tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28663532897605593312024-03-14T11:50:01.144-07:00Audra's Australian AdventuresAuthor! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.comBlogger344125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-32796264994411159782013-12-21T08:04:00.000-08:002013-12-21T08:04:52.731-08:00Happy New Year!!
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Whaddya mean, Happy New Year?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s December 21<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">st</span></sup>…<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t wish to write a treatise on the stupidity of the
modern calendar and the selection of seemingly arbitrary dates for marking the
beginning/end of a circular event, but it seems far more obvious that the
trajectory should align with some sort of inversion, and since today is the
solstice and I happen to be awake and reasonably alert and in the mood for some
reflection – well, here we go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">2013 – You can go get fucked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Seriously, what a shit year that was. And I am not the only
one who felt this way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot of things
went poorly for a lot of people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For me
personally, it was a very dark year – medically, professionally, geographically,
and I am really happy to be putting it into my rear view.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not so naïve as to imagine that the
relative tilt of the earth’s axis to the plane of the orbit around the sun is
sufficient to drive a turnaround in circumstance, fortune, and personal energy –
but fuck it, I could benefit from a little more magic in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not like I am going to start attending
incense laden prayer circles and hugging trees in school parking lots…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I thought I might recap the horror show of the preceding
months that brought me to the notion that I am about to commence a new chapter,
but I don’t even feel like revisiting the trauma of Kevin’s journey through
treatment for Hepatitis C, or my mother’s through breast cancer, or the soul-sucking
pageantry of working in sales, or the overshadowing feeling of isolation and loneliness
that sneak up and envelop expats on occasion, sometimes for months on end…but in
truth, I really do not feel like touching any of it, even if it is to pack it
up into tidy suitcases so I can slip them into a corner of my mental
attic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Better to just close the door on
that room altogether – or maybe rent a dumpster and resist the temptation to
sort through each pain as I toss it…but that tactic never works – I live with a
hoarder who sneaks into the rubbish after I have gone to sleep and brings the emotional
garbage back into the house, piling it in corners and walkways.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Although there is no question that I am beginning a new
chapter – what with a continental shift in my homestead, a new job, and a new
set of revitalized relationships, I truly have no reason other than intense
desire to believe that 2014 will be any better…that I will mysteriously acquire
better coping mechanisms, that the distress of aging will diminish, or that my hoarder
will suddenly start releasing his hurts to the high seas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But here’s to the glorious wonder of hope –
and of saying to the universe ”This is what I want, what I deserve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is mine by rights, and you shall give it
to me, asshole.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wishing you all a wonderful, magical, mystical, practical,
and healthy 2014!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh, and this marks the final entry into Audra’s Australian
Adventures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope you have enjoyed this
chapter and thank you for your kind patronage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I can’t make any promises of launching Audra’s American Adventures in
any formal sense, because new chapters require new formats, otherwise it gets
stale and obligatory and stops resembling fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And also because I know the new job will be using up a lot of my
brain-space until I develop a degree of mastery or run off to Borneo, whichever
comes first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-20450476132938050122013-06-01T16:17:00.001-07:002013-06-01T16:17:21.681-07:00Repatriation FAQ<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">What?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Yes, we are moving back to the
United States.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Why?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I want to be closer to my family and the
friends I have loved all my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate
my job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kevin has been very sick and is
finishing treatment and we want to start a new chapter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We move every three years and the clock ran
out on Adelaide last month. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am
bored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no place like home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why not?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Do you have
jobs?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Where are
you going to live?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That has yet to be decided.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Where are
you going to stay?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Not sure yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">What are
you going to do?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ask me later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Are you
taking your stuff?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Yes, the movers are coming on June 24/25.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They do all the packing, so we just need to
sort through stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are selling
everything that runs on electricity or explosive fuels.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">What about
Kevin’s treatment?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Kevin takes his last injection on June 19<sup>th</sup>
and his last pills on June 26 – which is the day we will leave Adelaide!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’ll have his final blood work done and will
be free from the tyranny of his 8 hour eating schedule.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will still be several months before the
side effects dissipate, and he won’t be feeling tip-top by any means, but we
just can’t stomach the thought of sitting around, waiting to feel better…he’ll
get some meds to take with us, and then we’ll find a doctor in the US for some
follow up care.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">What about
health insurance?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Yeah, well isn’t that a question that keeps
people trapped, eh?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will take out
travel insurance to cover any serious accidents, but otherwise we will be
paying as we go until we get jobs and have proper insurance that hopefully won’t
exclude Kevin from everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are
Australian citizens, so worse comes to worst we can always come back and go on
the dole…we have an emergency cash fund for such an eventuality.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">What about
Bad, Bad Kitty?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">As you can see from my answers to the above
questions, we won’t be very stable when we land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BBK doesn’t take to change well, and we didn’t
feel we could keep her safe and happy, so we decided to find her a new
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BBK has gone to live on 5 acres in
the Adelaide Hills with a lovely American man and his Aussie/American wife,
where she will have cat doors, kangaroo meat, a bounty of rodents to chase, and
fresh steamed broccoli. They have a good understanding of cat psychology.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They don’ have kids and they have two other cats
– which will be a challenging social experiment for her, but hey, it is a time
for all of us to spread our wings and fly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Actually, she got a pretty darn good deal out of this and I suspect will
be happier there than she was with us…it has been a tough year for everyone in
our household.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Are you
coming to Melbourne?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Yes, we will be driving to Melbourne arriving
Thursday June 27 for a three day good-bye piss-up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Are you
coming to Sydney?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will
be arriving in Sydney on July 1<sup>st</sup>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>July 4<sup>th</sup> will be our final night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I propose a red, white, and blue party, but
have yet to organize anything…we will be staying in the CBD, near Chinatown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Wow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Yeah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No Shit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-33748316000459402772013-06-01T15:46:00.003-07:002013-06-01T15:46:37.564-07:0052 Card Pick Up<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">A little over
7 years ago, our life was in a bit of a lull.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Still reeling from the failure of our Mexico venture and the emotional
chaos that followed Dusty’s suicide, we retreated to our house in Northern
California and watched the rain fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Days
became measured by the interval between the morning news and the commencement
of happy hour, weeks by the gap in morning news programs, months by the stacks
of recycling piled beside the garage. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With
no jobs, no prospects, and a dwindling savings account, Kevin informed me that
he had always wanted to live in Australia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">We came
over for a 2 month scouting mission, rented a campervan, bought a map, and set
out to see if a life could be made here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We toured a large loop through the eastern half of the country,
exploring the capitol cities, visiting significant and insignificant landmarks,
and soaking up the flavour of the outback.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(In case you are wondering, it doesn’t taste like a bloomin’ onion, it
tastes like red dust and flies.) Although I always enjoy travel and the shift
in perspective that it brings, I wasn’t overly impressed with Australia on the
whole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found it pleasant enough, foreign
yet familiar, comfortable yet confounding, exotic yet ordinary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I concluded that I didn’t especially want to
live there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">So
naturally, we moved to Sydney.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">We settled
in Sydney and I quickly realized that living there was much more fun than
vacationing there – and yet, when I look back on my time in Sydney, it feels
like a paid vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Living and working
there provided an anchor, a feeling of belonging, of insideness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a very dynamic city, with much to
explore and discover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The harbour is a
magnificent center piece to the city and each morning, click-clacking across
the bridge on the train, I would smile down at the Opera House and the ferries
and wonder how the other commuters could remain so indifferent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sheltered by their personal listening devices
and reading material, how could they ignore the majesty passing by just on the
other side of the glass – and I knew, that one day, I too would find it
ordinary, that the day I crossed the bridge and didn’t acknowledge the magic would
be my signal that it was time to leave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">So
naturally, we moved to Adelaide.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">WHAT?!?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sydney became ordinary so you moved to
Adelaide?!?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And do you also treat
rashes with a tincture of poison oak and stinging nettle?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Sydney is a
vibrant cosmopolitan city, buzzing with international visitors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Adelaide is a provincial cow town, humming
with domestic breeding stock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t
really say anything bad about Adelaide – it is an easy, pleasant place to live,
convenient, comfortable, safe, and completely uninteresting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Circumstances
conspired against us to make our life in Adelaide exceptionally mundane. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kevin’s dream job became a nightmare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never had any delusions about my job – I fully
expected it to be a nightmare right from the beginning, and I was not
disappointed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I did not
anticipate just how much my new job would hijack my brain, that it would consume
all the energy that I would normally turn towards socializing and writing and
exploring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like some hideous emotional
vacuum cleaner, my job sucked up all of my curiosity, all of my words, all of
my joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the end of a work day, there
was nothing of me left to invest in making a life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Just as we
were to conclude that the Adelaide experiment had been a failure, Kevin
received a diagnosis of Hepatits C accompanied by a long and convoluted plan
for treatment that eventually took two years to come to fruition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The decision to remain and see it through was
clear and obvious, but strangulating nonetheless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trapped, life once more became a matter of
passing time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a shitty way to live,
feeling like you are merely waiting…especially when you are waiting for nothing…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">And once
the treatment commenced, life became less than ordinary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lack of curiosity yielded to paranoid
agoraphobia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was merely social awkwardness
became complete isolationism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mild
amusement became obscured by a thick fog of depression, happiness only existing
in photographs and memories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And there
is no distraction in daydreaming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
present is currently so dismal, that the future doesn’t even exist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pipe dreams and fantasies that normally
sustain us through dark times do not bring comfort because nothing seems possible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I often use
a river as a metaphor for life, flowing from humble beginnings, there are times
when the swift current keeps you moving, there are tumultuous rapids, and there
are peaceful stretches of lazy flat water and there are eddies – still quiet
spots where nothing happens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Against
that, my life at present is an oxbow lake – I am stranded outside the main
channel, stagnant, muddy, swatting mosquitos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I can hear the tug of riverboats and steamships…If only a good flood
would come wash me over the banks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">So
naturally, we are moving to America.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">The
decision feels both easy and complicated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>From a practical standpoint, it is not logical or financially sound, but
emotionally, it is invigorating, liberating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The dark corners of my mind are now filled with details and plans, and
the stress is a welcome relief from the tedium of the last 18 months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot of factors weighed into the decision –
family, friends, Taco Bell - but ultimately it is, like most of our major
decisions, a matter of impulse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oooh, I
just hallucinated that I was the captain “Impulse Power, Mr Scott. Take us out
of orbit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I have no ‘grass
is greener’ delusions about the next chapter of our life – quite the opposite,
I know moving back to the US will mean a step down in quality of life and
financial security – assuming that either of those actually exist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that moving to America won’t make
health issues disappear, won’t erase the signs of aging nor automatically bring
a sense of peace and belonging, but it doesn’t matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is what I am doing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figure, I got about 2 or 3 more major
mistakes left in me…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I toss it
all around a lot in my head, and depending on the day or the hour, I draw a
different conclusions, as if I can distil it down to a singular essence that
makes sense to me and everyone else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sometimes it is that I want to be closer to my family, sometimes it is
that I want desperately to be away from Adelaide and my horrible job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if I had to pick 1 reason for making this
drastic change it is this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">On June 26<sup>th</sup>,
Kevin will complete the treatment regimen that has consumed our lives for the
last 12 months, and while I know that things won’t get better immediately just
because he has taken the last pill, I want it to be very clear that that
chapter of our life is over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want
there to be a clear demarcation of life ‘after treatment’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want Hepatitis C to be something that
happened ‘back there’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">You got to
know when to hold ‘em,<br />
Know when to fold ‘em,<br />
Know when to walk away,<br />
And know when to throw the whole deck into the air, watch the cards flutter
down, pick them up one by one and deal the next hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-37880434087415140962013-04-25T19:31:00.003-07:002013-04-25T19:31:30.378-07:00A Game of SolitaireCompulsively, once more, I shuffle the deck and flip the cards one by one, sorting them into four piles, count the cards in each. Even. Reshuffle. Do it again. The cards always fall the same.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Spades</strong><br />
<br />
1) My job sucks the joy out of my soul on a daily basis<br />
<br />
2) Relatively homogenous nationwide culture<br />
<br />
3) Bogans<br />
<br />
4) Prams<br />
<br />
5) Cost of Living<br />
<br />
6) Boring news programs<br />
<br />
7) Lack of local meteorologists <br />
<br />
8) Serious lack of tacos<br />
<br />
9) Not belonging<br />
<br />
10) Seasonal incongruity of holidays<br />
<br />
11) Faded sense of adventure and discovery<br />
<br />
12) Grocery store locations<br />
<br />
13) Hugh Jackman<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Diamonds</strong><br />
<br />
1) I work with a wonderful team of people<br />
<br />
2) A great network of friends all across the country, a place to say in every Capital City<br />
<br />
3) Career Opportunities<br />
<br />
4) Sales Meetings<br />
<br />
5) Decent health care that is not linked to my job, so I don’t feel trapped<br />
<br />
6) Polite school children<br />
<br />
7) Koalas<br />
<br />
8) Not being afraid of the Police<br />
<br />
9) Readily available and clean public toilets<br />
<br />
10) Socially endorsed binge drinking<br />
<br />
11) The Opera House and Harbour Bridge<br />
<br />
12) 4 Weeks Annual Leave<br />
<br />
13) Diminutive names<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Clubs</strong><br />
<br />
1) Gun Violence<br />
<br />
2) Dissipated relationships<br />
<br />
3) Lack of healthcare<br />
<br />
4) Rednecks<br />
<br />
5) Fiscally insolvent national policies<br />
<br />
6) Presidential campaigns<br />
<br />
7) Stubborn stupidity<br />
<br />
8) Dissipated relationships<br />
<br />
9) Smog<br />
<br />
10) Political Lobbies<br />
<br />
11) Soccer Moms<br />
<br />
12) Recession<br />
<br />
13) Job hunting<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Hearts</strong><br />
<br />
1) Halloween<br />
<br />
2) Watching football during normal operating hours<br />
<br />
3) Friends with history<br />
<br />
4) The National Park System<br />
<br />
5) Redwood Trees<br />
<br />
6) Affordable and more frequent family visits<br />
<br />
7) Localities with distinct personalities<br />
<br />
8) The Star Spangled Banner<br />
<br />
9) Corona Light<br />
<br />
10) Mexican food<br />
<br />
11) Taco Bell<br />
<br />
12) Affordable Homeownership<br />
<br />
…no matter what order the cards may land, the final card is always the same and she trumps them all:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCwZfcI67WFH0mNsQ2GT9sxCWdmxz-O85mIGgpZ6cP2k6P9RZrCl5XHVYZN3DHrEsxKE-MJJ4c_c0WIXg1Ok-MO1Ii8og9eF87Fyb0UP-rWbU-BWaI8ZAj4G-pgw5Cl04pgmqONJNzQ9U/s1600/QoH.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" lwa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCwZfcI67WFH0mNsQ2GT9sxCWdmxz-O85mIGgpZ6cP2k6P9RZrCl5XHVYZN3DHrEsxKE-MJJ4c_c0WIXg1Ok-MO1Ii8og9eF87Fyb0UP-rWbU-BWaI8ZAj4G-pgw5Cl04pgmqONJNzQ9U/s320/QoH.JPG" width="217" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My mother raised me to be an independent woman – but I am not. My existence is contextual, defined by my relationships and my impact on the world. She taught me to think for myself and made it very clear that none of my decisions ever be made solely to please her. In this regard, I am sure I have been successful. So I am being careful with myself, checking and double checking my motivation, testing to see if her present vulnerability is appropriately weighted against my own desire to be closer to her. <br />
<br />
I survey my friends, colleagues, and acquaintances. Australians in general and Adelaideans in particular have a strong attachment to home and family. Though most wander, nearly all return home to be near their parents, some to take care of them, some to be taken care of. Any regrets? None - the most important and best decision they ever made…<br />
<br />
All decisions are merely junctions and very few lead to real dead ends, save for those that end in genuine death. Yet, when facing a decision, especially a big one, I tend to think in terms of finality and inevitability, as if the consequences become destiny. This is, of course ridiculous, as each decision, each junction leads only to a new section of the map of life, where there will be more intersections, more opportunities, more decisions. <br />
<br />
Sometimes, not all the roads are on the map. Sometimes, the map is wrong. Sometimes, you can’t see the next road until you turn the corner and walk a few paces. Sometimes, the streets aren’t marked.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, you just need to follow your hearts. Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-26826294549889710282013-04-02T01:05:00.001-07:002013-04-02T01:09:25.981-07:00Goin' Bush<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I was feeling
rather feral when I walked through my front door, like a precious housecat who
had been locked out for 5 days and comes home dirty, fur matted, covered in scratches
and smelling of urine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A bath, the first
order of business – but I am rather proud of my filthy appearance and wish to
show it off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alas, Kevin is not home –
no audience for bragging, so I retire to a hot tub to review the weekend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">The plot
begins with an invitation from Alison to spend the long-Easter weekend camping
on her property near <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bredbo,_New_South_Wales" target="_blank">Bredbo</a> in New South Wales – which, according to Apple Maps
is 1270 km from my house and should take me 13 hours and 32 minutes to
drive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took 17.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was craving a long cross-country jaunt <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– the landscape whizzing by, curious signs for
mysterious attractions, new towns, truck stops, McDonalds – but 17 hours was
pushing me to the brink of sanity, or rather, of insanity...maybe...</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I met up
with Alison at midnight in front of the Bredbo Inn and we camped in front of a
cemetery at the end of a road leading to the river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’d think it would be a quiet location, but
there was a considerable amount of action down that road into the wee hours,
such is life in small town Australia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The next morning, we (and when I say we, I mean, Alison) strapped my
gear to the RumPig and splashed through the river and over the mountains on the
other side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">The road
was rough enough to make the destination feel isolated, but the scenery was
gorgeous and rugged <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– except for the
part where we had to stop and chat with some local colour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seems Jr. got a new rifle for his birthday
and he wanted to shoot a fox, or a roo, or a deer, or a pig, or a wild dog, or
a rabbit, (all of which inhabit the area).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Not a wombat?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Personally, I think
they should spend their money on orthodontia, not ammunition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">After a few
road-related mishaps, Michael and Bec and Cheryl <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>arrived later that day and we set up camp at
the base of a large clearing near the shade of a small creek, which soon drops
over a 300 meter cliff and joins the substantial Murrumbidgee River below.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her property stretches along the river for
500 meters, and encompasses 2,000 acres all up – and, it has room for a
helipad, as soon as Alison gets her license…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">The next three
days were a blur of laughter and activity, the busy resourcefulness that
surrounds applying civilization upon untouched wilderness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it comes to camping accessories,
Australians are world champions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
had something for everything!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lucky for
me, since all I had was a tent and a coffee cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since I could not contribute in materials, I put
myself in charge of security and:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Defended
the campsite from a kangaroo by chasing it through the paddock on a quad bike.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Defended
the campsite from rogue beer cans by shooting them with lead pellets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Defended
the campsite from wasps by building a trap from a Coke bottle and a plastic
bag.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Defended
the campsite from pirates by performing a shoreline survey in kayaks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Defended
the campsite from amorous possums by cowering in my tent yelling, “What the
fuck was that hideous noise?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Defended
the campsite from the ground by repeatedly shooting arrows into it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Defended
the campsite from Yabbies by making sure they stayed in the river and not in my
net.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Defended
the campsite from stray branches by incinerating them in a 55 gallon stove.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Defended
the campsite from drunken poachers by chasing them through the pitch black
darkness on a motorcycle <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- oh wait, that
wasn’t me, that was Alison…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">The drive
home took a total of 24 hours, with some dawdling and some sleeping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a rule, Australians do not drive at night,
and for good reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a problem
that does not get much attention in the public forum, and one which clearly
plagues the nation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have decided that
it is time for me to take action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am
going to initiate an awareness campaign to help shed light on the debilitating effects
of marsupial depression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each night,
thousands of depressed marsupials march to the edge of the highway, hopeless,
dejected, and fling themselves into traffic in a desperate bid for relief from
their sufferings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please visit my website, <a href="http://www.beyondblue.org.au/index.aspx?">www.beyond-roo.org</a> and help
support the mental health of Australian Outback Wildlife. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-91764622565583411612012-11-19T13:41:00.002-08:002012-11-20T03:42:14.099-08:00Birthday Reflections<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;">I am not prone to wallowing in superstition, especially Chinese superstition, which seems to be the most abundant variety. Nonetheless, I am experiencing a disproportionate feeling of relief to bid farewell to the age of 44, the Chinese pronunciation of 'four' closely resembling the sound of the word for death.</span><br />
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<br /></div>
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It has been a rough year, and while there is no particular reason to be more optimistic about the year ahead, I cannot help but feel a hurdle has been crossed. Is it odd that I still feel that middle age is some vague destination that lies ahead of me, despite a deep knowing that I am indeed beyond the mid-point of my life?</div>
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Birthdays are a natural time for reflection, a time to pause, take stock of the past and see what resources are available for the journey ahead. To check the map, the compass, and the weather maps. Why bother? Impossible to chart a course when you don't have a destination. So hard to choose a direction to travel when you have learned, through trial and error, that it doesn't really matter where you are, neither physically nor figuratively. There is but a singular conclusion to Life.</div>
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But instinct and philosophy point to the inescapable notion that *something* matters, and it seems to have far more to do with 'how' than with 'what'. Not what you do or what you accomplish, but how you do it. The most important texts in this world all deal with the how of living. Generations have been sacrificed for arguments over the religious and secular details of the 'how'.</div>
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When I reflect on the 'how' of my life, I get a mixed commentary from my internal Luddite, and all my single-sided dialogues come down to one-word conclusion : whimsy.</div>
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Why did I let whimsy slip so quietly out of my life? I miss giggling and silliness, and decisions made from sheer frivolity. The last few years have been heavy with departure and seriousness. The weight of circumstance and the consequences of actions have squeezed out the best defence I had at my disposal. And it feels like personal failure. I have lost my weird. I want it back.</div>
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Thus, I do here by declare my intentions to cultivate whimsy, In my life, in my mind, and in my wardrobe. I am going to go through my closets, my shelves, and my psyche and throw out everything that does not cause me to experience complete and utter delight. Ugly pants that don't quite fit but are practical and safe? You're outta here. Sticky non-stick frying pan? You're outta here. Guilt, shame, regret? Into the bin with you. Hipster Zombies? I have had quite enough of your shenanigans, get lost. Cranky husband? Well, you're on the watch pile.<br />
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Yellow panties? You're in! Possum skull? A place of pride awaits you hanging from my rear view mirror! Joy, lightness, goofballs? Get into my belly. Cat in the Hat? Come on over...</div>
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...and clean my house before you leave. A whimsical home doesn't have to be messy.</div>
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Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-80994285766858603222012-09-28T21:55:00.001-07:002012-09-28T21:55:24.969-07:00UnresolvedPerhaps I was merely the victim of an effective marketing campaign or maybe my young tastebuds lacked discrimination, but in the early stages of our alcoholic career, Kevin and I were quite enthusiastic about Miller Genuine Draft. One year, I saved up box tops and sent away for an inflatable floating island with built-in can holders. We would anchor the island in the middle of the <a href="http://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=557" target="_blank">Stanislaus River</a>, lash a cooler to the side, and laze away Central Valley Summers in the paltry plastic shade of the attached inflatable palm tree.<br />
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When we moved to Portland in 1992, we relocated our portable resort to <a href="http://sauvieisland.org/visitor-information/qa/" target="_blank">Sauvie Island</a> on the banks of the Columbia River, where we would ride the ripples of the giant tankers as they steamed out to the Pacific. The captain would blow the horn in passing, and the beach volley ball game would pause and everyone would wave emphatically - this image is far more amusing if I point out that this was a nudie beach.<br />
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The nudie beach at Sauvie Island was particularly sociable - far more so than the clothed beach up river where everyone kept to themselves, even as they inspected each other thoroughly, if not surreptitiously although it was clearly not as sociable as the Boys Beach down river, judging by number of used condoms that littered the trails from the parking lot through the woods. At the nudie beach, everyone shared their lunches, looked after each others well adjusted children, and had a good chat. Direct eye contact was far more common than one might expect and only rarely was there physical evidence of corpulent approval.<br />
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One sunny morning, slathered in oil, Kevin vigorously brushed sand from the rubbery shores of MGD Island. FLING - SPLOOSH - PLOP and his wedding ring splashed into the cool depths several meters away. Everyone on the beach joined in the search, but to no avail. Sure, it was only a $100 strap of crappy gold from BEST, but I was nonetheless distraught, being only in the second fragile year of matrimonial devotion and assigning a fair weight of significance to the symbolism of the ceremony.<br />
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"You can have one of mine. I have 4 of them that I am no longer using...stop by my house on the way home and I'll give you one."<br />
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And that is how we met Bob.<br />
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Over the next 20 years, we would share so many wonderful adventures with Bob. We would make each other double over with laughter and collapse in sorrow. We would bring each other grief and comfort, pain and pleasure. We spent dozens of Friday nights drinking beer and shooting pool, scheming and commiserating, telling stories, sharing burdens, celebrating milestones, and just passing time, because togetherness makes the simple passing of time significant and meaningful.<br />
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Loving Bob was not always easy. He was (ah, the tell-tale switch to past tense will alert the clever reader that this is no mere exercise in reminiscence) so smart, so wise, so insightful, yet so...frustrating. He was generous to a fault, a phrase that gets bandied about carelessly at times, but is an accurate descriptor in this case. He would give anything and everything to the people he loved, and some of them would take it and more, not realizing that this acceptance of generosity came with unspoken conditions of behaviour and loyalty that often lead to deep painful grudges. Bob's devotion was strong, but so was his sense of betrayal. It was very easy to unknowingly cross a line, and each transgression would get filed away and pulled up for review whenever he was feeling fragile. It caused him unspeakable agony, this constant swirling of love and indignation, and it would bubble up at dark moments and leave you defenseless, apologies inadequate, forgiveness elusive.<br />
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So it was, a year ago, buckling under the weight of my own emotional burdens, that I struck out against a particularly nasty tirade recounting past trespasses, some of them 20 years old and inconsequential at best. "Sorry" was not bringing solace, restitution was not possible. Cornered by the fierceness of his savage accusations and pained memories of our shared past, I rallied the only defense available under the circumstances - withdrawal.<br />
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I had no intention of culling Bob from my heart nor from my life, but I did not have the emotional strength to take on the burden he was handing to me. And so I took a sabbatical from our friendship, having every intention of returning to reassure him of my unconditional love for him, to work through whatever trauma I had allegedly caused him, to embark on new adventures. <br />
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But in the mean time, he went and fucking died.<br />
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Our last exchanges were both heated and cold, punctuated with exclamation marks and dangling sentences...my final word to him so laden with strangled emotion, that I couldn't even type the 'o'...could only reply with a lower case 'k'. <br />
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Now, I am forever burdened with regret. My own memory is generally and fortunately biased against negativity such that I typically only recall the good times and any unpleasantness that may have existed at the time merely provides gauzy filter, softening the highlights but never supplanting them. However, for the moment, every recollection of Bob, every torrent of joy, hilarity, and camaraderie funnels down to the inevitable drip drop drip of lingering anger and sorrow. Unresolved. Unresolvable.<br />
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I am sorry. I love you so much. I hope you know it, that you never doubted it.<br />
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<br />Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-57966829079556051802012-06-02T17:19:00.001-07:002012-06-02T17:24:08.858-07:00The Ins and Outs of the Ups and DownsFor several years now, I have had an increasing suspicion that there is no such thing as real value on Wall Street...that stock prices have nothing to do with the true value of a company in terms of being able to deliver, experience growth, or even have assets that exist in a physically recognizable form. It is so obviously a numbers racket, that I am often astounded that it gets serious treatment in the news media at all.<br />
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...wait, scratch that, the news media gave serious treatment to Britney Spears' hair color change. Obviously, they are not to be trusted. At all.<br />
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My concerns over the non-reality of the stock market were further solidified this morning by a commentator on ABC news. Now, the more astute among you will instantly recognize the hypocrisy of me citing a source in support of my position when I lambasted that same source in the previous paragraph. However, THIS commentator was wearing a dress shirt with The Cat in The Hat all over it, so he obviously knows the shit about which he is talking.**<br />
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The Dr. Seuss fan declared that 70% of the daily movement of share prices is governed entirely by computers adhering to various (and wholly imperfect...can something be 'wholly imperfect'??) algorithms. His supporting evidence included the fact that every time a certain young actress has a favorable mention in the news media - a new movie release, a magazine cover, or an increase in the number of search engine hits - Warren Buffet's wealth grows by 1-2%. This is not because The WB has a vested interest in digital wank sites, but because the algorithms cannot distinguish between Berkshire-Hathaway and Anne Hathaway.<br />
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And *I* am expected to perform independent market research to determine the risks before making an investment?!? I for see a niche for an entire new breed of market research - investigating the algorithms so you can hedge your bets. Wait, now I for see a whole new breed of Gordon Gekko - writing viruses and worms that artificially inflate click-through rates. <br />
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More and more it seems, when it comes to investing, there is no such thing as truth (and perhaps, there is no such thing as truth at all, but I have not had enough coffee to go that deep yet). Accounting is a completely deceptive occupation, some of the most profitable companies have no corporeal form, even real estate is no longer 'real', considering it is possible to purchase condos on a simulated space station.<br />
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<br />
I often espouse the notion that the value of an object lies entirely within its utility - and NOT within what someone else is willing to pay for it. In the grand scheme of survival, a 600 year old bottle of wine is worthless without a $2 corkscrew. Skills, tools, and malleable resources are the only truly valuable things on earth - and even these are useless without strength and health.<br />
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<br />
This leaves me with the uncomfortable question "what should I do with my money?". <br />
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Well, if there is no such thing as real value in the world, then it obviously exists only in my own conscience and thus is entirely subjective. Therefore, the only worthwhile thing to do with my money is spend it on whatever the fuck makes me happy, no matter how transiently or superficially.<br />
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<br />
And this is how I justified spending the extra fifty cents to buy brand name butter...besides, it was Berkshire Farms, and it would suit me just fine if Warren Buffet had ALL the money in the world.<br />
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No wonder it takes me so long at the grocery store!<br />
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**I do hereby declare, that from this day forward, I no longer subscribe to the rule that one must not end a sentence in a preposition. It is a stupid rule that makes for very cluttered clauses. I see no reason why a participle should not be allowed to dangle in such circumstances where it will not leave the reader breathless with anticipation in regards to what I am speaking of.Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-83052361911790783152012-04-10T04:36:00.000-07:002012-04-10T04:43:14.140-07:00All Men Are Islands<div style="text-align: left;">
What is it about an island that so captures the human imagination? Nothing erases the cares of the ordinary world so much as crossing a small channel of water and wandering around an unfamiliar landscape, bumping into the sea in all directions. Lately, the stress of daily life has been weighing quite heavily upon me, so we decided to spend the long Easter weekend on Kangaroo Island.</div>
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My anxiety began melting as soon as we pulled out of the drive way, aided by the warm evening breeze drifting through the open windows as a nearly full moon smiled upon us upside down, which should look more like a frown, but it didn't. The sea was benevolently calm as we drove onto the ferry at Cape Jervis. The Sea Lion 2000 glided smoothly across the dark passage, the froth off the bow boiling blue in the moonlight.</div>
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Sitting on the bluff outside our hotel, we sipped beer and swapped stories as small penguins made amorous overtures beneath us. I felt more energized than I have in months and had to force myself to go to bed to recharge for the day ahead.</div>
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The morning was glorious! Sunny and warm - for about 20 minutes - then the wind shifted and the sea became a roiling flurry of whitecaps, the breeze flavored by the blue ice of Antarctica. But the chill weather could not cool my spirits as we headed along the southern coast of the island, a loose itinerary in mind. We suffered our first pair of casualties at the base of Prospect Hill - a 503 step staircase to a stunning view of the island. One was my calve muscles, the other was the wiper on my rear windscreen, which saved Kevin from skinned knees and elbows as he careened across the pea gravel, so a worthy sacrifice.</div>
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By the time we pulled into Little Sahara, the wind had reached gale force speeds, dashing my plans to surf the fine white dunes. I nearly turned the car around, but adventure caught the better of me and we decided to climb the dunes despite the excruciating exfoliation courtesy of the howling sands. And I am so glad we did! It was one of the most surreal and exciting experiences of my life. Climbing steep face of the dune, we were in relative shelter, but as soon as we reached the crest, the wind assaulted us in the most ferocious manner. I am sure my dentist will comment on the lack of enamel on my front teeth at my next visit, but I couldn't help but smile as I leaned deeply into the wind, searching for the steep angle of repose that allowed me to relax and not fall forward. The sand swirled and curled over the ridges, simultaneously erasing and rebuilding the dune with each gust, and threatening to send me over the bluff as I made my way along the shifting peak. Forgive me for not illustrating this adventure photographically, but my camera is not as regenerative as my own skin...</div>
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Fearing my day had achieved crescendo before noon, we drove out to watch the waves pummel the shore at Vivionne Bay and found an unusual treat at the camp store - a bag of REAL American Marshmallows!</div>
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It's not that I miss marshmallows so much, but this unexpected taste of home conjures up more than gastronomic delight. When you are an expat, something as simple as a marshmallow suddenly represents every time you have ever eaten a marshmallow - it conjures up memories of being curled up against my sister, still inside the womb, as Mom and I kneaded them into cream, of that night at camp when I had them baked into s'mores, and of that cup of hot chocolate we shared after walking home in the rain...</div>
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The evening's entertainment was rather ordinary...fine wine, a rack of lamb, and a gang of ravenous wallabies. </div>
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The next day we ventured out to some tourist attractions in the Chase Flinders National Park. We looked at some Remarkable Rocks, watched a colony of New Zealand Fur Seals frolic along the shore, visited a few lighthouses and read the sad stories of shipwreck survivors eating rancid penguins, and peeked through an Admirable Arch.</div>
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The next was spent in pursuit of cultural rewards - i.e. wine tasting. We had a fantastic private tasting 'by appointment only'. For reasons that should be obvious to most of you, there isn't much else to say about the rest of this day, but if you would like to come over for a rack of lamb, I have the perfect accompaniment - or twelve...or twenty-four...</div>
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A quick check of the credit card balance persuaded us to spend the following day in pursuit of free cultural rewards. To my delight, some of the best spots on the map of Kangaroo Island are, in fact spots on the map. Well, little squares to be precise. We visited several interesting and secluded beaches and an old school house. Most striking about the school house was not the meanness of the building</div>
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or the sparseness of the conditions</div>
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nor the ridiculous social rules to which teachers were held (Sorry - couldn't seem to manage the rotate function here tonight...)</div>
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but the fact that several historical artifacts were left on display, unlocked in a facility that was freely accessible and unattended by docents. It was impossible not to observe the impossibility of such a display being on display in America...(again, apologies for the rotational challenges).</div>
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Following on from our success at the school, we opted for a picnic dinner at Duck Lagoon, site of an old homestead. The park was riddled with mysterious implements, preserved by rust and apathy.</div>
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However, the location not only featured superior BBQ facilities, but a resident koala and a stunning selection of logs, most suitable for falling from. The site also featured a colony of especially angry ants, but due to my rotational challenges, I have opted not to feature the video of Kevin taking urinary revenge upon them for having crawled up the legs of his sweaty pants.</div>
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As we drove away from our peaceful repast at Duck Lagoon, we were accosted by a field of sheep, who very clearly expected something from us...they were not at all satisfied by my offer of a marshmallow.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzpG380IEodnQZcUmZxtLnn8QFHjB2BIAJdAo7wUELaIb9gYUspKHor1m07J2hp3bk01R2t_oPxZtNlJZstCNZX_Du3gwMe_SpV_jJOGYP4Ofe7hFI480-Ksa-xWXNC-sRRlaTZUoTrNg/s1600/P1010799.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> There were many other memorable and noteworthy moments, but there is just not time enough to recount them. </div>
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I was overcome with melancholia as we boarded the ferry home, and by the time we breached the mainland, my anxiety was in full bloom...hastened by the speed camera that snapped my license as I departed the dock, and the screw that embedded itself in my tire on the highway...and especially by the realization that this is the first of my blog posts that will not be read by Heidi...and that is a whole new brand of loneliness.</div>
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</div>Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-91466529814244952482012-03-11T21:57:00.000-07:002012-03-11T21:57:07.733-07:00Fuck This Shit!For various reasons which I am not allowed to fully disclose - perhaps it is merely a symptom of middle age and circumstance - my conversation has of late been dominated by end of life issues. Death is such a taboo subject, so painful, so frightening to contemplate, that it must be skirted around, an elephant in a tutu, dancing on the coffee table.<br />
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There are no bad intentions surrounding the topic - but what words can be used? none. There is nothing that can be said which magically grants solace. What is right one day is so wrong the next. What feels soft in your own heart might stab. The fear of adding more pain prevents me, us, you, people, from saying anything at all. In our silence, do we safeguard or isolate?<br />
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When it comes to emotions, I cherish details. I do not shrink away from the pain or joy of empathy. I don't just want to understand, I want to *feel* what you feel, *learn* what you learn, *know* what you know. This is the blessing of language and communication. It is why art exists. I get frustrated by private people, who hide the experience of their hearts. I know that to them it may be self protection, but to me it feels like deprivation. Hmmm...the same word root in privacy and deprivation...<br />
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My own attitude towards death may seem nonchalant, but it is deeply felt. Perhaps it stems from being a true atheist, from knowing, believing that death will be exactly like the time before birth. Nothingness doesn't scare me. I think death is far scarier for those that believe in an afterlife of some sort - it raises so many questions of doubt and accountability. I have no such worries.<br />
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It seems to me that the most common concern about death is being forgotten. All those moments will be lost in time...(Bonus points for the reference and/or the completion of the quote). It is estimated that 99 Billion people have died (on Earth). Of those, there are only a handful of names that survive history. Who knows what they *really* felt or thought or cared about. Will the enduring records of your own life accurately reflect who you are right now - or who you were yesterday - or who you will be tomorrow? Does it really matter that the rest of the world knows what you were thinking - and how will they know if you don't share freely?<br />
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But wait - that sounds depressing - how can I explain adequately that does not depress me in the least bit?! I look at life from a geologic time scale. In that scope, everything is so insignificant. The only thing to do is cherish every moment - EVERY moment - even the ones spent in line at the DMV, or yawning on Facebook, or fighting with your partner, or hating your job. That is all you have, and those are the moments that vanish. Why not cherish them?<br />
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And also, we humans underestimate the power of progressive knowledge. The Darwinistic Dogma of evolution does not account for how much of our personal knowledge and experience gets transferred to others. The collective human experience is recorded into our genes in ways we do not yet fully comprehend. In that context, we all contribute to future generations - even those of us without direct genetic passage.<br />
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Oh but what a world is this where the internet allows you to witness your own memorial in real time..Is it wonderful or horrible? I am not sure, and the people who could answer this for me, probably won't...or can't...<br />
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My husband often tells me that he would probably kill himself if I died. How can I express to him how much that pisses me off? How dare you evade that fundamental human experience! If he dies first, I will feel every horrible moment of his absence. I will walk around wearing his clothes, cry like a baby for years and bore the crap out of anyone who has the patience and fortitude to listen to my endless stories of our good times and bad times.<br />
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And if it is me - I want my own terms!! I want to be with my pets, somewhere lovely and comfortable. I want celebrations and joy and forth-right conversations, not tip-toes and euphemisms and forlorn looks. I want to know how much I am loved. Don't save your thoughts for a card..tell me...and if you need to, go ahead and cry. Cry, cry, cry. Just because death is natural and inevitable, doesn't mean it isn't sad. And sad isn't bad, or wrong, or forbidden. It is just as much a part of life as joy, and you have to take it too.<br />
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<br />
Perhaps I am lucky, in that I have lived a life with few regrets, and maybe that is why I face the prospect of death with relative peace of mind. Of course, I reserve the right to become a complete hypocrite when faced with the inevitable myself - yet another of those unique and wonderful human conditions!<br />
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<br />Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-22761561124782787332012-02-22T22:51:00.002-08:002012-02-22T22:51:27.646-08:00A Rare Politicoreligious Treatise by MeI really should be working. I have a ton of stuff to do...but the internet is a formidable distraction and for some reason, I suddenly had the inexplicable urge to research Rick Santorum's religious beliefs. Which lead me to the highly annotated (sarcasm) website, godvoter.org, evidently maintained by some web savvy goofballs who feel compelled to keep track of the Faith Testimony of political candidates. Although there seems to be no question of his values, godvoter.org is not pleased with Rick's lack of Faith Testimony.<br />
<br />
But this is all very boring. What captured my attention and compelled me to take finger to keyboard was the following statements:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">Speaking of</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><a href="http://www.godvoter.org/islam-obama.html" style="color: #002b82; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">Jihadists</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">, in a 2007 article penned after</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><a href="http://www.godvoter.org/Mitt-Romney-mormon.html" style="color: #002b82; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">Mitt Romney</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">'s speech on</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><a href="http://www.godvoter.org/mormonism-cult.html" style="color: #002b82; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">Mormonism</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">, Rick Santorum expressed the following beliefs:</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Quote-Italics" style="color: #002b82; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"I'm more concerned about losing our children to jihadis or a materialistic culture than losing them to Mormonism."</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span class="italics" style="font-style: italic;">- Ric<span></span>k Sant<span></span>orum, The Philadelphia Inquirer, December 20, 2007</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">Christian children martyred by</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Quote-Italics" style="color: #002b82; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"jihadis" </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">go to</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><a href="http://www.godvoter.org/heaven-hell-bible-verses.html" style="color: #002b82; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">heaven</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">, while children who die as</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><a href="http://www.godvoter.org/mormonism-cult.html" style="color: #002b82; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">Mormons</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">go to</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><a href="http://www.godvoter.org/heaven-hell-bible-verses.html" style="color: #002b82; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">hell</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">(</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><a href="http://www.godvoter.org/mormonism-cult.html" style="color: #002b82; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">here is why</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">). Jesus said:</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Verses" style="color: red; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"And I say to you, My friends, do not be afraid of those who kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do. But I will show you whom you should fear: Fear Him who, after He has killed, has power to cast into hell; yes, I say to you, fear Him!"</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span class="italics" style="font-style: italic;">- Luke 12:4-5</span></span></blockquote>
<br />
I'm not quite sure what the hell Luke is on about, but I am absolutely delighted to hear that godvoter.org is in complete agreement with my own personal dogma - mormons are worse than jihadis.<br />
<br />
It's true. I have never had jihadis knock on my door, interrupting my afternoon cartoons and bong loads to discuss my personal beliefs, nor have I ever been inconvenienced by a group of jihadis while camping at a hot springs resort in Idaho. I am so relieved to know that godvoter.org and I can find a happy middle ground.<br />
<br />
Given the statements above, I assume the following refers to Mitt Romney, and I absolutely adore the logic of it:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">Continued campaigning by both Ri</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">ck Sant</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">orum and Newt Gingrich is dividing the conservative vote, risks handing the Republican nomination to the</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><a href="http://www.godvoter.org/Mitt-Romney-mormon.html" style="color: #002b82; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">High Priest</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">of a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><a href="http://www.godvoter.org/mormonism-cult.html" style="color: #002b82; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">Satanic cult</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">, and should stop.</span></blockquote>
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Yes - just stop it. All of you.Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-21997275168107924882011-12-31T19:10:00.000-08:002011-12-31T19:10:23.592-08:00And Him Whyyyyyy...Restoring order to the homestead following last night's debauchery, I tuned in some soft jazz and left the television displaying some random channel, background company, like childhood.<br />
<br />
My attention was snapped to the screen by the opening credits of Gilligan's Island. Purposefully, I tried to shed the pallor of cynicism cast by age and experience and taste, once more, the naive simplicity of spirit that once allowed me to enjoy this show - every afternoon. I wanted not to think of the hokiness borne of perspective, but to recapture the innocence of expectations that I had...what was it now, 40 years ago? I wanted to really *remember* what it felt like to be eating a bologna and miracle whip sandwich between soft white bread from atop a paper plate made greasy with the delicious saltiness of Cain's Potato Chips under the cool air-conditioning of my Grandma's house in summer on Sandralee Drive.<br />
<br />
If I had given in to that cynicism, I might be inclined to write about the low level of standards for humor in the late 60's, or to wax mournful over the current status of the various minor celebrities that once worked so diligently to bring me such appreciated entertainment...or I might just roll my eyes and change the channel...surely Love Boat or M*A*S*H is on...<br />
<br />
But then, to the back drop of smooth piano sounds, some Svengali character with a neurotic monkey rows ashore and begins hypnotizing the various members of one of my many TV families, and then there is Ginger, looking fabulous in a leopard print bathing suit...and making me think of just how beautiful My Mom was to me then and still is now!Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-27027916993193137152011-11-09T01:38:00.000-08:002011-11-09T01:38:45.718-08:003 weeks, 6 cities, 11 flights, and 150 beersIt is my plan to write up a nice tidy summary of my vacation, to thank and acknowledge everyone who took the time to visit with us on our whirlwind trip around the US - but I doubt I will be able to do it. Everytime I try to put words to my emotions, my chest contracts and I begin sobbing. I'd like to blame it on exhaustion, having averaged 4-5 hours a night of sleep for the last three taco-filled weeks, but I suspect my emotional landscape is far more complicated than that. I am a jumbled mess of joy, of longing, of pride and of confusion. It is pure wishfulness on my part to imagine that I can compartmentalize these feelings by wrapping them in witty complete sentences.<br />
<br />
However, at present moment, two profound observations have bubbled up through the black tar soup of my recent visitations. Already, their pungent odiferousness is wafting away on the winds of ordinary life. I breathe deeply, gasping to keep the memory of the feelings in my nostrils, as if I can preserve time by mere olfaction.<br />
<br />
1) It is a remarkable privilege to spend time with the various generations of one's family.<br />
<br />
Being rather firmly entrenched in the middle of life (give or take a decade depending on the graces of health and circumstance), I have the fortunate perspective to look back on youth and forward to advancing age. Visiting with parents, grandparents and aunts is like looking through a window into my own future. Not the rosy imagined future of immortality and endless possibility, but of the real future of losing strength and independence, of becoming sidelined for being slow and cumbersome and possibly ornery. Visiting with siblings, cousins, and nephews is a window to my own past. Not the fairy-tale past of knowing that I was god-like in my understanding of the world and my place in it, but of the nightmare truth of how little I really knew then, and worse - of how much less I know now. I'd like to think that I can apply this insight in some meaningful way to my present life - that I can use it to make better choices, better decisions, but I am crushed by the realization of just how much about life I will never really comprehend.<br />
<br />
2) I am homeless.<br />
<br />
There are moments when I feel that every place I have ever lived is still 'home', but this time no place that we visited conjured up feelings of enduring security. More than ever, I was keenly aware of just how transient a life on earth really is. Driving by past residences did not invoke any sense of belonging - quite the opposite. More than anything, I wanted to belong to the road again. I could be perfectly content to continue living out of my suitcase, cruising indefinitely from couch to couch, hotel to hotel visiting friends and family, bouncing from party to party and dinner to dinner. I feel more displaced than I ever have, and the thought of returning to Adelaide is even worse. Of all the places I call home, I still feel like a complete outsider there.<br />
So, dear readers, that is all the wordplay I can allot to my ephemeral epiphanies. Reality is swiftly calling me to heed the demands of bills, emails, unpaid parking violations and a very hungry bad kitty - those banal activities that deplete my curiosity and leave my vocabulary stranded on the bleak shores of indifference. Lest you think my whole vacation was steeped in melancholy (which it most certainly was not), I refer you to my Facebook Photo Journal - which features smile upon smile upon smile...but right now, even looking at those pictures makes me want to cry.<br />
<br />Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-78761066285365428822011-10-08T18:33:00.000-07:002011-10-08T18:33:12.781-07:00Run!Poor Mario. All he wanted was a bit of happy companionship on his birthday. And for awhile, he found it with the chatty American couple.<br />
<br />
Mario splashed into his seat, having invited himself to our table, and our cigarettes. His right eye was purple and swollen, his ears resembled cauliflowers, and his knuckles bore thick calluses. His quick and easy smile revealed a mouth full of small yellow chiclets dispersed spatiously, if not randomly, along his gum line. His complexion was dark, but his accent was all ochre.<br />
<br />
"Todays is me birfday, but me misses wouldn't come out drinkin' wif me. I am a member, down at The Stag. See, here's me membership card. Here, you hold onto that for me. I get us some free drinks down at The Stag, cuz I'm a member. Where's is youse guys from anyways? Youse from America?! For reals?! Hey, can you say this for me 'Welcome to this presentation of the NBA on ESPN!' Do you know LeBron Johnson?"<br />
<br />
Yeah, I met LeBron once, when he came over to my house to unclog my toilet. They don't get much money, so all those NBA guys have regular jobs in the off season. And they all wear women's knickers, too.<br />
<br />
"For reals?! Yeah, I can understand that. That's why me Mum came here from El Salvador. To give me a chance at a better life."<br />
<br />
And are you taking advantage of that?<br />
<br />
"Hehehhehhehheeheeh! I like youse guys. Let's go downto the Stag. I get free birfday drinks, cuz I'm like a member. They all know me there. I am there all the time. I'm like a VIP. Hey, can yuse say this for me 'Welcome to this presentation of the NBA on ESPN!'"<br />
<br />
He smiled his stunted smile, and it seemed a very natural thing to do, to go down to the Stag with him, get some free VIP drinks, but it all went so bad so very quickly, what with the raised voice, demands to see the manager, denials of recognition, no sir, I do not know you, you need to show the text message we sent you. Come back when your phone is charged, and then arguments about the content of their computer and isn't my birfday in your system.<br />
<br />
Kevin and I began backing away towards the door. We eased onto the sidewalk and exchanged glances.<br />
<br />
RUN!!<br />
<br />
We sprinted across the street and ducked down into driveway that ended in a deadend alley, contemplated ducking into an open door at the back of a restaurant, but decided we had been quick and stealthy. We leaned against a brick wall, catching our breath and wondering if we had ever been ditched like that and been too drunk to notice. Mario strolled casually around the corner.<br />
<br />
"What is youse guys doing back here? I was gettin' us me free birfday drinks and den youse was runnin' down the street. And now heres you is, in dis alley."<br />
<br />
He stepped behind the dumpster to piss. Kevin and I exchanged glances.<br />
<br />
RUN!!Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-72193648199711450942011-08-06T16:07:00.000-07:002011-08-06T16:07:13.122-07:00The Skin of a Dying Man"What have you done?"<br />
<br />
"I woke up mad at my hair."<br />
<br />
"I see. What's with the widow's peak?"<br />
<br />
"I thought it would make me look like those bad ass motherfuckers in that show last night."<br />
<br />
"You look like a mental patient."<br />
<br />
"Will you tidy up the back for me?"<br />
<br />
"Yes. Thank God you didn't wake up mad at your eyebrows."Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-75668866253126682872011-07-30T01:15:00.000-07:002011-07-30T01:15:48.511-07:00My Day Out<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE3s5pZnsw_BzntM-u9XrnxAIFQQheB3-x6slu2f-s5YA0w39PqdyBAb9q8GrlEmFTetLOg7KWZFf_cogG36iLnEe-gAVbQGAxfNc7BF4197zeNPpzy1kCH-J1-gIRhyphenhyphenqK_xVesdfKr9A/s1600/P1010478.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>Took myself out for a drive today. Just couldn't be cooped up inside while spring is beginning to unfold, so I turned up MaGill and took to the the hills, up into Lenswood, formerly known as Gary's Flat, but renamed after a WWI battle. Gary's Flat made more sense. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">There were mysterious symbols at the entrance to the roadside park. 'No raising fistfulls of foliage' and 'eucalyptus trees here'...need to know information.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJyHuUVn-BDZA-bq95E8eFh6hNtoVMgEbCsFDGcWRDM1petOIi9n3bvzsLlCjCZyBnusPbo-_XcsP9Dv1qHTqzfOBsxxwUWIPR8Xszek18-u5y4Ffzold06Q8hWjqIwhJV25dT5GrZZYE/s1600/IMG00041-20110730-1136.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJyHuUVn-BDZA-bq95E8eFh6hNtoVMgEbCsFDGcWRDM1petOIi9n3bvzsLlCjCZyBnusPbo-_XcsP9Dv1qHTqzfOBsxxwUWIPR8Xszek18-u5y4Ffzold06Q8hWjqIwhJV25dT5GrZZYE/s320/IMG00041-20110730-1136.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I followed a path over a talkative creek, into a soggy clearing, intermittent sun showers beckoned me deeper into the woods. I sat on a log and waited for the birds to forget I was there and go about their business of squawking and swooping.<br />
<br />
I followed green twisty roads through the hills, taking unplanned turns and obeying random signs, a strategy that lead me inevitably to a winery. The tasting room had a roaring fire and bubbling pot of pulled pork. The vintner lonely in the winter lull, happy to talk. And talk. And talk.<br />
<br />
A simple lunch at the Lobethal Bakery in Woodside - cheese Kransky wrapped in puff pastry and a cappuccino. A disappointing chocolate doughnut for desert made it easy to justify a detour to Melba's Chocolate Factory. Big Chocolate smokestacks:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRlraiz6cZUYbprhn8XR0W3Gkxd8RpwlpXzYCnUlYN3DcrtWeCvHtblnQumihKLSlZpktkiEix5JAk5i7FgmkP-vFfDQhNjcvyNjyAu3_K2w7JAK1UmTrKqH21SwfJspjYLf3vzLlZiys/s1600/P1010475.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRlraiz6cZUYbprhn8XR0W3Gkxd8RpwlpXzYCnUlYN3DcrtWeCvHtblnQumihKLSlZpktkiEix5JAk5i7FgmkP-vFfDQhNjcvyNjyAu3_K2w7JAK1UmTrKqH21SwfJspjYLf3vzLlZiys/s320/P1010475.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
For the chocolate cauldrons:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE3s5pZnsw_BzntM-u9XrnxAIFQQheB3-x6slu2f-s5YA0w39PqdyBAb9q8GrlEmFTetLOg7KWZFf_cogG36iLnEe-gAVbQGAxfNc7BF4197zeNPpzy1kCH-J1-gIRhyphenhyphenqK_xVesdfKr9A/s1600/P1010478.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE3s5pZnsw_BzntM-u9XrnxAIFQQheB3-x6slu2f-s5YA0w39PqdyBAb9q8GrlEmFTetLOg7KWZFf_cogG36iLnEe-gAVbQGAxfNc7BF4197zeNPpzy1kCH-J1-gIRhyphenhyphenqK_xVesdfKr9A/s320/P1010478.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Didn't need justification to walk next door to the Cheese Cellar Door. The lemon-myrtle chevre was divine, but the mature blue vein goats cheese left me burping clouds of ammonia.<br />
<br />
No reason to skip the next destination on the Okaparinga Scenic Drive, the toy factory in Gumeracha housed beneath a giant rocking horse. It smelled salt and fried food - fully licensed cafe. Dad needs a drink now that the kids are all sugared up from Melba's. Take them for a walk through the petting zoo, filled with incredibly fat ducks and kangaroos. <br />
<br />
"No dear, I don't think those are kangaroos." <br />
<br />
"Oh, are them some of those wobballies, then?"<br />
<br />
Brits. <br />
<br />
In Birdwood, passed a butcher selling 'country killed' meat. Browsed through an antique store in. Mt. Torrens. Mt? Funny. Should have asked about the price of two giant animal horns, but became mesmerized by a box of old photographs. Black and white stills, portraits, weddings, vacations, school assemblies - who is the boy growing up year by year in these pictures? $4 each. I want to save these photos from obscurity. Buy them all and weave a story around them - some of the pictures are so faded, soon they will be gone. A slow fade from history.<br />
<br />
Where will MY memories end up? No one to caretake my past. Even in families, you're only three generations away from total anonymity - unless you started a war or wrote a symphony. Will tomorrow's antique shops be filled with hard drives?Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-10451582081109701162011-07-22T16:44:00.000-07:002011-07-22T16:46:32.852-07:00Just Say Yes<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">I didn’t have many delusions when I signed up for this job. I pretty well knew what I was getting into, what the challenges would be for me, both personally and professionally. However, one aspect caught me completely unawares. I was not all prepared for the penetrating loneliness of this job.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">It seems contrary to claim to be lonely, when I spend my entire day interacting with dozens of people. But customers are not colleagues. By definition, the relationship is mildly adversarial at best (and at times, downright hostile). There are no chatty Monday morning teas discussing weekend activities, no long Friday lunches at the pub bragging about vacation plans. My jokes are out of place and unappreciated. If I get frustrated, I can’t just turn my chair for an impromptu bitch-session to let it all out. The whole point of the sales process is to get customers talking about their needs, their frustrations, their desires. I hardly ever get to talk about my specialty subject: ME.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">But there is one saving grace that keeps me from descending into total despair. Every three months, I am treated to an intense week crammed with camaraderie, complaints, conviviality, and the consumption of huge amounts of alcohol. I don’t think I could survive this job if it were not for quarterly sales meetings.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Sure, they are not all fun-and-games. There are endless hours of PowerPoint Presentations filled with incomprehensible graphs and charts meant to instil in me some broad understanding of the business – hardly relevant in the midst of a discussion about the relative merits of LNA modification of siRNA analogues. There are painful pitches from the marketing department detailing what they believe customers need – they always seem to be 3 months behind. And, there are peculiar pep-talks from upper management containing a curious blend of praise and beratement.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Last week, our Q3 meeting was attended by one of the bigger managerial mucky-mucks in the Asia-Pacific region. It was rather refreshing to hear his input and feedback on our processes, however irrelevant or impractical. He challenged us with a relatively simple task: when any of us are asked to do something, resist the natural human instinct to resist and simply say YES. This resonated for me personally, enough to speak up and voice my agreement and my encouragement that we fully embrace this simple guiding principle.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">But that was before I knew I was going to be asked to play golf.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">I had seriously hoped that I could make it through life without having ever held a golf club (I also hope to never see Dirty Dancing – so far so good on that one), but after piping up with my resounding endorsement for acquiescence, I could hardly refuse. And I must admit, that in spite of best efforts to hate it, I thoroughly enjoyed myself.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/KLaE1Bg6lkQ?hl=en&fs=1" width="425"></iframe> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">My pleasure had far less to do with any thrill I may have received from the satisfying PING of ball connecting with club - followed closely by POP of ball connecting with tree and the PLOP of ball connecting with pond. Without a doubt, the experience was made more delightful by the presence of kangaroos bouncing across the fairways, magpies swooping in and out of shots, and kookaburras laughing at my putting skills. But the unadulterated joy of the morning arose entirely from being allowed to spend a few hours with my co-workers in a non-work related activity joking, teasing, and giggling. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">I don’t think I realized, until just this very moment, how important it is to have friends in my daily life.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Damn, I miss you all.</span></div>Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-80002823629953148402011-07-13T20:44:00.000-07:002011-07-13T20:44:51.935-07:00Dear Editor,<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:UseFELayout/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I generally strive to protect myself from indignation, and considering the wealth of atrocities and social infractions in today’s world, I cannot comprehend why this particular incident has prompted me to put pen to paper, but the sheer ridiculousness has simply gotten under my skin.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">In the lobby of the IMVS – a government facility - a flat panel television has recently been installed that does nothing more than display a bar graph illustrating the monthly water consumption of the main facility to all visitors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The screen is captioned with the catchy slogan “We’re not just committed, we do more…”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I would really appreciate an explanation as to why, against the backdrop of global warming and cuts to government services, tax-payer money has been spent<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>on such a preposterous display of irrelevant information.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How will this information impact any decisions being made by visitors to the IMVS?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why are government funds being spent on useless propaganda?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who was the mastermind that was able to justify the allocation of resources to such an endeavour while employees are losing their positions? And how did the facility manage to function entirely without water through out the month of February?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7e31usj77xbT6GesPyaz6KX_njCMVEjtFeQfNxQT49Phg6UwW5g8WDHfMXF1F7bf3sBBctshstS2OOejVQTygYJexsML0Dm9LH6g00693DwvxBx2imj92TrosuDlZROjLTVzAafrMB2o/s1600/Stoopid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7e31usj77xbT6GesPyaz6KX_njCMVEjtFeQfNxQT49Phg6UwW5g8WDHfMXF1F7bf3sBBctshstS2OOejVQTygYJexsML0Dm9LH6g00693DwvxBx2imj92TrosuDlZROjLTVzAafrMB2o/s320/Stoopid.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">“We’re not just committed”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Indeed, *someone* should be committed…to a mental ward.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Audra McKinzie</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Disgruntled Citizen</span></div>Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-63144960999118514392011-06-12T00:43:00.000-07:002011-06-12T00:43:59.721-07:00da FunkI've been waking up feeling sad and gloomy lately. I can't quite pinpoint the reason, but I find myself reflecting on my life and wondering about the future. Increasingly, I am coming to the realization that I will never 'discover' my true calling. I've been living under the delusion that one day, I will will take some turn on my life path and will suddenly and completely become infused with tremendous energy and passion....that I will find THE 'thing' that makes me devote myself without reservation to some endeavor, enriching my both my soul and the future of mankind. Now such fantasy seems as foolish as being rescued by Prince Charming.<br />
<br />
If anything, my passion is dwindling - although there is the distinct possibility that it is being sucked out of me, but I'll explore that another day. I can't seem to muster much enthusiasm for any activity at the moment. I am dragging myself through the motions of daily life, faking it when required. I just can't be arsed about anything right now. <br />
<br />
And speaking of arsed:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Ge24WCcpxv6XjJQFtI36B3QTm4D4JJT5n7Z6m7D4jnpB2pzzpWJ75pg-U8CEDDTFpcPSJj5lPKPpXpJ-sTWgIQ4VqQjdfiDcm0ayaj2VtQQVhyWXJKpd6yu1IUCjO9pv7aLxwjyb6_c/s1600/IMG00013-20110612-1324.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Ge24WCcpxv6XjJQFtI36B3QTm4D4JJT5n7Z6m7D4jnpB2pzzpWJ75pg-U8CEDDTFpcPSJj5lPKPpXpJ-sTWgIQ4VqQjdfiDcm0ayaj2VtQQVhyWXJKpd6yu1IUCjO9pv7aLxwjyb6_c/s320/IMG00013-20110612-1324.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There just isn't enough frivolity or silliness in my life right now. It's not that everything is serious or dire, but there isn't any sizzle either. What happened to my 'happy go lucky' attitude? When did I stop singing? Where did I put my weird? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi39JsGNKnjXs02dh2OuY3ulLRORLHM3eZ1Zgwe-9GeyXtGGhzABnM_UuZDld2WMb2IleuuvFy29cKY_ounzTAz9PVO3cd6jWN0IE3FQzcaSkrU69JfZZJIUlr63fdHYD2wZzERbUhZzS8/s1600/IMG00012-20110612-1238.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi39JsGNKnjXs02dh2OuY3ulLRORLHM3eZ1Zgwe-9GeyXtGGhzABnM_UuZDld2WMb2IleuuvFy29cKY_ounzTAz9PVO3cd6jWN0IE3FQzcaSkrU69JfZZJIUlr63fdHYD2wZzERbUhZzS8/s320/IMG00012-20110612-1238.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I perked up a bit later when we strolled through a salvage shop filled with life-sized statues of pirates, Indians, celebrities and animals. I determined I would indulge myself with the purchase of any weird and useless item that caught my fancy. An Egyptian sarcophagus? A giant shark head to plant in the front yard? A zulu midget holding a menu board, perhaps?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Unfortunately, I was disappointed that all the seemingly cool old statues, were merely plastic replicas. Although, I was quite attracted to the life-sized animatronic tyrannosaurus rex, I decided that my self-indulgent wallowing was not quite worth $25,000. However, $895 for Barak Obama seemed a bargain...but I'd hate to take him away from his current position.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSQASBxnL8QFOfxyOhu8PV0KSxnmfz_anhVbCMW2LIpVudHsyIFAVYOCpKvplOQ98xOXbgsD1_Aelf8sy_Sk2EINrd3N2akUCEeD2AQNa2Qa3MTGNcrffSTlniu_J6ODl9dLTgxOPqCQM/s1600/IMG00011-20110612-1237.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSQASBxnL8QFOfxyOhu8PV0KSxnmfz_anhVbCMW2LIpVudHsyIFAVYOCpKvplOQ98xOXbgsD1_Aelf8sy_Sk2EINrd3N2akUCEeD2AQNa2Qa3MTGNcrffSTlniu_J6ODl9dLTgxOPqCQM/s320/IMG00011-20110612-1237.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>So I decided to come home, make chili, and weep quietly while watching The Aristocats on TV...sigh.Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-72778490305846509012011-05-14T17:19:00.000-07:002011-05-14T17:19:17.166-07:00Sunday Snap Shot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>The morning is cool but still beneath pearl grey skies. I hop on my bike and coast down to the river, lifting my head to fill my nose with the crisp rush of birdsong. <a href="http://birdsinbackyards.net/species/Ocyphaps-lophotes">Crested pigeons</a> skitter and coo "woo-oot' in the leaves beside the trail, peep, peep, peeping as they fly away. <a href="http://birdsinbackyards.net/species/Gallinula-tenebrosa"> D</a><a href="http://birdsinbackyards.net/species/Gallinula-tenebrosa">usky moor hens</a> splash out of the thick reeds into the black tea of the Torrens. Across the river, a wattle bird makes a hideous noise, and I stifle the urge to make unkind anthropomorphic comparisons.<br />
<br />
I zip past the zoo and it smells of green hay and exotic urine. Where the river gradually widens into the lake, I pause to watch a pair of <a href="http://birdsinbackyards.net/species/Cygnus-atratus">black swans</a> glide past, chatting softly to each other. I am confused. The conversation of two joggers momentarily overlays my observations. The first swan asks,<br />
<br />
"So how have you structured your retirement portfolio?"<br />
<br />
"I'm heavily vested in dividend paying annuities and index funds."<br />
<br />
"Do you have income protection in case you become disabled?"<br />
<br />
"No, but if we swim up to this lady squatting next to the water, she might give us some bread."<br />
<br />
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<br />
I pedal into the city. Of course, there is a festival being set up in the park. Volunteers in blue shirts scurry through a maze of white plastic chairs and tents. The Million Paws Walk...this place is going to be shit bark central in a few hours. I make a note not to return this afternoon.<br />
<br />
I pause again at the spillway and watch a flotilla of <a href="http://birdsinbackyards.net/species/Pelecanus-conspicillatus">pelicans</a> drift away. Flycatchers zig and zag tirelessly above the water then dive into their mud nests beneath the dam. I wonder how many flies a human would have to eat each day to live? I think that Australia has enough to feed the entire population.<br />
<br />
The city noises are more distinct in the quiet of the morning, their outlines unblurred by din of daytime. The squeal of train wheels on a curve, the roar of a jet coming in low over the cricket ground, the echo of the bells of the cathedral off the tall buildings flanking the river bank. I follow the bells and briefly toy with the idea of going to mass, but they stop ringing as soon as I get there, so I take that as a sign. <br />
<br />
Instead, I try to count the cockatoos that are riotously vying for a spot on the tallest spire and watch the parishioners filing into the building. They are mostly old, but all are hunched over. The cumulative weight of a life time of guilt and piety has bent their spines...or maybe the weight of the life is the reason they find solace in the musty hollows of a large stone building. Through the doors, I can see the gold altar glittering, the priest in red trimmed bright white robes waving the gang signs of the Lord to his flock of peeps. I decide the cockatoos are having far more fun, their yellow crests lifted in comical expressions of defiance.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMgF1ne9F1Vy67qFPQLw3WKxQWmJJMeTo5bdzy9mpnjtnBNznn_p-TtPV-2PXkry2QSNw_TMkrNig7rnwL6IpkXjgSTFUKhnKPqLglvAfKUsdgC6aychhyiLXZVbS_HYSukZwDM-P4rhI/s1600/IMGP2771.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMgF1ne9F1Vy67qFPQLw3WKxQWmJJMeTo5bdzy9mpnjtnBNznn_p-TtPV-2PXkry2QSNw_TMkrNig7rnwL6IpkXjgSTFUKhnKPqLglvAfKUsdgC6aychhyiLXZVbS_HYSukZwDM-P4rhI/s320/IMGP2771.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
My fingers are going numb, so I decide to head home, but I become mesmerized by a magic leaf and stop to run my battery down as a bunch of <a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_713757296">magpie</a><a href="http://birdsinbackyards.net/feature/birds-behaving-badly-magpie.cfm">s</a> chime like wood winds around me. <br />
<br />
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<br />
The house is warm and smells of last night's dinner. I debate whether or not to share my mundane narrative of the morning. Although pleasant and filled with sensory delights, it has not revealed any profound philosophical positions or conspicuously comical conclusions...But maybe sharing the ordinary moments of life is more valuable anyway...although not as valuable as a good disability insurance policy.<br />
<br />
Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-32292651151015776652011-05-07T20:13:00.000-07:002011-05-07T20:13:41.162-07:00Dualies<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:UseFELayout/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">"Well the way I think of it is that the love I have for my homeland is like the love I have for my mother...But the love I have for Australia is like the love I have for my bride."<br />
-Some Pomme Bastard</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Today Kevin and I married Australia.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">After several grueling weeks of filling out forms, photocopying documents, and collecting signatures from recognized authorities - Oh, and sending checks to mysterious offices - we completed our application for Australian Citizenship. Last week, we sat 'the exam' - a 20 question quiz that proves your qualifications to assimilate into this country by demonstrating your knowledge of social customs, parliamentary structure, and obscure cricket facts such as '1. a) What is the record for most consecutive centuries scored in a single test match? b) Who holds the record? c) How many balls did he face in his career?' </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">We passed the exam with flying colo(u)rs and returned to the immigration office for 'the ceremony'. Along with a dozen other inductees, we were ushered into a small room and handed a pledge card, a copy of the National Anthem, and a small yet highly waveable Australian flag. Before we took the pledge, we were required to watch a syrupy short film of recent immigrant testimonials about what becoming an Australian citizen means to them (see above). It was, of course, quite emotional and I managed to choke back the tears until they showed a clip of an old man lawn bowling. The ability to participate fully, without reservations or feelings of alienation, in the remarkably unathletic sport of lawn bowling is a privilege of citizenship I have previously underestimated.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The pledge cards came in two versions. Group 1 stood up and recited their pledge, followed by the much smaller Group 2. I don't recall checking the box on the application, but I was relieved to find myself liberated from the obligation of declaring my loyalty 'under God' and not at all dismayed to know that I am now on the national list of registered atheists.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Had I known I would be required to sing Australia Fair out loud in a small room full of multicolored strangers, I may have opted to forgo the whole ordeal, but there was no backing out now. Is there a UN requirement that all national anthems contain one entirely unachievable musical note? At least we were only required to sing the first verse, because in truth, very few native born Australians know the second, and the the third verse was officially dropped several years ago. Thank God. I was surprised that I actually knew the melody...It really is a crap song. Girt by sea, indeed! Tie Me Kangaroo Down would be a better choice - more suited to drunken rejoicing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBYmbfBTpx9Wvw51DxBXpkCOoDGVcEg1jT2ZoIchyphenhyphenkPwQQVQQwycReY9Upp08M3uF5E14pLmG2-4hXPYh0EfO7DO747k5Yp8rOBXr7Hn8msks3-C09RgcENNaYcmz1O5dYvppzsDPHy2k/s1600/Dualies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBYmbfBTpx9Wvw51DxBXpkCOoDGVcEg1jT2ZoIchyphenhyphenkPwQQVQQwycReY9Upp08M3uF5E14pLmG2-4hXPYh0EfO7DO747k5Yp8rOBXr7Hn8msks3-C09RgcENNaYcmz1O5dYvppzsDPHy2k/s320/Dualies.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">My first order of business as an Australian Citizen was to go to the toilet. I nodded a mute recognition to the young blond girl emerging from the stall, she having been among the recently pledged. However, I was compelled to break my silent musings as I unbuttoned my pants:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">"Don't you want your flag?"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">"Yeah, not really. I mean, it's not like I'm going to hang it on the wall in my room or anything. I mean seriously."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">"Well, you could attach it to your car antenna on Australia Day, or at the very least, stick it in a shoe box and look at it again when you are 80."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">"Yeah, I guess I could do that."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Exiting the stall upon the completeion of my first official duty, I handed the flag back to her. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">"I really don't care what you do with it, but as a proud member of society, I would be remiss if I allowed you to leave it lying on the dirty floor of a public loo." I somehow managed to not add the word 'twat' to the end of the sentence.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">So I am now a dual citizen - which fundamentally means that I am required to participate in the Australian democratic process and I can legally go to Cuba. I was delightfully surprised at how well Australians receive the news, despite their highly publicized xenophobia. They are quite welcoming and proud that I have made this commitment. There is no sense of loss or threat on their part - an attitude not uncommon towards immigrants in the US...but then, I am white and speak English reasonably good. (Don't. It is meant to be a joke.) It all happened so quickly, that I have barely had time to gauge the gravity of the decision I have just made, but I am curious to see if and how it impacts my feelings of belonging and integration, to see if I will begin to feel less like a foreign observer and more like a genuine participant. I am already considering running for local office.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> But first, I gotta go buy some lawn bowls.</div>Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-90434627962900716492011-03-03T03:50:00.000-08:002011-03-03T03:50:37.167-08:00Flash BacksWhen I was...oh about 10 or 11 years old...there appeared within my kitchen a dark-haired infant and a framed photograph of Moamar Qaddafi...I do not mean to imply a connection, but as a curious young "lady", I questioned the arrival of each. The child I understood as being the consequence of a loving relationship - the portrait was evidently, an accident. <br />
<br />
Around about that time, I also recall assuming an alternate persona that had - until this evening - remained a bit of a mystery even to myself. I distinctly remember donning one of my sister's diapers beneath my visor and a pair of mirrored lenses - unquestionably feeling as if I was wearing the headdress of petrochemical royalty - and wandering the neighborhood in roller skates with Linda Edholm speaking exclusively in an imaginary language filled with too many harsh consonants and squiggly vowels.<br />
<br />
Around about that time, I had also perfected the art of the prank phone call - my favorite gag being to pretend that I was a foreigner with a large sum of money to distribute to obliging prostitutes, but with no means of retrieving the funds from my bank account (was I ahead of the times or what?!) Desperately I would plead for assistance, and when asked for my name, I would say "Ben Gay-Z".<br />
<br />
When written phonetically - the way I pronounced it - it appeared to be the signature of an aging rap star - but only today did I realize that it is the name of a city in Libya. <br />
<br />
Now, I am both delighted and horrified to discover that at age 10, I knew something I no longer remember. Was I smarter then? Or just a smart ass, a everyone in my family constantly informed me? How magical is the human hippocampus that it can stash away little tidbits like mis-pronounced names (or lyrics, on occasion) for the sole purpose of delighting you in your declining years, when sitting on the couch watching the evening news is more satisfying than toying with some old lady who is ever so concerned that you forgot where you parked you limousine filled with cocaine and hundred dollar bills?<br />
<br />
Hang on...I must go answer the phone...<br />
<br />
Hello? Colonel Who?? Why, of course I can give you my credit card number and address...Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-1086069034014430042011-01-22T20:37:00.000-08:002011-01-22T20:37:50.539-08:00Like FliesThere is an unspoken ediquette that no one is to speak ill of the dead...but...Craig just might be one of the most miserable bastards I have ever known. <br />
But then, I have never been one to discard broken people. Life is hard. For everyone. And despite his faults, his enduring bitterness, his constant dissatisfaction with his personal choices and/or his destiny, I still considered him a friend. And I am sad to hear that he lost his battle with brain cancer...and regret that our last conversation was an arguement over whether it could have been cured with antibiotics.<br />
<br />
So today, Kevin and I raise a toast to him and randomly draw on the best of times, such as they were...<br />
<br />
On the way to Baja, the antenna of his Bronco miraculously gutted a pigeon, careening it into a bloody spiral that streamed across the windshield of our truck and splattered the front of our 5th wheel trailer. I appreciate, that to most normal people, that might seem a wretched event, but to my own warped mind, it was an amazing confluence of physiscs and biology. Be grateful I do not have pictures.<br />
<br />
Later that night, Kevin chased Craig down the beach with a splitting maul...oh what laughs we had! Especially when He and Kevin and Robert narrowly escaped self combustion by diving behind a stray sofa lounge after lighting off bottle rockets capable of dismantling small midle-eastern villages.<br />
<br />
In the interest of decorum, and because I do not have photgraphic evidence, I should probably not describe the image of his freshly shaven member smashed upon the rear window of our truck as we drove <a href="http://www.sanfelipe.com.mx/about/san_felipe_area.html">from San Felipe to Puertocitos</a>...but it is a captured moment that, to this day, makes me split my sides laughing, and I wouldn't hesitate to rush into a burning building to retrieve that picture! (though it is eternally etched upon my retinas)<br />
<br />
Curiously, Craig planted the first seed that grew into our current adventures. Late nights spent drinking cases (and cases) of Bud Light in our garage, Craig described to Kevin the wonders of Australia. Like a weed, those visions took root and refused to wilt, and here we are...<br />
<br />
So I choose to treasure the meories:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaw4L931y8JKvq0-Q57ecrGgf3bnFpU23v79tdXTtjvQ7zHuJ2FFCg6lQgzrjm-2AYcY3RLkMKp96Wp2UgsGz7CuGhBdB6Hm2CYNkNoEX7dROgbm_jvCdx1Wy1xfsafhFvB82fO17rWZA/s1600/100-0013_IMG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaw4L931y8JKvq0-Q57ecrGgf3bnFpU23v79tdXTtjvQ7zHuJ2FFCg6lQgzrjm-2AYcY3RLkMKp96Wp2UgsGz7CuGhBdB6Hm2CYNkNoEX7dROgbm_jvCdx1Wy1xfsafhFvB82fO17rWZA/s320/100-0013_IMG.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA8q8KACAjfVlsO-Ih7vqtlaSVg4x-VyRWlZZe5kCWppvdah_aMNEy83CGVvEmFEbOKcpixxYLjSe9zVagLHNelZYvXGp24uQGJNXOGm3THSDXjPNKal9NN8RKkE3cJxGMPi-FQWRnZVk/s1600/100-0014_IMG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA8q8KACAjfVlsO-Ih7vqtlaSVg4x-VyRWlZZe5kCWppvdah_aMNEy83CGVvEmFEbOKcpixxYLjSe9zVagLHNelZYvXGp24uQGJNXOGm3THSDXjPNKal9NN8RKkE3cJxGMPi-FQWRnZVk/s320/100-0014_IMG.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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And this one:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindk_P7NPd9ShBlXyowTrb_oUGozhUHf-lFqEwDOeoSdXY2zv-o91TX_kc6kWTA6tcgmv9rzIrCHSF326co28SRJYXffBVyxrsWB6Swnl3Ec42NfCgGCAlWo6xH3mpkbckO60i53JC10o/s1600/craigout.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindk_P7NPd9ShBlXyowTrb_oUGozhUHf-lFqEwDOeoSdXY2zv-o91TX_kc6kWTA6tcgmv9rzIrCHSF326co28SRJYXffBVyxrsWB6Swnl3Ec42NfCgGCAlWo6xH3mpkbckO60i53JC10o/s320/craigout.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And to treasure the people he left behind, who I still love very much:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigvdNGsbjXkGgruxodOvkXTVd68Sk18Hz6j6_4gQsPiGwtIWvwn_LystzMqERONSqQCSStYSoO_e2D9UeWQxxcMlkx5JN-sp3fvvPzS6FoejucxUy1EDJwjHQZhRU_VqzYZQUd_JXECJ4/s1600/craignheidi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigvdNGsbjXkGgruxodOvkXTVd68Sk18Hz6j6_4gQsPiGwtIWvwn_LystzMqERONSqQCSStYSoO_e2D9UeWQxxcMlkx5JN-sp3fvvPzS6FoejucxUy1EDJwjHQZhRU_VqzYZQUd_JXECJ4/s320/craignheidi.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZf441f3Mf3lWRhoanCpdiHOhezGua9LZ-zmgXPU38Try_XZLvcGFKzxfhCqEK9Pit9GAM3Mp0DyDr-dimpM3tr2h0FknyCVxOYBWd3bQeh8xLFPPqSsixFlYD0sl18GZBvMkfHzCcqU/s1600/0012_IMG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZf441f3Mf3lWRhoanCpdiHOhezGua9LZ-zmgXPU38Try_XZLvcGFKzxfhCqEK9Pit9GAM3Mp0DyDr-dimpM3tr2h0FknyCVxOYBWd3bQeh8xLFPPqSsixFlYD0sl18GZBvMkfHzCcqU/s320/0012_IMG.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAytc2a_SJ6oN0vtLsGH5Qs67yvNf_tJwTnxyGXlNKXItyiLWGa96XcdbWubSJ3iXyWn14Ynyxe1zkDRbB6yg1ELbjVBTiJNC6ilgjPULuVLzdL8NV0-OojCjisyLpkYzVp-8iIQLSPFg/s1600/bailey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAytc2a_SJ6oN0vtLsGH5Qs67yvNf_tJwTnxyGXlNKXItyiLWGa96XcdbWubSJ3iXyWn14Ynyxe1zkDRbB6yg1ELbjVBTiJNC6ilgjPULuVLzdL8NV0-OojCjisyLpkYzVp-8iIQLSPFg/s320/bailey.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
But mostly, I will think of him like this:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR8cvtg1pZV3qNbmMNHMNLmdjgYr8_gxlqTo6J4FoEr6tNk9tS7OC4Pk7B6LD1vjqER3sA8_6butBBpZEXJLaiSNvc8h20nDKWo3sRWM84jC2lhwwkxvDLvseAA-ecDssEfkc3kaHOc3s/s1600/100-0007_IMG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR8cvtg1pZV3qNbmMNHMNLmdjgYr8_gxlqTo6J4FoEr6tNk9tS7OC4Pk7B6LD1vjqER3sA8_6butBBpZEXJLaiSNvc8h20nDKWo3sRWM84jC2lhwwkxvDLvseAA-ecDssEfkc3kaHOc3s/s320/100-0007_IMG.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">RIP Craig. I hope you find the joy in the next world you never quite found in this one.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-11949996385708112022011-01-03T01:34:00.000-08:002011-01-03T01:34:15.312-08:00The Commission<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My sister is an artist who works in yarn. In a moment of alcohol fueled inspiration, I asked her to knit me an octopus hat. She asked me to send some pictures for modeling purposes. Today, I had a great time scouring the web for octopus images. Here are my results:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">When I put it on, I want it to make me feel like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmji-q9gnE1GUE7I4nNAwUaXbERDGocnTg7qYiGhIP2cGNDV_Y7kDiI-zWicGa1RHYgZh08L_ynRNFncEUChydrQ9mS_Szxxq6PlhRYqSdXpnC2V70MkQq_3s3W32615rVoWgdcxBk-bU/s1600/Octopus+sex.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmji-q9gnE1GUE7I4nNAwUaXbERDGocnTg7qYiGhIP2cGNDV_Y7kDiI-zWicGa1RHYgZh08L_ynRNFncEUChydrQ9mS_Szxxq6PlhRYqSdXpnC2V70MkQq_3s3W32615rVoWgdcxBk-bU/s1600/Octopus+sex.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Or possibly like this, except I don't want it to be picking my nose:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9-VZXi5VNgOM-nXfnFSi8NdOpv3VmfMKosd8Ihw8xEtWT9Hugje1PYhDoTgjRKAFFj_qcGlHy8GIpl6gxRT0FxHGLCXX-BUCfTcjYLhkJYLbHS2f8DQiRLLhyWNaJCwuTdJwgDVT-G60/s1600/Octpus+feel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9-VZXi5VNgOM-nXfnFSi8NdOpv3VmfMKosd8Ihw8xEtWT9Hugje1PYhDoTgjRKAFFj_qcGlHy8GIpl6gxRT0FxHGLCXX-BUCfTcjYLhkJYLbHS2f8DQiRLLhyWNaJCwuTdJwgDVT-G60/s1600/Octpus+feel.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Or possibly like this (only without the bong):</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO71u1iCBIlfAAA2Ye1Y_ls8pOJlQfrx6zPnCAVT-n9iHgODsfPEz_wdgFmVGR2076eerTG7ucN0N3xuysuLv9hYeAv03rWBeaKZeWrFvA6x3yw3BqspEuZWpsOqLEWHhrhcHNTRrJjR8/s1600/Octpous6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO71u1iCBIlfAAA2Ye1Y_ls8pOJlQfrx6zPnCAVT-n9iHgODsfPEz_wdgFmVGR2076eerTG7ucN0N3xuysuLv9hYeAv03rWBeaKZeWrFvA6x3yw3BqspEuZWpsOqLEWHhrhcHNTRrJjR8/s1600/Octpous6.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I am rather fond of the sailor hat:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5d1_TmJ5Ghlnlph1g-NSUIt0KTm34VmZkK9_wHXm8b_L49m1VEeDFFthwXjsahyphenhyphenBRFHHJ7vMX9NWbDPOdnGW5jFKvSMWcvD7R_9QZt4sJY-AHOJ7t7HsBTWv03mxYDfILfBHffMx2EnU/s1600/Squiggly+wiggly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5d1_TmJ5Ghlnlph1g-NSUIt0KTm34VmZkK9_wHXm8b_L49m1VEeDFFthwXjsahyphenhyphenBRFHHJ7vMX9NWbDPOdnGW5jFKvSMWcvD7R_9QZt4sJY-AHOJ7t7HsBTWv03mxYDfILfBHffMx2EnU/s1600/Squiggly+wiggly.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is a little too aggressive:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArWuso72w31BowpFGvGaQk0GMKX45292gUphaDpLtfmdEA_PX6uMeGObbGi0CHXe5sGdsiptPeJA9gLg7KJAFB8c__DTQKCKo48oaLH4AqYEOGEyqQ_A_dqrOgMW-dW2J12ok7rYYtbU/s1600/Octpus5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArWuso72w31BowpFGvGaQk0GMKX45292gUphaDpLtfmdEA_PX6uMeGObbGi0CHXe5sGdsiptPeJA9gLg7KJAFB8c__DTQKCKo48oaLH4AqYEOGEyqQ_A_dqrOgMW-dW2J12ok7rYYtbU/s1600/Octpus5.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">If it looked like this, I might run into problems from seagulls flying overhead:</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKXG15UHY3_Z4bmz7zkzmL38uyJAs5PBbqCdifG_dYGq2Usmdd_HE6wJDqXvyJOhPHHhltNZbdsSsbjIBZgEgfhHjI328eOAjOg0jXKpWohN82AKTSmnPLqZGpXqfMyKbKbNOvnx39A0I/s1600/Octpusdinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKXG15UHY3_Z4bmz7zkzmL38uyJAs5PBbqCdifG_dYGq2Usmdd_HE6wJDqXvyJOhPHHhltNZbdsSsbjIBZgEgfhHjI328eOAjOg0jXKpWohN82AKTSmnPLqZGpXqfMyKbKbNOvnx39A0I/s1600/Octpusdinner.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">As far as overall shape, this is getting closer and I like the tentacles, although this picture causes me great consternation:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ah2xAOZZ0785JuKS0bONnoh7Uf2jbvKbh132-Tv3qBCrNF0fh_S0juKUtI_cP3r2aYIgW44awVqKA4k0AfwUEig3_63co9w6fRwgaRZWKHYZEMVWrYk82JS-p237IQ4AiZAlPHGqbVk/s1600/Octpus4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ah2xAOZZ0785JuKS0bONnoh7Uf2jbvKbh132-Tv3qBCrNF0fh_S0juKUtI_cP3r2aYIgW44awVqKA4k0AfwUEig3_63co9w6fRwgaRZWKHYZEMVWrYk82JS-p237IQ4AiZAlPHGqbVk/s1600/Octpus4.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It should definitely have a big floppy back part, like a rastafarian cap:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis7w72hpX-Rm5g_YB2cOkV1oBByn6oWFi71L-YT5saS8sGF3S-Ia9gzmATdfk5BeyNhLR9_hCs2JWV_sQ6b89VeKInEfbQuZTbAoKLwXqIOAo4bTrpENZxIH5Llf07vhIQrCN1F6H2iws/s1600/Rastahat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis7w72hpX-Rm5g_YB2cOkV1oBByn6oWFi71L-YT5saS8sGF3S-Ia9gzmATdfk5BeyNhLR9_hCs2JWV_sQ6b89VeKInEfbQuZTbAoKLwXqIOAo4bTrpENZxIH5Llf07vhIQrCN1F6H2iws/s1600/Rastahat.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">How odd, this octopus looks like SHE is wearing a rastafarian hat:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzRSJ7PjnETrykPswvTPsMVWv-q6djfz13ZL38m3f9GHO2NcuE1VH6GDUHxpHhxtluPqrO2v9HVkb7DEqjBHa2biy4emP-g1GWePX5gnMmERYUTwAphi_0Qc3xoFPGYJyax0apk_W2ACM/s1600/Octopus+and+diver+-+LinkInn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzRSJ7PjnETrykPswvTPsMVWv-q6djfz13ZL38m3f9GHO2NcuE1VH6GDUHxpHhxtluPqrO2v9HVkb7DEqjBHa2biy4emP-g1GWePX5gnMmERYUTwAphi_0Qc3xoFPGYJyax0apk_W2ACM/s320/Octopus+and+diver+-+LinkInn.jpg" width="242" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is a little too dainty and sits too high on her forehead - or maybe she just has a gigantic forehead. The tentacles should be a little twistier, almost like spirals:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvlAtNY0hpPgxmoqMQrc6lmSwbRfvFjcpt-ieYP1xM90EbFwvLn70rr9V58hxPjbTqFI2uZaHuJd5uulRsQfEQmtLQGnu1V7xGvM00BndBGMdDHiNkOVZoWehYOpGkcJbM7qdN93QrSg/s1600/Octpus+hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvlAtNY0hpPgxmoqMQrc6lmSwbRfvFjcpt-ieYP1xM90EbFwvLn70rr9V58hxPjbTqFI2uZaHuJd5uulRsQfEQmtLQGnu1V7xGvM00BndBGMdDHiNkOVZoWehYOpGkcJbM7qdN93QrSg/s1600/Octpus+hat.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">If you opt for a whimsical look, I love the expression on this guy's face:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnKCQ93vFlkP0_ro57c-Nv41ErrSd-EnATjzU3aVCJ8f6jLSQ3I8F93Box3xFSUiP1-24XYYhARnsMJX-m2cD2EBrEaGh3eP2RBri3Yi9mzwaF8-mmoeLVOthmUnbt48VRUFwvrAIW5WI/s1600/octpus1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnKCQ93vFlkP0_ro57c-Nv41ErrSd-EnATjzU3aVCJ8f6jLSQ3I8F93Box3xFSUiP1-24XYYhARnsMJX-m2cD2EBrEaGh3eP2RBri3Yi9mzwaF8-mmoeLVOthmUnbt48VRUFwvrAIW5WI/s1600/octpus1.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">If you lean towards something less cartoonish. I like colors suggestive of this handsome bloke:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgJzsbQg9q-LqCPu3lXLaS9xQEi6urM4PxXV_cOIA4QN94dB3gXyXwAv4PG3u6E4E8d5UFaw8vGDhh08xHWtXpuagucv8y8Gi6dDWFBKaMLKDv1v8wFq8yhC3fMqxcNTBNffiRX-SNSMQ/s1600/Octpus3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgJzsbQg9q-LqCPu3lXLaS9xQEi6urM4PxXV_cOIA4QN94dB3gXyXwAv4PG3u6E4E8d5UFaw8vGDhh08xHWtXpuagucv8y8Gi6dDWFBKaMLKDv1v8wFq8yhC3fMqxcNTBNffiRX-SNSMQ/s1600/Octpus3.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I hope that helps to illustrate my drunken vision. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And not to confuse you - I really don't want it to look anything, and I mean ANYTHING even remotely suggestive of this, but I just couldn't resist including a picture of Octopus Man:</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaJ6A89CPpj_BlIQe-dJIreGWYIABKcGz3TWVtrGjtrJzXMxWnlv_6FlSv4Bu8ZYNTEy284ksYobLjh4C6ETikzo8L19bMjBPRIdZt_ebwlTosOZw2gE2zsd_iGxC9OOk1wQPB3PObOlg/s1600/Octpus+man.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaJ6A89CPpj_BlIQe-dJIreGWYIABKcGz3TWVtrGjtrJzXMxWnlv_6FlSv4Bu8ZYNTEy284ksYobLjh4C6ETikzo8L19bMjBPRIdZt_ebwlTosOZw2gE2zsd_iGxC9OOk1wQPB3PObOlg/s320/Octpus+man.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">XOXO </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Author! Author!http://www.blogger.com/profile/09314466329719991236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866353289760559331.post-64870500262552238922010-12-24T01:11:00.000-08:002010-12-24T01:11:08.340-08:00A Christmas LetterDear Friends and Family,<br />
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It’s been a long time since I’ve written a Christmas letter. In the shadow of instant and constant updates on the inanities of daily life made possible by electronic social networks, it seems unnecessary and redundant. But, considering what a zinger of a year it has been for us, I felt it would be worthwhile – if only for myself – to take some time and review the changes that have unfolded over the last 12 months. I hope you enjoy this update, but as usual, those of you who are offended by impersonal communications (and you might want to review you own outbox before bristling) can respectfully go fuck yourselves.<br />
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I confess, I am sorely lacking in yuletide spirit this year. It may be an inevitable consequence of suffering from near total exhaustion, or it may be due to the fact that the sun is blazing in a clear blue sky, or, more likely, it is because this year can never compare to the joyous time we had last Christmas with our friends and family in California. We spent three wonderful weeks riding bicycles through the cold dark streets of San Jose and drinking cheap beer in dive bars, sprawling on my mother’s couch watching football while eating hot wings, and farting on the dog.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8OYLbOdNSLQ/TRRcbKGY1WI/AAAAAAAABf4/lPp3NDUj6HY/s1600/IMGP2332.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8OYLbOdNSLQ/TRRcbKGY1WI/AAAAAAAABf4/lPp3NDUj6HY/s320/IMGP2332.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
For New Year’s Eve, we packed up the whole family and flew to Reno, the proverbial scene of the crime, to celebrate our wedding anniversary. The decadence of the Peppermill Spa and Resort was in stark contrast to the Western All Star Motor Inn, and our opulent Italian dinner bore no resemblance to the Denny’s Nachos on which we had dined 20 years prior. I have never regretted that our entire wedding cost less than $500 (including the rings), just as I will never regret the lavish sums we spent on our anniversary celebrations...plus, Mom covered the cost of New Year’s Dinner with her winnings from the penny slots.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8OYLbOdNSLQ/TRRcbsnShDI/AAAAAAAABf8/CFgx9Vqvfq4/s1600/P1000067.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8OYLbOdNSLQ/TRRcbsnShDI/AAAAAAAABf8/CFgx9Vqvfq4/s320/P1000067.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8OYLbOdNSLQ/TRRccKZ65II/AAAAAAAABgA/befeRPjq3HA/s1600/P1000091.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" n4="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8OYLbOdNSLQ/TRRccKZ65II/AAAAAAAABgA/befeRPjq3HA/s200/P1000091.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8OYLbOdNSLQ/TRRcck_zukI/AAAAAAAABgE/L_I9WlhwRoY/s1600/P1000177.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" n4="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8OYLbOdNSLQ/TRRcck_zukI/AAAAAAAABgE/L_I9WlhwRoY/s200/P1000177.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
Our bittersweet return to Australia quickly descended into turmoil. Some career related drama gave Kevin his characteristic reaction of itchy feet and he began to prowl the job boards in other cities. I was less than pleased with this turn of events, having established a remarkable network of friends and colleagues over the last 3 years. With a fair degree of panic, I took stock of my comfortable apartment over looking the city and my comfortable job making graduate students cry at the university. Realizing that each of our life changing moves has been ascendant in terms of quality of life, I agreed to remain open-minded.<br />
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By February, Kevin had secured an interview with a small but expanding company nestled in the grape covered Adelaide Hills in South Australia. As usual, I fell under the spell of his romantic visions of leisurely days touring nearby wine regions, of long beachside brunches, and the slower pace of life in a small and tidy city. I confess that I was indeed captivated by the dry summer landscape, so reminiscent of California. When I found a job opportunity to pursue a new career as a sales representative with a top supplier of laboratory reagents – a company I had often dreamed of representing – I began spinning my own fantasies of a fresh start and a new life in Adelaide.<br />
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Our departure from Sydney was marked by a series of fond good-byes, well wishes, and promises of visitations. Allegedly, my farewell party at the university was the most attended in the history of our department. There were many tears, many laughs, and many glasses of wine – although not necessarily in that order. Now I regret promising Mille I wouldn’t distribute the pictures! <br />
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Ahhh, fuck it – promises are for breaking.<br />
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Soon we were consumed by the daunting tasks associated with transporting a life a thousand miles away. Once more, I was forced to reflect on the uncanny ability of ‘stuff’ to cling to a person. We came to Australia with 4 meager suitcases. In spite of my best efforts at not yielding to consumerism, we had managed to accumulate a fair number of possessions with which I was unwilling to part – mostly because they were found items. I could not help but ponder the ridiculousness of paying to move other people’s garbage interstate.<br />
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Once we landed in Adelaide, all time for reflection was gone, and our fantasies of a leisurely life all but evaporated under the stresses of our new jobs. We rented a cavernous 3 bedroom home with a gourmet kitchen in an upscale suburb within walking distance of the city. Suddenly, it did not seem that we ad accumulated much stuff at all, and realizing we had made a commitment to remain in Australia for at least a few more years, we decided it was time to ship some of our worldly goods from America.<br />
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My new job was immediately demanding of my time, so Kevin elected to supervise the packing and shipping of our furniture – which afforded him to opportunity to catch up with some old friends, eat some good pizza and stock up on affordable salsa. <br />
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And the chance to take a final picture of our beloved Cow, who sadly passed away a few months later.<br />
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One big change from Sydney living was the fact that we would once again be dependant upon motor vehicles for our livelihoods. <br />
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I didn’t realize driving was something you forgot how to do…or perhaps Kevin needs to visit the optometrist…<br />
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When I told my most wonderful mother we were moving, again, she said “Oh good! Another place for me to visit!” and true to her word, she came out in September – to what should have been a glorious spring, but was instead a stormy and lingering winter. <br />
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I managed to wrangle a few days off work for some local excursions. We took the ferry to Kangaroo Island where we communed with passionate penguins, ferocious fur seals, peckish pelicans, mouth-watering maron, lamentable lambs, and one sleepy koala perched in a tree outside a boutique distillery. <br />
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In Melbourne, we strolled through the markets and attended Dracula’s Cabaret, then drove the Great Ocean Road with our hangovers perched in our laps. <br />
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During the week, Mom occupied herself with local tours, huddled against the relentless rain and in the evening we took gentle repose on our dreadfully uncomfortable furniture. Our comfortable furniture arrived from America two weeks after her sorrowful departure.<br />
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With the arrival of our beloved couches, our house began to feel like a home and we were finally able to relax into our new jobs and begin exploring the local surrounds. As envisioned, we have taken several day trips to local wine regions, caught some of our favourite bands in nearby venues, and put our lovely kitchen to good use from the bounty on offer through the many local fresh produce markets…an activity that pleases Bad, Bad Kitty to no end.<br />
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Perhaps the most marvellous aspect of Christmas in Australia is the fact tat it shuts down so completely for the holidays. With Christmas day falling on a Saturday, and Boxing Day on a Sunday, the shops are closed for four whole days. This morning, we decided to wag work and went to the Central Markets to stock up on supplies. With a forecast of 91 degrees for Christmas Day tomorrow, I could not comprehend roasting a turkey, so we opted for a traditional seafood feast. <br />
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With the refrigerator comfortably stocked with scallops, yellow fin tuna, king prawns, and giant crab legs, with a bowlful of cherries and mangoes, with a stash of sparkling shiraz and chilled rose, I am finally able to relax, decompress, and take the time to reach out to my friends around the globe with all the best wishes for a joyous holiday season and a happy and healthy new year.<br />
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Love and Kisses,<br />
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Audra and Kevin.<br />
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