Chicken and pie

Chiekn and pieeee

Chicekn and pie

Mushroom and fennel and

carrots and peas

chicken and pieeeee



On my way home from work this morning, a strange woman sat beside me on the bus. When the driver asked her to sit down, she threatened to withdraw my funding - although I have no funding from her. I asked her for her credentials, but she refused. Slighted, I got off the bus and haven't given it a further thought since. It's things like this that make me think - what am I doing in Sydney? It has so much to offer, yet at the end of the day you're just another number.

An unaimed bolas always hits its target

So Colin Powell has endorsed Barack Obama's semi-presidential campaign. His words were as follows: "Senator Obama is a transformational character. I once saw him change into an armadillo, right before my eyes. I couldn't believe it. That's the guy I want in the White House, pulling the shots."

Meanwhile John McCain's team is lurching from one crisis to the next. One suspects the only thing that could rescue him would be a victory on election day. Even that mightn't be enough to save his skin. Have you heard that he's proposed a $3 million investment in the National Institute for Biofouling? What the hell is that?

My life as an unaimed bolas
A friend of mine told me today that a wise person once said 'an unaimed arrow always hits its target.' I am an unaimed bolas, my balls they do swing and rock and tug the twine and do the bizness and that's aaaaaalllllright.

Black Swan Eggs with Anchovies

So I'm reading the Black Swan, by Nassim 'Poledancer' Taleb. It fits nicely into the category of 'idea books' I often go searching for. The idea is this: certain events are rare, completely unpredictable and highly consequential - so consequential that they dominate personal, social and political history. But we never take this knowledge into account. He also says that basically a lot more is random and non-narrative than we tell ourselves (in our narratives). I'm up to page 71 and am enjoying it. However, I recently read an 'essay' by Taleb called the Fourth Quadrant at edge.org, which purports to talk about the economic horror meltdown disaster crisis. It's really poorly written, unlike the book.

And today I finally made, at my life partner's urging, the egg salad from jamie oliver's cookbook. It's hard boiled eggs, lemony mayo, anchovies and alfalfa and it rocks. Simple and surprising, I'll definitely do it again.

Bob Dylan was such a genius, oh shit I don't know how he could take it.

Aber als die Praktikanten eintreten...

Joan As Policewoman. Gotta hand it to her for the out there band title, it's right up my alley. Though I would have preferred Joan Policewoman As. Would you believe she's highly reminiscent of Phoebe Snow. I won't google that, but I bet I'm not the first to think it. Does the JAP-->Phoebe Snow thought in my head look the same as in other people's heads? Reminds me of listening to Snow on my dad's old LP player, Either or Both, Poetry Man. Just real sweet, laid back, a little lovelorn. Those songs, that you know so well, that evoke those memories, even though you never come back to or buy them for yourself, form their own little class.

While their Qatar gently weeps

The Footballroos beat Qatar 4-0 in the wOrld cUp qualifier in Brisbane last night. Australia's looking good to finish top two in the group, but there's still a long way to go. I would be personally humbled and ecstatic if we were to qualify. But i'd like to draw your attention to another matter.

I saw this picture in the paper, Tim Cahill slotting home against Qatar stand-in goalkeeper Abdul Aziz (from SMH, Photo: Getty Images). The whole thing just makes me really sad. That look on Aziz' face. The knowledge of imminent failure. I must have some sort of minor empathy pathology - I don't empathise with the Aussie victorious striker, but the soon to be vanquished - and three more times - foreign goalie. This reminds me of two distinct occasions in my schooling, where witnessing the suffering of another student brought upon me a visceral sadness.

Semi-detached

it would be criminal if you were killing me
equally awful of you to be kidding me
one day they'll catch you and lock you away for it
sooner or later you'll definitely pay for it

this is the start of an impressive little song called straight talk by split enz, off the rootin tootin luton tapes. it's catchy, without relying on a guitar or piano/keyboard, and it really showcases tim finn at his singlical best - singing well and strangely. basically he sings the entire verse in one breath, and keeps this up for the whole song. i wonder if he ever did that live.

Sergio's a dancer
knows each dramatic pose
his future's in his toes

split enz wrote some great tunes. they had such zest, such vibrancy. they really were a creative band. oh geez, this is definitely not my split enz review post - that'll be much better. i just want to put it out there now that you could do worse than discover them. like me you probably know their biggest hits: 6 months in a leaky boat, i got you, one step ahead. but once you get into their back catalogue, there's a stack of gems to discover, and their first album is *so* different to their last.

It's as though someone hit a big pause button in my life

I long to see the other side of things.

I'm naturally an inquisitive, optimistic, active, funny and funny loving person. I have the odd downtrodden moment, but no more than other people I suspect. The thing is, lately I haven't been myself.

I'm on the cliff, in search of something big.

The other day I thought, if you're always searching for something, just maybe it's not there, and it's ok to call the search off for now. I thought I'd solved a problem, but then I forgot all this when I kind of lost myself.

I've been swept away in a routine I don't really care for. I'm only rolling down a 15 degree incline, but I'll be damned if I can't seem to stop regardless. I've toyed with the idea of alighting but opted against it for now. Main thing is, I've got plenty of room in my V-hickle, yet I haven't put a dang thing in there.

I can't look down. I can only retreat.

When I stop and speculate as to the causes, or the cures, half the time I'm on the money, the other half I have outlandish, scary, or muffled thoughts. I just wish I could tell which were which. Will I crack a code, will I dissolve back into past and future normalcy? I 'm going to have to do some things.

There's a theory that says more than we'd like to admit of our reasons are little more than post-hoc rationalisations. It's not 'I considered Y and did X because of Y.' It's 'I did X and invoked Y afterwards.'

Who knows? One day I'll dive into the sea.

Here we all are, sitting like fools. Stuck by the rules of fate. Is what we are what we've come to believe? Better the devil you know.

There's a sentence I remember from my beloved Spanische Grammatik book: !Id os y dejadme en paz, so cretinos! It really summarises the fact that when you're learning another language, vocabulary isn't enough.

Und so, einen Ziel zu erfinden. Wohin? Lass mich es uberlegen. It certainly won't be anything like Was ich schon immer erreichen wollte. But I'm optimistic that it'll steer me back towards my optimism. (Self indulgent fool!)