In the Loop.

Alright look, it is possible for me to reflect on things that have no connection at all to Connex, but things of note just keep on happening. Last Friday some moron in an ultimately successful attempt to evade Connex Valued Patron Service Executive Enforcers leaped from the platform at Melbourne Central and bolted up the City Loop tunnel towards Flagstaff. As you would expect, the system was immediately shut down and a train load of Authorised Customer Care Representative Executives advanced slowly up the tunnel in pursuit.

As the drama unfolded, I was at home listening to the radio and eating my cereal. A Connex spokesperson came on to advise all travellers on the Epping line of a half hour delay to all services. A half hour! Looks like I’ll be late to work today. I weighed up whether to just leave later in the hope of avoiding the packed trains and slow-moving queue that inevitably develops when services are delayed. I figure an uninterrupted train that leaves later may well get me to work at the same time as the stop-start-stop-start one that leaves now?

But it started to seem too much like a maths problem (with a train full of people holding torches leaving the station at 9am heading south at lightspeed, etc) so I decided to brave the crowds and head off anyway. Only to discover a distinct lack of crowds. And delays. My regular train was bang on time and, if anything, there were fewer people on-board than normal, resulting in one of the most pleasant trips to work of the year. Alley-oop, Connex. Thanks for the assist. I wish you’d run interference like that for me every day.

As we barrelled through the Loop towards Melbourne Central I realised I hadn’t received any message from Connex informing me of the supposed delay, despite a “half-hour” falling well over the lounge room of their fine print. I guess that means there never was a half-hour delay, and the SMS system has shown it can be dependable; oh me of little faith. Dependable, unlike the Connex spokeswoman who I assume has yet to subscribe to Ol’ Reliable as she was clearly not in the loop.

UPDATE (31/08): Woah there. Did I say ‘dependable? Did I? Maybe I spoke too soon? I received another text message from Connex this morning. It wasn’t to tell me my train was delayed (which it was, but only by 9 minutes so stop your whining), but to let me know my train would not be running through the City Loop. As I was already on my train and halfway to the City Loop, there was not much I could do about that, but I appreciated being kept up-to-the-minute all the same. Although Connex must have been so busy frantically firing off messages to their valued customers that they forgot to let the driver know. Not only did he not make an announcement for the benefit of those luddite non-subscribers, but once past Jolimont he rolled right on through into the City Loop.

Now I’m more confused than ever.

A Grate Read.

I just happened to pick up and glance through the ‘2006 Books Alive Great Read Guide’ which claims to contain “50 books so good, everyone will want to read them.” Ok, well let’s test that by selecting a sample at random… hmm, what about this one on page 12: ‘The Omega Scroll’ by Adrian d’Hage?

'A DYNAMITE ADVENTURE ABOUT THE VATICAN’S BIGGEST FEAR'

“A ruthless cardinal who’ll stop at nothing to become the next pope, missing nuclear suitcase bombs, an ancient scroll with a terrible warning for humanity – this book has it all.”

Woah! It certainly does; including the plots of at least four other books! The only thing I can think of that’s missing is a ‘dangerous and torrid love affair’. And ninjas, of course. Every story needs ninjas. The blurb continues:

”As a journalist, an archaeologist and Vatican investigators race against time to unlock the secrets of a Dead Sea Scroll that has remained hidden for 2000 years, a CIA agent attempts to track down the nuclear devices. The stakes couldn’t be higher.”

And the connection between those two plot threads couldn’t be more unclear. Are they actually related? Or are they just too good not to have crammed in there? Talk about write-by-numbers. What a contemptible pool of dribble. Kate and I sat down and tried to top Mr d’Hage for ridiculousness, but soon gave up realising it was a near-impossible task. It’s not easy to parody something that already is one.

Who’d even consider reading this rubbish?!

"For fans of The Da Vinci Code, this is a must-read book."

Aah. Of course. Sorry, Books Alive, but your credibility and that of your "independent panel of book industry experts" is as flimsy as The Omega Scroll’s disconnected plots. No amount of stirring endorsements from Aussie Steve Waugh or TV's Andrew Daddo will get me reading this crap. See you in 2007.

Great expectations.

It’s probably a bit late to start watching Charles Dickens' Bleak House now, (that's Charles Dickens with one ‘K’, not the well-known Dutch author), as the final episode was just shown, but if you have the means, I highly recommend picking it up on DVD; if only to see what Wedge looks like when he’s 59. Although I guess that link'll do just as well. Certainly cheaper. Although not as satisfying as Bleak House was brilliant. Such an amazing cast and so many incredible performances. I'll be saying "Oh m'bones! Shake me up, Judy," for years to come. For which, Kate, I apologise in advance. :-)

Vanstone proposes new deterrence strategy.

Immigration Minister Amanda Vanstone was on radio the other day, defending her stance on immigration. “We literally bent over backwards to mirror what would be the case offshore that is the case in Australia,” she said.

Well, while that may or may not be true, please, Minister, that’s really not an image I want in my head! It'd be hard work excising that one. You're on my list!

On a more serious note, I appreciated a letter in The Age from the other week when the Senate was voting on the Migration Amendment Bill:

Petro, Russell and Judy were described in Parliament as being in the gutter. At least they climbed out of the sewer. Dave Gill, Don Valley.

Island in the Sun.

Well, I’m back. And it wasn’t quite the experiment in deprivation I expected. Not only did this island in the sun have internet access (albeit charged at $8.50 per 15 minutes, but access nonetheless), it also had mobile reception (although my phone only seemed to work when hovering over my bedside table). The only thing it lacked was my fam and, let’s be honest, that was always the real challenge anyway. :-)

So while I never touched the internet, nor really used my phone, it wasn’t much of an experiment because I could have if I’d really wanted to. Although not with my mobile because as I didn’t expect to have the phone on I didn’t take my charger (it’s just one more thing to lose) and my battery went flat two days in.

So, no new insights into the human condition then… how was the weather? Aah, Fiji. Beautiful showers one day…


…perfect tropical storm the next.


Despite my concerns, the weather was wonderful, with two bonus days of continuous rain and a temperature that hovered around that pleasant point where either shorts or trousers will do. Paradise. For me, at least. Listening to my fellow islanders, you’d think each drop of rain was a sliver of bamboo pushed up under a fingernail. No appreciation for the beauty and pleasure of rain. Which is a shame; it’s so limiting to tie your capacity for enjoyment solely to the sun. It’s not like there wasn’t anything else to do. But no, people just sat around with their fingers crossed, hoping for the best, and assuming I was being sarcastic when I’d reply that I was quite enjoying the weather. Strange man. I don’t understand what’s so strange about liking rain?

And speaking of strange: at dinner on the final night a group of five seated to my left were having a none too discreet conversation concerning me that I couldn’t help but overhear, even over the sound of the performing band. There’s nothing like being seated next to a group of people for an entire meal to help you fade into the wallpaper, I guess? My mealtime banter must have been scintillating! A middle-aged woman from the Gold Coast who was seated between two couples either side was asking if they’d heard the name of my daughter? “It’s Winter,” she told them. “It’s not that I don’t really not like the name, but it seems sort of negative to me,” she said, employing a triple negative whammy of her own. “I like Summer as a name, but Winter seems strange.”

Sigh. Boring. I think I can safely assume that to her ‘winter’ means grey skies, frigid mornings, cold bones, frozen feet, endless rain and dead trees, whereas to me it means roaring fires, hot mugs of tea, thick woollen socks, walking in warm and heavy coats through the crisp morning air and, best of all, being tucked up in a toasty bed with a good book while steady rain pelts on the window outside. Winter doesn’t mean ‘death’ to me; it’s life lying dormant, ready for renewal, eager to explode. So if you’re looking for something that’s negative, you really need look no further than a mirror.

Back in 7.

Well, nothing lasts forever. We've had a golden run of 15 degree days here in Melbourne, but now I'm off to Fiji for Ahab & Naomi's wedding, and the weather sites tell me to expect high 20s. Glory, it's an old-fashioned heatwave. But it's ok because I'm only gone for a week and will be back in no time to catch the tail-end of the best winter we've had in a long time. Although a bit of rain would've been nice.

Leaving the family at home to enjoy the central heating will of course be difficult, but the real challenge will come from having absolutely no internet access for the longest time since I first plugged into the... big binary road thingy oh so many years ago. It's like unplugging from the Matrix. I'll be like Agent Smith when the data stream disappears. The music will fade and die! I'll be like... that guy in... some movie I can't quite recall, who's spent his whole life plugged into something and then the soundtrack swirls as he disconnects for the first time. Probably for love. JJ, can you help me out here? So, no internet for a week! What might happen? Can I possibly survive? I'll know soon enough. It's like I'm about to undergo an experiment, like... oh no! Like Big Brother, I guess. I'm off to an isolated location with a bunch of people, most of whom I don't know, where I'll be denied my daily bread of family, mobile reception and the internet. Argh! It's Big Brother: Fijian Island. The horror.

So enjoy your time to yourself, be good while I'm gone, and see you again shortly.

Elias Jian-Li arrives.

Welcome to Elias Jian-Li, Winter's first little friend, born Tuesday, August 1st, 2006. 13 days late, but worth the wait, and with a shock of black hair the envy of newborns everywhere. Winter's looking on wondering why she got stuck with such a boring bloodline, and can't be a Malaysian-American Australian as well! :-)

Winter of content.

Alright! Just completed the latest Census form, and I did it online! Woooo! The Future is Now! It’s swerved on up the Information Superhighway’s off-ramp and it’s here in your living room RIGHT NOW so get on-board or get run over!! ‘Information Superhighway’. Remember that? There’s a phrase I’m glad has fallen into disuse. Can’t remember the last time I heard someone use it. In a non-sarcastic way, at least.

So yeah, Census 2006. Pretty exciting. It’s history in the making. Millions of people cooperating to capture a moment in time for future generations to look back upon and discover that yes, I did have internet access in my home in August 2006. The other appeal for me is that it’s a form to fill out. I love filling out forms. There’s something very satisfying about it. I’m not quite sure what it is.

So did everyone tick the release this information in 99 years box? Or did you feel Big Brother breathing a little too hard down your neck? Did you mark down your religion as ‘Jedi Knight’? If yes, are you a stroker? Wait, don’t answer: I already know. :-)

The best part of this Census was filling in Winter’s details. She’s really a real person now! Are those last two sentences enough of an excuse to post another photo of her? Of course it is.


Quick update, if you’re interested: Happiest baby alive. Sleeping well, feeding well and growing faster than the number of Jedi in Australia. Much faster. She’s trying to talk and coming out with all sorts of weird squawks. Sometimes I’m on the phone to Kate and it sounds like there’s a frantic bird trapped inside attacking her. Winter’s also trying to laugh. It never occurred to me that we need to learn how to laugh! She takes these large gulps of air and makes a funny noise, but mostly ends up with a fit of hiccups. Maybe we’ll have to get David Brent to give her a few pointers? Come on, trust me. Ay? Yeah? Hoohoohoo.

UPDATE: ARGH! The Jedi hilarity has mutated into a tool for social activism! Last night I was fenced into a corner of the tram by two very serious and very earnest young women who were talking with pride about listing their religion on the Census as 'Greenie'. "It felt so good doing that because, like, if enough people do it, the Government will have to pay attention." Yeah, good luck with that. Let me know how it works out.

Go figure.

So apparently a couple of the mouth-breathers on Big Brother were having a discussion about why the game show they were on had the name it did. ‘Big Brother’ didn’t seem right. Wouldn’t ‘Father Figure’ be a better name?

Gretel, of course, smirked it for all it was worth, presenting them with their own copies of ‘Nineteen Eighty-Four’ once they were evicted. I didn’t see the presentation, but I can just imagine the smarm. “Here you go, dummies. Go and read a book and get yourself an education,” like she’s so much better than they are. Sure, they should have at least a vague awareness of where Big Brother comes from, but I reckon the greater sin is committed by Gretel. She’s (apparently) read the book, knows who Big Brother is, and yet is still comfortable using the name for her fluffy, vacuous, trivial bit of nothing of a game show. That's what's really tragic. George Orwell's spinning so fast he could power a small city.