Easily Amused

My bulldog and my boyfriend snore in exactly the same way, it does amuse me. Maybe, I am easily amused? He is lying under my desk - my bulldog not my boyfriend - and I have my toes tucked under his tummy to keep them warm, while I work on my computer.

I have been scanning all of my family photos for quite some time. I was very nearly finished, so I can give 100 years of family photos to my brother and my sister. I was at the stage of transferring them all onto USB's for both of them. I have been doing it for the longest time and the end was definitely in sight. 

On the weekend, after cleaning up my study for the previous week, or so, I had found a few more photos, so I decided to scan them and add them to the collection. It was a great feeling, adding a few lost images to a huge collection. I originally scanned most of the photos on Mark's scanner, but since then I have bought my own scanner. As I added the new images, I realised that my new scanner is a trillion times better than Mark's old scanner on which I scanned the bulk of the photos. Damn! Shit! I was pissed off about it. The old scanner scanned the images into small pictures not unlike the originals. The new scanner turns them into big modern images in which all of the detail comes alive. Bugger!

I remember the exact moment that I decided what I had to do. It was on Sunday night, at David's birthday party, that the thought came into my mind. I have to rescan every one of the photos. Ur!

So that is what I have been doing this week. I still can't really believe it.

So I did a little OH&S on myself this morning, picking up my stuff from the coffee table and moving it to my newly cleaned study desk. Sitting on the floor at my coffee table all day is just giving me a sore neck and back.

So, here I am, gritted teeth - re what I now have to do - and all. The scanning is the relatively easy part of the project. It is the restoration of the 50 year old, 60 year old, and older images, that really takes all the time. That is the bit I love, I love the challenge of it. Even the most damaged photo can be photoshopped back to life. I love thinking about how a photo was taken, lets say in 1940, and how it has spent 74 years as a print, gathering 74 years of dirt and damage and I am able to use 21st century technology - technology the photographer never even dreamed of - to bring it back to life.

But to do it all again? Grrrr! My immanent sense of achievement has just evaporated, flown out that preverbal window.

Still, they are all dated, a lot of them to the day, and catalogued, that has also taken an inordinate amount of time and I don't have to do that again, so that is the bright side, the glass half full moment. Half of them were dated, as a lot of them were sent back home from overseas with a small description on the back. Others, I got my mum to tell me the year, before she declined into la la land. And other's I have made an informed guess, comparing clothes and cars and houses and peoples ages in photos of which I knew the dates. This was very important, as I have a whole portrait album of all of my relatives from the late part of the 19th century and the early part of the 20th century which doesn't have one name next to any photo. So while all of my relatives are superbly documented, 100 years later nobody knows who any of them are.

Originally, I was leaving the white boarders, for historical reasons and because that allows me to save those lovely soft edges of the image itself, which are so whimsical. But, now I am cutting them off, as it makes the image bigger and it makes it an image, rather than a scan of an old photo. I'm not sure which is best, I'm torn on the issue.

Okay... where was I?

Walking in the Park

I always pick up Buddy's pooh (I laugh when I see that I spell poo lwhen I am out walking him. Always. I don't really see the point of it, to tell you the truth, but I always do it because that is what you are supposed to do. 

This morning, I walked Sam to the Carlton Gardens, it is a lovely walk first thing in the morning. On the way back, as Buddy pissed on a tree, he also had a big diarrhoea squirt across the grass, which is kind of unusual for him. I looked at it and contemplated what I could do, fingering the pooh bags in my pocket? Maybe, if I had a sponge, or a hose, I thought? Deciding that, really, there was no way that I could pick it up, I proceeded to walk away. 

A fat lady in a tweed coat and a granny perm was walking passed. She pursed her lips and audibly tutt tutted and said, "Really!" in her best schoolmarm voice. She pulled big eyes (until she looked like she was going to have a squirt out the rear end herself) and looked at me and then looked back at the offending pooh and then looked back at me. Then she tut tutted loudly again. 

"You're the type who gives dog owners a bad name!" she said. She shook her head as she continued walking to the church scone stall, I can only assume. 

"But, but, but..." I stumbled (I always pick it up). She looked angry. I wanted to call after her, "It's not like I just killed your first born grandchild, great grandchild," but I decided that, perhaps, that wouldn't have helped.

I'm not sure what she thought I was going to do? Get down on all fours and lick it up? Maybe, if I'd had a hose... 

Hopefully, it will rain this afternoon.

Friends on Facebook

My Facebook policy has always been that I only befriend people who I truly consider friends. My Facebook is not open to the public, it is a private thing between me and my close friends.

I remember years ago when I was much more of a party boy, one early morning after dancing all night, one of 'my party' friends came up to me and had a rave about what good friends the two of us really were. You know, I luv you buddy and all that. I thought it was a little amusing as I was sure he wouldn't think quite that way once he'd sobered up from whatever it was that was making him enthuse so. I responded with, "Yes, yes, such good friends. Can you tell me what my surname is?" He couldn't.

That is kind of the standard I have towards Facebook.

A year, or so ago, when Shane went overseas with Tully, Tully sent me a Facebook friend's request. I remember looking at it and my criteria for Facebook friends came into my head. I didn't really know Tully all that well. Sure he lived here for a time before he and Shane went overseas, but he pretty much kept to himself. He didn't really make a great effort to get to know me or Sam. They got married, yes married, in a whirlwind after only knowing each other for six months and moved to London, only having lived together for four weeks at my place. I truly wondered if it would last and whether I'd ever see Tully again. So you may understand why I hesitated.

I didn't realise at the time that friend requests on Facebook don't stay waiting forever, eventually they just disappear. When I had decided that I should be generous and give Tully the benefit of the doubt regarding their relationship, his Facebook request had disappeared. Oops, I thought. Oh well, I thought after that, I'm sure he isn't going to lose any sleep over me.

I have been de-friended on Facebook a number of times, nearly all of which have been by 'friends' who I would have said were people I friended that went against my before mentioned 'Facebook policy' so no big deal, it really saved me from doing it.

However, two people who I would call, have called, friends have de-friended me. One was some time ago after we had a discussion about climbing Ayres Rock and the Aboriginal sensitivity about doing it. David was heading to The Centre and he was unsure about what he should do. He had never been to Ayres Rock and he really wanted to climb the rock, but he also didn't want to upset any one. But he did want to have the experience of climbing it. He asked me for my opinion about what he should do.

I told him that I had been to Uluru when I was a kid with my family and that I had climbed it with my father and brother and sister. So, if I went back I wouldn't want to climb it, as I already had. This was my compromise in respect of Aboriginal sensibilities. However, if I went and I had not climbed it before, I would. Not much help really, I guess.

A friend, lets call her J, told me that my advise was disrespectful to Aborigines and that I shouldn't have advised David in such away. She gave me all the details about why Uluru was sacred and why I was wrong. My last answer to her went something like this, 

J, believe in the supreme ruler, don't believe in the supreme ruler, believe in sacred spirits, don't believe in sacred spirits, that is up to you. What somebody else believes in is up to them and essentially it is none of my business. So, what I believe is up to me and not up to somebody else. Live and let live, whatever makes you happy. And what I believe in is that in the end, Uluru is simply a big rock that was formed in the formation of the Earth, I am sure I could get a scientist to explain it properly, if necessary. I am really happy for anyone to believe what they like about Uluru, but in the end, in my opinion, it is simply a great big rock.

She de-friended me.

I was really surprised. I didn't call her, I decided that she had made her position clear. 

I didn't see J for quite a time, she and Tom and I were friends together, but Tom had died and she moved house and she drifted out of my friendship circle.

Then, a few years later, I saw her at a mutual friend's fortieth birthday. Having not really thought about it a great deal in between, I was quite surprised by my reaction when I saw her. I blew her off when she approached me, thinking fuck you. If somebody had told me that would be my reaction when I saw her, I would have laughed and told them not to be ridiculous, but that, in fact, was what I thought.

Yesterday, the second of the two friends, lets call her L1, posted a clip of Russell Brand raving on manically, about spirituality and cosmic vibrations and the supreme entity in charge and the fact that he believed in God. Yabber, yabber, yabber, yabber, yabber. In my opinion, I could so hear Russell desperately trying to make up for his indulgent, hedonistic past. That is how it appeared to me.

I responded with, Another born again evangelical spiritualist trying to talk his way out of his past transgressions.

She de-friended me.

Again, I was surprised.

I chuckled to myself (maybe, nervously. I am still surprised by my reaction to J) when I thought about it, apparently, from past experiences, I take these things very seriously. As do other people.

Another friend, lets call her L2, went to London and visited Shane and Tully. L2 was the first of all of our group of friends to visit them. So Shane and Tully were keen to hear news from home, as you would expect. She said that it didn't take any time at all for the conversation to get around to me and the fact that I hadn't taken up Tully's friend request on Facebook. Over the time that L2 was with them, she said it was mentioned quite a few times. Why would Christian do that? Why doesn't Christian like Tully? What has Tully done to upset Christian and so it went. L2 said to me on her return, "I had no idea about it, so what could I say."

I was going to let L1's de-friending pass, as I had with J, but, as I, apparently, and others, take such things quite seriously, I decided that it, indeed, needed a comment. Let me say at this point, I am also friends with L1's sister on Facebook, as well as quite a few other mutual friends. So, I wrote the following.

Wow! I’m amazed by (so called) friends who think they are so open minded and yet when someone says – that would be me – something that is essentially another point of view to what they have posted, they de-friend you – again, that would be me – on Facebook. I thought that is what Facebook was all about? A discussion, a conversation with friends. I guess I was wrong.

I wish I’d known, I would have stuck to reposting banal clichés and pictures of puppies, since I can only assume now that is all that friend is capable of dealing with. But, I guess, many people are only on Facebook to have smoke blown up their arses.

Still, I guess, it is better to learn who your friends really are… hey?

Many of my friends sympathised, several told me that they loved me, a couple said they were going to de-friend me for such an outrageous post. But, as yet, none of my mutual friends with L1 have commented.

So, let's see what happens, shall we. It won't, actually, change anything, however, as I also have another rule when it comes to Facebook and that is that you will only ever get one opportunity to de-friend me. Once de-friended always de-friended.

Cleaning House

I've had a problem over the last few years (that kind of statement you know is like cigarettes, or joints, if he is willing to admit to a few you just know it is way more than that) my filing cabinet is so full of shit that I can't get any more into it. I have stuff every where. It is getting to the point of being ridiculous. Sam has been on my back to clean up my study and the rest of the shit I have strewn around the rest of the house.

Sam thinks a clean house means a... um... what's the expression, ordered life, where I think a clean house means you are just gong to have to put all that effort in to clean it again... life isn't tidy.

So, after Sam made me promise to clean it up this week, (Monday, actually) I decided to tackle the, actually, problem and that was to clean out my filing cabinet once and for all.

Oh the pain. It is really hard fucken work, I tell you.

I have thrown out all of my writing. I seem to have kept every draft of every piece I have ever written. Lucky for me I have always had the habit of putting the printing date on every thing. It makes it easier, but only just. It's kind of a shame, in a sense, as all those previous ideas are now gone... but I am sure looking forward is better, in the end.

To begin with, I just threw them all into the recycle bin. But then I wondered if that was a good idea and since then I have been shredding everything, which makes the job twice as long.

I found my two half written novels, so I guess that is a good thing. (even if I did really know where they were)

I found two other started novels (I use the term very loosely - as my bulldog crawls into my lap and cuddles up, making typing just that much harder - you understand) that I don't remember at all. I guess that is a bad thing.

I turned my phone off so my boss can't call.

Some time later...

Sam called me to see how the cleaning is going. I have one draw cleaned out and have started on the second draw.

Sam had been with a friend of his in the friend's new Porsche. Sam wanted to know if I wanted to drive it, as his friend said we could borrow it. This same friend has a photo of himself with Abbott, Pyne and Bishop as a cherished possession, I presume. I nearly choked on my tea. I declined the offer of a car, I have no interest in driving some snot nosed Liberal voter's car. Who is my boyfriend mixing with, I thought.

I laughed. (nervously) "Sorry, but I don't want to drive some Liberal supporter's Porsche."

So, back to the big clean up.

Pissed the Day Away

I pretty much pissed the day away, in my inimitable style. It is the thing I do best, waste time, oh, other than sleep, of course.

Online news. Blogs. Youtube. Tra la la.

My boss even called at 10am, I ignored his call. I do assignment work, remember, nobody employees me full time, so I can work when I want to. Am I bad?

The day slipped away, as it does.

I came to one conclusion though, I just can't read about Australian politics any longer, it is too distressing, too unbelievable to be true. Come on Labor and Clive, reject the budget and force a double dissolution election we can't let these lying Liberals wreck Australia any longer. I just can't believe it, they have lied about absolutely everything. Surely, there is some mechanism in Australian politics that will question the integrity of the sitting government. It is now bordering on fraud what The Abbott Liberal Party is doing. Actually, shutting down dissent, such as slashing the ABCs budget because they don't like what the ABC says, is tyranny.

Or, how about a delicious fantasy scenario - how many disillusioned Liberal MPs would it take to defect to Clive Palmers party to bring down the Abbott Liberal Government?

I'm Just As Happy Spending Time On My Own

“If you make friends with yourself you will never be alone.” - Maxwell Maltz

Watching Movies

We watched Philomena and August: Osage Country on dvd. Okay, yes, it is true, we are slow. The problem being that Sam and I don't really share the same tastes in movies. I like more human/life kind of stories and Sam likes action/animation, so we don't get to the movies so often because we rarely want to see the same movie.

Many of my friends have asked me over the last little while, have you seen Philomena? It is really good, my pick of the year said some, you should see it. So I had been looking forward to it. Well, shrug. I'm guessing without all the hype I probably would have liked it a lot more.

It is such a light on film. Suddenly it finished and I was left saying, Is that all there is? 

The cast is good. I think that Judi Dench is one of the most gifted actresses of our generation. She is just gorgeous, her acting is a joy to watch and her presence in any film adds a beautiful quality to it. He acting was exquisite as always, in this, in the minor detail of the character she inhabits. But the whole movie was just a bit light on. The trouble with this story was that it wasn't particularly interesting. We've heard it all before.

Then we watched August: Osage County. We went to bed to watch it and I found it to be repellent, to tell you the truth, and I switched it off halfway through not really intending to pick it up again. But, I did watch the end of it on Saturday and did enjoy it more. 

I think Streep's career is heading into decidedly shaky territory, as she is starting to go into caricature with her acting, which a lot of actors do fall prey to. I saw it first in The Iron Lady, where her depictions of a prime minister Thatcher were remarkable, it is true, but her depiction of Thatcher as a befuddled old lady was nothing but caricature and could have been played just as well by Matt Lucas.

I didn't completely buy the character of Vi or why those daughters would come home to her, father's death withstanding. Is that Streep's fault? Or is that the directors fault? Well, considering Streep is the grand dame of acting, she has to take some of the responsibility.

I'm not sure that I really liked either film. No, I like Philomena, I just wanted more.

We also watched World's End, which was stupidly funny. More stupid. I also got The Paperboy just to see Zac Efron in his undies... as you do.

It Gets Kind of Complicated

In the interests of world domination for equality and not for, actual, dominance, (although I can't speak for a couple of the leather boys down the back) being comfortable with gay people, the general ease in society in which they fit, often comes through association, more than anything else. The higher the profile of the poofs and the dykes, the more 'they' get to know, the more it is realised that we are just as boring/fabulous as everybody else. It is learnt, obviously, that we all have more in common, than not. It's just Life 101, it is amazing how slow it has been.

The things we have in common unites us, so 'they' say. We relate to one another the more we do the same stuff.

I love/hate the gay sex question. I find it a bit creepy, to tell you the truth, when straight couples try to relate to 'us' that way. No, it just doesn't translate. But, the question is always interesting, it means they must have thought about it, at least. I wonder what mental image 'they' have? What is it that they picture? I find that fascinating. Is it always the wives? Not always, sometimes the husbands get curious after a pint, or three, with questions.

Often, the manly gay guy (I can't believe I am, actually, using these terms, however...) is attracted to the feminine gay guy, we all see it, it is true. I guess that is an easy one for our straight friends to comprehend. Who's the 'he' and who's the 'she'. That always makes me laugh... but all of them out there seem to be happy with that one. I guess, it is something they can relate to, easily, I've never really known how. Who dicks who?

But then, you can have the two feminine guys attracted to each other. The analogy then tends to break down. There are lots of feminine guys, little guys (is that better?) who are hot for each other. They usually take it in turns, (Edt note - ah, er, not sure where I got that from) or are much more likely to. They are much more likely to admit the gory details.

Can straight people process that? I often wonder? Two hot little twinks corn holing each other until one, or both, of them bleed.

But, of course, then you can have the two manly guys who are hot for each other. They tend to take it in turns also, although one, or both of them, may deny it.

I reckon 'they' are getting on board with that one though, as, I am sure, their gay friends, buddies, neighbours, work colleagues, the gay periphery would have educated them by now. One kind of hopes, anyway.

But wait, there is one more extrapolation. The manly guy who is hot for the feminine guy to give it to him. (Little guy? What do I call him? I love little guys, you can kind of bundle them up in your arms and... well, do anything you like, really) Some jockey's have big whips, you know. Some manly guys - read lots - are size queens.

It gets kind of complicated, now doesn't it.

I don’t think we conform to any stereotypes, really. Some, maybe?

I’m sure the differences are wide and varied amongst all orientations.

It’s just 'that' question, who's the boy and who's the girl, it continues to be asked.

It’s interesting, just saying.

Up Early

I was up early, 5am. Well, Sam goes to bed ridiculously early and if I go to bed ridiculously early with him, I wake up ridiculously early, it is just basic maths. But 5am? Really? I only need so much sleep. I was always an after midnight boy, before I met Sam.

It was kind of eery to be up so early when it was still dark. The wind was swirling around the roof outside, cold air seeped in through all the places it always seeps in, still with a chill in it, no morning sun had warmed it as yet.

It is nice and quiet, early in the morning.

Sam suggests that Buddy and I go for a long walk this morning around the streets. Sam suggests that standing around dog parks isn't perhaps the best exercise for either of us. Where walking the streets is constant exercise for both of us.

I see, I think. But, then I get to talk to all the other owners. Okay, so that isn't so special. We do do laps, though. Buddy naturally did laps anyway, as he re-marked every post around the perimeter of the oval. We usually do 2, or 3, laps... then we chat. I have a routine, Buddy has a routine. So, getting him to do more isn't so hard. He even comes when I call him now. Yay. Some times he'll walk over to me, from the rest of the dog pack huddling and he'll almost flick his head as if to say, Let's go again.

We decided not to go out at all, well, I did, and we spent the day indoors. No walking today.

Complaints

I now answer all phone calls with the greeting, "Complaints." I think it puts everybody in the mood for what is coming next. It screws with the teli marketers heads, though, they soon hang up. Click. Dial tone. He he. "You got that far, why not hang on for a little abuse."

People laugh. People stutter.

I start using it around 3pm in the afternoon, as that is when Sam calls to see if my morning chores have been completed and to give me the shopping list and the schedule for dinner for the evening. Who is cooking it and what have you. I can tell by dialler ID, naturally.

Sam just doesn't buy having a boyfriend stay home and do nothing all day. I'm not sure what is with that? Just difficult to get along with, I tell him. 

A friend of mine said that it was a power trip answering the phone that way, the power derived from the satisfaction of hearing the person on the other end squirm.

I think you are over thinking it, I told him. Nah, I just think it is funny.

Every time I greet a caller that way, I think of Sheldon Cooper telling everyone that Graham Robert Alexander Bell (is that his name?) proposed that everybody answer the phone by saying, Ahoy.

That still makes me laugh.

Sam is Helpdesk - to all my friends, certainly - but he just wont answer the phone that way, no matter how much encouragement there is from me. He won't answer the phone at all, if the truth be known. Just his mobile, and I can't really blame him for that.

Get with the program. Boyfriends are great, but this "free will" they seem to want to exercise, who can tolerate that?

Love Bulldogs

Bull dogs are lovely, I just thought I'd say that.

Randy Crawford sings, the coffee is bitter, just how I like it. I'm writing stuff, my muesli is comforting. And my bulldog lays against my left thigh, like a hot water bottle, on a woollen blanket, snoring contentedly.

I've got a huge tray of lasagne, which I made last night, in a tray in the fridge.

I've got nothing on all day. I thought I did, work training, 9.30am this morning. I was up at 6am to discover that the training was yesterday. Oops! I never make such mistakes.

So I have nothing to do all day. Lovely. A have to clean the kitchen, dishes, pots, pans, woks, everything and feed Buddy, that is my minimum daily requirement. The morning sun is shining in through the window.

Morning in the park

A Couple a Days

Sam thinks it is disgusting if I don't shower for a day. He thinks you should shower every day, no matter what. No questions.

Me? Not so much. If I don't have anything to do, I don't see why a shower is necessary. I'm usually sitting still staring at my computer screen.

Sam counts up the days and if it gets to two, he gets particularly snarky. He positively jumps up and down on the spot. It's adorable.

Still, it's good, I could end up a barefoot, pot smoking hermit, with a beard down to here, if left to my own devices. There is that risk.

He, he he. It makes me laugh. Calm down, there are people in the world who don't have access to fresh water. Settle down. I don't stink.

I reckon two days is about my maximum, though. After that, I kind of feel it. You know. I don't know. I probably feel the 21st century angst on my back, to be honest. A hundred years of advertising. But I feel something, my still small voice propels me towards the wash house. Sticky in the crutch? I don't know. Something.

Morning Walking Home From The Park

Black Lamborghini parked in the sun

Is That a Promise? Or is That Something Else?

I'm surprised that Tony Abbott's pants haven't burnt his arse by now.

Do you reckon he'd have a hairy arse crack? I reckon he would and he wouldn't trim, so it should go up like the grass fire in Gisbourne this year.

Maybe, he'd have a speedo shaped red scorch mark across his bum?

Everybody was worried, before the election about what Tony Abbott told the country. As Malcolm Fraser said, Tony Abbott admitted that he doesn't always mean what he says.

Now, we are all astounded, or should be, that practically everything Tony Abbott said before the election has turned out to be something different.

This government has no legitimacy to govern because they committed, what effectively amounts to, deception to get into power.

Let's look at what he said, or his party said, but mostly what he said.

November 23rd 2011,  "This government thinks that somehow you can build prosperity with new taxes. No country ever got rich by increasing taxation. No country ever built a strong economy by clobbering itself with tax after tax after tax."

November 24th 2011,  "Our objective can be stated quite simply and quite clearly. It is lower taxes, better services, more opportunities to work and, above all else, stronger borders."

March 14th 2012, "What you'll get under us are tax cuts without new taxes."

May 10th 2012,  people who work hard should not be "hit with higher taxes."

September 19th 2012, "The time for big-spending, big-taxing, big-fibbing government has gone. We will give the Australian people the decent government they deserve."

2013, "We pledge to the families of Australia that we will never make your lives harder by imposing unnecessary new taxes."

January 31st 2013, "So my pledge to you is that I won’t say one thing before an election and do the opposite afterwards because fibbing your way into office is what's brought our public life into disrepute."  - Address to the National Press Club.

May 16th 2013,  "We want taxes that are lower, simpler and fairer and will take proposals for further tax reform to the following election."

August 15th 2013,  "I am determined not to increase the overall tax burden. I am absolutely determined not to increase the overall tax burden on anyone."

"There will be no overall increase in the tax burden whatsoever."

August 17th 2013,  "Now I say the tax burden isn't going to increase. Well, we are going to abolish the carbon tax, abolish the mining tax, we will reduce the company tax – of course the overall tax burden is going to go down."

August 19th 2013,  "We'll build a stronger economy so that everyone can get ahead, and part of building a stronger economy is cutting unnecessary taxes, abolishing unnecessary taxes."

September 5th 2013,  "Right now the best thing we can do for our country and ultimately the best thing we can do for people around the world is to strengthen our economy and that means cutting taxes, building the infrastructure of the future, because if tax is lower and infrastructure is better our economy will be more productive and a strong Australia is going to be a much better international citizen than an Australia which can't really pay its way."

Christopher Pyne

The funniest thing week on The Project was when naughty Rove and Pete H. took off Christopher Pyne.

"Christopher Pyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyne."

Oh Christopher Pyne? Is he still claiming to be straight? Of course, I don't know, but surely not. Whenever I watch him, I feel like I am watching a character from a Carry On movie, except without the humour. It's like watching Kenneth William's untalented little brother.

Christopher Pyne. What a rat-faced little queen he appears to be.

Or, as he is called on the Internet, the mincing poodle.

But, apparently, he has four children. Who'd have thought? That may have a lot more to do with Catholicism and a lot less to do with sexual orientation, of course. Again, I don't, actually, know.

I reckon he lied on Q and A when there was a discussion about university fees and Mark Trevorrow asked him if he paid for his university course.

Pyne answered instantly, "Yes, I paid for my degree."

Well, a quick google search reveals that Pyne was the captain of the university cheer leading squad (that may have been the university Liberal party, it's hard to tell) in 1987 and 1988. He was born in 1967, so, presumably, he started school in 1972, add 12 years to that to get to 1984. Presumably he started uni in 1985, as he started practising as a lawyer in 1991.

HECS fees didn't come in until 1989.

Really? He paid for his university degree? He may well have paid for the last two years of a law degree.

Granted this is not a big lie. But it was his instantaneous answer that, perhaps, gives an indication to how easily he'll say what is most expedient and not necessarily the whole truth.

Australia is the richest country in the world

By certain measures, the G20 for one, Australia is the richest country in the world.

So why can't you get the dole until you are 25? How is this good policy, to leave vast numbers of the population without any sort of safety net at all?

Remembering, there is no budget emergency in Australia, other than the concocted one to get One Term Tony into power.

Is that really okay, to screw over the most vulnerable in society? How does this fit with Australia's much repeated mantra of giving everyone a fair go?

Who Was It?

Who was it who told you that you have to have everything you see?

Summer Slowly Seeps Away

It's cold. My feet are cold. The summer is slowly draining out of the year, I can feel it in my toes, sitting here sockless in my dressing gown. My coffee warms me, my muesli milk cools me. I have to get ready to go to work. Tick, tick, tick  the time is slipping away.

8.02, sadly I really have to hustle along. How I'd like to sit here for the rest of the day. It is always amazing how time seems so much more delicious when it is meant for another purpose. I've got almost fifteen minutes before I have to go. Eleven, to be exact, in an inexact measure  And I am still not dressed. I still haven't finished my coffee. Bugger.

Groan. Gotta go. Work, work, everybody has got to work. Otherwise, how do the billionaires make another billion, if the little people don't do their little jobs? I ask you? And as One Term Tony Abbott Captains the SS Australia deftly back to the 1950s we'll all be working longer, so it would seem, and for less pay if One Term Tony has his way, to make the rich richer, to make all of the Liberal Party's financial supporters a bucket load of extra cash.

Sleeping Buddy

Buddy has slept with me for the last two nights. Well, he was alone, I was alone. I can't sleep unless there is somebody snoring next to me. Ha, ha. The two of them sound alike when they snore in sleep. They do, just the same.

Although, a snoring partner doesn't keep me awake. I can fall asleep listening to Sam snoring, I really don't know what all the fuss is about.

Buddy was awake when I woke up. His big, brown eyes gazing over at me. They both have big, brown eyes. They look at me adoring, in almost the same way. It's lovely. (Sam doesn't quite drool the same, though)

They are both nicer than me, sweeter with sunnier dispositions, but I'm the funny one.

I guess Buddy should sleep in his kennel tonight, tomorrow is a work day. Still, it is nice to wake up with him. He is such a teddy bear. Smile.

Contented Buddy

As the Guitar Gently Strums in the Background...

I lit my first fire for the year. That first burn, it goes off like a rocket from all the debris that has been thrown into the hearth over summer.

The back French Doors are open and the cool breeze is blowing in swirling the hot air from the fire around the room, like the heat is being gently folded through the breeze. I’m smoking pot and writing my journals.

I’m having my very own Better Midler Festival, playing all her albums from start to finish, every one of them, first track to the last.

I'm good at being on my own. I've always been happy in my own company. I always have something to do, that I never feel like I get time otherwise to do.

Just as well, Buddy has deserted me for the comfort of the pillows of my bed. I’ve retrieved him twice, with the words, I need one of my guys around me, but he doesn’t stay. Lazy couch potato bulldog.

I ate hot cross buns and two ice creams, I bought a box.


I'm having a Bette Midler festival, playing her albums from the first to the last, right the way through

And I have just made a Patti La Belle mixed tape on iTunes, it took me all afternoon. All the songs I don’t have on any of her albums, and the remixes as well.

Could I get any gayer?

Two Weeks

Sam left for Indonesia for two weeks to visit his family. I drove him to the airport fairly late, for a midnight flight. It was a rush in the end, when he checked his ticket to find he was leaving at 12am and not 1am, as he first thought.

Malaysian Airlines, through KL. Don't think I have been a little worried about it.

We kissed each other and told one another that we loved each other, right in front of the security guard, at the 5 min drop off. I'm guessing we did nothing that the security guard hasn't seen before. It is a modern world, after all.

I played, Amy Winehouse, Valarie, as I headed back down the freeway towards home.

Two weeks. I'll miss him. Perhaps, it is good that I am working for the next two weeks? Maybe? Sometimes coming home to an empty house, is worse than being in an empty house all day.

Sorry

Sorry. So many people now a days say sorry. Automatically, for any infraction, or perceived infraction.  You know, when you walk through a door, when they step out onto the footpath next to you, when you walk past each other in the street, picking up caramels from the bench next to me in the Milk Bar, they just naturally say sorry. "Oh sorry."

Of course, there is nothing wrong with saying sorry, many a Prime Minister has been reluctant to say it.

But what is it a sign a sign of? I don't know. That we are living in fear. When do you say sorry? When you are avoiding a confrontation. Why would you do that, because you are afraid... or some essence of that. It seems to becoming the default position of human beings now a days. Oh sorry.

I so often have the response in my head to someone who says sorry to me. "What are you sorry for?" Just for their very existence, it would seem. Ha, ha, I exaggerate. 

But have you noticed?

Somethings it seems to be the most bizarre thing. We just walked past each other, that's all we did.

Not that it really means anything, I guess. I just remember a time when people would have said hello, or how are you going, instead. Or did I dream my childhood?

Old images

I love restoring old photos, it is my very favourite thing to do. This photo was fucked. It was scanned from an old slide and the image was covered in dirt. Two days on photoshop and it has come up quite nicely.

It is a shame I can't make a profession of it, restoring old images.

It is a cute picture of the baby, who I think is my brother Will. I'm not sure as that isn't my mother. She was much more beautiful than that, with black hair and blue eyes. I think that is my mother's life long friend Joan, but I'm not sure.

It's funny, us three kids all have different coloured eye. My brother's are blue like my mother's, my sisters are brown and mine are green.

Work from Home

I’d love to work as a job as an image repairer. Work from home and all that. Of course, it would most likely result in RSI, it gets that way now, sometimes. After cleaning images all day, I end up with an aching hand and arm.

I was reading an article about not working as a wage slave. It said we should all start a business and a website is a good way to earn money 24/7 rather than 8 hours a day. 

I messaged Sam and said we should open a website design business, that he should teach me - being a computer programmer, web designer, himself - how to do it and with his guidance I could run it, until it makes money and then he could quit work and join me at home on our laptops side by side in our home office. 

Surely, it must be a growth industry. I would guess that more and more people will want web sites.

Sam's response was that I should study a programming and web design first, as there was so much information to learn. That I could do it on line there were a lot on offer. He could give me pointers on what courses I should do.

Oh? I thought. I guess that means he's not so keen? It sounded like a good idea, too. "I'm smart," I told him, to which he gave me one of "those" looks.

"I know you are smart, honey, but you know nothing about computer programming."

Something Horrific

I left at midday, to have lunch with my old boss, Beck, in the city. It felt unseasonably warm, overcast, humid; an oddly hot and cold sort of day, as though we were in for a change, of some sort. I took  off my jeans and put on my shorts before I left. I'm a bit of a sweater and I didn't want to be all sweaty when I got there, after walking from Fitzroy to King Street.

As I walked down Collins Street, a man came the other way with tattooed shins and calves, as though he had black knee length socks tattooed on his legs. It looked so odd, probably the weirdest tattoo I'd seen. I couldn't help but stare, but then I guess somebody with that kind of tattoo wants people to look.

Two sixty-something year old women walked out of Collins Place and were heading straight towards me, right in front of me. They were kind of leaning into each other as they walked and talked, as if they were complicit in something. The one on the right, with menopausal henna hair and a nylon bag with a cane handle, looking straight at me, said, “What happened in front of me last week was,” she looked at her friend. “Horrific.”

Then they passed me, gone passed my left ear. Swish. Out of sight.

No! I spun around. You can’t do that, I wanted to call out. What happened? What was horrific? What? Tell me!

But they were gone.


I considered following them, but wondered if they’d have me arrested. You know, if horrific things had already happened... in front of her.