Early Morning Analogy

It’s sort of like when you want to see new places – not out of personal interest or out of curiosity – but out of second-hand interest or second-hand curiosity (’cause people have said so); and so you make plans to go, half-heartedly, but you really don’t know what to do with the screaming child that has its arms wrapped around your leg. The child is tugging, hugging, etc – as hard as it possibly can.

That screaming child represents my desire to write. And I make plans to go to these places, but I can never quite get there.

It’s in my heart to attend to the child.

The Spring 2005 Series

At last I have found time to capture some glimpses of my garden.

I treasure a magical purple alcove.

Arrogance And Self-Protection

She said to him:

“I don’t do this job because it’s the only thing I am capable of. I do it because it’s easiest. I don’t want any major responsibilities. You know what I mean?”

Oh leave the poor bastard alone, and cut the crap.

You know what she’s really saying? Yes… the inevitable: it’s time for a change.

Tuning into Tuna

I figure I am onto something nifty (nutrition-wise) with buying a can of tuna as a meal for Arky. I am thinking, well why not? — it’s healthy, it’s light and it’s exceptionally tasty (as I have gathered from Arky’s reaction in the past when he has sampled tuna). With cleaning up in mind, I make sure to get the kind that is doused in spring water and not in oil.

Note that Hubby despises tuna — the sight of it, (particularly) the smell of it and the mere existence of it.

I serve the tuna – complete with the juice – and as Ark starts to lap it up, I realise there is a problem: his (gorgeous) long ears are soaking up the contents also. Hmmh… this will make him fun to be around after dinner; must make sure he stays away from Hubby.

Then I gather that Arky will probably put in a good effort to clean up after himself, along with his ears, and that I needn’t worry. I go off into the lounge room to eat dinner with Hubby. About 10 minutes later, a very satisfied dog treks past us, proceeding to do the “the content roll” on the carpet, as this is Arky’s indication that he couldn’t be happier with his meal.

“Oh my god, he STINKS!” Hubby exclaims.
“Um, OK – I’ll take care of it”, I say, with a little giggle of course.

I beckon Arky into the kitchen and wash the tips of his ears with hand detergent, I lather away – as much as Ark would allow me to – and soon enough (most) of the smell is gone.

Unfortunately, I notice that this particular brand of tuna (yes, the spring water kind) reeks more than the other brands. I find I need to thoroughly wash my hands, clean the can out with boiling hot water, dispose of the can (somewhere far away), wipe down the benches and sink, and soak the can-opener in hot water. Yikes.

And after all that, I can still smell that damned tuna!

Throughout the evening, I wash my hands about 3 times.

This morning, I come into work, sit at my desk, with my fresh cup of coffee and prepare for the day. I go to take a sip of the coffee and am suddenly forced to still celebrate the smell of tuna.

I wash my hands another two times after that.

But, alas, it really wants to linger. Which leads me to believe that the juice has, rather disgustingly, absorbed itself into the skin around my fingernails.

Must I check myself into a de-tuna-rising clinic to rid myself of this? Good lord.

Political — For Once In Her Life (Part 2)

Although I was itching to get the Latham book – Loner, I don’t feel the same way about the newly released and (highly) controversial Latham diaries – and won’t be reading them as a result.

I am watching the ways in which this book is impacting those that Latham worked with, and the party he stood for, and I am honestly appalled.

Obviously I don’t know his true intention in publicising his private, detrimental thoughts; most would say it’s the cash factor of course, but all the while it’s looking as though he is easily able to price his dignity – and that is not cool at all.

When I finished Loner, I had pleasant thoughts about the man himself and the way he dealt with his political ride. Sure, there were things he said and did that I did not agree with, and because of that I can appreciate why he didn’t stay on as a leader — but at the end of that book, according to me, he still had his integrity.

Latham himself may argue that he needed to get his story out, or that the Labour party is “beyond reform” and so real truths are necessary and way overdue, or whatever, but no matter what the apparent reason is — it plainly looks as though he is so bitter about his loss that he has to try and also take down those (that he feels) were primarily associated with his decline.

So, he hit his low point – and everyone does at some stage – but why wallow in it?

Close Encounter Of The Lunch Partner Kind

I ate lunch on my own in the David Jones’ food court today.

On my right hand side there were two middle-aged women sitting opposite each other – one woman was thin-ish and the other was big-ish.

I had nothing on my mind except the specifics of my lunch (a Chinese dish) and so when the rather loud conversation began to take place between the two ladies next to me, my ears decided to tune in.

Ms Big was eating some sort of wholemeal roll and Ms Thin was eating an Asian noodle dish. Ms Big quite often stared at her lunch partner’s noodles as though she’d much rather be eating them instead of her less-exciting, healthier choice.

Interestingly, it was Ms Thin who always initiated the topics during their conversation — in fact Ms Big’s input, even as a listener, was about ten percent. And this was deliberate I reckon. It wasn’t because she was disinterested, or because she couldn’t get a word in – but rather because it was her intention to subtly control the conversation and what she could get out of it. When she did speak, it was to question Ms Thin further. Very suspicious if you ask me. So I decided I didn’t like Ms Big; that she was shifty, and perhaps conniving and that the probably naive Ms Thin should never trust her.

Ms Thin felt the need to speak with such conviction; with everything she said it seemed as though she felt it too deeply. Fair enough if you are speaking about how you’re coming to terms with a terminal illness (or something equally serious) but the intense tones are not needed if it’s about how Janey has to stick to a greens diet ever since she had liposuction 12 years ago or how last year was the first time you’ve managed to make a profit with your Super fund — to quote dear Ms Thin.

I casually glanced over their table and realised that the patron sitting on the other side of Ms Big was an eavesdropper too (- oh the nerve of those eavesdroppers; um). She didn’t seem impressed with what she was hearing, her facial expression said: Why must you speak so loudly, especially about your finances — and don’t you realise that I and others can hear everything you are saying?

I think Ms Thin should hold back more from Ms Big. There’s just no telling what her lunch partner will do with all of that useful information.

King Creole

With thoughts of the New Orleans tragedy…

There’s a man in New Orleans
Who plays rock and roll
He’s a guitar man
With a great big soul
He lays down a beat
Like a ton of coal
He goes by the name of King Creole

You know he’s gone, gone, gone
Jumpin’ like a catfish on a pole
You know he’s gone, gone, gone
Hip shaking King Creole

When the king starts to do it
It’s as good as done
He holds his guitar
Like a tommy gun
He starts to growl
From way down his throat
He bends a string
And that’s all she wrote

Well, he sings a song about a crowded hole
He sings a song about a jelly roll
He sings a song about meat and greens
He wails some blues about New Orleans

Well, he plays something evil
Then he plays something sweet
No matter what he plays
You got to get up on your feet

When he gets the rockin’ fever
Baby, heaven sakes
He don’t stop playin’
’till his guitar breaks

Written by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller

Just Like Starting Over

God help me. I have had to redo my journal from scratch. Yes, the “site migration” did not go as planned.

Please have patience while each entry gets uploaded one by one.

If you think you can hear loud sobbing in the distance, your ears are not fooling you – it’s me letting my emotions get the better of me.

‘So Long’ To The Web Host

After many satisfactory years with WebCentral, I have no choice but to move on. If that isn’t a big enough change, I have also decided to try a place outside Australia — US-based Dreamhost.

So, hopefully the site’s downtime is minimised as the domain and server resources are changed over. The same thing goes for email as well, if any of it should go astray – then please re-send.

My god, I just realised I have to backup my entire journal – like now.

I’ll wait until the ‘home sweet home’ plaque is up on the wall in the new place before I post again. Here’s hoping for a smooth transition…