Alien Nation
That's an obvious parallel, although technology has improved markedly, enough so that aliens can be depicted as something other than Mandy Patinkin in a spotted skin-head wig, but District 9 is also generally better, mostly for the cringing, cowardly anti-hero Wikus, but also for a better pay-off at the end.

Art & About: Non-Sponsored Version
Astrid Spielman took her art to the streets on Saturday, well, to a pedestrian tunnel leading into Glebe's Jubilee Park, anyway. Normally a digital artist with a focus on video, Astrid this time put up a public installation, consisting of panels of 20cent piece-sized sequins lining the walls of the underpass, shimmering in the gentle breeze and illuminating a dark public space, making this utilitarian passage into an experience, one which, as I witnessed, delighted everyone passing through, perhaps particularly all the children on their way to and from the park, and all of whom seemed to take a genuine and participatory interest. Astrid's an inventive and engaging artist, and her work takes on an unexpected depth, at least insofar as prose descriptions fail its ingenuity and effect. I've got a small piece by her hanging in my lounge room, and love how even something less than an A4 sheet of paper can provide so much color and interest without fading over time. It's kind of a shame that the panels installed Saturday were temporary, but I'll be interested to see if there isn't some digitization on offer eventually.

Not Quite Hollywood
There’s an argument I’ve seen made from time-to-time that there should be no government funding for the arts, particularly for such things as movies, which, according to the argument, would make plenty of money if there were any good. There’s something to be said for this, I suppose, but it’s usually only raised by the same kinds of people who argue there shouldn’t be any government assistance to anything or anybody, including, often enough, for health care or housing. These same people can be found also arguing that stop-light cameras and speed traps are an income-generating rort, an intrusion on the public simply to build up the state’s coffers for spending on things they don’t agree with. (Let’s leave aside the fact that if you’re running through red lights or speeding you are also endangering others and probably deserve to lose your license a lot sooner.)

So when actress and filmmaker Rachel Ward bemoans the inevitable fate of her movie in the public press, I’m inclined to let it through as more than just whinging. The fact is, one of the best Australian movies I’ve seen, Somersault, got great reviews – until it didn’t make any money. At that point, everybody dog-piled on to say how bad it was, and it started turning up as the argument against the independent Australian film industry.

Does anybody successfully compete against Hollywood? O.k., I guess Bollywood manages, but that seems a rather specialized market, like romance novels are, with a built-in audience share capable of competing with anyone. Similarly, most foreign films cater to their indigenous audience by reason of using the local language. Chinese films generally aren’t going to do as well outside China as they do inside, Crouching Tiger notwithstanding.

No, this is cultural-cringe stuff, I reckon. Australian movies don’t have to be Mad Max to garner audience share sufficient to sustain the industry as a whole, and it’s tough to get any sort of blockbuster out against Hollywood budgeting capacity, whether for production or marketing. Please also note that Hollywood finds it highly advantageous to spend that budget here in Australia, where they can access state-of-the-art equipment and highly accomplished professionals while taking advantage of the exchange and wage rates. Australia is unlikely to be able to compete against the Matrix or any of the other multi-multi-million dollar projects coming out of U.S. studios, but we can produce engaging, interesting, even entertaining features that are expressive of ourselves instead of imitations of some other culture. If we accept the worth of our culture in the first place.

Birds of the World
Although the office park where I work isn’t one of the nicest – that would have been the one down around Georgia where I spent some time one year training on some software – it has the advantage of abutting a national park, so the wildlife is plentiful, if largely represented by the various fowl: ibises, mynahs (Indian and native), crows, and magpies.

The maggies are big birds, on the order of crows, with a fearsome-looking beak. Their song is a somewhat spooky, fluting, quite distinct.

Every evening as I make my way through the street to the bus station, I pass one building in particular, with a curved face, along the top front edge of which the magpies gather, facing out into the coming night, piping home their fellows, it seems. Since their array is eastward, I can’t quite figure why that building and no other: prevailing wind for take-off and landing? The lowering sun’s not in their eyes or the rising sun is for an early wake-up call? In any case, it’s a pleasant walk, listening to them and recognising their sociability.

Fiduciary
I reckon I'm not too bad with spreadsheets, but I've always avoided any sort of "treasurer" duties in my stints on one co-op/condo board or another. Sadly, this isn't the case where I am now, as there are only four units and none of us have much in the way of mathematical expertise. So I'm running half-assed balance statements and account registers (and that's probably half-arsed in this country), and trying to keep everything on the up-and-up. Well, I'm only eighty cents off on my own checking account register for the last two years, so maybe I'm better at this kind of thing than I think. I really hope so, because my MS-Excel skills are critical to the success of the project I'm on at work, and my boss has guaranteed to the CEO that "everybody will be paid, correctly and on time." Thanks for writing checks for me to pay, boss. But I'm absolutely committed anyway, if only because this is the best job I've ever had, even if it is the hardest. I guess there's something in that.

Results
Well, that's 14k done 'n' dusted. 83 minutes by my watch, 81 on the clock at the finish, so we'll see what chip-time does for me, although I'm not expecting much. There are far too many people at the City-to-Surf these days: 75,000 entrants this year. The Pub-to-Pub, on the north shore, limits entries to something like 3,000, which I'll bet is just as crowded, given the neighborhood, but we're getting there for this one, I reckon. Just think: it took me 3 times as long to get out of Bondi as it did to get there in the first place. And somebody explain to me how, even within the first kilometer, there are people ahead of me walking, particularly since there's a special start section reserved for them (after mine, thanks)? I mean, you can walk to Bondi any weekend; there's only one City-to-Surf weekend. Get out of the way! Beep-Beep! I am the mighty Toad! Sorry, carried away with runner's high endorphins or something.

City-to-Surf is a great race. NYCRRC had a race pretty much every other weekend, in Central Park, Prospect Park, Flushing Meadows, but almost none of them compare to the exhilaration of this 14k fun run. Probably the New Year's Midnight Run, maybe the Shea Stadium run. O.k., Fifth Avenue Mile was pretty special. But this is something on a different order of magnitude.

Update: 80 minutes, official and some awful photos.

Weakend
While in the grip of the grippe, I lost a week of training, then another just to be sure and because my phlegm production was still noticably higher than indicated it would be o.k. to start running again. Then I discovered that I had only a week left before the City-to-Surf. So I did some mid-week runs, 5-10-5 k's, Tuesday-Wednesday-Thursday. Wednesday's 10 was tough, as two weeks off meant the initial 5 left me a little sore, but Thursday's 5 was tougher, as the 10 really did a number, especially on my calfs. (Is that right? We're not talking about veal, here, so is it calves or calfs?) Two days off before Sunday's 14k race should be enough to see me right, but all things considered I suppose I ought not expect to repeat or improve my last 76-77 minute completion time.

Three Out of Four
For the last month, the Rabbitohs were on a tear, winning three in a row, and thereby igniting hope of achieving a spot in the top eight, being only one or two competition points away. So of course we drop today's match to the Bulldogs.

I know my presence or absence has no determining effect on a game, but having not been in attendance for the three wins - two away and one where I was still too sick to be sitting out in a stadium in the middle of winter - rejoining the team in time to witness today's loss does make me feel a bit of a Jonah. A strong first half - despite some fairly stupid errors - was matched by a declining second half - including one of the most stupid errors I've ever seen. Sometimes it's better to take the tackle, even in your own goal, than try to keep the ball alive and watch the other side score a try. Of course, that said, it isn't as though the referee wasn't taking our side back past ten meters, and Canterbury weren't offside for about half the game. Manly next week, which could be interesting.

Sound (&) Vision
Glasses have long been one of the more expensive necessities of my life, and with frames starting at over $200 even before they put my expensive prescription in them, finding a way to reduce my semi-annual out-of-pocket upgrades is something of a priority. As a result, I've taken to doing my shopping on-line, where starting prices, complete, start at $100. That doesn't mean I'm not spending up big anyway, since, as I say, my prescription is for coke-bottle thick, pretty much requiring that I opt for the extras, like specialty-thin. The big trick lately, however, is that I am increasingly decrepit, needing reading glasses. I originally opted for a distance paid and a reading pair, with slightly different frames for ease of identification, and have swapped between them. I've also left my sunglasses un-upgraded, since, effectively, as medium-distance glasses, I can both read and see far enough for most purposes. But carrying extra glasses and having to juggle them seemed stupid enough in the end that I bought a pair of bifocals for this year's model.

It is very important that I keep my head still, or at any rate that I don't move my eyes in advance of moving my head, as the tilt-shift is absolutely nauseating. Walking down the hall, every irregularity in the floor seems to throw my inner ear just enough that I want to go back to two pairs. Also, I don't think the distance on these is as strong as on my pure distance-glasses. Reading's o.k. - so far.

I've heard you get used to this, but it's not a particularly pleasant period of adaptation just right now.

We Many, We Lucky Many
Although at this point if you get 'flu, they say it's sure to be HSV, there are other things to get, like a plain ol' cold. Nothing like the cache of having a potentially fatal pandemic virus, just a rhinovirus. Annoying, damaging to keeping up training, and not glamorous. I take consolation in scaring the living daylights out of everyone I encounter.

Library Card
I really need to get it together to get myself a library card. I’ve never even visited my local public library, and while the little time I’ve spent in other branches hasn’t impressed me, Glebe’s looks like it might be big enough to be worth visiting. I say this with a few unread volumes of one thing or another sitting on a shelf waiting for me to get to, but books are among the most expensive consumer item in this country, and I consume a fair few. Despite a recent move towards opening Australia to cheap imports, there’s a hue and cry, as there often is in these protectionist matters, of opposition. Australian publishers, particularly in regard to Australian authors, can’t compete against the prodigious output of America, or even the U.K., for that matter. And Australian authors can’t compete if they can’t even get published in their own country, and they won’t be if the local publishers can’t afford to stay open. Theoretically, I suppose, there would still be some demand for local product, forcing the number of publishers to shrink and specialize, but more likely it would simply send Australian writers overseas and to abandon writing, if only writing about Australia. Sure, we’ve got a Nobel Prize winner, and sure, screenplays have been adapted from our stories, but nobody much reads Patrick White anymore, no matter how good he was, and those movies didn’t do particularly well at home or abroad, so where’s the worth? I’m not a fan overall of protectionist trade practices, but I’d hate to think Tim Winton would have to give up or move to California, or that we’d lose out on the next Miles Franklin ever having a brilliant career. The small Australian houses have, over the years, been eaten up by multinational publishing and media conglomerates, and that trend would only be exacerbated by the end of import restrictions. It’s bad enough that television, movies, and Microsoft dictionary settings are undermining Australia’s authentic voice. Not our writers, too.

Pandemic Pandemonium
One guy in the office came down with the new ‘flu over the weekend, and that whole corner of the floor has been evacuated for the next two days. I heard or read somewhere that, at this point, if you get ‘flu, it’s Swine, so every sneeze and cough on the bus makes the back of my neck itch. I’ve also heard that it’s being recommended that you don’t cover your mouth and nose with your hand when you cough or sneeze, but instead use your sleeve. Welcome back Sixteenth Century! We are our own plague rats now.

Athletics
I decided this year that a full marathon having been accomplished left nothing else to prove, so signed up for both the City-to-Surf, in August, and the half marathon, in September, about as full a race season as is easily available around here. I’m at about 96% of the training schedule to date, which isn’t bad, but this year seems harder than last year, when I had to have been more out of condition. I guess age is a factor. This weekend I did 19k in just under two hours, for a pace of just over 6 minutes per. Last year I’d have done it faster, and my goal is to be as close to 5 ½ as possible. My split in the marathon was something like 2:05, so I figure training for the full marathon, even if I have to miss a little on the goals, week-to-week, should make a sub-2 hour half possible. My main concern at the moment is “heartbreak hill” in the City-to-Surf, a long, fairly steep section of the course. Hills presently are my bane, but I’m trying to overcome this barrier. 5, 10, and 5 this week in the park across the road, and the 10 requires about a 2k uphill grade starting at about kilometre 4. It was tough last week, and it’ll be tough this week, but it’s gotta help.

Red Centre Restrictions
It’s on my list to go to Alice and visit Uluru, and I know about the climbing ban, which is disappointing. Maybe I’ve seen too much Peter Weir, but the spiritual charge of places like this seems to me to almost require as much interaction as possible. So, climb or not climb? Frankly, things I’ve seen or heard in documentaries about Aboriginal Dreamtime proprietorship and caretaking sometimes verges into the ludicrous, but I can’t have it both ways – either I respect their claims or I don’t, and I’m not comfortable with making a nuisance of myself. I don’t go to churches and disrupt the services or soil the draperies, so if somebody tells me this big ol’ rock is a leftover from the days of the Rainbow Serpent, I guess I’ll stay off. And I’ve got no problem with shutting down access.

Round 17
Wests Tigers tomorrow, early enough that I'll get home at a decent hour, late enough that it'll be dark and cold. We haven't won a match in a while - last time was the legacy match, against Wests, interestingly, but the difference between tenth and fourteenth may be a lot closer than is comfortable just now as a result. Go, you mighty bunnies.

Requisite Requiem
Michael Jackson was dead by the time I got to work on Friday, probably well before, actually, and it's a little hard to believe. I mean, we're the same age. Of course, he had a lot of problems that I don't, not least being an apparently excessive surgical modification jones, but that's pretty young for a heart attack, so I'm inclined to think he was over-medicating again and his doctor will have something to answer for, at least as much as any doctor treating Elvis in the King's final days would have.

I wasn't a fan, although I acknowledge his song-writing abilities and his dancing. He was deeply disturbed, even if he wasn't a child-molester, and the court system says not. I read someone sneering at his comeback attempt, but from the public displays of grief and mourning, I'd say he'd have solved at least some of his final money woes with this tour, and I'm sorry it won't happen. There'll be plenty of money somewhere for his kids, though, and for his family to fight over, I expect, although their focus will be on fighting over the kids, so I'm sorry for them, too, perhaps especially. What will happen to all those efforts to keep them relatively anonymous? So much damage done to him, perpetuated now and for how much longer?

At some point, they'll stop playing his songs non-stop on the radio, the news repeats will go into bulletin mode and then die off pretty much altogether, but there'll never really be an end to it all.

Any chance he's really still alive? Like Elvis?

0101010101...
Last weekend I bought a digital t.v. set-top converter, but couldn't for the life of me get it to work. Luckily, the salesman at the store was helpful, acknowledging that pretty much everyone who'd bought that particular model had tried to bring it back as defective, when really it was just the instructions failing to mention a few crucial configuration matters. Like which wires to plug in where. (Not just a matter of swapping out the aerial feeds, apparently.) And how to get the menu displayed.

Never mind, it's working now, and I have two whole additional channels, leaving aside the additional public access stuff (one of which broadcasters was presenting the results of the 2007 Sculpture by the Sea awards - a repeat, I guess). Unfortunately, it's also altered my ability to record one program and watch another, and not for the better. Suddenly, entering the digital age returns me to something slightly pre-digital. Not that I record very much generally. Frankly, the DVD mail-order thing is more worthwhile than anything on broadcast television anyway, HD or SD. Other than getting cable, which is expense, this is probably as far as I need to go.

I heard that the digital change-over recently accomplished in the US wasn't entirely successful - I wonder how many people have no t.v. now, having failed to get a converter - but the anecdote's I've seen have largely been in regard to signal strength. What with the numbers of drop-outs I experienced last night, I'd guess there are a few people back home who are not entirely pleased with Congress right now.

Four Straight
New South Wales’ got the Blues, alright, with Queensland taking the rubber in two straight games out of three for the fourth year in a row, and while all credit to them for a fine sporting achievement, the NSW side’s performance was marred from the very beginning by some truly atrocious ball-handling, resulting in egregious turnovers deep within their own territory throughout the night. While in the second half the Maroons started out with some errors of their own, they never faltered in defence, easily outmatching the Blues’ strategy of running sideways along the line looking for a hole that just never turned up.

Olympic Park’s ANZ Stadium is the home field for the Rabbitohs, so I’ve spent many an evening and afternoon there (80 minutes at a time), but I’ve never attended a State of Origin match, or any other event capable of filling the 90,000-seat capacity venue. This one was off that mark by just under 600. It was jam-packed, with queues for food and drink and toilets, and crowds milling through the corridors. It’s an expensive ticket, so I normally wouldn’t have gone, but I had an invite via a vendor, so who wouldn’t jump at such an offer. Of course, your first thought is naturally: sky box! corporate box! – not: ow, my nose! But for all my vertigo being seated so high and at so nearly perpendicular a pitch, I can’t really complain. We were seated in front of and to one side of a group of young men whose enthusiasm for the Maroons could not be contained for a single moment, one in particular of whom spent the entire match foully slanging the NSW side individually and collectively, when not chanting, Queens-land-er, or offering an alternative Queensland-AAH! and managing to instigate a first quarter punch-up – almost – snatching the cap off the guy sitting in front of him following his side’s second try. A bad baiting choice, as the Blues supporter and all his friends were of a size sufficient to use the kid as a toothpick or snap him as easily. Luckily it came to nothing, and for a minute the chants and cat-calls were notably muted, if not entirely silent.

It was a fun night, generally well-behaved coming and going, but I’d still rather have seen the Blues make more of a game of it. Maybe next year.

Summer Blockbuster Checklist
So now that I’ve seen Terminator Salvation I can get on with the art-house movies maybe. T4, if I can call it that, may very well make Sam Worthington the newest Australian Hollywood superstar. The movie itself is as full of holes as most of its characters by the end, but it rocks along with only a few bits where you wonder if they’ll ever get around to wrapping things up. It ought to be the final in this franchise, too, speaking of wrapping things up, although for as long as these things can continue to make a buck, or a million of ‘em, it won’t be. Oddly, however, it must have made an impression, as I had apocalyptic Terminator dreams all night, even despite the typically cheesy ending that ought to have spoiled the whole thing.

Fitness Levels Fading . . .
I’m seriously considering registering for the World Master Games, if just for one event, really, which I guess would be the 1,500, which is the closest approximation to my high school track distance. The fact that I’m present running my marathon training at about 6 minutes per K means I can expect to do very, very badly if I do, so is AU$220 really worth signing up for that much humiliation? Even though that price includes being admitted to compete in as many as four additional indoor events and all the outdoor events, I wouldn’t, especially as that would merely heap humiliation upon humiliation. I haven’t even signed up for the half marathon in September or the City-2-Surf in August yet. Nevertheless, the deadline approaches; a decision must be made.