merry Christmas to me: best present so far: tix to Antony and the Johnsons, whose CD is my favourite evening-on-the-highway driving music and whose tour had somehow slipped my notice, so the tix were a total surprise. we're sitting right up the back in the last row, but I don't care. it's going to be fabulous. (Did I ever mention how much I used to like Boy George).

early stuff is cheaper

and an auction house that had a few a while back

early stuff is cheaper

more emily

gloria p

and here. thank God for blogs, as Microsoft's fine product keeps crashing. I only have 23 windows open!

a nice Emily

and another

some things I'd like to buy can be found here and here and here. I am still kicking myself I didn't get a leaf form by Holly Grace when I could; now it seems she's moved on to different colours etc. and I wanted these ones. sob.

oh lord. will the nabobs at the City of Yarra never get their act together?

In July, I made a booking for a room for a family Christmas do. there will be maybe 40 adults and 25 kids at this thing. last night I got an email requesting final payment, which I'd forgotten (the letter I received said it was "confirmed", so I actually thought I'd paid). no problem, I thought, I'll pay by credit card over the phone. this is, after all, a huge, multimillion dollar government in its own right.

no. no, I must go to a town hall, in heavy traffic a few days before Christmas, and pay IN PERSON. no phone payments are possible for "casual bookings". after long discussion with the man in charge about how STUPID this is, he's faxing me a form which I can drop off at a slightly less inconvenient location. but it's still a pain. I have no choice; they have my bond and I have aunties and cousins descending on said location in a week. I guess I should be grateful it's not earlier this year, when they still required payments in cold, hard, cash. what is it, a council or a drug dealer?

questions for today:

if a Christmas card addressed to Elizabeth, David, Lola and Boo, with no return address but warm gushing feelings from Marie on the inside, lands in your letterbox by mistake, (addressed to your street number, in a street with an unusual name, so you're sure it's just the number that's wrong) and there are maybe 80 house in your street; are you obliged to print up a little notice and drop it off to everyone in the street in an effort to find the intended recipients?


if you're trying to keep your two-year-old off lollies for his own good, and he receives a huge jelly snake from Santa at the childcare xmas party, and you give him a tiny bit and save the rest for "later", is it OK to eat said snake yourself, knowing he's only two and won't remember you have it?


and finally, are redundancy payouts like semi-boiled pots? if I stop checking my bank account, will that make the money land in the same way going to the bathroom makes call centres finally pick up my call after a 20-minute wait on hold?

my last day "at the office" is going something like this: feed baby. pay bills. write something. deal with messed up Coles Online delivery (15+minutes on the phone!). write some more. redirect to husband enquiry from tradesman who assumes that I, being female, am in charge of cleaning products (said tradesman was installing speakers for husband). write some more. check bank account for big payout, be disappointed. file something. talk to "outplacement" service and wonder if it will a) create a breakthrough in my career or b) be a big fat waste of time I don't have. ah well. at least I'll get to do a massive online personality/aptitude test with a proper assessment at the end of it. and I love doing tests.

wtf? I mean really, wtf? I don't know these people, these blond-haired shirtless men and snarling women. I also don't really know the Lebanese men, but I guess I don't expect to. Come to think of it, even though I'm a fourth generation-plus Australian-born citizen, I never did know those people; but last time I saw them they were just picking on the weak and the different amongst themselves, when I was a teenager. Now they're organised. few of the reports have focussed on the way they swarmed via text message. I find it frightening.

wearing: My "I (heart) NY" T-shirt. Because it's the 25th anniversary.
feeling: redundant. after 8 years I will shortly no longer be an employee of the mighty Age. what's next?

moral calculations: I can see how this Google Books thing could be a great timewaster...

we have a new TV. not just any TV, but a 43" plasma that makes our lounge room feel like an electronics showroom. It arrived yeseterday and as soon as the installers left, I turned it on and then caught myself getting interested in a daytime soap; the picture is that pretty. this morning it was the music videos, featuring the new INXS frontman, who might actually have a good voice, but will never be Michael Hutchence. it took all of my willpower to lift a remote control in each hand, like Circe or Trinity about to execute a wicked move, and push the "off" buttons. I miss it already. who needs a life when you've got a big TV?



(btw, that Circe I've linked to above appears to be for sale. there's one in the NGV that I've always liked. if anyone's looking for a nice stocking filler for me this Christmas...)

I think I should give up blogging. there are so many good blogs out there now, as a random surf through blogger's next blog button shows, that no one could ever read them all.

(plus a few that are probably not good blogs but demonstrate that a random search turns up random posts, like an encounter with Erik Estrada and a fishing blog.

plus the obligatory NaNoWriMo participant

and an advertising blog. I could go on...

why French women don't get fat? I'll bloody well tell you why; they all live up five flights of quaint, steep stairs. they have no lift. they climb said stairs three times a day. my calves hurt. also, they drink much coffee and smoke several packs of cigarettes a day. they all die of lung cancer at 34, before they can get old and wrinkly and fat.

yesterday I saw a woman who made ugg boots look good. also two pre-teen lovers (in the sense that they were in love, that's all) who were all dewy and rosy-cheeked and golden haired and impeccably dressed, talking together in the Luxembourg gardens like an old married couple. must be paris in the autumn.

look, it isn't much of a job. I only work one day a week. and my little column summarising interesting snippets from around the world isn't Pulitzer prize stuff. but I like it. I don't want to lose it. so I'm not sure whether to be amused or impressed that I got 90 per cent of the way through my 100-word article about petrol direct before I got to the bit about 4x lead fuels and started to wonder: is this for real? I think the plutonium petrol gives it away...

OK, I'm laughing. I still have my job.

a white giraffe.

the text says its legs are brown; maybe they're just muddy?

rental site

sublet.com paris

luxembourg gardens

small montmarte

converted shop montmartre not emailed

17th floor 15th a.

stuart highway

yet another not emailed yet

chris's studio montmartre

canal st martin - not emailed yet

listening to: Aaron Neville, Louisiana 1927
tasting: the warmth and musk of Mt Gay Rum
remembering: the streets of New Orleans, the faded timber buildings, the hanging gardens, the glimpses of something secret behind the streetscape, the every-night-party craziness of Bourbon St, the concrete-floored expanses of the largest convention centre I've ever seen (now filled with desperate people), the Aladdin's cave of the secondhand shops, the finery of the lace shops where I bought the shawl I married in, the dark end of town where the Goths came out at night, the graveyards, the huge mansions that shouldn't really have existed in this modern day and age, an art gallery with a glass collection fitting for the setting of The Glass Menagerie.

and wondering when the tears will come for a city I loved.

phileas fogg site

This spacious (700 sq ft/70 m2), sunny apt is located in the trendy Canal St Martin area, in the 10th district

EUR500 / 1br - *** PARIS: Charming Apartment to rent -- fully furnished *** Montmartre

A large bright furnished full 1-bedroom apartment available in Montmartre.
Per Month, per week, or weekend. Per month 1200 Euros,

social science data

video game movies (mention clive's blog collision detection)

christopher walken for President? if this wasn't surely a joke, I'd have to consider obtaining US citizenship so I could vote for him.

heard this a while back and didn't think of it again until I saw a reference to it in Quarterly Essay, of all places.

the underwear goes inside the pants

London, subway train: "what was that noise?"
"probably just the Tuesday morning bomb"
"oh, cool, back to the sports pages then..."

after a short break due to administrivia, I'm doing a little work again; filling up lots of spare 15-minute-blocks with quick net searches, that kind of thing.

completely unrelated, am I the only one who gets annoyed when queues for banks and (at the market) donuts line up ACROSS instead of ALONG the footpath? my new hobby is standing at the back of the donut line in a horizontal instead of vertical formation, if you know what I mean, and gradually moving it to the kerb where it's out of the way.

a blog by a US staff sergeant in Iraq, complete with photo of six-fingered Iraqi kid, if it's real

a british bobby's blog. well at least it's something different.

stafflist

real estate lust #2

yar boo sucks to Hotmail, who have locked me out of my email address on the first attempt to get in. this is an account I've had for seven years, using my full name, no numbers or letters etc. I have no idea why it locked me out; but it's not allowing me to go for the secret question option, which I'm sure I had set up. so that's that. end of email address. end of all the mail that's in there. end of several URLs I had registered to that address (I can retrieve those, at great pain to the management).

property lust #1

property lust #2

final proof that the Internet is really just here so we can fart about: stuffonmycat.com

.
realistically by 2050 we would expect to be able to download your mind into a machine, so when you die it's not a major career problem

unless, of course, you're Paris Hilton.

how quickly they forget dept:

went into work today to meet an editor. she wasn't there when I arrived. I checked with a passing reporter, whom I'll call K, that I had the right office, mentioning that the editor was expecting me. K and I don't really know each other, but we have spoken and introduced ourselves long ago while at a press conference. after that she pretty much ignored me.

so I'm sitting there, checking out the books on the editor's table, wondering if she's forgotten my appointment, when through the door comes the sound of K whispering on the phone. she's calling security!. of course I couldn't hear every word, but the gist was that she wanted to know if the editor had allowed anyone in to see her (no, because I used my pass because I'm still on staff), and that there was someone in said editor's office, just sitting there.

K, as far as I can tell, doesn't share my sense of humour. so I couldn't lean over the divider and say "are you dobbing me in to security?". I pulled out my pass, put it on the table and waited to be nabbed. sadly, the editor turned up before I could enjoy the wonders of my workplace's security system. but really! why didn't K just ask me who I was? (of course I used to have long hair and now look like a slightly scary lesbian with my chemo regrowth. but is that any reason to call the dogs in? glad I don't look, like, Muslim or something...)

the most amazing apartment: part of a competition for the coolest, smallest apartment.

now I really want an apartment in New York...

"I'm makin' a list, I'm checkin' it twice..."

as you would, if you were about to have a midlife crisis. my best friend turns 40 next month. I turn 39 this week. so I've decided that the best plan is to work out what will really, really bug me when I turn 40, and do something about it now. kind of to soften the blow.

enjoying: a baby who sleeps for at least two hours a day.

blog angst: I have a number of blogs now. one I'm using for work. it's probably incomprehensible to outsiders, but it does nicely for storing links and allowing me to work from anywhere. another is related to the pub, which is getting the odd weekend tenant and a new fridge and stove. one or two are quite dead, having outlived their usefulness for studies and inquiries into internet life that I don't have time for right now. and maybe a coupla others I don't like to talk about here, as they're special spaces for special purposes. it's a pity in a way, as some of the names are cool and deserve use - I particularly like flaneur.blogspot.com

and there's this one here, which has faded in the face of all this specialised blogging, and my addiction to other outlets for expression, ie discussion groups, emails to actual friends. but I really am quite fond of it, and willing to give it another go. there might be a little cross-posting involved, but we'll see.

so in the great tradition of public diaries, I'll start with explaining what the hell has been going on with me lately.

Kylie and I now have two things in common: a birthdate and breast cancer. and like her, I'd like to say:

"I was so looking forward to bringing the Showgirl Jenny tour to Australian audiences, and am sorry to have to disappoint my fans. Nevertheless hopefully all will work out fine and Ill be back with you all again soon."

back from two weeks in Hong Kong and Thailand, and a week of jet lag and upset tummy (as you do after travelling in Asia). what do you say about a week on the beach in a gorgeous resort? boring to the outsider yet deeply satisfying to the participants.

in HK we went to Felix, where the duck ruined me for any future duck dishes I might eat anywhere else, not excluding Flower Drum's Peking Duck and the Peking duck I once ate in Seattle at Microsoft's expense. Felix reminded me of the restaurant - what was it called? Hades? in The Matrix. the most dramatic, and beautiful-person (aka Eurotrash)-filled eatery I've ever been to, as well.

back home in lovely autumnal Melbourne, a movie was being shot in our street, at possibly the only grungy student house left in North Fitzroy. I kept meaning to take my cute baby down there to chat up the makeup/catering types and find out if it was the Nic Cage movie, but I got too busy being ill and missed out my one chance at celebrity stalking.

a sniff of work has arisen, but may yet be snatched away. it's not often that fully home-based, internet-researchable, well-paid freelance gigs fall into the lap of the convalescent mother of a toddler. wish me luck with that.

and a memo to the drivers and pedestrians of Melbourne, who resemble the moped riders of Koh Samui (Thailands highest road fatality province) in their apparent death-wish: you are not immortal. it will not hurt you to walk 25 metres to the crossing and back. and the indicators on your brand-new Audi probably work, I imagine. you won't wear them out, I promise.

sorta like this, only darker and the windows are the wrong shape. I like the tin roof, though.

sorta like this, only darker and the windows are the wrong shape. I like the tin roof, though.

sorta like this, only darker and the windows are the wrong shape. I like the tin roof, though.

latest thing to dream about, just because I can't have it: the priest's apartment in the Fifth Element.

I want it. or something like it. a New York apartment with three high old windows for a south wall, a jumble of bookshelves, couches and beds covered with brocade throws. It should be somewhere in Chelsea or Greenwich Village, at the back of the building. just one room, but large, with a bathroom and kitchenette will be fine.

(off to check down the back of the couch for a spare $750,000 or so...)

and yes, I know I already own some charming old real estate.

everyone else is blogging about Terry Schiavo, so I will too.

the fact is, both sides are wrong. it's wrong to keep her alive in brain-dead condition with no hope of recovery. she has less consciousness than a mouse.

and it's really wrong to just stop feeding her and giving her water. no way would I want that to happen to me. if she was a mouse, or a horse, or a dog, there would be nice yummy floaty drugs to send her off. that's what should happen, if she didn't want to be kept in this state.

is it child abuse to supervise play and blog at the same time? is that DHS I can hear knocking?

ah well, so be it.

now, am I the only one who doesn't think Desperate Housewives is sheer genius? who is, in fact, a bit bored by it? I expect I AM the only one who is still watching it because her husband is. I dunno, it just all seems a bit easy. it sets out to subvert the dominant paradigm with all the originality of Bewitched, as far as I can tell. but I guess I'm alone?

otoh, this is funny.

there I was, innocently surfing Daypop for the first time in ages, when I clicked on a link labelled Hunter S. Thompson, expecting to see some new exploit of the wild man who invented gonzo.

he's dead. suicide. wow. I suppose it fits the profile, but he always seemed so full of life.

what is it with bike shops?

why, when you take your bike in with four days to do the work, do they ring you at 2pm the day before you were going to pick it up first thing in the morning, inform you of extra work needed, say that extra work is going to take longer and even suggest you'd be better off buying a new bike on some shonky payoff scheme they happen to have? like you'd be buying the bike from them. they don't even sell the type I like.

I know I'm spending too much on repairing an old bike. but I like it. it's set up for me, and comfortable. I've just spent (well, we've just spent) too much on a bike trailer to tow the baby in, and that extra couple of hundred for a new bike is a bit much.

in the end I had to say "this isn't working out, don't touch the bike, I'll come and get it in the morning" to get the workshop manager to suddenly come on the phone and say it'd be ready, with the extra work done.

the thing is, this happens at every bike shop I go to. I've lost count of the Saturday mornings I've stood staring at helmets while a repair is finished on a bike I left a week before. and I need my bike. I ride it whenever I can, and I'm hanging out to try out the new trailer.

was going to buy helmet for the baby, panniers, etc, etc at the new shop. now I'll just keep looking for one that understands customer service, I suppose.

more koh samui

a koh samui place

and nice but expensive

travel shopping ex hk: hyatt bali, assorted thai

monty python. because I'm not feeling very funny myself.