Cushy
Hamilton Island is supposed to be one of the most beautiful places on the planet, and the task of living there for free and writing a blog to promote it to the tune of an six-monthly salary of AU$150,000 has to be the best job in the world, even discounting Sol Trujillo’s now-concluded stint as CEO of Telstra. They’re down to 200 candidates and expect to announce the final 50 next week. My God, it’s just like [insert country name] Idol, except without the recording contract.
14 February 2009
Friends & Relations
I'm prompted to write this as a result of reading a recent post by a Smith-y I know, a transfer struggling with uprooted-ness.
The company I'm working at does a survey of its employees every year to find out if they like working there, more or less, and we're doing a new one, with just 12 questions, the key to which is: do you have a best friend at work? For about the first time since I started working full-time after university, I can answer yes, even though it's probably not entirely reciprocal. So what? I regard this person as an excellent friend, and it's certainly a good thing. But all those other jobs? I liked them, too, most of them. I guess it's selfish, but the job is about me in the end, do I like what I do, am I doing more and new and learning. Now, it should be mentioned that, for the first time ever, the project I'm working on is focused on the return-on-investment, whereas most of my past jobs were start-ups, the massive expenditure stage, and often they then proceeded to stagnate horribly. So I suppose that's a factor, too.
And I suppose there's some measure of increased engagement at work because of this whole friend situation because I'm also displaced from my family, the few friends I ever had previously, and even from my country & culture, to one degree or another (hey, we get all the best crap shows from America on our t.v.'s every night), without having made any notable new friendships post-antipodean relocation. But I'm like that, always have been. A one-man dog, as it were. One at a time, anyway.
Sure, I suppose being "the American" in many situations is going to be a disadvantage, going to mark me out as opposed to distinguishing me from the pack. And while 8 years of Bush have certainly had an effect, pretty much all the other years before that weren't doing us any favors either. In World War 2, for example, when our soldiers were the first broad exposure Australians had to Americans, the boys were picking up the local women and generally getting up everybody's nose Down Under. So as much as there was gratitude for the U.S. picking up where the Brits had dropped the ball (Let Japan take Australia; we'll get it back later), there was resentment and distrust, which latter sentiments tend to linger. Out here on the periphery of the world, and generally-speaking, anywhere outside the U.S., American boosterism doesn't get very far. So there's that.
Anyway, crowds of friends or not, I'm doing what I can, and it'll all work out or it won't. Whatever happens, so far I'm happy with my choices.
I'm prompted to write this as a result of reading a recent post by a Smith-y I know, a transfer struggling with uprooted-ness.
The company I'm working at does a survey of its employees every year to find out if they like working there, more or less, and we're doing a new one, with just 12 questions, the key to which is: do you have a best friend at work? For about the first time since I started working full-time after university, I can answer yes, even though it's probably not entirely reciprocal. So what? I regard this person as an excellent friend, and it's certainly a good thing. But all those other jobs? I liked them, too, most of them. I guess it's selfish, but the job is about me in the end, do I like what I do, am I doing more and new and learning. Now, it should be mentioned that, for the first time ever, the project I'm working on is focused on the return-on-investment, whereas most of my past jobs were start-ups, the massive expenditure stage, and often they then proceeded to stagnate horribly. So I suppose that's a factor, too.
And I suppose there's some measure of increased engagement at work because of this whole friend situation because I'm also displaced from my family, the few friends I ever had previously, and even from my country & culture, to one degree or another (hey, we get all the best crap shows from America on our t.v.'s every night), without having made any notable new friendships post-antipodean relocation. But I'm like that, always have been. A one-man dog, as it were. One at a time, anyway.
Sure, I suppose being "the American" in many situations is going to be a disadvantage, going to mark me out as opposed to distinguishing me from the pack. And while 8 years of Bush have certainly had an effect, pretty much all the other years before that weren't doing us any favors either. In World War 2, for example, when our soldiers were the first broad exposure Australians had to Americans, the boys were picking up the local women and generally getting up everybody's nose Down Under. So as much as there was gratitude for the U.S. picking up where the Brits had dropped the ball (Let Japan take Australia; we'll get it back later), there was resentment and distrust, which latter sentiments tend to linger. Out here on the periphery of the world, and generally-speaking, anywhere outside the U.S., American boosterism doesn't get very far. So there's that.
Anyway, crowds of friends or not, I'm doing what I can, and it'll all work out or it won't. Whatever happens, so far I'm happy with my choices.
08 February 2009
Return to Redfern
The renovation of the Redfern oval is complete, or nearly, if the lack of a scoreboard or even a clock within view of the grandstand is any indication (and it may not be; I'm not privy to the specifications), and today the Mighty Rabbitohs hosted Wests Tigers in a "friendly." The grounds are very nice, even if the conditions were a little too Australian-Open to suit a rubgy match, although the services on offer were meager. Well, you go for the football, don't you, not the hot dogs and meat pies.
Anyway, they staged a "legends" match, a face-off between squads from the two teams of long-retired players, which was entertaining and played in high-spirited good nature. Unfortunately, for Souths, that was about the end of anything positive, as the Bunnies staged one of their fairly typical almost-come-from-behind defeats. Leading late in the game, they gave up two tries to see the match end in the Tigers' favor, 30-26. Even a couple of minutes extended play didn't save them.
Welcome home, boys. See you out in Homebush in a month or two, and maybe it'll get better.
The renovation of the Redfern oval is complete, or nearly, if the lack of a scoreboard or even a clock within view of the grandstand is any indication (and it may not be; I'm not privy to the specifications), and today the Mighty Rabbitohs hosted Wests Tigers in a "friendly." The grounds are very nice, even if the conditions were a little too Australian-Open to suit a rubgy match, although the services on offer were meager. Well, you go for the football, don't you, not the hot dogs and meat pies.
Anyway, they staged a "legends" match, a face-off between squads from the two teams of long-retired players, which was entertaining and played in high-spirited good nature. Unfortunately, for Souths, that was about the end of anything positive, as the Bunnies staged one of their fairly typical almost-come-from-behind defeats. Leading late in the game, they gave up two tries to see the match end in the Tigers' favor, 30-26. Even a couple of minutes extended play didn't save them.
Welcome home, boys. See you out in Homebush in a month or two, and maybe it'll get better.
It's all True
Everything you've heard about The Wrestler, all the good stuff, anyway, is absolutely true. This is a gem of a movie, leaving absolution aside just as much as it does resolution, thereby adhering to a principle of modern story-telling: no one's story is ever over until it's all over with. Mickey Rourke I never had much time for, not surprising given most of his roles and his choice to abandon acting for boxing for so long, but I cannot think of anyone better suited to this part, physically, notably, but that shouldn't be taken as a dis to his acting chops, which are splendid. Marisa Tomei hasn't had a role like this in a long time, either, and takes hold of it with real vigor. The insight into these lives is entirely worthwhile and illuminating of so much more. Somebody better get an Oscar out of this.
Everything you've heard about The Wrestler, all the good stuff, anyway, is absolutely true. This is a gem of a movie, leaving absolution aside just as much as it does resolution, thereby adhering to a principle of modern story-telling: no one's story is ever over until it's all over with. Mickey Rourke I never had much time for, not surprising given most of his roles and his choice to abandon acting for boxing for so long, but I cannot think of anyone better suited to this part, physically, notably, but that shouldn't be taken as a dis to his acting chops, which are splendid. Marisa Tomei hasn't had a role like this in a long time, either, and takes hold of it with real vigor. The insight into these lives is entirely worthwhile and illuminating of so much more. Somebody better get an Oscar out of this.
DVD Late Fee
How good is Taken? I can't believe I missed this in a cinema. I'd heard it was good, but skipped it, never even really considered it, and then I had to wait for the video, paying the cost of my neglect in the small-screen experience of what is an entirely enjoyable movie, on a par, nearly, with the Bourne movies. Sure, it's a divorced dad and spoiled child action-adventure movie, but from the moment Liam Neeson speaks to his about-to-be-abducted daughter, the movie plain rocks. My only quibble: what ever happened to the also-kidnapped girlfriend? I guess that was her all doped-up and roped-down, but did she get rescued? Loose ends like that niggle.
How good is Taken? I can't believe I missed this in a cinema. I'd heard it was good, but skipped it, never even really considered it, and then I had to wait for the video, paying the cost of my neglect in the small-screen experience of what is an entirely enjoyable movie, on a par, nearly, with the Bourne movies. Sure, it's a divorced dad and spoiled child action-adventure movie, but from the moment Liam Neeson speaks to his about-to-be-abducted daughter, the movie plain rocks. My only quibble: what ever happened to the also-kidnapped girlfriend? I guess that was her all doped-up and roped-down, but did she get rescued? Loose ends like that niggle.
02 February 2009
Pics
I'm working (slowly) on uploading pictures to a new web page. A link will be available once I'm done. I'll do a separate page for the Adelaide-Kangaroo Island-Melbourne trip, too.
Update: Travel pics so far; more to come.
I'm working (slowly) on uploading pictures to a new web page. A link will be available once I'm done. I'll do a separate page for the Adelaide-Kangaroo Island-Melbourne trip, too.
Update: Travel pics so far; more to come.
26 January 2009
Pictures
I was fairly snap-happy over the last week-and-a-half, but a selected few photos should do the job. Rather than editing previous posts, I'll just stick them up more-or-less chronologically for a flavor of the trip.
A lookout vantage over the Barossa Valley, where our wine tour took us, outside Adelaide, which we shared with a woman from Vancouver, making for a most enjoyable day, particularly since she knew all the right questions to ask at each stop.
Greetings from Kangaroo Island.
Well-trained kookaburras. We had one on Mom's hand at one point, but I think she deleted the picture.
The penguins come ashore at night after days at sea, eating, and for their shore leave, molt. Because their eyes are adapted for underwater vision, white light bothers them, so the guides use red filters to show them up outside their burrows. Not even knee-high.
The Remarkable Rocks, as they're prosaically known, are a jumble of sea-and-air shaped free-standing boulders, very "Picnic at Hanging Rock" in effect as you wander among them.
For the tennis, we walked each morning along the Yarra to the show courts, along with many others from all points of the city. Later, we found out there was a special tram.
Alize Cornet lost last night, unfortunately, but we did get to see her in her round 2 match. She did pretty well, though.
We also got to see the Williams sisters in a doubles match, although we had to sit through a preceding match, after standing outside show court 2 for an hour, while a Serb and a Croatian fought out five sets, a match featuring some bad behavior by their supporters, a few ejections, and, when the Croatian won, loud singing and fascist salutes. What's with these creeps? They should be banned for life. From everywhere. Not the Williams, the Croatians-Serbs-Bosnians.
(Who are these people?)
I never got the story about the giant gold bees all over this building. There's a really big one up the top, too, and a bit of a swarm along one wall. Next time I'll ask.
I know what the latin says, but I reckon Melbourne's trying to tell us they built their success on wool, whales, beef and boats. I like the kangaroo rampant.
Our trip along the Great Ocean Road was very nice, and the driver even stopped when we spotted a koala along the way. The trees in the vicinity are badly denuded by mistletoe and hungry koalas.
This formation used to be connected to the land, but not anymore, not since 1990, when a collapse left two or three people stranded. These formations are largely limestone and sandstone, all being eroded. A rise in sea levels would cause further and dramatic alterations along this coast.
On our last day + 1, Mom & I visited the State Library, to see Ned Kelly's armor, among other things. The reading room was designed based on the famous reading room in London's library, and that of the Library of Congress. Australia did a lot of that sort of thing, combining the best features of the U.S. and the U.K. to achieve something new and remarkable in the world. It often works.
I was fairly snap-happy over the last week-and-a-half, but a selected few photos should do the job. Rather than editing previous posts, I'll just stick them up more-or-less chronologically for a flavor of the trip.
A lookout vantage over the Barossa Valley, where our wine tour took us, outside Adelaide, which we shared with a woman from Vancouver, making for a most enjoyable day, particularly since she knew all the right questions to ask at each stop.
Greetings from Kangaroo Island.
Well-trained kookaburras. We had one on Mom's hand at one point, but I think she deleted the picture.
The penguins come ashore at night after days at sea, eating, and for their shore leave, molt. Because their eyes are adapted for underwater vision, white light bothers them, so the guides use red filters to show them up outside their burrows. Not even knee-high.
The Remarkable Rocks, as they're prosaically known, are a jumble of sea-and-air shaped free-standing boulders, very "Picnic at Hanging Rock" in effect as you wander among them.
For the tennis, we walked each morning along the Yarra to the show courts, along with many others from all points of the city. Later, we found out there was a special tram.
Alize Cornet lost last night, unfortunately, but we did get to see her in her round 2 match. She did pretty well, though.
We also got to see the Williams sisters in a doubles match, although we had to sit through a preceding match, after standing outside show court 2 for an hour, while a Serb and a Croatian fought out five sets, a match featuring some bad behavior by their supporters, a few ejections, and, when the Croatian won, loud singing and fascist salutes. What's with these creeps? They should be banned for life. From everywhere. Not the Williams, the Croatians-Serbs-Bosnians.
(Who are these people?)
I never got the story about the giant gold bees all over this building. There's a really big one up the top, too, and a bit of a swarm along one wall. Next time I'll ask.
I know what the latin says, but I reckon Melbourne's trying to tell us they built their success on wool, whales, beef and boats. I like the kangaroo rampant.
Our trip along the Great Ocean Road was very nice, and the driver even stopped when we spotted a koala along the way. The trees in the vicinity are badly denuded by mistletoe and hungry koalas.
This formation used to be connected to the land, but not anymore, not since 1990, when a collapse left two or three people stranded. These formations are largely limestone and sandstone, all being eroded. A rise in sea levels would cause further and dramatic alterations along this coast.
On our last day + 1, Mom & I visited the State Library, to see Ned Kelly's armor, among other things. The reading room was designed based on the famous reading room in London's library, and that of the Library of Congress. Australia did a lot of that sort of thing, combining the best features of the U.S. and the U.K. to achieve something new and remarkable in the world. It often works.
25 January 2009
Pinky & Blinky's Big Adventure
So this couple I was traveling with woke up on Saturday with a whole day of nothing scheduled in Melbourne, a day to explore, visit the bookshops and museums, etc., but as we gathered to plan our afternoon, we found ourselves confronted periodically by members of the hotel staff, who seemed somewhat anxious and confused. We laughed about it a little, until I piped up to joke about how maybe we were supposed to have left already, including catching a midday international flight, now long departed. Unfortunately, it wasn't much of a joke. Over the course of our holiday, having not had much time spent at leisure to indulge in obsessive itinerary re-checking (and acting in ignorance on my part, or at least from the dates supplied), nobody thought to question Saturday or Sunday, 24th or 25th?
We managed to get the jet set rebooked for the next day, but still had to organize a place to stay, the hotel we were at being most thoroughly booked. The Langham, a very swank joint, were very helpful, and we ended up in the nouveau-deco Intercontinental Rialto, over in the city center. The hotel had only in the last few months reopened after a multi-million dollar renovation. It was o.k. Way overpriced, especially since one of the rooms was being heated instead of cooled. Luckily, that was the other room from the one I stayed it.
We shuttled out to the airport the next morning, very early, and once passport control opened, off went our intrepid explorers, leaving me to wend my way to the domestic terminal for a quick jaunt back to Sydney, from which I happily write this update, albeit anxiously awaiting news of what will have transpired in Los Angeles. Tune in (or post a comment, M&P) to discover: overnight stay or connecting flight and long drive home in the winter dark of North Carolina?
So this couple I was traveling with woke up on Saturday with a whole day of nothing scheduled in Melbourne, a day to explore, visit the bookshops and museums, etc., but as we gathered to plan our afternoon, we found ourselves confronted periodically by members of the hotel staff, who seemed somewhat anxious and confused. We laughed about it a little, until I piped up to joke about how maybe we were supposed to have left already, including catching a midday international flight, now long departed. Unfortunately, it wasn't much of a joke. Over the course of our holiday, having not had much time spent at leisure to indulge in obsessive itinerary re-checking (and acting in ignorance on my part, or at least from the dates supplied), nobody thought to question Saturday or Sunday, 24th or 25th?
We managed to get the jet set rebooked for the next day, but still had to organize a place to stay, the hotel we were at being most thoroughly booked. The Langham, a very swank joint, were very helpful, and we ended up in the nouveau-deco Intercontinental Rialto, over in the city center. The hotel had only in the last few months reopened after a multi-million dollar renovation. It was o.k. Way overpriced, especially since one of the rooms was being heated instead of cooled. Luckily, that was the other room from the one I stayed it.
We shuttled out to the airport the next morning, very early, and once passport control opened, off went our intrepid explorers, leaving me to wend my way to the domestic terminal for a quick jaunt back to Sydney, from which I happily write this update, albeit anxiously awaiting news of what will have transpired in Los Angeles. Tune in (or post a comment, M&P) to discover: overnight stay or connecting flight and long drive home in the winter dark of North Carolina?
21 January 2009
Day Three at the Open
29 degrees today, much more endurable, even if, after a set of Safin, we spent an hour or more waiting to get into Arena 2, where we would sit through two sets of women's singles just to catch the Williams sisters in a doubles match against a pair of Russians. Serena & Venus were dominant, if not dominating, but you can easily see how well they work together. It's a long day in the sun, though, and by the end of the day, there are so many layers of sunblock, you can't help feeling pretty grubby.
As I've mentioned, we're in Southbank, which is across the river from central Melbourne, but whether we head into town or stay on "our side", the city makes effective use of its riverfront. We'll see what else it's like, a little, tomorrow, travelling the circuit on the tram, but I'm already very intrigued at the idea of living and working here: what would it be like? How possible is it? I think, so far, Sydney's inner-west suburbs work better for me than trying anything similar here, but I do like this city.
29 degrees today, much more endurable, even if, after a set of Safin, we spent an hour or more waiting to get into Arena 2, where we would sit through two sets of women's singles just to catch the Williams sisters in a doubles match against a pair of Russians. Serena & Venus were dominant, if not dominating, but you can easily see how well they work together. It's a long day in the sun, though, and by the end of the day, there are so many layers of sunblock, you can't help feeling pretty grubby.
As I've mentioned, we're in Southbank, which is across the river from central Melbourne, but whether we head into town or stay on "our side", the city makes effective use of its riverfront. We'll see what else it's like, a little, tomorrow, travelling the circuit on the tram, but I'm already very intrigued at the idea of living and working here: what would it be like? How possible is it? I think, so far, Sydney's inner-west suburbs work better for me than trying anything similar here, but I do like this city.
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.
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.
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