Soda Water and Tea Tree Oil

The Art of India

2008-12-02T02:50:00.001-08:00

India is a place of contrasts; namely colour vs filth. The hand painted adornments on goods carrier trucks, individually painted advertising billboards, and radiant and immaculate saris are all the more vibrant and attention grabbing for their backdrop of grime. I was completely taken with them and attempted to snap every example for the duration of our trip at 3 second intervals through grime caked car windows at 70 km per hour (much to Vikas's bemusement). So unfortunately I have little to show for it. But here's a few examples.

Absolutely Scrabulous.

2008-12-01T06:25:00.001-08:00

Old Jack issued me a baptism of fire to the world of tournament scrabble. His rapid plays and steely composure had me flustered from the get go. Despite myself, I had an early lead to offer up by the second half of the game. Online Scrabble, while great fun, cannot prepare you for handling REAL tiles, addition and score keeping under pressure, the operation of the clock, and much less, for Jack. Or Sandra. Or Noeline.

I played my first of many Scrabble tournaments on the 17^th November. A 4:30pm start. Getting off work early was not an issue for any of the other competitors, with an average age of 70 – 75. Apart from Jack, another chap, Martin, and Quentin (the only other sub-40 player and apparently self-appointed playboy of Scrabble), it was all broads. For just a moment after entering the room, feeling as out of place as I can ever remember, I asked myself… is this not cool?

Being that this particular tournament was in support of the Movember cause, everyone (else) was sporting a mo. In a room full of seventy-something women you are very mindful to check twice before you compliment the mo. It keeps you on your toes. It's also quite off putting to lose Scrabble to a biddy with a crazy upwards-spiking Mexican mustache drawn in purple felt pen across her lip and up her face. But not quite so off putting as when another played 'areola' then said "I'm sure that's a word. I think it's a medical word. Would you like to check?"

No. Noeline, I would not like to check.

I did have a win in the end though. My third of four opponents was Anna. Anna's expression showed defeat before we began, and she had already had a rough run that night. Though a vet of the tournament scene she told me her Scrabble woes of recent times. Just couldn't get it right when it counted recently. But would you believe it she had played 4 games before the tournament today and won every one of them. I mopped the floor with Anna's face.

At the end of the night I wasn't too proud to take home an encouragement award (after all these awards, like "I swam in a race", "Conspicuous Effort", "The Principles Award", "Best Effort by a Salesperson", and those two Redskins I was awarded in ceremony at the end of Day Camp, age 5, 'for trying' after failing to throw the basketball as high as the hoop, were invented for us Lewises). And with a few more scores to settle, you can rest assured that I will be back.

The Birthday from Heck

2008-11-14T15:31:00.001-08:00

My thirty-first birthday started out well. We woke up for our second day in a place called Ranthambor, a small town, with genuine people and none of the tourist hassles that you find elsewhere. (Ranthambor is known best as the place in India you are most likely to see a tiger. We were very lucky and saw a tiger there, but fortunately that was the day *before*, since it would not have fitted at all with the rest of the tale of my birthday.) And my mother, bless her cotton socks, had sent a gift along with Sue for me. Now, as always, this gift was prefaced with ‘It’s just a little funny thing that I thought you might like’. And, as always, I was over the moon (yes, it was the mask and party blower that she sent).

We left Ranthambor for Jaipur early, and arrived five or six hours later just outside the city in the Galta Temple (or monkey Temple) at about midday. Neither of us could recall having asked to go to a monkey temple. This was another itinerary item from Vikas, our driver. Likewise, feeding the monkey’s was not optional, nor the employment of a guide who looked like Beetlejuice’s Indian cousin.

The temple was quite impressive. It is a complex of ancient buildings stretching up along a mountainside set into a crevice; impressive Indian architecture, adorned with hand-painted artworks, pools of [fresh] magic water from the Ganges, a presumably dead maintenance worker lying motionless on the ground. But infested with monkeys.

I think Sue and I both made a fair show of feeding the monkeys. We obliged all of our guides requests to feed them this way, and that way. But we declined to antagonize them though he insisted that we should by withholding food when they tried to take it – apparently it would have been good fun.

At the top of the complex Beetlejuice recommended/insisted that I sit on the edge of a pergoda so that he could take some pictures of me getting bitten by a filth-ridden, rabid monkey with a gammy arm. And I obliged.

It bit me on the arm, superficial, not much to show for it, but it bled. We tried not to be too flamboyant about our concern, but we wanted to get this thing treated asap. ‘No, no, no, no. Is ok. This monkey not sick…’ our guide said as he scanned the area trying to work out which one it was. He tried to seem unconcerned and suggested a few remedies including spitting on it and rubbing it, and dipping it in the magic Ganges water, but at the same time made a beeline to the front gate. He stopped only to suggest I might like to hold a cobra (it actually was quite tempting to be honest) and also to take us to his friend from Scandanavia who was an out-of-his-tree drug dealer perched in a car out the front gate (the introduction was a little awkward and lasted too long).

The rest of the afternoon was spent in search of hospitals and doctors around Jaipur. Vikas came into his element and did everything he could to ensure we were looked after and to reassure Sue. Plus 100 points for Vikas.

Once all the shots and treatment for that day were taken care of, we were taken to the factory of a friend of Vikas who made ‘textile-something’. Minus 50 points for Vikas. We were not released until they were sure we would not spend another cent some 3 hours later. It was at the end of our ‘shopping’ excursion, when I went to pay the ransome, that I realized that my credit card was missing (and subsequently, $35,000 Rupees).

By this stage it was almost 11pm, still at the textiles shop, when Vikas appeared with tepid Tandoori chicken in a used crisps bag and a bottle of beer. Plus 50 points from Aaron. We were starving by this stage and our nerves frayed, so even Sue was up for our lukewarm treat. Even when Vikas insisted on feeding us by hand. Points withheld.
Before too much longer my birthday was finally over. The aftermath of my monkey encounter, however, would last for the rest of our trip as I lost days in search of my follow up vaccinations in London, Barcelona, Amsterdam, and finally, Australia.

PS. If you are bitten by a potentially rabid monkey in a third world country, DO NOT lighten the mood for your grief-stricken wife by biting her (a little too hard).

The Scam

2008-11-09T04:29:00.000-08:00

So we’d been out of the hotel just minutes on our first day in Delhi. Our course was set for Connaught Place where we would find the Indian Government Tourist Office. Connaught Place is a reputed hub in Delhi famed mainly for its shopping I believe. But I don’t know for sure, I’ve still never been there.

We made our way along the dusty street, I deftly declined a few approaches like a seasoned traveler while Sue acclimatised to our new surrounds. I noticed a young fellow, perhaps 15-18 years old trailing at a few yards. To outfox him, I told Sue to stop while I fished through my bag meaningfully to allow him to pass. If only he had.

He knew where the government tourist office was. In fact, his friend worked there, and he was on his way there! What a stroke of luck. Of course our *strong* suspicions never left us, but straight up he was such a nice chap that it was hard to dismiss him. I looked like Ricky Ponting, except for my beard (which he was impressed by) and that I was big and strong like Matt Hayden. I was buying what this guy was selling.

So we met his friend at the ‘government’ office, partook of a few cups of ‘Indian hospitality’ (chai), and before you knew it our stay in India was accounted for. Parting with too much money we had signed up to a package with our own private driver who would take us on a six day tour of all of the highlights of Rajastan – accommodation and elephant ride included. Our driver would speak very good English and guide us through all of the monuments. The car would be just like our own at home and the driver very safe and professional – of course seatbelts! It would be like driving ourselves and we could tell the driver ‘stop here, take us to there, anywhere you want’.

All these myths where quickly dispelled as we set about our trip.

Our driver, Vikas, would ask, “You how program today?”

“We’ll we would like to go first to… then we will… and after that spend a while in the market… and then back to the Hotel.”

Pause.

“No. First go to temple. One hour. Two hour. As you like. After go to fort. You walk something. You look something. As you like. Then how my friend as restaurant. You eat something something, drink something. You like. After you go to… etc etc… As you like. I am your servant.”

Negotiations bounced off the language barrier.

By day three Sue and I were holed up in the corner of world famous Indian monuments plotting our escape. This arrangement seemed to have killed our freedom entirely and we wanted out. We came up up with some pretty creative schemes, but in each case we did not know how to discretely dispose of the soil from our tunneling. Logistics!

Over time and through trials we really came to warm to our driver. And learn to make the most of our situation in the same way that an inmate might make peace with his cell. All in all, we saw more of India and had more crazy experiences than we could otherwise have hoped for, including my thirty-first birthday which is a tale of misadventure.

Welcome to Delhi.

2008-11-08T00:03:00.000-08:00

Get Smart, Kung Fu Panda, and The Forbidden Kingdom were the movies that played on the flight to Delhi which arrived at 2am on Sunday the 12th October. Coming out of the airport we immediately noted the general grime, the heat and bustle (even at 2am), and that our driver was stoned. We meandered to the hotel in a minivan/lunchbox that I estimate still sported at least 40% of its original function. We arrived at the hotel at about 4am.

I’d read many horror stories of the shady practice and scams that tourists are regularly subjected to in Indian hotels and was prepared for anything. But the check in was painless and the room Spartan but not entirely disgusting. I considered this a win.

Our next win came when, having freshly withdrawn our currency, the smallest denomination that I had with which to tip the hotel porter was 100 rupees. Pained, I did. His face lit with something like appreciation and he immediately offered, “Wait, wait. Air conditioning not working. Wait.” He scurried off to another room on the same floor then reemerged to flick switches on our wall unit, “See, now works!” Thank you… I think. I also got some ‘bonus’ toilet paper out of that tip for ‘no money, no money’.

Little did I know that this would be our last win in India for some days.

We were staying in an area of Delhi called Parharganj. I went for what I intended to be a stroll when I got up at around 7am. What I was faced with was somewhat overwhelming, and I hadn’t walked more than 30 meters when I revised my ‘stroll’ to a ‘mission’. I was to get to the end of the street (300 meters), purchase water, and get back to the hotel, stat. Stray dogs, ‘sacred’ cows, unidentifiable fluids in ditches and in the dirt gutters, curiously unpleasant odours, rubble laden streets and a film of dirt covered all. The street was already active, but dominated by folk who did not seem so active. It was quite apparent that every one of them was Indian, and I was not. So I had their full attention. The irony was that for once in my life I truly *was* the centre of attention… and I didn’t like it.

I tried to look casual and comfortable about it all, I don’t know how I went at that, but I did complete the mission, and in pretty good time too.

When Sue got up I worded her up. We had read up on what to expect in India; of the hotels, the streets, the squalor, the scammers and touts. But clearly we were still not fully prepared. We left the hotel and within 5 minutes had fallen for a scam; one that would occupy the rest of our stay in India. Who knew that con artists would be such nice guys??

Very Easy Rider

2008-05-27T03:03:00.000-07:00

Without doubt, the single most exciting day of my adult life was 2 March 2008. That was the day I bought my scooter; the Blue Dragon - 2005 Peugeot Ludix Elegance. It is indeed more lovely and more temperate than a summer's day. And though it's only a wee-rumpa, every one of its fifty cc's screams freedom louder than Braveheart. Quite a bit louder actually, and that is half the appeal.

Here's the benefits in brief;

5L of petrol buys me two weeks of commute
I get to work quicker as I negotiate traffic like the wind itself
parking is free - while every other sucker pays $180/mth
at the shops I get parks that disabled folk envy
scenic doubles along the waterfront wit me mole as a weekend activity
ever heard of Arthur Fonzarelli?

Here's a little shirt I printed up in celebration of the Blue Dragon.

The helmet that I got with the bike was only extra large - so it didn't really fit. I got a new one very soon after as the other gave me a splitting headache when I wore it - and it seriously damaged my newfound street cred.

And peaking of street cred, Dad did a little research on my behalf. Apparently I would be 38% safer with a white helment, fluoro vest and a flag off the tail of the bike.

Rudd Gratifies Greens

2007-12-03T02:24:00.000-08:00

As his first act as Prime Minister, K-Rudd ratifies the Kyoto (International Climate Change)agreement. Apparently, ratifying it just means 'doing what it says'. Sooooome people possibly thought 'ratifying' it (as has been so frequently bandied about) meant to sign the agreement. No, John Howard did that in 97 after negotiating significant concessions but then never put it into place. It's probably different in the political and climate change arena, but in the used car market it's considered rude to negotiate yourself a red hot deal, then drop in that you actually prefer Conflakes and walk away.

“This is the first official act of the new Australian Government, demonstrating my government’s commitment to tackling climate change,” Mr Rudd said.

"This is just the first of many flimsy platforms and grand promises upon which Mr Rudd secured this election. Let's worry about the 'hows' and the ramifications later. At a time when our trade deficit has reached record levels, the last thing Australian industry needs is further impediments to competitiveness," said political analyst and web logger, Aaron Lewis.

K-Rudd has also appointed Julia Gillard to the deputy prime minister.

"She has very mean, skinny lips," said Mr Lewis.

"It is trifling and puerile to judge a woman, or a man, in the political arena by their lips!" commented Mr Rudd,"Ms Gillard has numerous and innovative hair styles."

As at 9:06pm EST 3 December 2007, interest rates have not risen under the labour government.

Pollies are up to their old tricks, and Delta says no to a big rock.

2007-11-29T14:02:00.000-08:00

The Coalition Majority in the Senate plan to continue to block K-Rudd’s proposed roll back of work choices. Various contenders for the position of leader of the opposition (that mean’s the Liberals now, not K’s team) had proposed different stance on the proposed changes; lay down, the partial block maneuver, or full block!

I know Tony Abbott, disgraced former health minister was in the running. I don’t know what the disgrace was but ‘disgraced former’ rolls off the tongue so well that I’m pretty sure he was. Perhaps it was his pointy features of the fact that the illegitimate 28 year old camera boom operator was not his. Anyway, Tony wanted to block it all together – but word among the Libs was that no one liked him – or his chances. Was Gordon Nuttel a health minister? Anyone?

Tony didn’t get in. And neither did Malcom Turnbul who I think intended to do the complete lay down. He was supposed to be the front runner after Pete Costello took his bat and ball (there’s a topic for another day). The guy who got in was the favourite in the end. His last name starts with a B – further information will be provided as it breaks.

Mr.B says that the liberals will “stand out ground on the proposed reforms until we know what they consist of. [advisable. Good leadership Mr.B] And we will not be supporting any reform that represents a compromise to the current conditions for employees at work”.

Just as a back ground for anyone that didn’t know. One of K-Rudd’s big election platforms was his roll back of the new IR laws, Workplace agreements and the “fairness test” all of which was designed to give Employers basic rights at work. Union rule, red tape, and choked employment should be restored in no time.

It is said that Brian’s proposal was rejected by Delta on account of the burden she is feeling on being step mother to his children. While the relationship continues – it is said to be on the rocks.

Can I say...

2007-11-27T01:59:00.000-08:00

I never got quite what that meant tattooed around the collar of the Blink drummer... but I believe it is likely quite profound.

I found this picture whilst meadering the wwweb and it reminded me of my Blog. Poor little Blog. Poor forgotten Blog. Sue tends to berrate me for any time that I spend on the computer at home - I try to tell her that computers are the future - but she just sighs and growls and grunts. So maybe it's her fault.

My dog demands attention beyond her worth, and whinges until she is taken for a walk. SO perhaps it's her fault.

Or perhaps I'm not that inspired by my own ramblings. So perhaps it's my fault.

BUT! I had a thought. Perhaps I could make the blog ABOUT something and I would find it more compelling. Here's my suggestions based on a couple of topics that fascinate me deeply and might just take the fancy of other folk too. So I am prepared to take a poll on it and be all democratic.

1. Origins of Phrases
2. Collective Nouns
3. History and Facinations of Brisbane Suburbs
4. Our Renovation by Osmosis (I am not just saying that this would be an EXTREMEMLY slow process when I say this will be like watching paint dry - I mean that it would involve watching paint dry - keep that in mind)
5. Political commentary on the development and progress of the Kev-O-Sev government from the most politically ignorant person in Princess Street.
5. Other topic of your choosing.

Happy choosing - don't get it wrong.

Five, Six and Seven of Seven Things

2007-10-18T19:55:00.000-07:00

5. Things I've eaten... hmmm, perhaps we shouldn't do this. But I will. I've been known to eat pretty much anything. It all started when I was about four. When you only eat one lolly a week, and it's a dried plum Chinese Haw Flake, you find that dried bird droppings on the verandah rail have quite a sweetness to them (the wet ones are just gross - don't do it.

A few years later, after an unchaperoned appearance at a birthday party in grade one, I was vomiting up my food from overconsumption when I noticed a whole frankfurt. In my enthusiasm I hadn't even realised I'd swallowed a whole one. What a trick!

Quite some years later (I was 26) I bought a bag of Oysters in Nambucca Heads. I like Oysters a lot. Much too much in fact to let the fact that I had left them behind the seat of my car in summer for 5 days deter me. The handy thing was that in the heat they had all opened up and were QUITE accessible! Sue berated me for it when she found out as it was SO dangerous - but she was wrong. I was fine.

6. I purchased a snack vending machine, "the Snack Shack" from the Tender Centre and set it up anonymously at work, collecting an grand margin of about 15 cents per item (at $1.20 per item). Not only did I have to sit by and listen to people whinge about how skanky it looked, and 'all the food is off' (it wasn't even!), and while people demonstrated to me the new ways they had found to pilfer from it (my wife included)- BUT when I went on company business for 2 months to melbourne to live in a warehouse and take one for the team, the TEAM upended my Snack Shack, took the money and dumped the machine in the industrial bin. I never saw it again.

7. It's pronounced "ěr'on", or for those of you not so clever in phonetics as I "Air-on". No, not like the girls name, that's ErIN - which is quite different. No I don't need you to correct me. Because two a's makes an E vowel sound. Yes I know it's not pronounced 'Air-dvark'. I'm sure your friend's name is pronounced AAAAron - but I'm not your friend now, am I?

Prawns and Chicken Wings

2007-10-16T04:55:00.000-07:00

Two of my favourite foods; prawns and chicken wings. Some complain that they are too much work for too little reward. To them I say, don't complain - take control. It's a simple study of the effort to reward ratio.

In this case - Effort:Meat

In the modern times the benchmark or expected effort to reward ratio is skewed toward your 1:2 or 1:3 on average, even 0:3 is not uncommon. Leaving behind our hunter-gatherer roots, the humble chicken wing or prawn is just too hard for some. But here's how you leverage the ratio in your favour.

Adjust either component of the ratio, increase the reward, or reduce the effort, and you are starting to appeal to modern stadards. You can't put more meat into a prawn or more flesh on a chicken gun. But you CAN reduce the effort.

If a 0:3 ratio on prawn and chicken wings appeals to you then join with me people. Prawn shells and wing bones are food stuffs.

I am prepared to make just one concession. Lychees ARE too much hard work.

'Black Widow' Sonya Thomas took her second straight victory at the National Buffalo Wing Festival eating contest by devouring 173 wings in 12 minutes.

Brazilian Cherries and other lies…

2007-10-11T22:56:00.001-07:00

I grew up spending a lot of time, or a greater portion than I desired, at my father's workshop. One of the few treasures, perks if you will, of this job were the abundance of Brazilian Cherries available for me to sup on.

Brazilian Cherries taste like poison. A bitter and disconcerting taste. But I always figured that was because the tree had grown out of a swamp of sump oil. But there were two great things about this lavishly abundant treat which aligned perfectly with my demands; they were free, and they were food. Or were they?

I just looked outside my office window and was overcome with nostalgia upon seeing that they were growing outside my very window. As pictured…

Pretty little berries aren't they? Does anyone know what I have been eating? Because on googling I has found that Brazilian Cherries actually look like this…

Which is perhaps why I never had co compete with birds for them. Anyone? Anyone? Would be keen to know.

Four of Seven Things

2007-10-08T15:30:00.000-07:00

My sister tagged me for this ‘Seven Things’ activity where you tell 7 things about you then tag seven people who then do seven things themselves and pass it on and so on. I am going to do seven things, albeit in two installations, but then spare the further tagging. I have 5.5 friends, and if you are one of them, you will appreciate that I did not want to jeopardize that standing with a tag. But if you feel so inclined – please complete your own and let me know. So here is the first 4 of my seven things.

1. I’m Colour Blind. But have got through life quite well I feel.
In my young life it meant leaving all the red pegs on the lawn and ridiculed for having finished of my finest work of Grade 5 cartography with meticulous colouring and shading work for the ocean in purple and the land in orange. Oh, and when I was sent to school by my mother in a new matching shorts and t-shirt outfit (Grade 6! Who makes their child wear a matching outfit at ANY age??), my teacher commented “My aren’t we pretty in pink today?!”. It was news to me. My mother is not colourblind – she is mean.

As I grew up it meant that after studying and training to fulfil my dream to become a cab driver – I failed the fitness test. Colourblind = Unfit. I went to a speacialist who put me through a series of tests – which I nailed… but at the end he told me that I was as colourblind as colourblind gets. I still don’t believe him.
It also meant that I had to bluff my way through two years of my tenure as a self-employed graphic designer. I did find myself in a few interesting binds. One of the notable ones was a turf grower who asked of the logo that I had just designed for him and emailed for approval, “Why is the grass baby turd brown?”. He is now aware that when you convert a vector files to an jpeg image, it sometimes plays with the colours.

What it has ALWAYS meant that when folk find out you are colourblind you are subjected to a 5 minutes of “So what colour is this to you? What colour is this? So what colour do you think the sky is? And what colour is this? And this?
Truth is, I am actually pretty good at this, because I can see colour. I really can. And get most of them right. So my G’ma tells me that I am actually just “Colourmistaken”.

2. I can’t stand Marcia Hindes. “Darl’n. Darl’n. Darl’n. Darl’n. Bless y’ ,Darl’n. You like a sweet, sweet angel. And I love that song, it’s so very dear to me. And Sweet Child, you touched my heart. You go girlfriend! Uh-uh.” How could you dislike that woman??? Let me count the ways. In fact, I would rather spend a day locked in a room wallpapered entirely with Family Circus cartoons with Rosanne Arnold, than have a lunch with Marcia.

3. I am a devout advocate for Tea Tree Oil – primarily as a never-fail cure and prevent sore throats an other mouth infections*. I have not had a sore throat for over 5 years. It’s antiseptic AND anesthetic! Cure AND Instant Relief!
Put five drops of Tea Tree Oil in a cup – add 10 parts water. Gargle – don’t swallow or you will die. If symptoms persist, do it again in an hour. And again. Forget your doctor.

And now that you know, don’t complain to me about your sore throat. Not only do I not care – I think you are an IDIOT. And never say, ‘it tastes nasty’. Grrrrrrrrrrrr.

4. My first car, a Citroen GS, green, with panels told the story of 16 individual traffic incidents from days past, cost me $450 with 6 months of rego included ($250 worth). Replaced a lower control arm ($30) and an oil pump o-ring ($5). Drove it for 18 months – flatout – then wrote it off in spectacular fashion (priceless). Removed the engine and gearbox and sold them to dad ($500), who sold them both within a fortnight ($1100).

More to come. 5,6 and 7 to be precise.

Not another list...?!

2007-10-02T15:50:00.000-07:00

I had to scroll down so far to retrieve Michelle's last comment that I figured it was time to write a new post.

We'll first thing's first. Welcome to the world Hamish Samuel Scott, or Hambo, to those who object to him having 3 first names, new son of our very good friends, Dividacom and Leah Scott. Leah is very well and both are stoked. Leah has someone to share the burden of responsibility for David's behaviour. David has someone to share the the blame for all the noises and smells.

There are two criteria by which I assess new borns. 1. Neck control and 2. New-born looks. And this chaps got them both in abundance.

Now for my list... actually, before I head on I should make brief mention of the missing blog entitled "I don't have a job" that should have been inserted between "Matt Damon" and "Not Another List...?!". There. I think that suffices as 'brief mention'. Now onto my list.

I hate to be exclussive on this medium which should essentially be the medium by which the entire world should appreciate me. But I had a brief list of nostalia snippets that will likely mean nought to all but lewis's... even honourary lewis's may struggle to derive meaning... but I will keep it breif.

"Aye! It's dulicious! But it's still nor how you meke porridge!"

The Contometer... entering '9999999999999' then hit '1'... prrrrrrrrrrrrrrr- ding!

Grandad's tiddley-winks in the carved wooden box.

Grounsel! How could we forget our old floric nemesis that preceeded the battle of 'The Giant Paspalum'

"Who's kicking the back of my seat??!" accompanied by furious blind whopping.

"Press enter! Press Enter!" and How many were there dan?. "Sixty-eight!!"

Well that's it for now. Sorry, I will write something that mean more to the rest of the world soon. Might even bring you up to speed with the job situation, though I will have to make it 'based on actual events' to introduce enough interest to warrant the pixels.

Bourne to Try

2007-09-23T02:39:00.000-07:00

Firstly> Sorry, it's been so long. To be honest I didn't think that it would be noted by enyone... much less did I think that I would come back to find that, in my absence, you all had been scurrying about like so many little cockaroaches having 'conversation parties' on MY Blog! I'd say, 'take it outside,people', but they are all comments. And I do love comments.

NOW> It has been said that, at certain times of the year, in the right light, and from selected angles, I look like Matt Damon… but with an Australian accent (oooooh!). I guess this is why, when we went to see Bourne Ultimatum on Thursday night, I held a certain feeling of connection with the movie. You have the feeling that your fellow cinema goers are being entertained, but they don’t really get it – not like I do.

Here's a pic of me and some chums - for your reffy.

The movie ended and the lights came on, I stood by my aisle seat watching the mass of cinema goers as they filed by. Chin up, shoulders back… I realised I was hoping someone would recognise me. No one did, and I will admit to being a little bemused.

And there is a certain way you drive after seeing a Bourne movie… or is that just me. It’s not your garden variety reckless. No, that wouldn’t do at all. It’s calculated. You perform a dozen equations and assessments a second, finely attuned to your surrounds and vehicle, translating it all through the wheel. The illusion was broken just a second (or 12 calculations) after pulling out of my park out front of the cinemas, by Sue…

“Aaron. You are NOT Jason Bourne.”

It was genuinely deflating.

The movie’s great by the way. Even if I do say so myself.

Whiskers on kittens...

2007-08-20T02:33:00.000-07:00

I'd like to take a moment to make a few recommendations...

The Office with Ricky Jervais (show)
Napoleon Dynamite - it's incredible (movie)
Snowboard at bargain rates in Grunau (activity)
Dire Straits (band)
The Princess Bride (movie)
Hire a motor scooter (activity)
Me First and The Gimmie Gimmies (band)
Brake late and turn. Feather... (activity/phlosophy)
Drive like it's not your car. Unless it isn't, in which case you should drive like it is yours. (phylosophy)
Ride the London Tube and get pretty much anywhere you want to go, pretty much when you want to get there. (activity)
Don't Guess. Exaggerate. (phylosophy)
Box and be boxed. Fighting will either make a man of you, or someone else. (phylosophy/activity)
Start a business. If it fails, learn from it, and start another. If the second fails, learn from it, and get a job.
Look after your knees. Don't jump from heights.
Tea Tree Oil will cure all things.
Soda Water will make you content.

I hope there is something that you can use here to embiggen your life's experiences.

Absolute Movie Review - The Lakehouse

2007-08-13T00:31:00.000-07:00

This is a movie that really missed the point. It's about a very sophisiticated letterbox that allows the owner to send correspondence exactly two years into the future or past. The title of the movie itself sums up the margin by which this movie misses the point. What about the Lakehouse??? Aren't we talking about a magic letterbox here?

Not only did this movie fail to explore the possibilities of this unique magic letterbox scenario (lotto numbers, stock market data etc) but it mianders off regularly into irrelevant, sickening and unimaginitive details of the lives of two insipid actors (Sandra and Keanu) - which are at best uncompelling.

In the end the magic letterbox saves Keanu's life, despite all it's potential for good and profit, and the story wanders off on another tangent about how this makes Sandra feel. Letterbox be gone... all you need is love and slobber.

I feel "The Letterbox" had great potential, but award "The Lakehouse" an Absolute Rating of 8 out of 10... where 10 is "Absolutely Despised The Retard Movie". Still I would be interested to see where a different director could take an appropriately titled sequel "The Letterbox 2"... who was it that directed "Big?"

A big weekend in Victoria

2007-08-12T06:07:00.000-07:00

Despite my best efforts in the past to engage with the game of AFL on TV, I could never abide the game. However, attending my first live game ever, I found myself quite riveted.

So why doesn’t the excitement and atmosphere translate to TV? Well, it seems that for much of the time the cameras are pointed in the wrong direction. It’s had to know which you bought the ticket for, to watch the game or the fans. Between bottom of the ladder Richmond v bottom of the social order Collingwood, the two spectacles were at equally entertaining.

Our seating area was quite vacant by the end of the game as a number of our neighbouring spectators were provided with police escort from the stadium throughout the game. The first to go was a gentleman with more bling and attitude than Mr T. He took exception to being asked to tone down the swearing for the sake of the children (it was maniacal). In particular, one pair of middle aged women bore the brunt of it… I don’t know what stopped him from carrying out the very believable threats that he issued them, but it didn’t look like much.

Well after that his friend, incensed by his ejection, took up where he left off in turn. And, in turn, was ejected. Which incensed his friend, who… well you can see how it works from here. Even if they could not.

I thought this was quotable from the third friend in line, who turned back to us and said in justification of his disapproval of the police action, "I just got back from the bar and they've all been kicked out. It's #$%^. Man I don't even know what happened... but you've got to be loyal don't you?"

Do you?

We spent the weekend in Victoria (Sue’s first visit), arriving on Friday at lunch. After meandering about Melbourne city and St Kilda, we met up with Sophia, our dutiful, energetic and highly organised host for the weekend.

We went to the game, straight from the game to ‘The Corner’, a Melbourne music institution we are told, for a taste of the Melbourne live music scene with, with 67 Special. We left there at 12pm and by 2am we arrived at Lorne where Sophia’s family has a monstorously impressive holiday home built half into the cliff overhanging the Bass Strait, and half supported precariously out on a single pole. A single walkway connecting the two halves. It is in all ways, unbelievable and incredible. But I will leave it to your judgement.

At 9am we rose and set off down the spectacular Great Ocean Road to The Twelve Apostles and Loch Ard Gorge. Loch Ard Gorge is set into the spectacular cliffs that form the southern coast line with just a small inlet to a cosy, sheer gorge complete with it own beach, and was the site of a devastating shipwreck in 1848. Sue and Soph were both bitterly disappointed to find that the remains of the wrecked ship were not bobbing just off shore, and that the two survivors had since moved on. But others still appreciate it for its natural wonder.

Soph drove us back to Lorne - there were 3 survivors. At regular intervals along Great Ocean Road, ‘Drive on the left side in Australia’ signs are placed. These are not for the sole benefit of international visitors.

We ate burgers and marshmallows by the fireplace that night while we watched ‘Entourage’, the heavily adapted story of Marky Mark’s life. Which shattered the illusions I held about Four Brothers.

I woke early the following morning, Sunday, and strolled over the road for my first/last surf of the trip. Painfully cold. I don’t mean… ‘Ooooh! That’s freezing! So very very cold!”. I mean, the pain of the cold made me ever so mindful that there could be medical repercussions. Exiting the surf after a stiff and lacklustre performance, I felt great relief as the warmth of the freezing morning air washed over me.

We headed back to Melbourne via Torquay and Bells Beach, where official Pokerface surfwear made it’s very first appearance.

More picsc are coming. I know you like to look at the pictures.

Posts 2, Comments 0

2007-08-03T13:12:00.000-07:00

I know that they say that a watched pot never boils. Well that may have been the case in the old days, but in this day and age I know that to be BS.

Call me desperate, and I will likely call you something right back. But I couldn't help but wake at 5:30 this Saturday morning (having launched my blog to the world some 4 hours earlier) to see if I'd caught any yabbies.

nada.

Tell me then, what is the benefit of losing all but 3 of 13 of my immediate family to distant lands that are blogging while I sleep??

Ok. Call me desperate.

Y'girls...

What red blooded Aaron could resist?

2007-08-03T05:41:00.000-07:00

I tried any number of sensible, clever, obscure and meaningful addresses for this blog before I tried the bleedingly obvious... needless to say I was thrilled, albeit at the expense of every other Aaron (of all phonetic varieties) on the planet.

So, welcome to http://www.azzadazza.blogspot.com/

I am somewhat of a novice at this medium. 10 minutes ago I was on Wikepedia finding out what a blog was.

over.