L...A....I'm all shook up...

This is a pic of the stand that we built. It was really well recieved, and we came out looking good. Not sure why this happens! Actually it was a bit of a push to get it done, and we were pretty whacked at the end of it.



Apparently, visitors to LA like to see places like Sunset Boulevard, Universal Studios, The walk of fame, The Hollywood Sign, Manhattan and Venice beach, and particular shops… like Prada. Some might make it to the Dodgers Stadium, and very very very few, might get to experience an earthquake.

I was actually in bed this morning (Wednesday 29th) at 11.45, having had a late night, and with the intention of getting up about 10.30 to pack and shower as I’d agreed with Wendi to go to see ‘The Sign’. At first I had no comprehension of what was happening, then I thought (briefly) that the people in the next door room must have been having an energetic affirmation of their feelings for each other, obviously very strong feelings…pair of Gorilla’s with strong feelings… and then finally it dawned on me that I was on the 11th floor of a Los Angeles hotel in an earthquake.

The first thing that occurred to me was that there could be falling debris. I wondered if it would be better to get under the blankets, or under the bed, but decided that it would be really uncool to do that…and probably pointless. Can you imagine? The building is swaying like a ships mast and I’m dismissing strategies on the grounds of whether they’re cool or not! What was I thinking...that I was going to embarrass myself when I saw how uncool I was being? When Wendi and I were comparing notes about it later, I remembered this as being calm, but really, I wondering if actually, I’m deeply vain. I got out of bed and went to the window to see if there was any visible damage to the hotel. As I stood there, it felt a bit like when I climbed the mast of the ship that Daile and I went diving from in 2000. The whole hotel was swaying and the sensation was really weird. I couldn’t believe that nothing was breaking off!

A voice came on the tannoy (I didn’t know hotels had tannoys) to say that the Los Angeles area had experienced an earthquake and that we were not to panic. The voice was East coast and thick. The kind of accent that says ‘New Joysey’ not ‘New Jersey’. I wondered what he looked like and whether he was sweating. If I was a manager of a sixteen floor hotel and my office was on the ground floor I’d be sweating I mused, then realised that this was rich given my own location.

I decided to make coffee!

The voice repeated his strangely reassuring announcement and then again, in French. Given that the second language here is Spanish, I wondered whether he was showing off. He was fluent.

Time passed, there was no further movement, and I began to pack up my stuff ready to take it to Wendi’s room. Wendi called me after a bit, wondering if I was on schedule and where I was when the quake happened. I explained that I’d slept in. She was going to stay for an extra day, so I was to leave my stuff in her room. You’re supposed to check out by midday. She’d been watching the TV to see if there was anything interesting about the quake. The quality and tone of the reportage varied according to the channel. Some channels were recommending that you don’t leave your house…others were recommending that you don’t drive, nobody really knew anything, but because they’re news channels and because news channels have to communicate with the anxious viewers, they blathered on as if it doesn’t really matter if you know what you’re talking about, as long as you’re talking. In these situations reporters couch what they say in theoretical terms or quote ‘people in the street’ to pad out the pieces. They had a helicopter in the air looking for evidence of damage to buildings…but all they could find was a burst water main. Wendi was chuffed to bits that she’d been in an earthquake…the ultimate tourist badge for LA. The early reports of it being 5.9 were downgraded to something like 5.7. I have no idea what that means.

So we went to the big name streets, and to the sign.
This is 'the walk of fame' - a street that goes on for a half mile or so with stars every couple of metres. Needless to say, I didn't know who most of them were. This one rang a bell...



and this one is reserved for Josh?....



Getting to the sign was a bit hit and miss. They actually try to put you off the scent...but somehow I smelled it out!



I took a piss not far from where we were standing (after the other tourists that took this picture had driven off). I’d have preferred to piss on the actual sign, but Wendi didn’t feel like making the climb, couldn’t understand my motivation, and pointed out that we were running short of time. It felt like a rite of passage non-the-less and occurred to me that it would be really naughty and irritating to the yanks to alter the sign overnight so that it said something else. You could perhaps put a very large black bag over the ‘WOOD’ with white lettering on it, so that it read ‘HOLLYHART’. (My niece’s name) Imagine that!

On Tuesday night we went to see the Dodgers play the Giants at the Dodger stadium.







The tickets were bought for us by the guys that we employed to build the stand components here, Brett



and Bob.



It was utterly unlike anything I’ve experienced. When we arrived it was still full daylight, and the pitch was vivid green. In fact the place was a riot of colour and cordiality. We took our seats near the front, just behind the boxes. The family in the box in front were very enthusiastic and very serious about the game. In fact this is a national characteristic of Americans. He seemed irritated by the obviously basic questions that Wendi and I plied to Brett and Bob about the technicalities of the game. Its quite a strategic game, not dissimilar from rounders. They load the bases, make sacrificial plays etc. You don’t have to run after 3 strikes, and get 7 pitches I think. If you manage to not strike the ball for 4 hit-able pitches you get to ‘walk’ to first base. Rather creatively, they call this ‘the walk’. But to get a full round you have to hit the ball right out of the field of play. Quite a few of the crowd were wearing pitching mitts to catch the ball if it came to them. If it goes out of play, it stays there and the person who’s head it caves in gets to keep it. You might think that you’d have to keep your wits about you, but if you were to fall asleep in your seat and you were in a fall out area that took a stray ball, you’d be really unlucky to be hit as there so many guys around you all looking for the opportunity to catch the ball. One guy did a really impressive catch that had almost been hit right out of the stadium. He just sort of gathered it up. The way that the ball is handled is quite phenomenal. It looks so easy. They have a way of almost flicking it at each other, and it always seems to arrive at the recipient at midway between their head and their waist. The mitt allows them to catch the ball with almost no need to take the velocity out of it. This is quite distinct from cricket, where the fact that the catch is done with bare hands necessitates that you roll the ball out of its trajectory or suffer bruised hands. Very noticeable too was the sense that everyone was there to enjoy themselves, much as football was I imagine before people went there to have fights.





Around the top of the first bank of seats, circumnavigating the stadium (under the illuminated sign you can see) there are shops. You can get hot dogs (dargs) or (Dard-ger-dargs) as they are more formally known.



The atmosphere up there is really good. People are all hangin’ out, the cops are hangin’ out, the young fans are hangin’ out and the older fans are hangin' out.





You can get beer, bags of nuts, pretzels, hats and shirts, memorabilia and a multitude of other goodies.



When the ball was hit hard…everyone stood up and shouted…not cheered in that mindless way that you see at football games, but sort of passed comment….loudly. Under the canopy, the noise of this had the effect of making you feel part of something really fun.
There was no attempt to keep rubbish, everyone seemed to just drop all their shit on the floor.







This was the cab ride back. Spot the one looking through the front of the cab.







Hmmn.

Anyway, that was LA, and in the end I got to like the place. I guess its like anywhere. When you get know your way about a bit, and you get know some people, it all changes.
Here’s an interesting thing…. Ever since 9/11 every time I’ve taken a flight anywhere the security has been high. In the immediate aftermath, the disruption was massive. In a testament to the perverse way that we think about security, we normally become less worried about risk over time. That is, we rate risk lower after more time has elapsed since a catastrophe than less. I’ve been expecting for things to go back to how they were, especially since it all costs money, and the airlines are beginning to feel the squeeze. Never-the-less, some regulations become embedded and one of the regulations now prevalent everywhere is that you are required to put all of your liquids and pastes into a clear plastic bag that is provide before you go through security and they provide them. At Brisbane and Heathrow the security check is comprehensive. The driving force in all this one imagines is the US in its fight against terrorism etc. So imagine my surprise at being unchallenged about my toothpaste, deodourant, etc. No plastic bag or anything out of LA! I guess its safe to assume that they don’t really care if terrorists LEAVE the US with bad intentions? I never thought it would be here that I saw that.
When I got to Auckland, they wanted my stuff in the plastic bag. I didn't have one, so they confiscated it. Fab.



I didn't have a particularly good flight back. There really isn't much room. But what did it this time was that I developed a headache that I couldn't shake - no matter what drugs I put in the top end. When that happens, you can't read, you can't work on the laptop, you can't sleep...
And it felt a bit odd to be coming 'home' to Oz instead of Blighty, especially as LA is probably closer to London than it is to Brisbane. However, as we flew up the coast of Australia this morning, this is what I looked out onto.



I saw a line of whales under the surface, but couldn't get the camera to focus for some reason, and then they were hidden by the reflections on the water. I think this is Moreton Island because we passed over it just before we landed. The sun is out, not a cloud in the sky. All is well. Good to be home. :-)

LA di da

Some areas of LA are quite posh. The distinctions between these posh areas and the run down areas are surprisingly distinct. This run down gas station is right next door to a street full of lovely houses with vivid green lawns.



There seems to be an acceptance of diverse levels of affluence and orderliness, where the one would not be tolerated by the other in the UK or even in Oz. There isn't much variation in basic build though, with bland concrete and steel constructions, devoid of character being the norm. Utility here, like so much of modern development is seen in terms of minimising construction cost to physical requirements, and aesthetic requirements are discounted to the point that they are not really considered.

Everything seems to be 'surface'. People's behaviour is often overly friendly or overly curt. Vehicles are oversized, waitresses are over-sincere. I feel like everyone seems to be scared and reactive.

The primary benchmark for this kind of social overkill is Disney. We went down to the site of Disney World yesterday because Wendi wanted to get some 'Ears' for her sister, and various other [things - I use the term politely] for her son. Call me a mean old git, but I couldn't bring myself to buy ANY of it for either of the little-uns. Its really NOT the 'reality' that I want them to attach to. You walk onto the site, (we just went to the shopping area) and SMELL the sugar, the sweet smell of exploited people. Gross.



And it's SO clean and orderly there. Such a distinction from the rest of LA. Even the trees are straight. Everyone smiles at you and offers platitudes. I just couldn't relate to people like that. They don't 'get' the British or the Aussie sense of humour at all! They don't seem to mind working at the surface of meaning. If you said 'Hi there sir, have a nice day' to someone here that's wearing a 'Micky face' [as Wendi christened the larger than life staff here] they would think you meant it... or at least would respond effusively in 'the large'. I don't mean to say that I don't mean well to people of course, just that the subtle plays on words that we use without really being aware of it in our everyday language are not understood here.

By contrast to this, I'd wanted to check out the 'Watts Towers' that have been one of the links in the sidebar of this blog for some time. This was a bit scary to get to, since it resides in a relatively run down area of LA called 'Watts' (odd that eh!).

This was truly inspirational. Essentially, it is a comprehensive construction of scrap steel and concrete, covered meticulously with bits of broken pottery and glass, by an Italian immigrant worker early in the last century. It is a breathtaking testament to one man's focus and tenacity. One can only imagine what sort of derision he would have had to put up with.

















Immediately adjacent to the site are run down little houses that are partially boarded up. The yanks have declared this a national monument, but the street is still just an ordinary one, with rusting junk all around, broken cars etc. The locals seemed to look at us as if we were mad to be interested in this.... whilst trying to look important by dint of occupying an adjacent property.

The LA council had tried to have the towers pulled down when they were bought by a consortium attempting to have them preserved in 1959. They claimed that they represented a health risk. They applied massive pulling forces to them, but they couldn't budge them. So they decided that they were safe, and the rest is history. Now the Californian powers that be have to spend money preserving them...which is what the scaffolding is all about. For a look at them without the scaffolding, go to the link in the side panel, and read the fascinating detail there.

-----

The stand at the convention centre is going OK...with one or two hold ups. The seats [that are the prime purpose of exhibiting in the first place] were still in France yesterday. It seems that they are not arriving here until Sunday, and getting them through the customs should be fun. The show opens on Monday afternoon.

That's it... Have a nice day Y'Hear?

'LA'...city of arseholes.

The customs official at LA airport appeared to be semi conscious at best. He barely managed to enunciate the security questions that he must have asked a thousand times. Despite this, he still came across rather convincingly as officious enough to actually strip search anyone that didn’t give the pat answers at the drop of a nickel.

Outside, past the rows of touts, we waited for the shuttle bus to take us to the car hire place, and watched a woman being moved on for pulling up in her four wheel drive tank where the shuttle buses stop by a curt airport traffic cop wearing enough hardware on his belt to sink the Belgrano.

The bus pulled up outside a run down looking white concrete office. Inside, there was a large marble reception area with tellers behind a long counter, not ‘posh’, more like a sleazy Italian train station.

The first guy I came to was a Hispanic, slouched with heavy eyelids. He avoided my approach, looking down. I asked him if he was serving. ‘I guess’ he muttered. ‘Good, then I’ve come to pick up this’ I said, proffering my printed out booking confirmation. He dragged the paper over the counter like it weighed a couple of pounds, and said ‘Licence and credit card...’ I confess that the way he said this got my hackles up…and I said ‘I can see why you need my driving licence, but why do you need my credit card if the car is already paid for?’ […] ‘Licence and credit card’ he repeated, eyeing me. ‘Yes’ I said ‘I heard that, but why do you need the credit card…this paper says its been paid for prior’. ‘Licence and credit card’ he repeated, looking more determined still. Pause. ‘OK….I can see this is too difficult for you…here’s the card’. He took the card without looking up at me, punched the keys with his stubby nicotine stained fingers for a minute and then said; ‘Home phone’. Pause. ‘What do you need that for? ‘Home phone!!!’ he repeated, brows furrowing. ‘I don’t have a home phone…’ (Lying by now…interested to see where he’d go with this)… After a little more hackle tickling I said to him ‘I tell you what….why don’t you go and have lunch, and get me someone who likes the job to check out the car?’ at which he got up…and walked out. The guy on the next till took over. He said he was sorry. This guy was no charmer either, but at least he got the job done by communicating with me. He even upsold the deal by adding on a sat nav at $12 a day.

We set off for the hotel…with the sat nav chirping away in a ‘primitive’ synthesised voice a la ‘Microsoft Millie’. The hotel was probably about a mile away. We got lost! We didn’t put the right address in or something. About 5 miles later we were in a nice little suburb, and saw a police cruiser pulling up outside one of those classic looking timber slatted American homes and I wound down my window to explain our predicament. The sheriff walked over smiling and asking if there was anything he could do to help. I told him we were lost, and pointed at Millie the GPS saying that we thought we’d done it wrong. He had a go, and showed us that the hotel was already programmed into it. ‘It’s a good thing you folks got lost here and not the other side of the freeway’ he drawled, ‘cos everything you heard about LA, and the hoods and the bloods….its true!’ ‘REALLY!’ we both responded together.. ‘yeah really! Folks like you are unaware that only a mile that way is hard core gangster land…and you don’t want to be pulling up lost there!’ We thanked him for the tip. Wendi asked him if it was a good idea to go to Disney…and he sort of went …well ‘mushy’. His face all softened, like he was snuggling up in bed with his teddy…it was quite bizarre! We drove off, bemused, and grateful.

Later, we went down to Venice beach, the place where (according to Wendi) they shot Baywatch. We declared it a shit tip. It must have been nice once. Then the American’s moved in.



We walked up and down the street immediately parallel with the beach which is reminiscent of Notting Hill carnival but considerably less carnival and considerably more carnivore if you know what I mean. We felt a bit like lambs walking up and down in front of wolves.





Our predicament was that we needed some American cash to pay to get out of the car park we’d left the car in. Almost every sleazy little ‘shop’ had a cashpoint. They looked like each one had a bloke sitting inside them to me! Eventually Wendi decided to risk one because it actually had the pictures of the cards it accepted on it, and wasn’t quite as filthy as the others we’d walked past. It read her card, she punched in her pin, it made lots of noise, and then dispensed….precisely nothing! She’d only asked it for 20 bucks…and she walked over to the guy behind the counter. He shrugged and claimed no knowledge. She started to walk off, angry. So I went up to the machine and looked in, just as another guy appeared feigning concern. There was the note, ‘stuck’ in the mechanism. He pulled a pair of pliers out of his back pocket and retrieved the note. We left, hoping that that was as sophisticated as the fraud would be.



Today I met up with Bob the builder. Bob is from Artguild in New Jersey. They are the company that we’ve been liasing with to build the bits of this stand that are not coming from other parts of the world. (The seats are from Frankfurt, but built in France, the bar is from New Zealand, the carpet is from Canada, the fabrication actually took place in Las Vegas, the designs happened in Brisbane, and it all exhibits in Los Angeles) He’s cool. In fact he’s really laid back. I’m confident that its based in the fact that he’s got 27 years of experience in this industry.

Tomorrow I’m doing some work from the hotel until 2pm when I’m going to the convention center [sic]. Interesting turn of events for me this. Normally its me that’s there putting everything together waiting for the client to approve. I could get used to it. The ‘bump in’ as its called in the exhibition industry, will take till Sunday night, with a wipe down on Monday morning.

Who's a Frazer a bit of sand?

Ok Ok ....here I am!

Its been a bit busy this last little while. Daile's car is up on axle stands with one hub off, and the outer bushes on the control arms are completely shot. I assume its the same both sides. I'm being told by the shops that I can't buy the tool that's required to get the bushes out an' in...and then they told me the prices of the inner bushes. I hate it when i get through to people that tell me something categorically like that, when they don't really know what they're talking 'bout. Problem is I'm just not feeling that motivated to sort it all out.

Next week (Tuesday) I'm off to Los Angeles, so she can use mine for a week. There, that's sorted then.

Not long now till the Molly arrives. The plan is that we give her the first weekend here, (probably down the coast if the weather's good) and then the following one, she and I are going to do the Frazer trip.



I'm really looking forward to that actually. Daile gave me special dispensation to buy a GPS thingy. I made a special trip to the shop (BCF) that has some near to where i work on the way home tonight. I thought I'd go and do an appraisal....not really intending to buy today. 'BCF' is another one of those acronyms that are in such common parlance here. Officially it stands for 'Boating, Camping and Fishing' ...whereas unofficially and more properly, it stands for 'Blokes shop'.

I spent an inordinate amount of time wandering round, touching, taking things out of boxes, squinting, telling people that I didn't need any help thank you, and that sort of thing. I'm wearing glasses these days that are OK for reading, but not OK for medium distance. I'm using eyes on the other hand, that are not really good at anything other than distance. So when I'm in a shop, I can't really see properly until I'm close to the object. Everything is at precisely the wrong distance. Aside from the GPS, I was also after some 4WD stuff. I'm told that when you get stuck in sand on Frazer, you have to be pulled out by another vehicle. This isn't normally a drama because if you're driving along the 70 mile beach between Hook Point and Sandy Cove, there's always loads of other vehicles along, and you'd be unlucky not to have someone else along within 10 mins or so that could pull you out. (Like this picture i found on the web...)



If you get stuck on one of the tracks inland, then you'd be in the way of the next vehicle that comes along, so you'd be REALLY unlucky to not have help from them..... They say that it's a strong camaraderie on the island....especially between the fishermen (women) that are there in droves at this time of the year cos its a really good time for fishing. The fish that are in copious supply are called 'Tailor' fish. I'm told by one of my work colleagues that is lending me a rod and reel, that WHEN you catch one of these, you have to snap its neck immediately, so that the blood doesn't fill the muscles. If you let it die naturally, the fillet is bland...whereas if you bleed it, the taste is lovely, especially when you eat it within a few hours....which is what we're going to do I hope.

Anyway, the way that you're pulled out of the sand is to use a thing called a 'snatch strap' which is a long strap of webbing, like the kind that you use for lifting loads with a crane, but with stretch in it. You have to use proper shackles and attachments as the forces involved in the tecnique are quite dangerous. What you do is attach one end to the bogged vehicle, and the other to the rescue vehicle, and drive the one close enough to the other that you can leave a loose 's' of about a metre. Then you drive the rescue car smartly away and when the strap goes taught...it begins to stretch...and stretch until it snatchesi the bogged car out. So I bought one of those, and the proper shackles, and a hook to replace the tow ball on the tow bar.

Another thing that i've heard is that when you get dropped off on the beach by the beach landing craft (ferry), it's quite common for the first car off to get bogged in the sand. Apparently the technique is to lower the tyre pressures to about 18psi and drive smoothly off and keep going. I hope we won't be the first off! If it happens, the boat lifts the ramp, backs up, and comes in a little further along the beach, leaving the poor bugger to sort it out! I assume that somone else would go and help....

IF or should I say WHEN I catch my fish....we'll need to cook it. So i've bought a book on how to do this when you're in the middle of nowhere. Fascinating. I'm really looking forward to it. I've got waders coming with the rod too.... So at least I'll LOOK the part!

'Mice are nice' NOT vermin!

Today we just hung out. I decided to go and get some bolts to hold the inverter onto the rear bulkhead of the truck, so that Molly and I have power when we're camping in August...but I left it a bit late to actually do the work. Still the girls and I had some fun in Bunnings looking for something to make a humane moustrap. I'd actually put some conventional ones in the basket, but Matilda strongly objected.... and who am I to argue? So we went to get some roof flashing. I had a square low set kind of thing in mind, like the brown plastic ones that you can get in the UK. They don't have any of that kind of nonsense here! Just kill the buggers!

The only flashing they had was in rolls that were either too thin, or too expensive...($68). We bought some little bits of ali to cut up from the roofing area (got no idea what they were supposed to be for...), and found a couple of tube ends in galvy steel (from the plumbing dept). We bought some fencing wire (my galvy wire is in Brisbane), some round nosed pliers (cheap ones) and one or two other bits. Then we went to get elastic bands, clothes pegs (for the springs i thought) and ...'ooooh is it alright if we have a treat?'

So... here's what we made....!







We didn't use half the things we bought in the end, but you don't know that at the time do you! Wonder if it'll work?

Little squirts....

This week we finally got tenants. The time this has taken is far greater than either of us anticipated when we decided that we would paint the house. Josh was here when we began the task, and last week he made it back to the UK! Surprisingly, this hasn’t had us tearing our hair out as it should have. Perhaps this is the difference between those who are naturally good at business, and those who are foolish. We try to do the right thing, but somehow always fall short of the golden ideal.

I’ve often chided myself for this. Ali used to say that I wasn’t focused enough. I agreed then and still do. But I also think that in some ways, this could be seen as a good thing, or at least ‘valid’ as a social position, and whilst I’m not the richest that I could be, I am at least broadly secure. Focus, after all, simply means that we are filtering out peripheral distractions…and following something through. I choose to see it like I’m sweeping a wider floor than others, that’s all.

Daile’s TMA this month has been on, amongst other things, the precise mechanics of interneuronal pathways. The way that photons arriving at the back of the eye (for example) are converted into information that can be used by the brain to orientate our actions is truly phenomenal. Within each eye, there are 120 million receptors (rods) that are specifically designed to process monochromatic information about shapes and forms, and a further 6 million (cones) that are colour processors. These are wired to filtering cells in ways that are not straightforward. Signals that are fired off to the brain are the result of significant moderation before the signal is initiated. Each ganglion cell that sends them, is fed (via bi-polar cells) by a circular array of photo receptors that are arranged so that there is an annular array of cells that give an opposite signal to the ones in the middle. Cells at the fovea in the centre of the retina are wired more densely. These are wired virtually one photoreceptor to one bi-polar cell, to one ganglion cell. These are the ones that are concerned with focus… but it is the ones on the periphery that are used to discern changes to form. Sometimes, to see a faint signal (such as a distant star) one has to look sideways at it. (You can’t see the distant star with the receptors in the fovea) If enough signals of one type are collected at a ganglion cell, it triggers a response called an action potential, which is a pulse of electricity that is propagated along an axon to the brain… or more accurately, to several places in the brain that have different responsibilities for processing information. The brain collates the information, compares it with other current data, previously observed patterns, and templates that trigger a considered or instinctive response.

Sometimes it still gets it wrong...try this (Click the link and then go to 'How does Whites illusion work'): http://images.google.com.au/imgres?imgurl=http://www.nku.edu/~issues/illusions/Images/Photo/Photoreceptors.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.nku.edu/~issues/illusions/Photorecepters.htm&h=262&w=350&sz=59&hl=en&start=11&sig2=JsFVAnudMrVbJbd85sAC3A&um=1&tbnid=VnhR8phwFZqLYM:&tbnh=90&tbnw=120&ei=2QFwSP2aHpeuoQSJ4t2QBA&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dphotoreceptors%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN

For me, all this makes me think about the complexity of our bodies and our environment. I’ve not gone into the detail about the chemical transformations that lead to and support the whole signalling process within the cells of the eye, or how that process has evolved. But it’s so diverse, so well balanced, and so poorly understood, that it makes you wonder about focus. Our focus in business, our focus in social aspiration is so narrow and our purpose is so one sided, that we are missing much of the peripheral detail that ought to give us balance. Our focus in terms of our physiological vision is constantly tempered with peripheral vision…so as to warn us of impending threats beyond our subject of focus. Our social systems are constructed in such a way that we don’t admit information that is from the outside of our permitted field of vision.

I’ve been reading a book about where we are in terms of civilisation. I know that many of you think that I’m a bit screwed up with that…but I’m really beginning to think that I should have kept up with my environmental preservation activities that I started in the 80’s. The predictions of fuel crisis are beginning to be vindicated, and the ongoing prognosis for our society are a subject of great consternation, to say the least. I find it very frustrating. Our failures here are massive. Yet we still focus on the narrow definition of success that are orientated around consumption. Our ability to consume is our focus, and those of us who are, for one reason or another, not greedy enough to be able to focus on that kind of success, are currently considered to be failures.

I know YOU don’t consider me to be a failure Mum, but I’m not ever going to be a success by the terms of success that are held dear by our society. The guy that owns the company that I work at is a multi millionaire….but he’s still pushing hard for more. He’s happy to push so hard that people go over the edge, and leave. Society holds him to be an object of praise. He’s a success. He’s incredibly focused.

Anyway…. We got tenants.

So, where was I?

This weekend we’re down the coast. Carlene and Ian have gone to Adelaide and we’re looking after the kids. It was decided a while back that it would be good plan to leave the boat down here, and there’s a place for it out the front of the their house that’s ideal. It’s a sort of recess in the fence that looks like it would have been where a garage and drive could have gone. There’s no drive, but the space is there.
I HAD thought that we’d also get the chance to go out in it this weekend. The environment at Surfers Paradise and the inland waterways in the vicinity are designed for small leisure craft. Normally the water is blue, the sky is blue, the sun is shining and its all pretty good. On Friday night it rained so hard that it filled up the boat with water to about 250 mm deep at the gunwale! The girls came out to have a look in the morning, and see how far the water would squirt.









The other thing that happened yesterday was that I finally got a transformer for my un-environmentally sound nixie tube clock. I’m dead proud of it, and spend extended periods of time just looking at the numbers changing. Sad f****r that I am! Ha ha.