Things Still Pretty Crap

Thanks a lot for your prayers guys, it is really appreciated. Still in a bit of a dark cloud. Little e is still sick-- she had gone a long time without vomiting, but then started again this morning. Another doctor's appointment today, so hopefully that will shed some light. The main issue for E and I is sleeplessness-- we are both hammered. Little e was crying and awake most of the night again, so we are facing another day on about three hours sleep.. Bluuuaagh.

Anyway, I don't want this to be a big whinge. Kids get sick, and parenting gets hard-- it is probably not some new phenomena. Sorry for no book group post this week. If things get back to normal I will do it soon, otherwise maybe a double one next Monday or something. For the moment I am just chasing my tail trying to keep up with work and everything else. Hope you guys are all going okay.

Rough Trot

Sorry I haven't been around the last couple of days-- been having a bit of a rough trot. Little e has been really sick, we were at the hospital last night and are about to head off to the doctors' now. Prayer would be really appreciated. Will try and write soon-- right now I have a sick little girl asleep in my arms as I type.

300 Posts

I would just like to thank all my readers for coming together to make this photograph possible. That you would all fly in from various cities the world over to mark the occasion of this, my 300th post, means more to me than you will ever know.

Celebrations will continue tonight, when I do a motorcade through the streets* and then party through the night**.

Sadly, the accommodation that I booked for you all during your visit here has fallen through. But we do have a pretty big couch. There is also the stairwell, which though pretty cold, is at least dry, and would be a roof over your heads.

*catch the bus home, and maybe drive my Golf down Liverpool Road
**watch the football, take some Codral and go to bed

Thursday Peanuts

Sickie

I never know when to stay home if I'm sick. How sick is sick enough? I have this dumb flu, but also have lots of work to do. This morning I got up in the dark, showered, shaved, dressed, breakfasted, shuffled down to the bus stop and sat down.

It was cold, dark and wet.

I stood back up, shuffled home again, got back in to my pyjamas, climbed back in to bed, put my electric blanket on 6, and went back to sleep.

Love Is A Battlefield

There is really no way that I can listen to Love Is A Battlefied by Pat Benatar and not start dancing. The bass line is just too awesome.

I have just been sitting here at work playing it on repeat, and try as I might, I just can't keep still. I am trying to keep it down to a slight jiggle.

Go on, try and keep still. I dare you.

Grapes of Wrath

I don't share too many gross baby poo stories with you, but sometimes you come across a deposit that is just too fascinating not to share. Feel free not to read though, it may upset you.

When Little e eats sultanas, she doesn't chew them, but rather swallows them whole. (She tells me it is about the sophistication of her pallate, like the way people in the know don't chew their oysters, but rather let the cold slimey thing just slide whole down their gullet.)

Now the fascinating thing, is that once they make their way to the exit, they reapper whole-- but this time, no longer as sultanas. Disgustingly enough, the process has reverted them pretty much to their former state as grapes.

Last night we found nearly a whole bunch. True story.

Pride

I felt convicted when I came across this sentence late last night. It's from Psalm 36--

In his own eyes he flatters himself too much to detect or hate his sin.

Odd Jobs

In an attempt to have a better appreciation for my job, I have been thinking about some of my less fondly remembered situations of employment.

A few years back, I was out of work, and so a friend lined me up with a couple weeks of work at the university where she was doing her PhD. It was in a laboratory where they experimented on animals, for medical research. My job was just data entry of the results of these experiments.

Being pretty fond of animals, I was quite nervous of the experience, but was pretty desperate for work. I found it pretty disturbing, and saw some stuff I wish that I hadn't. The place was dark and cold, and reminded me of an evil scientists lab from a movie. It smelt of mice and chemicals, and was very quiet. The mice and frog stuff was confronting, but for me the worst bit was seeing this cat that was being experimented on.

My friend warned me about it, but I still wasn't prepared for what I saw. Just thinking about it now sends a shiver down my spine. I won't go in to too much detail, but basically it was in a sitting position, very much alive, but the top of it's head was removed, and his eyes pinned open. It was truly horrible.

Moral of the story-- Your job might get annoying, but at least you're not seeing animals getting tortured.

There's A Blog On Your Bus

I generally try to steer clear of blogging about blogging (partly because blogging is such an annoying word, and I try to avoid using it if I can), but I had an Oprah light bulb moment about my blog that warrants it.

Are you ready? Okay, let me drop some science on you: My blog is like the bus from that movie Speed. Big stuff, hey. Just let it sink in for a bit. Give it a moment to gestate.

As you will probably know, there was a bomb on that bus, and if it dropped below the speed of 50mph, it would explode. Now, with most of my hobbies, they begin well, and I am very enthusiastic, but then I lose momentum, and the hobby fizzles out. Some examples of this from the past few years are boat restoration, coin collecting, bonsai and building model planes.

Now this is where this blog is like the bus. If it loses momentum, and drops below a speed of say, 5ppw (five posts per week), it will quite literally explode. "Well, not literally", I hear you say. Well, actually yes. But out of deep concern for your safety, valued reader, I don't allow this to happen.

Which brings me to the second part of the analogy: I am Keanu Reeves. Like in the fillum, I have leapt onto this dangerous vehicle in order to a)serve, b)protect, and c)disarm. I do realise that it is a dangerous undertaking, and that I am putting myself in the face of peril for the sake of others. I know this, but I don't seek glory or reward. My reward is simply in seeing you alight safely after this ride.

Now, mind the step, and have a nice day.

Gifts

My Dad left a comment on that post I wrote about being crap with numbers. I thought what he said was really cool, so I thought I would share it--

Hey Ben lots of people don't do numbers. Very few people can communicate in writing and visually the way you do - I certainly can't. I used to be down on myself because I was and still am hopeless with tools whereas my Dad could do almost anything with them. I felt that what I could do well was not important and the things I could not do well were the important things. My Dad always seemed to think he was inferior because he had not done much by way of tertiary education and really struggled in sermon preparation. The message to me seems pretty clear. God gives us all different gifts and we should not devalue what we can do or be down on ourselves for what we can't do.

DAD

Book Group- Week Three (Pt 2, i-iv)

An overview of this section-

-Raskolnikov, back in his lodgings after the murders, is getting pretty sick, drifting in and out of fever and sleep.

-Gets a summons from the police bureau regarding issues with his landlady.

-Decides to throw stolen goods into a canal, then on reconsideration hides them under a building block instead.

-Goes to see his old friend, Razumkhin, but then flees.

-Gets walloped by someone in a passing carriage.

-An elderly woman takes pity on him and gives him twenty copecks, saying, "Take it, for the love of Christ".

-He throws the money into a river.

-Has a nightmare that Ilya Petrovich the police luitenant is beating up his landlady, Pashenka.

-Razumkhin has been visiting and caring for him, with Natasya, and uses money sent from Raskolnikov's mother and sister to buy stuff for him.

-Some guys come to his place and discuss the details of the murders, trying to piece it together. Razumkhin has details pretty much sussed out.

This week I just want to mention two bits that really stood out to me from the reading, rather than try and tackle everything that's happening. Incidentally they both happened on the same page..

Twenty Copecks--

In some deep space below him, scarcely visible beneath his feet, he now beheld the whole of his earlier past- his old thoughts, old problems, old preoccupations and old feelings, and this whole panorama, and himself, and everything, everything... He seemed to be flying somewhere into the heights, and everything seemed to vanish before his eyes... Making an automatic movement with his hand, he suddenly felt the twenty-copeck piece that was clutched in it. He unclenched his fist, stared fixedly at the little coin and, with a swing of his arm, hurled it into the water; then he turned on his heel and went home. At that moment he felt as though, with a pair of scissors, he had cut himself off from everyone and everything.

This struck me as very significant (and beautifully written), and as a good summing up of where Raskolnikov is at. The woman's pity is too painful, and is everything he is trying to escape from. He does not want to see those around him as being good and loving, otherwise it breaks down the distance he is trying to build between himself and the rest of humanity.

The Nightmare--

This section really chilled my blood, in some ways even more so than the murders. It really felt frightening, because it seemed that the rest of the world was suddenly crumbling, rather than just Raskolnikov himself. He hears the police lieutenant bashing his landlady, and this sends him into complete terror and confusion. How can this possibly be happening? We later realise it was a dream.

It also seems significant when you remember his earlier dream about the horse being beaten. In both cases he felt very upset for the victim, and very helpless. In reality he is trying to shut his emotions down, but in his dreams his subconscious seems to be trying to tell him something...

For Next Week-- Read Part Two, v-vii

Popeianity

I really feel a sense of relief to know that the Pope will soon be on his way back to Vatican City. Watching the news last night left me angry, repulsed and disgusted. Four hundred thousand people turned up to see him at the racecourse yesterday (incidentally, what is the Catholic church's stance on gambling..), and crowd members interviewed were saying things like, "I would do anything for the Pope".

Three babies were brought up to the Popemobile, to be kissed by him. People were in raptures over this. Their child got chosen. What a special blessing. People quickly then rushed to have their photo taken alongside the kissed babies, as though the blessing might rub off on them too.

To be honest, the whole thing turned my stomach on every level. How can you call yourself Christian when you are worshipping a mere man? How can you possibly call this anything other than worship? Desperately these people are clinging to a mediator that they don't even need. If I see him I can be closer to God. If I get kissed by him, well, open the pearly gates right now.

Look at Jesus, and look at the Pope. One man, all powerful, made Himself nothing, made himself a servant to us. Always deflected the glory and honour onto His father. He went willingly to His death, so that we, who were His enemies, could be saved. The other stands above the crowds in finery, treated like a king, giving away blessings that are not his to give. Allowing the glory and honour to fall at his own feet. Leading millions of people away in the wrong direction.

The Tigers are Friggin' Awesome

Watching the Tigers hammer the Rabbitohs 36 to 12 yesterday on tele was very exceedingly awesome. They played so well-- great defense, great attack, and some really good stuff by Benji, who has been pretty quiet this year. Farrah did a good job at halfback, and the forwards stepped up a notch and kept Souths on the back foot. Such an exciting game. I was leaping about the lounge room like an idiot. Also very satisfying to see the grave look on Rusty Crowe, as he stood in the crowd. Good times.

Sometimes They Come Out at Night

A rare instance of night blogging. E has gone to the movies to see Mama Mia with some friends, and I am at home with the little girl. I just put her to bed, and read to her from Revolting Rhymes by Roald Dahl. I love Roald Dahl.

Do you ever have days where you wish you could go back and have a second go at it? Today has been like that for me. I am feeling pretty blue tonight, and it is mostly because I feel like I didn't do a very good job of this day. I wish I hadn't done some things, I wish I had done stuff that I didn't. I wish I hadn't of opened my big trap about some stuff, and I wish I had of spoken up about other things. It is frustrating to continually be making the the same mistakes.

Sometimes I find it pretty hard to believe that God forgives, and that He does it time and time again. He doesn't hold a grudge, and He is so fast to love and forgive. His faithfulness is new every morning. That fact completely amazes me. What a wonderful God we have, and how humbling that He chooses to love us.

Well, I've just made myself a cuppa, and I'm going to go and watch Terminator on DVD to cheer me up. A bit of sweet cyborg killer from the future action will cheer me up-- just what the doctor ordered.

Hasta la vista.

Thursday Peanuts

Not a Post about So You Think You Can Dance

I don't seem to get to watch that much tele these days, so when I do it apparently warrants writing a post about it. Last night I was watching the first episode of the American So You Think You Think You Can Dance? From another room, E kept yelling out "Why are you watching that when you hate it? What else is on?". But I wouldn't listen. Then she started up with the accusations. "It's because you want to blog about it, isn't it?", she said, smirking.

Well, for your information, no, that's not why I was watching it, and I had no intention of blogging about it, but now that E has said that, I feel I have to, out of some kind of reverse psychology spite thing.

E is right though, I do hate that show. But the judges are a bit easier to cope with then the Australian ones. My worst, though, is Mary, the shouting judge. She is horrible. The very unsettling thing about her is that when she yells, her mouth yells, but her eyes don't. Her eyes and eyebrows stay in neutral. This is very disconcerting. Then there is the other woman, the empathetic, deep, soulful one, who is prone to cry deep rivers of tears. She is sort of the all-knowing guru, the white Maya Angelou of dance. The bloke is the best of a bad bunch.

Anyway, there is no point to this boring post, other than spite. So I'll leave it there.

Pope, Pilgrims and Boat-a-Cades

Is there anybody out there today, or have you all chucked a sickie to avoid the Pilgrim Invasion? I am at work, but only tentatively. I could do a runner at any moment. If enough people don't turn up here today, then I won't be able to resist the temptation to hotfoot it. Amongst the many cons, one pro for staying is that I will be able to see the Pope's 'boat-a-cade' (can't decide whether I want to give the person who came up with that term a pat on the back or a clip around the ear) on the Harbour from my window. Who can resist a spectacle?

I was thinking more about why World Youth Day(s) is putting me in a chizzy mood. I think it is the frivolity. It's like exam week at school. Most of the class have finished their exams, and are outside celebrating, kicking the football around. You are one of four people who chose to do 'Science For Life', and are still doing your final exam, when you should be out with your friends. They have a right to be happy, but you can't help resenting them for it.

It's like that. Here we are trudging off to work, and here are all these happy people livin' it up on a school night, taking part in such things as 'boat-a-cades' and holidaying it up. Stop smiling already, pilgrim.

Alyona Ivanovna

In Memoriam

Crocs

Now, I don't want to rustle too many feathers, and I know that probably a considerable portion of you will be a bit sore at me for saying this. But I have stayed quiet on this for long enough. Sometimes you need to speak the truth, even though it hurts. Through tears comes healing.

My problem is to do with these--

Come on, guys. What's going on here? Seriously, what is going on? I have many friends and loved ones who put these strange objects on their feet, and it breaks my heart to see them rushing down this destructive path.

What is the Croc? Where did this fashion originate? Hades is my guess. Let me try and understand, because I dearly want to. Do you wear these because they look good or because they are comfortable? I just can't imagine that either reason is plausible. A big wad of rubber that's been attacked with a holepunch, and then wrapped loosely around your foot. How can this possibly be comfortable?

Everybody's argument for Crocs, whenever I try to intercede and call them to account, is the same: "They are very comfortable, have you tried them?" No. Bicycle pants are probably very comfortable too, but I'm not going to wander around town in those. Comfort does not make you exempt for normal rules of living in a society.

I saw someone wearing them this morning, even though it's the middle of winter. Surely they can't keep you very warm? Or can they..

And did you know that there are also Crocs for the formal occasion? Look at these little rippers, ladies.

Just like nice shoes, except crapper and made out of rubber! Anyway, I guess what I'm saying is, it's your life, but I just really want better things for you. There must be another way. Don't give up on it all just yet. There is hope.

That Guy From Ghost

With all these pilgrims in the city lately, and with the trains brimming to overflowing, I've been feeling like that guy from the movie Ghost (don't pretend you haven't seen it..seven times).

You know that other ghost who sees Patrick Swayze on the train and is furious, and yells "Get off my train!!" ? I'm very close to breaking point, and could snap at any moment.

Too Much Pathos May Cause Nausea

Have you seen this Swedish movie called As It Is In Heaven? Everybody raves about how great it is. It got nominated for best foreign film, and has been playing at Cremorne Orpheum for longer than any movie in Australia ever. The truth, though it may hurt, is that it is not a good film.

In a nutshell, we have a very dull, unattractive main character, who is some disgruntled conductor bloke, who finds himself in a small town trying to teach an amateur choir of misfits and quirky characters, who are slow to take to this high falootin' city guy. Yawn. So yes, basically it is just The Mighty Ducks Join The Choir.

If you look past the 'feel-good'ness of this movie, and the heart warming 'pathos', you can see it for what it is -- a two hour Hallmark card in Swedish.

How many movies fit this formula-- big time coach reluctantly tries to mould small time team in to greatness in time for big competition. Chapter skip to finale, where a panel of hard nosed judges stand applauding the little engine who could. No thanks.

My Grandma insisted that I watch it, and organised a viewing night at my place, and also roped in my sister. Now get this. Midway through, the female lead decides to get her kit off, and is parading about in the nuddy. Not just topless, but bottomless as well.

So put yourself in my position-- I am sitting watching full frontal nudity with my wife, my sister, and my grandma. Not good, valued reader, not good at all.

Tiges

The Tiges went down again last night. Sad times. Brett Hodgson's last game at Campelltown too. I think it is still possible for them to make the top eight, but they don't really deserve to be there this year.

Oh, for every year to be like 2005...

Rubbish

But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in Him..

--Philippians 3:7-9

Paul was an inspirational man who never pointed to himself, but only to Jesus, the one in whom he was 'found'. He wrote this when he was in prison, in very dire circumstances. He has nothing now except for Christ, and yet he doesn't despair. He rejoices. And he considers all that he has lost as mere rubbish, compared to what he now has in Christ Jesus.

World Youth Day

I have to say, this whole World Youth Day business is bringing out a lot of cynicism and eye rolling from me. To be honest, I don't really know enough about it to make a valued judgement on it all, but the two impressions I am getting are one, a whole bunch of extra people in an already annoying crowded city, and two, people talking about the Pope as though he were Jesus, and swarming around a plank of wood to kiss it.

Now, I ought to be careful, and not be too critical of Catholicism, but at the same time I think it is fair enough to be frustrated and (to be honest), quite sickened by the rhetoric that's going around. I watched the news last night, and it was overflowing with hype and hysteria about the Pope being in town. Police were interviewed, and would refer to him as His Holiness. A massive image of his face is being projected on to the Harbour Bridge. The people coming to see him are described as 'pilgrims'.

To me this just feels wrong. There were high priests before Jesus' time, because we needed that mediator to come before God. But the whole point of Jesus coming to earth was to become that mediator, and to take away any further need of a human to mediate between us and God. And yet here people are practically worshipping a man, and treating him as the mediator.

They may be carrying a cross around, but really, I don't see a lot of Jesus in the picture at all.

A Lot of Posts on Monday Morning..

..Means that somebody doesn't want to do their work.

Never Trust a Man...

1. Who dyes his hair to hide the grey. He has something to hide.

2. Whose beard is too manicured. He has spent too long thinking about it.

3. Whose handshake is too weak. He lacks vertebrae.

4. Whose handshake is too hard. He has something to prove.

5. Who lets his phone ring a long time on purpose so that people can hear his ring tone. He cares way too much about ring tones.

To Russia With Love

Sophie shares her thoughts on this week's Crime and Punishment reading, as she's away for the week.

Dennis Wilson

On Saturday I had the most amazing discovery. It will be hard to get across to you how amazing it is though. I am a MASSIVE fan of the Beach Boys (I would have about thirty plus BB's related cd's.) The holy grail for diehard fans is this album that Dennis Wilson released in 1977 (the year I was born, and a few years before he drowned), Pacific Ocean Blue. It was deleted and has not been available. All I have heard was snippets on the internet.

But it has finally been released!! I discovered this on Saturday morning, and had it in my hands by the evening. It is seriously moving, beautiful music. Listen to this one song, it is just the most powerful, haunting, intimate, amazing love song. He sounds pretty fried and croaky, but listen to how powerful it is. The way those soft strings rise at the end breaks my heart.

Big Weekend

We had an unusually social weekend, but it was nice. Probably couldn't do it every weekend though--I'm exhausted.

Friday night we had a lovely dinner with friends, eating, drinking, talking. Nice. Saturday morning had breakfast with some friends in Beverly Hills. Sat in their backyard enjoying the sun. I gave them both haircuts. (One of my first female haircuts-- scary. Even did layers and stuff.) Saturday night went to Parramatta for a family birthday, had dinner at a Malaysian restaurant. Good night, beautiful food. Sunday went to church, then up to Fairlight to some friends place for lunch, with lots of other peeps from church. Lots of nice food, nice wine and good conversations.

Came home exhausted and E and I spent the evening trying to wrangle a very over-tired, beserk little girl. Had a beer and a cigar to unwind, and then ploughed through three chapters of Crime and Punishment!

How was your weekend?

Book Group- Week Two (Pt 1, v-vii)

Well. That was awesome. What a great few chapters. I am really liking this book, and am so impressed with the writing. A dumb thing to say, but no wonder it's such a classic. Once again I left my homework to the last minute, and had three chapters to try and squeeze in to yesterday. I am determined to learn my lesson this time.

Anyway, there a lot of things to talk about! Obviously the events in chapter vii are the pinnacle of things so far, but there were lots of good things in the lead up as well. Maybe it's best to do sub-headings..

The Drunk Girl--

This episode in chapter 4 was another interesting situation that again drew parallels to other things so far, and also revealed more about Raskolnikov's strange state of mind. Once again we saw the pattern of an innocent girl treated badly, and defiled, and the threat of the predatory male character. What I found fascinating about this was Raskolnikov's continually shifting attitude to the situation. He swings between desperately wanting to protect the girl, and throwing his hands up in a 'not my problem' kind of way, saying of the 'predator' character 'let him have his fun'.

The Dream--

Was this a dream or an actual childhood memory? I wasn't too sure. It was pretty tough going though, the story of the horse being beaten to death. The author is pretty unflinching in the way he describes violence, that's for sure. Again we saw the same kinds of patterns. There was the horse, who was female and an innocent victim. There were the predatory drunken, incompetent males. And finishing the triangle there was even the hard older woman character (who was watching and laughing). And Raskolnikov is again sort of a helpless bystander in the situation. Very interesting.

The Murders--

Boy o boy, those last couple of chapters were awesome. So full of suspense, and so perfectly described. Very anxious reading. I don't really know what to say about it all though. It was pretty distressing how detailed it all was. The suspense was amazing when he was trying to make his escape. What a page-turner! It was so tragic that he also murdered the sister. If he could reason away the old woman's murder, that was one thing, but the second murder was completely different, don't you think?

Something that particularly interested me in the lead up to the murder was discovering how his reasoning was working, because up to that point we didn't really know why he would go to such an extreme as to commit murder. Very interesting also was how he saw it as almost inevitable, like some sort of fate and predestination that was leading him to this outcome, and it was beyond his control.

Well, I have just rambled on too much, sorry. What were your thoughts? Did you 'enjoy' it as much as me? What were your thoughts on these three different incidents, and how do you think they are linked? Do you think his fatalistic attitude was just a way of justifying himself? Do you think he even feels the need to justify himself?

For Next week-- Read Part Two, i-iv

Breakthrough!

A really cool thing has happened. A few weeks ago I wrote a post about how I was trying to get in touch with a woman called Rosalind Hollinrake, who was pretty much solely responsible for bringing Clarice Beckett, my favourite painter, back into public consciousness, and who wrote the only biography that exists about her.

Anyway, somebody left a comment on that post, and has passed on Rosalind Hollinrake's contact details to me! The way this woman came to see my blog is pretty amazing too. This is what she wrote to me today--

Strange how things happen!
I was visiting Ballarat and their Fine Arts Gallery only last weekend and saw a Clarice Beckett painting. I had heard of the artist before from my mother who was an admirer of her work.
Then out of the blue I received a call from Rosalind Hollinrake at the start of this week. She is researching for her PhD and was given my number, from "someone in my family" who she had found by searching the white pages, as a possible source of information re a character who appears in a couple of Clarice's paintings. She thinks he may be an ancestor of mine. This of course stirred my curiosity and I decided to Google both Rosalind and Clarice and there I found your Blog and read of your search for Rosalind.

How cool is that? I am very excited, and can't wait to write to her. I have no idea what I will say though.

Spoilsports

It peeves me that I already know that Raskolnikov is going to commit a murder. It really peeves me. I am in the fifth chapter of the book, and it hasn't happened yet, and yet somehow everyone thought it was a top idea to tell me what happens before I'd even started. On the back of my book it says-

Crime and Punishment tells how Raskolnikov, a former student, murders an old woman..

Shut up! Shut up, shut up!

When I bought my copy, the lady at the desk started talking about it, and was saying "and after he murders the woman blah, blah, blah..". I said "Shh, don't tell me!", and she waved her hand dismissively and said, "Oh, it practically happens on the first page".

Look here, lady. Since when is chapter five the first page? And you look here too, fancy blurb writer. DON'T TELL ME WHAT HAPPENS!!

It's like writing on the back of The Sixth Sense, "Dr. Malcom Crowe (Bruce Willis) plays a child psychologist, and by the way, he is actually dead, and is a ghost."

Shut up!

This book has existed 140 years. I have been alive for 30 years. All this time, the knowledge that Raskolnikov kills someone has been floating around in the ether. By chance, good fortune and meticulous care, I have managed to not learn this information. And then the day comes when I decide to read the book, and the person selling it to me tells me what happens. the blurb tells me what happens. After 30 years of blissful unawareness.

Is this not a crime? Does this not deserve punishment?

"Practically happens on the first page". I never.

Thursday Peanuts

Pretend Driver, Stage 3

Woohoo! I just got my green P's! Hurrah. I feel very relieved, not because I didn't think I would pass, but just because I procrastinate and it's been hanging over my head. Why, you ask, is a 30 year old only just now getting his licence? Ah yes, this is one of the great mysteries, valued reader. Why is grass green? Why does chicken skin taste so good?

So, only three more years of plates, and then I will be a real driver. Until then, I have to exceed the speed limit, make my muffler really loud, play bad music at a deafening volume through sub woofers, and have passers by wiggle there pinky finger at me when I drive by.

It'll go by like that.

Seven

How many slices of bread are you supposed to eat in one day?

Today I have had seven.

Dumb Story

I just remembered a dream/sleepwalk thing that I had last night. E has a chair beside the bed with clothes piled up on it. I dreamt that Little e was perched precariously on top of pile of clothes, so still asleep, I got out of bed and rushed over there to keep her from falling. I stood there for what seemed like forever, just holding her* steady with both hands.

I was so tired and just wanted to get back in to bed, but had to stay put. I said to E, 'what should I do?' and she said 'get back in to bed'. I weighed the odds-- daughter's safety, sleep, daughter's safety, sleep-- decided that she could fend for herself, and got back in to bed. Sorry, this dumb story has no punchline.

*a pair of pants and a jumper

Not A Numbers Man

I have been having my own personal little Y2K meltdown.

You know that bit in your mobile phone where you plug the cord into to recharge? Little e got a hold of my phone the other day, and filled that bit up with baby spittle, which made it sort of short circuit or something. Since then, my life has spun into disarray. It's amazing how much you come to rely on gadgets, and how lost you feel without them.

The thing about me, is that I am not a numbers man. I'm talking to the point of stupidity. It would blow your mind the amount of data that I have not got stored up. Here are some examples, and I am being totally truthful here.

I don't know E's mobile number. I don't know the phone numbers of any of my friends. I don't know my mobile number. If you ask for my number I have to scroll down my mobile list to get to 'Me'. I do know my home phone number, but it takes deep concentration to pull it up. Same goes with my pin number. I don't know my work number. I occasionally know my post code.

Amazed? Disgusted? I have a sickness. Look away.

Incidentally, I do however, know my phone number from when I lived in Darwin, in 1987. It was 272823. I do know what year every Beatles album came out, and could kick butt on lots of other unnecessary trivia like that. I remember visual things very well, and written things. Faces, colours, song lyrics. I remember how to play all my songs without having written any chords down.

It's just numbers. When they hit my brain, they scramble on impact.

Brrrrrr

It's a cold one this morning. The bus was like a refrigerator.

I took this photograph out the bus window, driving down Parramatta Road.

Old People

Now, old people I understand. They make sense when they speak (mostly) and they wear sensible clothes. They don't spend so much energy big-noting themselves to their peers.

Also on my way home last night, I overheard an old lady in her 80's talking to her friend. Very different to the teenage girl. There was no slang or talking for the sake of talking. She just said a simple little sentence, and it made my day, for how boring but likable it was. She just said, "I used to hate pumpkin when I was a girl, but now I have a thing for burnt pumpkin."

Don't ask me to explain why that made me happy, it just did. No big-noting. No trying to impress. Just a few words about pumpkin.

Young People

You know you're getting old when teenagers become increasingly alien, unintelligible and scary. I used to feel like I could hold my own with a teenager. I knew their music. I got their fashions. I understood their language. I had their respect. But now, I'm old and unhip, and I find myself always silently tut tutting them, and being afraid of them when they congregate in large groups.

On my way home last night, I overheard the mobile phone conversation, of an ordinary looking teenage girl. In every sentence their seemed to be some word that I didn't understand. Also, she would call her female friend 'man'. She would say, "Devvo, man, devvo!", which I think in our language might mean 'devastated'. She would say, "Aww whatev's, man, whatev's" as a new and improved way of saying 'whatever'. At the end of the conversation she said "well, that sounds hell chat". I have heard this one from my friend Pete, but still. What the heck is hell chat? A conversation of a lot of words, but not a lot of substance.

On the other hand, I have a much deeper affiliation for old people...

Raskolnikov

For some time now he had been in a tense, irritable state of mind that verged upon hypochondria. So absorbed in himself had he grown, so isolated from everyone else, that he was actually afraid of meeting anyone at all.

The Model

We were walking through the shops recently, when a woman took a look at Little e and gave me this flyer, mumbled something, then walked off--

This has come at a pretty opportune time, with talk of another interest rate rise. I know she's young, but there comes a time when a person must stop feeding off others, and pull their own weight.

To be honest, Little e's been living the dream for the past 14 months, and it's high time she started earning her keep.

Saturday

Had a nice day on Saturday, even though it was pretty uneventful. It was just what the doctor ordered after a busy week. Cooked up a big brekky, and then hung out at home for a few hours with Little e while E went to the dentist.

Then in the afternoon I had a hankering for garage sales, so I went for a drive by myself. I didn't find any, so just kept driving to Summer Hill, and just browsed in a second hand shop and got a coffee. I got a couple of good things. This comic from 1978--

Everything about this appeals to me. Wooo, 1984! How futuristic! I am not really that in to science fiction, but I love comics, and old crusty stories about monsters and good stuff like that. This panel encapsulates what I love--

Them like fill bellies on meat from man... How could you possibly not like that sentence?

I also got this book that I have been looking for for ages, because it's sort of a sequel to Cannery Row, which I loved.

A few bucks poorer, but a whole lot richer. A good day.

Book Group- Week One (Pt 1, i-iii)

So! What did you think of the first three chapters? I got bad reminiscences of high school when I was up late last night finishing my 'homework'. I bet you were all good, and finished your reading days ago. Teacher's pets.

Well I don't want to write some great big essay about my thoughts, I want to start off a discussion and hear your thoughts. But I'll briefly outline what I thought so far.

I was quite surprised at how readable it is, and how modern it sounds. I'm not sure how much of that is down to it being a modern translation. I really like the writing, though, and like how unflinchingly the character's negative traits, and the general poverty are described. Some other thoughts--

Characters--

The characters seem pretty well rounded already, and I am intrigued to find out more about them. Raskolnikov is hard to classify at the moment. To me, he seems on one hand quite confident and self-assured, but on the other hand quite easily thrown by things, and quickly losing the plot. Marmeladov's story seemed to overshadow things for a while. What a loser! Oh man, he depressed me. It was interesting though how he said he drank not to escape his pain, but to feel it more.

So far it seems like the male characters are pretty rotten, and the females are either innocent victims, or pretty hard and severe.

Parallels--

I noticed some parallels between characters and situations. The story of Sonya, Marmeladov's daughter, being pushed into prostitution by her stepmother, as a consequence of Marmeladov's ineptness reminded me of Raskolnikov's sister being treated badly by her bosses' wife, as a consequence of her bosses' crapness. In both these situations an innocent girl is treated badly by a harsh woman, as a result of bad actions by a man.

E pointed out a better parallel also-- that Raskolnikov's sister is marrying a man she doesn't love, in order to provide for her family, as Sonya had prostituted herself to provide for her family.

So what did you think? Like it? Hate it? What stood out? What do you think about Raskolnikov? Good bits? Interesting quotes?

For Next Week-- Read Part One, iv-vii

Marmeladov

He was a man already on the other side of fifty, of average height and stocky constitution, with hair that was turning grey and a large bald patch. His face had the swollen look that comes of constant drinking, yellow, almost greenish in colour, with puffy eyelids through which his tiny, slitlike eyes shone, reddish and animated.

If I had a Twin

If I had a twin, I would rope him in to singing two part harmonies with me, Everly Brothers style--

I love singing harmonies, but there's never anyone to do it with. But if I had a twin, I would be the domineering one, and force him to comply. His name would probably be Raoul, or something good like that.

Music these days is lame because nobody sings harmonies anymore. Listen to the Everly Brothers. Now that's good singing.

Do Not Fret

Do not fret because of evil men
or be envious of those who do wrong.
Trust in the Lord and do good;
dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.
Delight yourself in the Lord
and He will give you the desires of your heart.
Commit your way to the Lord; trust in Him and He will do this:
He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn,
the justice of your cause like the noonday sun.
Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him:
Do not fret when men succeed in their ways,
when they carry out their wicked schemes.
Refrain from anger and turn from wrath; do not fret, it leads only to evil.

--(Psalm 37:1-8)

Trust in the Lord.
Delight yourself in the Lord.
Commit your ways to the Lord.
Be still before the Lord.

Trust. Delight. Commit. Be still.

How's The Reading Going?

I'm looking forward to discussing on Monday what's happened so far. I have enjoyed what I've read, it's been surprisingly action-packed. How good was that bit where that guy sicks his panther onto those blokes who are after him, and then jumps out the window in his bathrobe.

Sick 'em, Cleopatra, tear them to bits! Boy o boy! That's some good stuff. I know some parts have been pretty depressing, but it's supposed to get pretty good, particularly when Batman first comes in to the story (in chapter five).

Gotta love good literature.

Thursday Peanuts

Unenthused

Feeling kind of down today, and unenthused about things. I have had this dumb headache and sore throat all week. I have a fair bit of work which is why I haven't taken a day off. Oh well. I will try and cheer up a bit. I should pray about it. It is a lovely winters' day, and there's lots of stuff to be thankful for... I just have to snap myself out of it, I guess.

Spellcheck reckons 'unenthused' isn't a word. Hey, you don't know everything, Spellcheck. Stop living in the past and let me live.

Left To Your Own Devices

What would you do with your day if you could leave work right NOW for the day, or leave whatever you are doing right NOW, and just go and do what you wanted? The one rule is that your left to your own devices, so you can't go and hang out with other people.

I would turn off my computer,leave work and catch a bus back into the city. I would do a trawl through JB-HI FI and the comic shops, then look through the art books in Kinokuniya. By this time I would be hungry, and would catch a bus to Glebe, where I would find a cafe that did an all day big brekky. I would order bacon, eggs, hash browns, tomatoes, mushrooms, sausages and toast, and a big flat white, and then slowly eat, while reading the books and comics I just bought.

I would then go to Broadway and see a really scary and awesome horror movie, maybe a double feature. Then I would get a late dinner on my way home, some take away Thai chicken green curry and rice, and eat it in front of the 2005 Grand final, Tigers vs. Cowboys, with a beer and a cigar. Good times.

You?

TV Hell

I watched a bit of that 20 to 01 show last night. Bad, bad, bad. That is one of my most hated shows (sorry Lairdy). It's not the premise, or the host. It's a good idea, and you can't knock back a bit of Bert Newton.

It's the so-called celebrities they get to sit smugly on a couch and ramble on about subjects that their celebrity-ness (celebrity-hood?) has nothing to do with. Not A-grade celebs. Not B-grade. Maybe L-grade at best.

Here's the top twenty works of literary fiction, as seen by an ex-netball player, an ex-model, a has-been actor and Richard Wilkins. Sorry, but your currency does not work here.

Design Fault

The one design fault that I have detected in the male species (yes, there is only one--I have run tests) is that if you leave them for a day or two, there faces become covered in hair. Thick, coarse, annoying hair.

I did read the other day however, that women currently are for a bit of three day growth action over a clean shaven face. I am using this information to not bother shaving for work this week.

Careful, They Might Hear You

We have had nearly a week of good sleeps, and it has been awesome. We seem to have gotten into a workable routine, and little e has been sleeping through.

I am not superstitious, but I do know that whenever you say 'things have been good' with a baby, it suddenly changes. They can hear you, and can sometimes even read your thoughts. And they decide to spite you. "Oh, I have become an easy baby, have I? Well how you like this!"

I may have said too much already. I should go.

Microblogging

Today is going to be a day of Microblogging (c)TM B.J. McLaughlin 2008. I am pretty sure I have invented this hot, new jargon word, but won't Google it just in case I get disappointed again, like when I thought I invented the online book group.

Microblogging is for when you don't really have anything interesting to say, but for fear of dwindling readership from lack of content, you pump out little mini posts about nothing to keep up the momentum of your blog.

You have just been Microblogged.

Devaluing the Psalms

I love the Psalms, but I find that I have a bit of a weird relationship with them. They become what I read when I don't feel like reading.

When I lose track of reading daily through a particular book, I reluctantly flick open my neglected bible, and just end up going to Psalms because it seems easiest. I won't have to think too much, and I'll get some nice words to make me feel good.

Simultaneously I am putting too much emphasis on the Psalms, and also devaluing it--assuming it to be easy and unchallenging, and only about the comfort I can get from it. Rightly or wrongly, I equate this to Hebrews 5:12-13, which says-

You need milk, not solid food! Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature..

I know this is not referring to Psalms, but I think in a similar way, I make Psalms my 'milk' and never really manage to properly get onto solids. I think the more I do try to work through the 'solids' in the bible, the more I can also appreciate the 'milk'-- as an accompaniment, rather than the sum total. I don't know. Maybe I'm cheapening the Psalms by referring to them as 'milk' in the first place.

Stop Yelling

hOW MUCH DO YOU HATE IT WHEN YOU ARE TYPING AWAY AT AN EMAIL OR SOMETHING, GOING GREAT GUNS, AND THEN YOU LOOK UP AT THE SCREEN AND REALISE THAT YOU HAVE THE CAPS LOCK ON, AND THAT YOU HAVE BEEN YELLING UNNECESSARILY.

I hate that.