Author, brilliant; publisher, not.

A quote from an article, ‘Author, 14, lands publishing deal’ in The Age on Friday.

Children’s Publisher Lisa Berryman said she had to keep reminding herself that Alexandra had written the book when she was just 13. “Alex’s brilliance literally leapt off the page,” she said.

I've never seen a leaping abstract noun. Must have been quite a sight! My collection continues to grow…

Set up.

What began as part of another story has taken on a life of its own. I can’t believe it’s happened again.

There are few things I love more than a good collection. Gathering, sorting and arranging a related set of objects together is one of life’s great pleasures. Be it general collections, like books and CDs, or more specific ones, like Boba Fett action figures (currently 21), different editions of my favourite novel, Catch-22 (18), or alternate versions of Duke Ellington’s jazz standard, Caravan (40), I find the urge to collect compulsive.

And it isn’t just things of value that I find it satisfying to draw together; any old crap will do: expired Metlink tickets, old bank statements, and even empty toilet roll tubes. Which leads me to wonder if perhaps the collecting is more important than the collection? Because I can think of no other way to explain the appeal of collecting cardboard cylinders. You know when you finish a roll, and instead of throwing it away, you place it on a shelf or on the window sill? First one, then two, and before you know it there’s a teetering tower of toilet rolls blocking out the light. All it takes are two tubes sitting there for me to catch the vision. Two tubes to make me look forward to the end of the next roll so that my tower can grow…

Oh dear. That’s unfortunate. And, I guess, revealing? Who would have known there’d be some sort of phallic resonance behind my compulsion; some instinctive need to build something larger than myself, to create a sense of significance through the construction of a… what do psychologists call it, an extension of myself?

Well, whatever, let’s not dwell on it.

No, let’s get back to the simple pleasure of gathering a collection. And the most satisfying sort of collection is the set: a collection with a starting point, an end point and a bunch of boxes to tick off in between. The set allows for the greatest sense of satisfaction because you know when you’re done and when you can rest; when you can ease your chair back onto its hind legs, and gaze with satisfaction on the completeness of what you’ve brought to be.

The only thing I dislike in a set is inconsistency; when common or repeating elements don’t match up. Titles change size or position, the logos move around and don’t line up, or, ye gods, the style changes altogether! I love variation, but variation within a theme.


Somewhat like a family of superheroes, where each member has their own distinct character and attributes, while still belonging to a larger, unified whole. Or a jazz performance where each player’s solo is a unique take on the same signature tune. I enjoy seeing how a style adapts and flows across a series (of books, CDs, DVDs or whatever), be it through colour, typeface, style of imagery, or the like. I like to see that the designer has thought ahead and considered the possibilities, and hasn’t just treated each new item as an all but blank canvas. Not that the designer’s always responsible, of course, as many inconsistencies result from bumps along the road of production, and most such issues are more niggles than throat-stompers. The real problem comes when the bean-counters get too involved, as bean-counters care only for their beans...


First up, there was Harry Potter. Disbelieve me if you will, but my choosing the adult covers (or ‘senior reader’ covers, if you prefer) over the original kiddie covers, had nothing to do with shame or embarrassment. It was simply that the kiddie covers were so absolutely awful, and I had the option to choose. Actually, the adult ones aren’t great either, but they’re restrained and don’t look like they’ve been drawn by a colour-blind hedgehog in a bag (to nick a favourite Blackadder expression). So I bought in, and guess what? When the fifth book of seven was released the publishers dumped the existing adult style and re-released the entire series in a completely different one. What’s an anal perfectionist to do? There’s no way I’m having four spines on my bookshelf in one style and three in another that’s completely different. So I stopped buying and started borrowing. Sorry JK, that new wing on your castle will just have to wait.


And speaking of borrowing over buying, I wish I’d done that when it came to Robert Jordan’s ponderous Wheel of Time saga. For a while Jordan drew me along with a carrot of promise, but over time he started using it to just slap me in the face. Not only did he make me slog through 7125 pages (for real) featuring (roughly) the same number of surly and unlikeable characters, involved in an exponentially growing number of plots and sub-plots, but he (or rather, his publisher, but I’m not feeling generous enough to make the distinction) rebooted the series’ artwork after nine of his wretched house-bricks. Nine! Forget the faithful who’ve been on-board from the start! Let me tell you, Orbit Books: if sales figures are falling, the problem does not lie with the covers. And notice how not only does the publisher's logo change for book eight (annoying), but it then changes back to the original logo for book nine (even more annoying)!

And so, lesson (to pass onto our children’s children) learned: don’t buy into a series until it’s complete.

Only, that’s no help with a series already underway. Just when I thought it safe to go back into the bookshop, in sink the sharp, pointy teeth of Martin Gilbert’s three volume epic, ‘A History of the Twentieth Century’.


I bought Volumes 1 and 2 when they were released back in the late 90s, but I somehow missed number 3. I kept an eye out for it over the years, but it never crossed my path. As I just recently started on Volume 1, I finally decided to make a real effort to track the elusive book down. Though the hardcover is out of print in Australia, it is available on Amazon.com, but with different cover art to mine, which I assumed to be the US style. Confusingly though, the same style appears not only on the version available at Amazon.co.uk, but also in the listing on Martin Gilbert’s website. In fact, I could find no trace anywhere of Volume 3 featuring a style of cover that matched my two. Even eBay, Google, and peering through the entrails of a slaughtered Himalayan yak turned up nothing. Figuring that if anyone would know, the author would know, I sent Sir Martin an email through his website, asking if he was able to end the madness? This was his prompt reply:

Thank you so much for your most encouraging words.

Alas, there never was a uniform edition of volume three. I am sorry about this. I do not know what got into the publisher's heads.

With further thanks for writing as you do. You have made my day! Kind regards, Martin Gilbert

Not quite the, “It certainly does exist, and, here, I’ll send you one of the autographed copies I happen to have lying around,” that I was hoping for, but it’s good to have a definitive answer, at least. And bonus points for using 'alas'; one of my favourite words. What a friendly chap!

So, I’m left with five (equally unpleasant) options:
1. Buy Volume 3 in a non-matching style. (Does not compute);
2. Buy Volume 3 in a non-matching style and glue on a mocked-up spine in the original style. (No-one might know, but I would know);
3. Sell current volumes and buy all three in new style. (Possible, but alternate style is, imho, inferior);
4. Leave things as they are and not buy anything. (But if I don’t build it, they will not come); or
5. GEEEEETTT OVER IT! Seriously! (Hmmm. Sounds simple, but would in fact require complete rewiring of personality).

So! What a pit to be stuck in. Though, at least, some consolation, I haven’t fallen into the larger (possibly bottomless) pit of Star Wars. That, however, is a whole other post….

iFind Nothing.

What was that old Microsoft slogan? Oh yes, 'Where do you want to go today?' Well, hopefully it's to someplace you've been before, because this ol' Windoze machine ain't gunna be any help at all. :-)

UPDATE: I WAS WRONG. In sniping cheekily at Microsoft, I've done nothing but expose my own technamalogical ignorance. This screen indicates a hardware error, and there's every possibility, indeed it's quite likely, that this machine is not running Windows. Poor old Bill's got enough to deal with, without some smug little blogging nobody firing spitballs at his much-maligned child. In my defence, I can only argue that, like a Windows machine, I'm prone to errors.

Attack of the Quantity.

George Lucas is getting out of the movie business and into TV. Which would be good news if only he was getting out of script writing as well. In an interview on Variety.com, Lucas outlines his reasons:

"We don't want to make movies. We're about to get into television. As far as Lucasfilm is concerned, we've moved away from the feature film thing because it's too expensive and it's too risky.

"I think the secret to the future is quantity," Lucas said.

No mention of quality, unfortunately, but then what did you expect? Sigh.

A voice crying out from the wilderness.

CK's rattling the bones of a thread four months dead, and he wants to know if he's wasting his time? It's a timely comment because a Blogger feature I feel is greatly needed is the ability to check for any recent comments across all posts on a blog. I get emailed comments for mine, but, and maybe you'll be surprised to hear, I do read blogs other than my own. An RSS feed for comments could be ok, but I'd like a link on the main page to a list of recent comments over the entire blog.

I've been to Blogger's Wishlist page and let them know, but who knows if the masses are with me? Triple J, when are you going to write your own blogging code for me to use, so I can send my feature requests straight to the head of the queue? I want access, and I want features implemented, and I can't do it myself! Only you can set this right!

There: I've put the challenge out. Let's see who delivers first! :-)

UPDATE: I've just upgraded(?) to the all-new Blogger beta, with all-new features that promise to solve the climate crisis, wipe out Third World debt and cure the common cold. I've been putting it off for a while because the new features didn't interest me that much, but I finally decided to join the club. Wish I hadn't bothered now. Nothing's been ticked off my wishlist, and it seems that people's profile pictures no longer appear next to their comments. Maybe it only shows the pictures of people who are also on Blogger beta? Who knows. Maybe you should all get on the Beta bus and we can find out? I can't go back, but you can move forward...

UPDATE 2: Hup: the profile pics are back. Goodo.

Krusty Kreme.

Just got swept up in a cultural phenomenon, and dumped on a deserted beach, washed-out and wasted, like some bedraggled shipwreck survivor.

Yep, Krispy Kreme’ll do that to you.

So sweet, light and soft; they melt in your mouth like, well, like a sugar cube does. I wonder if there’s any connection? My mouth feels like some scorched, sugary wasteland; like a dead sea of sugar that’s run dry, leaving nothing behind but the bitter taste of regret. Too much, too much; but one donut is never enough.

For some reason I can’t work out, the first Krispy Kreme store to open in Victoria was way, way out at Fountain Gate. I’m sure the locals are mad for sugar out there, but I would have thought you’d do more business in the city? There must be other factors at work I’m not aware of? Whatever the case, a CBD store was not far behind, opening recently on Collins Street near Southern Cross Station.

This afternoon Nick, my boss, floated the idea of heading over to check things out. A trip out for sweet, sweet donuts during work time, you say? What crazy, upside-down, dream world have I woken up in? Brilliant. So, off we went, and once there, discovered a queue running out the door and down the street! Trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible (not wanting to be sprung queuing for donuts by any clients), we slowly shuffled forward to the counter, where we picked up a Sampler Box and a dozen Original Glazed donuts. Oh, sorry, ‘doughnuts’. (How’d that one sneak through the reforms? Noah Webster must be doing donuts in his grave!)

Once back at the studio, everyone gathered round and dug in, but, as with my first and only other experience of Krispy Kreme in New York in 2004, I was a little disappointed. You won’t believe this, but they were still just donuts! I mean, they were good, but not out-the-door-and-down-the-street-queuing type good; more of a yeah-if-I-was-walking-past type good, I think. Still just a victim of too much hype, I guess; too many years of too many freaks flying back from Sydney with box-loads under their arms, drooling over their precious haul like it was manna from heaven.

Still, this time it was fun snobbing everyone off by declaring that these Krispy Kreme’s were merely satisfactory, and simply nothing like the ones I’d had in America. He, he.

UPDATE: I just checked Krispy Kreme's entry on Wikipedia, where it says since the company went public, many stores have actually had to be closed due to unprofitability. "Though Krispy Kreme has blamed the low-carb diet craze," it says, "others more critical point to their relatively high prices for a product that consists mostly of air." Hilarious. Oh, and also, apparently Australia's the only place to have 24-hour drive-through service; so Americans might have 29 tasty varieties to choose from (in comparison to our paltry 15), but can they get them 24 hours a day? I think not! :-)

Australian Values.

I’ve been wondering. Does anyone know if flashing your headlights at oncoming traffic to warn of an upcoming speed-camera is a uniquely Australian act? Or is it common practice the world over? It certainly seems characteristically Australian – uniting in the blood-drenched spirit of Eureka to rebel against authority, etc, etc – but of course that doesn’t make it exclusively so.

And is the mortal-blow, ‘That’s Un-Australian,’ an expression that’s unique to our wide, flat, brown land? Or do Swedes, for instance, frown disapprovingly and declare, “That’s just Un-Swedish”? Or Brazilians shake their heads sternly and say, “Look, seriously, that’s Un-Brazilian”? Surely we can’t be the only ones to possess an all-purpose, Patriots’ phrase with the power to shame a scoundrel at 500 yards? ‘That’s Un-American’ sounds plausible, but I can’t say I’ve ever heard it. I suppose the British could use, ‘That’s just not cricket, mate’, but it lacks the sheer, unadulterated shaming power of our version.

Anyone travelled long and far and wide enough to know?

A grand Final.

A few random thoughts concerning the 2006 AFL Grand Final (The Battle of the Birds).

• I'm not that into football, but thought it was a cracker of a match. A friend who doesn’t like football at all (and who was unaware that the Grand Final was even on) popped in, and ended up watching the last quarter, which (to her surprise) she really enjoyed. “If football was always this good,” she said, “I’d watch it all the time!” Shame the Swans didn’t win, but the real winner was Football, yeah?! Course it was. I don’t like going for Sydney, but they have a greater connection to Melbourne than West Coast, and how else do you expect me to decide which team to go for? :-)

• So, what about the pre-game entertainment? Was that good as well? After reading the blurb in the Green Guide beforehand, my expectations were pretty high: “Join Stephen Quartermain for all of the spectacle of the greatest pre-match entertainment ever seen at an AFL Grand Final”. Wow! Strap yourself in! But, needless to say, in the end the only thing “spectacular” about the entertainment was its level of mediocrity.

• I have absolutely no experience in organising pre-game entertainment, but I reckon I could organise a more satisfying show than what was on display. And the first thing to go would be back-up singers. I’ve always hated back-up singers, with their lame synchronised gestures and stepping-on-the-spot dance moves, and up on the podium in their evening-wear, waving coloured scarves, they looked even more ridiculous than ever. Of course, it didn’t help that they were singing the West Coast club song; surely one of the worst ever? "We're the Big Birds"? Um, ok.

• And speaking of ridiculous, Channel Ten is a disgrace and they should have their broadcast rights stripped for not only once again inflicting the Australian Idol finalists on us, but for delivering a one-two knock-out blow by following up with the alleged Young Divas, who, to me, were totally inappropriate and totally out of place. Using them is like scavenging through your attic for Christmas presents for your family because you’re too cheap or lazy to get something better. And what percentage of the audience do you think would be diggin’ the Divas? I’d take a punt on not many. Surely, first and foremost - if not exclusively - the AFL should try to please its core audience: the Aussie Male, in all his Footy-Loving, Hard-Rockin’, Beer-Drenched glory. I mean, aren’t Wolfmother around for the ARIAs? (Also on Ten, actually, so there's a missed opportunity for cross-promotion!) Couldn’t they have popped in for a quick gig? And surely Jet wouldn’t mind playing for a bit of publicity now that their new album is in stores?

• I don’t know.

• Anyway, speaking of footy’s core audience, during the interminable motorcade of heroes, I noticed one superstar’s name on the side of his vehicle was Danyle Pearce. Not how I'd choose to spell 'Daniel', but there you go.

• Also, a word of advice: if you have a fully-catered 30th Birthday Do to attend the evening of the Grand Final, don't eat too many pies during the day. You will pay.

• In addition, I just finished watching the NRL Grand Final. What a stupid, stupid game.

My ways or the Highways.

I’ve long been annoyed by those people who insist on adding an ‘s’ to the ends of Melway, Safeway and Myer. Mostly, I guess, because I just don’t understand why? Myer may have had one way-hey-hey back in the old days, but Safeway and Melway never have. And yet people insist on checking the Melways, buying groceries from Safeways, and getting overcharged at Myers. I guess we often talk about a Melway’s Reference, and so it feels natural to add the ‘s’, but that still doesn’t explain ‘Safeways’. Or why these people don’t also check the UBDs or go shopping at BI-LOs and Harvey Normans?

Well, whatever the case, the other day I tapped myers.com.au into Safari to see what would happen, and I received a pleasant surprise. Unlike with melways.com.au, there was no discreet, auto-forwarding to the correct address here; just a page featuring a large, wonderfully condescending message asking if perhaps you weren’t, “Looking for Myer?”


You can almost see the invisible ‘You dummy’ in parentheses after the question mark, especially for people used to seeing an invisible ‘s’ at the end of Myer. So, no auto-forward here, not even after a slight pause. The page just stares you down, and waits. It’s as though they want you to pause and reflect upon your error, to notice the five separate instances of 'Myer' on the page without an ‘s’, and then, when you’re ready, to move forward by your own action so as to reinforce the lesson you just learned.

It’s good to see the folks at Myer continuing in the spirit of Sidney Myer and trying to make the world a better place.

Autobots, recycle and roll out!

I didn't want to get excited about the upcoming live-action Transformers movie, especially when I heard Michael Bay was behind the wheel, but now that it's getting closer and the teaser is out, I find I can't help myself! I only recently rediscovered all the toys my sister packed away under my parent's house but could never remember exactly where, so I've got the fever. And I guess if a live-action version's going to be done, now's the time to do so as the technology is good enough to do it right. If only technology could enhance the script as well. I fear another Hollywood stinker crammed with delectable eye-candy, but come on Michael Bay, prove me wrong!

And speaking of technology being good enough to bring my childhood back to life, I was most excited to come across the new Ninja Turtle teaser! No goofy live-action lameness here; just wicked animation that looks like the original comics come to life. (Except for the differently coloured eye-masks, of course). Now, again, if only they can put the same effort into the script...

As an aside, isn’t it great the Boys in Marketing have seen this opportunity to exploit our nostalgic yearnings for the long, golden days of our childhood? Especially now we’ve started having children of our own, to whom we’ll eagerly peddle the heroes of our youth so we can bask in the sunshine one more time. We’ll be unofficial but highly enthusiastic sales staff, expounding the many virtues of a range of toys from a time (back when I were a lad) when they knew how to make REAL toys, not like this Bratz rubbish you’ve got today. Come over to the next aisle, Winter, and I’ll get you sorted. There’s even a wide range of female Transformers for you now, so how good is that? :-)

I wonder if we’re successful whether the cycle will kick off again in another 20 or so years?

Naomi bemoans so-called "friends of mine".

When those Beaconsfield miners got into a spot of trouble earlier this year, Today Tonight’s Naomi Robson was first, well, second... alright, last on the scene (but better late than never), ready to give her support and lend a hand where she could. Which, I might add, she did admirably, and those miners owe their lives to her ceaseless labour on their behalf. But fast forward five months and things are a little different. Now Naomi finds herself in a stew, and are Todd and Brant prepared to dig in and help her out? Apparently not! I’ve not seen or heard a thing of them. Stuck down another mine, or too busy roo shootin’, sorry, spending time with the family? I can't say for sure.

Man, you find out who your friends are when cannibals are trying to eat you, don’t you?

Arnie travels to Heaven and Brazil.

In a previous post I made reference to one of Arnold Schwarzenegger's Favourite Things (to do in front of 5000 people), namely, 'The Pump'. Can you believe how much he is in Heaven? For the benefit of those who hadn't seen his classic moofie, 'Pumping Iron', I linked to a page of quotes to provide the context. If only I'd waited a month I could have linked directly to YouTube. Aah, YouTube: is there anything it can't do?

While you're there, do something educational and look up Arnie's informative travelogue, 'Carnival in Rio'. Iz funtarztic. You will luff it.

Saúde!

Brocky turns off the ignition.

BREAKING NEWS! And now Brocky’s DEAD too! Not Brocky?! The World’s Greatest Race Car Driver and Proud Proponent of Mobil Oils (even though he couldn’t look you in the eye when praising it).

Don Chipp, Steve Irwin, Brocky and... that guy who wrote Storm Boy... all in a week! I can only sit back in stunned silence and ask, “What’s going on?” and “Will that nasty Germ hack into Brocky before he’s even in the ground as well?!” He did plunder the earth's precious resources racing cars, after all.

We’ll just have to wait and see.

UPDATE: Who needs the old Germ to bash Brocky before his body's even cooled when his ex-wife is happy enough to step in with a shovel herself! She was on TV within hours of the accident saying Brocky had always put racing first and that the kids had really felt that. She didn't say she was glad he was dead, but you got the feeling. Even more surprising were Brocky's brothers who were talking about him in a such a composed and matter of fact way that you would have thought he'd only broken a leg! Sure, Brocky was no Steve Irwin, but I've been surprised at how 'meh' everyone, even including the media, have been about it. Maybe it's all just been too much, too fast?

Like wings on a car.

Cars have come to grief…
Devenish Road, Boronia,
the West Gate, Southbank…
and on Dudley Street
and the Wurundjeri Way
in chilly Docklands

A traffic report in haiku by everyone’s favourite high-brow traffic reporter, Hilary Harper. Well, it’s good to know I wasn’t just imagining things.

In a Green Guide interview the other week, Hilary made her philosophical approach to the traffic clear: “I guess I try to make the traffic a little less boring than it could otherwise be, try to put in some interesting language and have a bit of fun with it where appropriate. I think traffic is such a large part of the way people experience Melbourne as a city. It’s something people drive through every day and it’s part of their day, so if I can make a fairly pragmatic and useful service on the part of 774 a bit more fun and a bit more interesting, that’s great.”

I guess I could understand that if I could see the benefit. I mean, where will the madness end? The Talking Clock is very boring. All it does is give you useful information. What a wasted opportunity. Perhaps it should start using Latin? "Procul tertius plaga, is ero II:XXX et X secundus." Taking the report to Fiji for some fun in the sun is just asking for trouble as there’s every chance people will be so wowed by your cleverness that they’ll take in none of the content. “Brilliant! Hilary’s done it again. She just reported the traffic in iambic pentameter!” “Sure, great; how’s the flow on the Eastern?” … “Um… you know, I’m not quite sure… iambic pentameter?”

Anyway, at least I know it’s not just me. And yes, I can move on now, thanks for asking.

CRIKEY!

Breaking news! Steve Irwin is DEAD! Stabbed by a stingray and dead as a Deepwater Cisco. I’ve been called, emailed, Instant Messaged, RSS'd and even SMS’d from New Zealand. The world's flapping its arms! That plucky little guy who, despite wise advice to the contrary, would always smile at a crocodile... THE WORLD IS IN SHOCK.

It's good to be the Dad.

My first Fathers' Day today. As the subject, I mean; not just the giver of gifts and maker of cards. Speaking of which, Winter somehow managed to get online and find her way to Amazon where she purchased Season 1 of 'Dr Katz: Professional Therapist' on DVD for me! Incredible child. They grow up so fast.

Happy 100th Post.

And so it's come to this: a Commas Clip Show. Seems like it was only 340 days ago when I first paused on the Path and put finger to keyboard; and now I’m 100 posts old. Let's stroll, shall we?

Remember that very first post where I described my struggle to find a username that wasn’t already taken, and where I used the word ‘zeitgeist’? Heady days, full of potential, full of promise. It was pretty clear right from the start that the Big Issues would be tackled hard and taken down harder.

Hard to believe my long pursuit of the perfect iTunes artwork combination began way back in my third post.

Or that the Comments section wasn't filled to overflowing with suggestions for additional humorous Brand and Country of Manufacture combinations.

And who could forget the Concise History of the Annual Christmas Stolp? Not me, I was there!

Or, finally, all those jittery concerns in the lead up to the arrival of Winter? Which I think we can say were unfounded. Although, if you're still unsure, cop this:


Well, that’s enough misty-eyed, hyper-self-indulgence from me. Thanks for your company. See you on the other side of 200. :-)

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.