate mortgage, so if I’m honest, I suppose if I had a variable rate I’d want the full cut just as much as I’d hate every interest rate rise passed on in full. Fair enough, if they run the rates up equal to or in excess of the Reserve Bank’s increases – and they did – they need to at least pass on the savings, too.
It’s a dilemma: when the Reserve Bank cuts interest rates, commercial banks can pass that along in part or in full to their customers, but when they do, reducing mortgage repayments, for example, and everybody cheers, they also cut the return on savings or new term deposits, which everybody seems to forget. Granted, these are not the preferred investment instruments these past few years, and if you’re holding a mortgage, your savings may not be doing you much good (better if you pay the maximum extra and then bank what’s left), but mortgage rates simply aren’t all that high at the moment and while the global economy is bad everywhere, we’re not at much at risk of massive foreclosure exposure as others are. Banks, like any other company, need profits. They shouldn’t need the kind of profits that have provided CEO’s around the world with income in excess of 60x that of their lowest-paid employees, but enough to stay open and keep handing out compound interest and offering loans. I say all this in the first year of a five-year fixed-rate mortgage, so if I’m honest, I suppose if I had a variable rate I’d want the full cut just as much as I’d hate every interest rate rise passed on in full. Fair enough, if they run the rates up equal to or in excess of the Reserve Bank’s increases – and they did – they need to at least pass on the savings, too.
01 December 2008
Thanksgiving
American history isn't a big thing here, so I found myself on Saturday having to explain a little about the Pilgrims and their Indian enablers, but all-in-all we had fun. I didn't do much cooking, and certainly no roasts. Even though rain blew through a couple of times, we had lovely weather out in the garden. I guess a BBQ might have been o.k., but I haven't done much towards that. It's a small, communal space, after all, so maybe that's for the best anyway. I did make a nice cucumber salad, with crushed peanuts, dried chilies, turmeric, cumin and mustard seed, parsley, mint, and dressed with lemon. Quite nice, too, as all the flavors were present, distinct, yet melding nicely. It's always nice to see the Spielman's, even if it wasn't the full contingent. The Munoz's turned up late, but I was very pleased to see them. Married two years now, and this is the first time we've gotten together since the wedding. Very bad.
American history isn't a big thing here, so I found myself on Saturday having to explain a little about the Pilgrims and their Indian enablers, but all-in-all we had fun. I didn't do much cooking, and certainly no roasts. Even though rain blew through a couple of times, we had lovely weather out in the garden. I guess a BBQ might have been o.k., but I haven't done much towards that. It's a small, communal space, after all, so maybe that's for the best anyway. I did make a nice cucumber salad, with crushed peanuts, dried chilies, turmeric, cumin and mustard seed, parsley, mint, and dressed with lemon. Quite nice, too, as all the flavors were present, distinct, yet melding nicely. It's always nice to see the Spielman's, even if it wasn't the full contingent. The Munoz's turned up late, but I was very pleased to see them. Married two years now, and this is the first time we've gotten together since the wedding. Very bad.
19 November 2008
Xmen, I mean Xmas
The office party's been announced, and it's got a theme: Hawaiian nights. Terrific. No thongs (flip-flops, for the Americans) or singlets (wife-beaters for the rednecks), but wouldn't you know it? Mambo loud-shirts are eBay-only at this point. A couple of years ago, they decided that Reg Mombassa's designs were too old-hat for the kiddies. The surf-set wasn't buying their gear because it was the same stuff their middle-aged uncool old dad was wearing. Little did I know, and little does the Counsellor know, but that beer tree shirt I got him 'way back in 2000 is now a serious collector's item, worth well in excess of what I paid and climbing steadily. Even eBay doesn't have any of that particular design left, which leaves me with the stubby-chips-and-fags design (if it arrives in time) or my 3-eyed-Jesus-at-the-footy (the miracle of the pies, or somthing) t-shirt. Gotta do it, though. Maybe I should go for the Ned Kelly & John the Baptist one?
(And where's my Obama shirt?)
The office party's been announced, and it's got a theme: Hawaiian nights. Terrific. No thongs (flip-flops, for the Americans) or singlets (wife-beaters for the rednecks), but wouldn't you know it? Mambo loud-shirts are eBay-only at this point. A couple of years ago, they decided that Reg Mombassa's designs were too old-hat for the kiddies. The surf-set wasn't buying their gear because it was the same stuff their middle-aged uncool old dad was wearing. Little did I know, and little does the Counsellor know, but that beer tree shirt I got him 'way back in 2000 is now a serious collector's item, worth well in excess of what I paid and climbing steadily. Even eBay doesn't have any of that particular design left, which leaves me with the stubby-chips-and-fags design (if it arrives in time) or my 3-eyed-Jesus-at-the-footy (the miracle of the pies, or somthing) t-shirt. Gotta do it, though. Maybe I should go for the Ned Kelly & John the Baptist one?
(And where's my Obama shirt?)
13 November 2008
Who’s Squealing?
In one of the most petty instances of political gamesmanship, we now have the Federal Opposition carping about the Prime Minister’s recent phone call to George Bush over who let slip that George didn’t know what the G20 is? Rudd has denied W. even asked, but because Murdoch’s Australian reported it, Turnbull and crew are treating it as true and a leak, deliberately embarrassing Bush and showing up Rudd as a political fumbler. We’ve got Tony Abbott calling Rudd “cowardly”, even, for refusing to continue to engage the Opposition on the matter.
Frankly, I find Australian parliamentary politics childish in its daily performances. While I wouldn’t put it past Bush not to know about the G20 – a man of such deliberate ignorance, he’s been shown up on a regular basis – and likewise I wouldn’t be surprised if Rudd himself was the source of the “leak”. Here he is having dinner with the editor of the Australian, the call comes in, and, afterward, Kev says: “Jeez, that W., said ‘Who’s that?’ when I asked him about meeting with the G20.” So off goes the intrepid journalist to get a nice piece in for the morning. It’s not a scenario I can’t see happening. But so what? “National Security breach”? I think that needs more explanation than who did or didn’t say what to whom. Can we please move on?
In one of the most petty instances of political gamesmanship, we now have the Federal Opposition carping about the Prime Minister’s recent phone call to George Bush over who let slip that George didn’t know what the G20 is? Rudd has denied W. even asked, but because Murdoch’s Australian reported it, Turnbull and crew are treating it as true and a leak, deliberately embarrassing Bush and showing up Rudd as a political fumbler. We’ve got Tony Abbott calling Rudd “cowardly”, even, for refusing to continue to engage the Opposition on the matter.
Frankly, I find Australian parliamentary politics childish in its daily performances. While I wouldn’t put it past Bush not to know about the G20 – a man of such deliberate ignorance, he’s been shown up on a regular basis – and likewise I wouldn’t be surprised if Rudd himself was the source of the “leak”. Here he is having dinner with the editor of the Australian, the call comes in, and, afterward, Kev says: “Jeez, that W., said ‘Who’s that?’ when I asked him about meeting with the G20.” So off goes the intrepid journalist to get a nice piece in for the morning. It’s not a scenario I can’t see happening. But so what? “National Security breach”? I think that needs more explanation than who did or didn’t say what to whom. Can we please move on?
09 November 2008
Bali Bombers
I understand the execution of the Bali Bombers, as these men are collectively known, and the reactions to their crimes, trial, sentence, and deaths. It’s Indonesia’s right to manage its judicial system and to impose capital punishment, but I take no satisfaction in these executions, even while I can sympathize with those, due to their own involvement or that of their families, as victims, who do. But capital punishment is less satisfying to me than would be the conversion of these men from fanatics into having an understanding of what their actions really did, both in the direct harm to the people killed and injured and their families, Australian and Balinese, and to those who see their deaths are martyrdom, who are themselves radicalized, a more lasting damage. I’m glad they’re gone, but I pity us all, knowing that there are still those who think a car bomb, a suicide bomb, a gun, a grenade, a war are ever really legitimate options for redress.
I understand the execution of the Bali Bombers, as these men are collectively known, and the reactions to their crimes, trial, sentence, and deaths. It’s Indonesia’s right to manage its judicial system and to impose capital punishment, but I take no satisfaction in these executions, even while I can sympathize with those, due to their own involvement or that of their families, as victims, who do. But capital punishment is less satisfying to me than would be the conversion of these men from fanatics into having an understanding of what their actions really did, both in the direct harm to the people killed and injured and their families, Australian and Balinese, and to those who see their deaths are martyrdom, who are themselves radicalized, a more lasting damage. I’m glad they’re gone, but I pity us all, knowing that there are still those who think a car bomb, a suicide bomb, a gun, a grenade, a war are ever really legitimate options for redress.
05 November 2008
Proud, but Underdressed
I have never been so moved by a Presidential acceptance speech as I was today, standing in a room with hundreds of my fellow Sydneysider expat Americans, and nearly as many again Australian supporters, listening to Barak Obama promise to be President for all of the country, even the ones whose trust he had not yet earned, and even while I knew there were so very many who would simply refuse to ever support him. For the African-American Vietnam vet who left the U.S. after his discharge and stood beside me in tears, for the gays & straights of Democrats Abroad Australia, for every Aussie whose regard for America was dashed to pieces in 2000 and again in 2004, this election was momentous, and we all know now not only that we must work harder than ever, but that it can have an effect. We can change the world for the better, because we can change ourselves, we have changed ourselves.
But where's my Obama shirt?
I have never been so moved by a Presidential acceptance speech as I was today, standing in a room with hundreds of my fellow Sydneysider expat Americans, and nearly as many again Australian supporters, listening to Barak Obama promise to be President for all of the country, even the ones whose trust he had not yet earned, and even while I knew there were so very many who would simply refuse to ever support him. For the African-American Vietnam vet who left the U.S. after his discharge and stood beside me in tears, for the gays & straights of Democrats Abroad Australia, for every Aussie whose regard for America was dashed to pieces in 2000 and again in 2004, this election was momentous, and we all know now not only that we must work harder than ever, but that it can have an effect. We can change the world for the better, because we can change ourselves, we have changed ourselves.
But where's my Obama shirt?
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