In Central Victoria, water is scarce. No one waters a garden; the streets have a tired, dusty feel, and even when purple-grey clouds mass overhead, there's only a sense of foreboding, not hope: thunderstorms also bring lightning, fire.
This hot day, I drive to the Castlemaine public pool from my hideaway just outside town. Most reasonable-sized towns in Victoria have pools like this, relics from the 1950s and early 1960s, when the fever of the 1956 Olympics and a commitment to the country as the soul of Australia still lingered.
Like most of those pools now, the Castlemaine pool is rundown. The change rooms are open-plan and beaten-up; the showers are cold overhead faucets that must save thousands of litres a year by discouraging lingerers. The pool is surrounded by concrete and fenced in with a high chain link fence. It's only open from 11 am to 6pm, and then only in summer; a sign on the entrance booth informs visitors that "no volunteers=no kiosk. It is not the lifeguards' job to sell you lollies."
Not encouraging. But it's over 35 degrees in the shade where I parked. A swim is only $2.50; I pays my money and I takes my chances.
My natural habitat, aquatically speaking, is the Fitzroy Pool; not all that flash in the change room department itself, admittedly, but well-used, open 10-14 hours a day all year and possessed of little extras like a gym and a hot water system.
Today I'm wearing my most serious bathers; a blue Speedo-style onepiece, with a seasoned pair of goggles and tight silicone swim cap. The agenda, as it always is, is two kilometres; twenty laps of a 50-metre "Olympic" pool like this.
School holidays end tomorrow, and the local kids are making the best of it. Little knots of teenagers float inthe pool; parents sit on the edges, feet dangling in the water. Nothing to do with me. Every 50 metres I blow air out and roll, planting my feet firmly against the wall to push off, keeping up a steady pace.
But the children get in the way. They meander across the single lap lane on their way from the north side of the pool to the south side; they hang off the flimsy lane ropes like drunken acrobats; they dive in just as I'm approaching, forcing sudden application of the brakes. I start to watch them. At the deep end, where the bottom drops sharply away, a round-limbed pubescent girl in bright blue is kicking her way back to the surface, trailing a long dark plait of hair which looks heavy in the water. A pair of long-legged girls in scallop-cut shorts have attached themselves to the lane rope nearby, kicking idly and leaning on the rope as if it was a backyard fence between them. Boys turning into men dive for the bottom, not showing the effort as they surface. At the shallow end, two mothers and two children hold hands, forming a wispy circle of four that reminds me of Matisse's dancers against their background of blue.
I try to maintain my straight lines, swimming up and down in the space reserved for me alone, feeling lightheaded from breathing too deeply, concentrating on my newly corrected stroke as I do at the Fitzroy Pool, where serious laps are the main game and the frolickers are pushed to the edges. The unheated pool is chilly and therefore, despite the million floating particles suspended in the water, feels fresh on my skin. A diving child undercuts the lane, joining a school of submariners, and I am reminded of the darting fish in the Yeerung River on Victoria's east coast, where I swam at the New Year.
Here I am the queer fish. I am reminded of Douglas Adams, who suggested that dolphins were the smarter of humans and dolphins, because we invented the digital watch and airports, while all they did was muck about in the water having a good time. Am I having a good time? I swim on.
Two kilometres done, to the metre, I get out and walk across hot concrete to the "ladies only" change room, the soles of my feet burning, nondescript pop songs flooding out of the tinny public address speakers, songs that sound like the past, filling the summer air.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
things don't seem to be going well for my aspirational friend. his blog of affirmations is now a spam blog offering cheap loans. pity. I was kind of hoping he'd get the big house, the fast car and the beautiful wife.
I am still not Married Johnny Depp.
so this affirmation thing is bs, decided once and for all.
I am still not Married Johnny Depp.
so this affirmation thing is bs, decided once and for all.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Safari on Mac and Javascript, they are not friends. I keep not being able to use drop-down menus, and now the draft function of Blogger is crashing Safari. and anyway, the draft from New York that I wanted, the one about how I used to adore Dave Eggers and his mob unconditionally, but the turning away of my disappointed four-year-old in the rain from the Superhero Supply Shop has brought about the inevitable decline in my opinion. Yes you're run by volunteers, folks, but you *could* put your hours and notices of unusual closures on your site. and if, perchance, a small person travels 45 minutes by foot and subway in the rain to visit your store and you're closed at a time that you're usually open, and you (meaning a young woman who I shall refrain from describing because I can't be kind about her), you could also let him in to look around for a minute or two.
if anyone else finds themselves locked out of the superhero supply shop by a heartless b*tch (oops, see what I mean?), you might want to look on the other side of the road a few blocks towards the station, where there is a fine, non-volunteer, for-profit, comic book and figurine shop which will happily sell your small child a light sabre and a Spiderman comic, thus saving the day.
so this is post 1921. will I make 2008 in 2008? not if my *&^# hand doesn't get better. a minor but significant - to me as a writer anyway - side effect of the cancer surgery was the loss of the lymph nodes in my right arm, and some subsequent swelling and discomfort. not huge, but enough to bother me. and of course handwriting and typing make it worse. so, I suspect, does swimming 2k a day whenever I can. but it's not stopping me. I think, though, that it makes me subconsciously reluctant to pick up pen or keyboard, makes me feel that what I'm writing has to be prejudged as worth the discomfort and risk of making my hand worse.
if anyone else finds themselves locked out of the superhero supply shop by a heartless b*tch (oops, see what I mean?), you might want to look on the other side of the road a few blocks towards the station, where there is a fine, non-volunteer, for-profit, comic book and figurine shop which will happily sell your small child a light sabre and a Spiderman comic, thus saving the day.
so this is post 1921. will I make 2008 in 2008? not if my *&^# hand doesn't get better. a minor but significant - to me as a writer anyway - side effect of the cancer surgery was the loss of the lymph nodes in my right arm, and some subsequent swelling and discomfort. not huge, but enough to bother me. and of course handwriting and typing make it worse. so, I suspect, does swimming 2k a day whenever I can. but it's not stopping me. I think, though, that it makes me subconsciously reluctant to pick up pen or keyboard, makes me feel that what I'm writing has to be prejudged as worth the discomfort and risk of making my hand worse.
nothing on email. coffee not kicked in yet so randomly went to Blogger and clicked on a recently updated blog (they flash past like express trains these days).
and found this - the 2013-dated affirmation blog of a man who is probably in Indonesia or Malaysia or similar, probably has nothing (particularly not a house like this or a woman like this), but who clearly has some strange cargo-cult belief that by putting these affirmations out there online (and you'll note that each one appears to be hand-typed rather than cut and pasted, because there are typos), he will get It All.
and who knows? maybe he will. maybe I'll try it.
I am Married Johnny Depp
I am Married Johnny Depp..
(waits)
nah. nothin'.
and found this - the 2013-dated affirmation blog of a man who is probably in Indonesia or Malaysia or similar, probably has nothing (particularly not a house like this or a woman like this), but who clearly has some strange cargo-cult belief that by putting these affirmations out there online (and you'll note that each one appears to be hand-typed rather than cut and pasted, because there are typos), he will get It All.
and who knows? maybe he will. maybe I'll try it.
I am Married Johnny Depp
I am Married Johnny Depp..
(waits)
nah. nothin'.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
two posts to put up on one day; and as it's "a poor sort of memory that works only backwards", I'll do today's now and the one from two weeks ago later.
Jet lag. Like a dream of being awake in the middle of the night; but it's bright and trams and bikes are rolling by. I wake up at 6.30 am. It's not ligt yet; it could be midnight (it is in Vegas).
By seven, the sun is just rising. I keep it behind me as I set out on the ride, the same ride I always do in the morning. Today, though, it's different. Two weeks off these shores have disconnected me from the familiarity of landscape, the rhythm of days and I see anew with the clarity of an acid trip. It's been raining, and I'm in love with the sudden green of the park, the tang of eucalyptus in the air. All around me, people are taking this morning, Melbourne, here and now, for granted, but I arrive at the Vic Market at 7.30 with the surprise of a witness to a resurrection. I buy a coffee - proper coffee, which is unobtainable in America - and a donut - smaller than my own head and freshly made, I note to a friend later - and make my way in the anonymity of a scruffy bike rider to a chrome chair at a chrome table.
On the way I collect a free postcard advertising an anime exhibition, and what looks like a small cartoon/newsletter zine, photocopied and stuffed into the postcard stand. Only when I sit down, bite into the soft dough and hot jam and start reading, do I realise that it's a piece of provocation, a pretend newsletter from a pretend refugee action group, advising the good people of North Melbourne that they must take in refugees this month, and then learnt to slaughter sheep halal-style, to cover their heads and silence their women. Who would believe this was real? who would be turned against other humans by such transparent trash? I don't know, but a hot flush of anger invades my ghostly disconnected self; I leave my coffee, walk inside, take the rest of the newsletters off the stand and chuck them in the recycling bin. I wouldn't do this in America; I don't think I would. This is part of what it means to be home; to care, and to act, on how things are.
That was yesterday; today I rode out even earlier, at 6.30, when the only sign of dawn was a small crack of yellow sky hovering to the west. There was a storm coming (now, at 2pm, it's blowing all the trees outside down in a synchronised fawning bow, and people shouldn't go outside); the storm somehow coloured the earliest light of the sun so that the clouds were an inverted dunescape, red glowing sands on the peaks and dark purple greys in the valleys. Over the sky-desert a small flashing white light travelled tiny; a plane moving fast, but small and out of place in the angry sky. By 7.30, when I was almost home again and the sun was rising, a nuclear explosion coming up from the east, the city was a jagged mirror reflecting yellows and pinks against a purple western haze; the white trunks of the trees were tinged pink and the green of their leaves glowed with radiation.
Jet lag. Like a dream of being awake in the middle of the night; but it's bright and trams and bikes are rolling by. I wake up at 6.30 am. It's not ligt yet; it could be midnight (it is in Vegas).
By seven, the sun is just rising. I keep it behind me as I set out on the ride, the same ride I always do in the morning. Today, though, it's different. Two weeks off these shores have disconnected me from the familiarity of landscape, the rhythm of days and I see anew with the clarity of an acid trip. It's been raining, and I'm in love with the sudden green of the park, the tang of eucalyptus in the air. All around me, people are taking this morning, Melbourne, here and now, for granted, but I arrive at the Vic Market at 7.30 with the surprise of a witness to a resurrection. I buy a coffee - proper coffee, which is unobtainable in America - and a donut - smaller than my own head and freshly made, I note to a friend later - and make my way in the anonymity of a scruffy bike rider to a chrome chair at a chrome table.
On the way I collect a free postcard advertising an anime exhibition, and what looks like a small cartoon/newsletter zine, photocopied and stuffed into the postcard stand. Only when I sit down, bite into the soft dough and hot jam and start reading, do I realise that it's a piece of provocation, a pretend newsletter from a pretend refugee action group, advising the good people of North Melbourne that they must take in refugees this month, and then learnt to slaughter sheep halal-style, to cover their heads and silence their women. Who would believe this was real? who would be turned against other humans by such transparent trash? I don't know, but a hot flush of anger invades my ghostly disconnected self; I leave my coffee, walk inside, take the rest of the newsletters off the stand and chuck them in the recycling bin. I wouldn't do this in America; I don't think I would. This is part of what it means to be home; to care, and to act, on how things are.
That was yesterday; today I rode out even earlier, at 6.30, when the only sign of dawn was a small crack of yellow sky hovering to the west. There was a storm coming (now, at 2pm, it's blowing all the trees outside down in a synchronised fawning bow, and people shouldn't go outside); the storm somehow coloured the earliest light of the sun so that the clouds were an inverted dunescape, red glowing sands on the peaks and dark purple greys in the valleys. Over the sky-desert a small flashing white light travelled tiny; a plane moving fast, but small and out of place in the angry sky. By 7.30, when I was almost home again and the sun was rising, a nuclear explosion coming up from the east, the city was a jagged mirror reflecting yellows and pinks against a purple western haze; the white trunks of the trees were tinged pink and the green of their leaves glowed with radiation.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
oh hooray. another movie. my average must be approaching one a quarter. and, strangely enough given my stated preferences and tendency to hide my eyes behind my hands when there's blood on the screen, another very violent one. No Country for Old Men; you don't need me to tell you it's good; none of the reviews I've read, however, noted the originality of the dialogue and the depth of characterisation even for minor players. seeing that has certainly moved Cormac McCarthy's The Road up in my 100-book pile of to-reads.
speaking of: have embarked on the second reading (25 years later) of Henry Handel Richardson's Australia Felix. I'm gradually coming out of denial about the gold rush being quite an interesting period; well, you try growing up with compulsory weekly excursions to Sovereign Hill and general Ballarat gold-obsession. yesterday I poked around some abandoned mine shafts at Yapeen; it's strange to think of all the people that once swarmed over that empty bush; I even caught myself scanning the ground for that fat gold nugget that several thousand people before me had missed. but it wasn't there. :(
and just btw, as comments are closed, but I know that Watcher is a well-read blog: this Jennifer Sinclair is not me. I think I've said it before. but I'd just like to say it again, as Watcher has pretty much summed up my general objections to the article in question. but not to my sharing a name (almost) with the author.
and the real question of the day: should I start another blog? this one is kind of personal ramblings; my current writing blog is just writing ramblings; I'm thinking of one where I could post completed works. yes, the ratio of rejections to acceptances is starting to drive me crazy; I'm in danger of missing the days when the ravenous Age published every word I could bash out. not that that was necessarily a good thing.
or maybe I should just roll all the blogs together and start labelling. so those interested in my surfing progress could skip the whinges about Melbourne uni, and anyone who cares to read my writing could avoid accounts of how cute my child is. have I mentioned how cute my child is?
:P
speaking of: have embarked on the second reading (25 years later) of Henry Handel Richardson's Australia Felix. I'm gradually coming out of denial about the gold rush being quite an interesting period; well, you try growing up with compulsory weekly excursions to Sovereign Hill and general Ballarat gold-obsession. yesterday I poked around some abandoned mine shafts at Yapeen; it's strange to think of all the people that once swarmed over that empty bush; I even caught myself scanning the ground for that fat gold nugget that several thousand people before me had missed. but it wasn't there. :(
and just btw, as comments are closed, but I know that Watcher is a well-read blog: this Jennifer Sinclair is not me. I think I've said it before. but I'd just like to say it again, as Watcher has pretty much summed up my general objections to the article in question. but not to my sharing a name (almost) with the author.
and the real question of the day: should I start another blog? this one is kind of personal ramblings; my current writing blog is just writing ramblings; I'm thinking of one where I could post completed works. yes, the ratio of rejections to acceptances is starting to drive me crazy; I'm in danger of missing the days when the ravenous Age published every word I could bash out. not that that was necessarily a good thing.
or maybe I should just roll all the blogs together and start labelling. so those interested in my surfing progress could skip the whinges about Melbourne uni, and anyone who cares to read my writing could avoid accounts of how cute my child is. have I mentioned how cute my child is?
:P
Friday, January 25, 2008
Fridays are Mummy Days at the moment. Today seemed a particularly long one, possibly due to the prone form of Daddy lying in the bedroom having a sick day off work while I cleaned, cooked and amused the child. Fortunately there was a visit from the grandparents to break up the uninterrupted joy of motherhood.
reading: David Sedaris. If I'd been born gay and Greek in the American midwest, I could be achingly funny too.
so after the grandparents were seen off, the kid was in bed and the husband driven out of my space by my objection to his turning the a/c off while I was working in the kitchen, I thought I'd top off the day with a trip to the supermarket. and as often happens, once out of the house there was no stopping me. First the Vegie Bar for good vegan apple crumble and surly service, then the lovely Brunswick St Bookstore: le cour de la citie, c'est commerce, or similar, as Sedaris would mangle it. I bought another of his books - just finished Me Talk Pretty One Day - among others, and took some schadenfreudian (???) pleasure in coming across a book of poetry by my ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend, the one before me. now, I have mostly given up poetry, or at least attempting to publish it. and she sure should have. there were poems in there about my dog, or anyway the one she passed on to the ex and me. then there was one dedicated to the actual ex, with salacious lines about thrusting. erk. no names, no pack drill, but erk. I still have a tape of this woman describing the ex as something unprintable - she saw fit to leave the message on my answerphone, so I saw fit to keep the tape - I guess time must have softened her view. although, you know what? she was right the first time.
reading: David Sedaris. If I'd been born gay and Greek in the American midwest, I could be achingly funny too.
so after the grandparents were seen off, the kid was in bed and the husband driven out of my space by my objection to his turning the a/c off while I was working in the kitchen, I thought I'd top off the day with a trip to the supermarket. and as often happens, once out of the house there was no stopping me. First the Vegie Bar for good vegan apple crumble and surly service, then the lovely Brunswick St Bookstore: le cour de la citie, c'est commerce, or similar, as Sedaris would mangle it. I bought another of his books - just finished Me Talk Pretty One Day - among others, and took some schadenfreudian (???) pleasure in coming across a book of poetry by my ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend, the one before me. now, I have mostly given up poetry, or at least attempting to publish it. and she sure should have. there were poems in there about my dog, or anyway the one she passed on to the ex and me. then there was one dedicated to the actual ex, with salacious lines about thrusting. erk. no names, no pack drill, but erk. I still have a tape of this woman describing the ex as something unprintable - she saw fit to leave the message on my answerphone, so I saw fit to keep the tape - I guess time must have softened her view. although, you know what? she was right the first time.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
What do you do when you've tidied up your study, packed away all the 2007 calendars, re-sorted the unread books piles, written a list of places to submit work and connected up the new keyboard you got for Christmas?
Right. You blog. Consider this my official procrastination blog for 2008.
Year began well with a brilliant camping week at Cape Conran, though there wasn't much surf (didn't I mention I was learning to surf? maybe that's because I haven't been blogging for months). It has not progressed all that well, though, with the sudden death of my cousin, who has a three-year-old son and was one year older than me. Of course it won't sink in until the funeral; and of course it's wrong to think this way, as I'm alive; but her death has hit me that little bit harder because her boy is now in the situation I was afraid my son would be in when I was diagnosed with cancer three years ago. The parallels in our lives are strong; same age, late motherhood via IVF - but this is one parallel I didn't foresee. And there will be a funeral.
These are issues I might not have blogged before; among my new years' resolutions is to consolidate all my thinking. so bloggety blog may reactivate in 08.
other resolutions include not assuming the worst of people's motivation until I'm sure of them (springing from a few times recently I've flown off the handle unfairly) and to take all my vitamins. health and fitness are under control, due to my obsessive nature; in the past three months there have been 3 (three) days I have not ridden my bike, and I'm averaging 6 ks a week in the pool. and there's the surfing, which seems more likely to damage me in some violent way than to make me fitter.
and of course there is the question of writing/work, in an environment where there is plenty of paid work. with one uni subject to go and three days' kindy, I could easily start freelancing again. or I could get my teeth into the writing. I would prefer the latter; which brings me back to the big study-tidy, which has given me a relatively clean and clear space not full of kids' toys, washing and other distractions. possibly that can be a final resolution; to keep this space available and active for what I'm really trying to do, as opposed to the things that make claims on my time.
Right. You blog. Consider this my official procrastination blog for 2008.
Year began well with a brilliant camping week at Cape Conran, though there wasn't much surf (didn't I mention I was learning to surf? maybe that's because I haven't been blogging for months). It has not progressed all that well, though, with the sudden death of my cousin, who has a three-year-old son and was one year older than me. Of course it won't sink in until the funeral; and of course it's wrong to think this way, as I'm alive; but her death has hit me that little bit harder because her boy is now in the situation I was afraid my son would be in when I was diagnosed with cancer three years ago. The parallels in our lives are strong; same age, late motherhood via IVF - but this is one parallel I didn't foresee. And there will be a funeral.
These are issues I might not have blogged before; among my new years' resolutions is to consolidate all my thinking. so bloggety blog may reactivate in 08.
other resolutions include not assuming the worst of people's motivation until I'm sure of them (springing from a few times recently I've flown off the handle unfairly) and to take all my vitamins. health and fitness are under control, due to my obsessive nature; in the past three months there have been 3 (three) days I have not ridden my bike, and I'm averaging 6 ks a week in the pool. and there's the surfing, which seems more likely to damage me in some violent way than to make me fitter.
and of course there is the question of writing/work, in an environment where there is plenty of paid work. with one uni subject to go and three days' kindy, I could easily start freelancing again. or I could get my teeth into the writing. I would prefer the latter; which brings me back to the big study-tidy, which has given me a relatively clean and clear space not full of kids' toys, washing and other distractions. possibly that can be a final resolution; to keep this space available and active for what I'm really trying to do, as opposed to the things that make claims on my time.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
ah, the things that drive one back to blogging.
like being alone in the house after 9.30, so it's too late to call anyone...and not strictly alone, as husband and kid are both in bed...and really, really wanting to rave about the movie you've just seen...so of course you think "I'll blog it".
I've always had time for David Cronenberg's particular weirdness. And ever since Lord of the Rings, Viggo Mortenson has been pretty high up my celebrity safe list. Saw A History of Violence, liked it. and tonight, it was Eastern Promises. Now, I'm not a big thriller watcher. I don't go for violence for its own sake. I admit I watched some of the gorier bits through my fingers or not at all. but this was a Good Movie. It didn't rush the plot. it wasn't confusing. it had enough "aha" moments to make the viewer feel clever. It had Naomi Watts. it didn't go for the easy solutions. And Viggo, well, apart from the deeply homoerotic nude-fight-in-the-sauna (deeply violent too, as eroticism can often be), even apart from that, he played the part just far enough - enigmatic Russian thugs are a movie cliche, but I forgot the others when he was onscreen (apart from one Pulp Fiction moment involving sunglasses in a diner.)
go see it. it's good.
like being alone in the house after 9.30, so it's too late to call anyone...and not strictly alone, as husband and kid are both in bed...and really, really wanting to rave about the movie you've just seen...so of course you think "I'll blog it".
I've always had time for David Cronenberg's particular weirdness. And ever since Lord of the Rings, Viggo Mortenson has been pretty high up my celebrity safe list. Saw A History of Violence, liked it. and tonight, it was Eastern Promises. Now, I'm not a big thriller watcher. I don't go for violence for its own sake. I admit I watched some of the gorier bits through my fingers or not at all. but this was a Good Movie. It didn't rush the plot. it wasn't confusing. it had enough "aha" moments to make the viewer feel clever. It had Naomi Watts. it didn't go for the easy solutions. And Viggo, well, apart from the deeply homoerotic nude-fight-in-the-sauna (deeply violent too, as eroticism can often be), even apart from that, he played the part just far enough - enigmatic Russian thugs are a movie cliche, but I forgot the others when he was onscreen (apart from one Pulp Fiction moment involving sunglasses in a diner.)
go see it. it's good.
Monday, September 10, 2007
February? really? if it didn't contain a lot from when I blogged ten times a day, I'd let it die a natural death.
what have I done since February? got back on my bike. doubled my swimming session distance. tried to surf (and have the sandpapered knees to prove it). not read enough books. completed my honours thesis. set up a rental flat, which is supposed to be my mini-job. worked a little, but not much. made a snowman out of the last dregs of ice because I'd promised my son snow.
it all doesn't sound like much of a life, and you'd think there would be time in there to blog, but there hasn't been - I don't think it's that I've had nothing to say, because I email my friends and I am still, but not as much, writing fiction. maybe it's because of the fiction; if I have an idea it goes into the notebooks these days. or is it the home-with-kid thing kicking in?
whatever it is, I racked up nearly two thousand posts before Feb, and then nothing, and that only inane Britney raving. my latest media annoyance: the British couple who are accused by the Portuguese cops of killing their own daughter. can anyone say Azaria?
(oh, and PS: I got to the comic book show and Arkley. and I was converted: Arkley was not just a man with huge canvases and an airbrush. he had composition, themes and incredible textures.) It's still on in Queensland until September 16 if you're up there.
what have I done since February? got back on my bike. doubled my swimming session distance. tried to surf (and have the sandpapered knees to prove it). not read enough books. completed my honours thesis. set up a rental flat, which is supposed to be my mini-job. worked a little, but not much. made a snowman out of the last dregs of ice because I'd promised my son snow.
it all doesn't sound like much of a life, and you'd think there would be time in there to blog, but there hasn't been - I don't think it's that I've had nothing to say, because I email my friends and I am still, but not as much, writing fiction. maybe it's because of the fiction; if I have an idea it goes into the notebooks these days. or is it the home-with-kid thing kicking in?
whatever it is, I racked up nearly two thousand posts before Feb, and then nothing, and that only inane Britney raving. my latest media annoyance: the British couple who are accused by the Portuguese cops of killing their own daughter. can anyone say Azaria?
(oh, and PS: I got to the comic book show and Arkley. and I was converted: Arkley was not just a man with huge canvases and an airbrush. he had composition, themes and incredible textures.) It's still on in Queensland until September 16 if you're up there.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
actually, the comic book show is still on, until 25/2. so now I have to choose between that and the Arkley at the NGV. no time to do both.
I'm on Blogger New, whether I like it or not. Noticed in the process that I have made 1,906 posts to this blog so far, even though I treat it like an ugly cousin to be kept in the basement these days. (all complaints about that comment to jennysinclairATgmail.com please - I've realised lately that I'm missing out on criticism of me because I have been inactive in the blogosphere)
anyway, the reason Iblogged on was not to upgrade to Blogger Fabulous, but to post a link to this: a comics web site written by, I have to say, the most geeky comic wonk you can imagine - Kevin Patrick's Comics Down Under. I am writing up a report that includes the media coverage of his exhibition at the State Library last year and am very sorry I missed it. and when I looked at his blog, it started off with a discussion of the influence of Spanish/South American culture on Australian comics. Brilliant. You have to admire that level of commitment to a topic: the comic, the whole comic and nothing but the comic.
btw, if this new Blogger Wonderful is so good, why do I still have to hand-code my links on the Mac? Hmmm?
anyway, the reason I
btw, if this new Blogger Wonderful is so good, why do I still have to hand-code my links on the Mac? Hmmm?
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
the litmusphere; an online version of a print magazine I was in a while back. go and surf around; lots of slightly odd writers and illustrators from Melbourne and beyond.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
seeing as it's now compulsory, I finally went and looked at YouTube. and I'm sure there are gems in there. but so far I've watched three foolish-dancing videos, one commercial but sexy rock video, one incomprehensible video, and one video of a dog of the same breed as mine playing soccer. there was also one of a dog "doing his business" but I can see that for free at home. the "channels" seem dominated by what used to be called webcamgirls. I know, I should get in there and try to Understand. and I can see what a great time-waster the whole thing could be. when I find a compelling use for YouTube, I'll let you know. citizen journalists? bring it on. global slide nights? I don't think so.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
from the department of environment's PR machine:
The world could achieve significant reductions in greenhouse gases simply by changing the ‘standby’ power standards for household appliances like TVs and computers, Minister for the Environment and Heritage, Senator Ian Campbell, told an international forum in Zurich today -- media release attached.
Senator Campbell is at an international Ministerial climate change summit in Zurich this week to informally discuss ways to address climate change and help set the agenda for the annual meeting of the United Nation’s Climate Change Convention in Nairobi in November.
(ends)
hahahahahaha! or you could RATIFY KYOTO!!!
excuse me while I go turn on the electric fan. I must have got overexcited at the good news, and I'm feeling a bit warm.
The world could achieve significant reductions in greenhouse gases simply by changing the ‘standby’ power standards for household appliances like TVs and computers, Minister for the Environment and Heritage, Senator Ian Campbell, told an international forum in Zurich today -- media release attached.
Senator Campbell is at an international Ministerial climate change summit in Zurich this week to informally discuss ways to address climate change and help set the agenda for the annual meeting of the United Nation’s Climate Change Convention in Nairobi in November.
(ends)
hahahahahaha! or you could RATIFY KYOTO!!!
excuse me while I go turn on the electric fan. I must have got overexcited at the good news, and I'm feeling a bit warm.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
the big issue seller at the market is called Jim. I know this because he wears a name tag, and because people there greet him as Jim. he's not particularly endearing, or clean; he smokes continually and never smiles. but he's been selling at the market for years.
yesterday he came up to me and said, as usual "copy of the big issue, ma'am?". sometimes I say yes, but yesterday I said "not today, thank you," looking him in his watery old eyes. the man's skin is like crocodile leather.
tthen I watched him go over to two women, possibly a mother and daughter, with a baby in a pram. the older woman - maybe 50 - looked up at him and then went on fishing in her bag. he stood his ground. after a second I heard him repeat the pitch to the younger woman. he must have got some response then, probably a rude one, because he then said "I didn't get an answer", meaning that the first woman had simply ignored him. and I felt like slapping them, and obliquely proud of Jim for standing up for himself. he's not begging. He's politely selling on his pitch. he never insists (though sometimes he inadvertently asks twice as he does the rounds). and like anyone else, he's entitled to a polite response to a polite question in a public place.
funny where the moral high ground can be found sometimes...
yesterday he came up to me and said, as usual "copy of the big issue, ma'am?". sometimes I say yes, but yesterday I said "not today, thank you," looking him in his watery old eyes. the man's skin is like crocodile leather.
tthen I watched him go over to two women, possibly a mother and daughter, with a baby in a pram. the older woman - maybe 50 - looked up at him and then went on fishing in her bag. he stood his ground. after a second I heard him repeat the pitch to the younger woman. he must have got some response then, probably a rude one, because he then said "I didn't get an answer", meaning that the first woman had simply ignored him. and I felt like slapping them, and obliquely proud of Jim for standing up for himself. he's not begging. He's politely selling on his pitch. he never insists (though sometimes he inadvertently asks twice as he does the rounds). and like anyone else, he's entitled to a polite response to a polite question in a public place.
funny where the moral high ground can be found sometimes...
Friday, August 25, 2006
Monday, August 21, 2006
i have a strange weakness for dilapidated old houses: this is the latest target of my obsession. the lack of a photograph of the bathroom probably indicates that it is not worth laying eyes on. it's a two-hour drive from Melbourne, in the middle of nowhere. and I already have a crappy money pit
but I want it anyway.
but I want it anyway.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
| Your Personality Profile |
 You are dependable, popular, and observant. Deep and thoughtful, you are prone to moodiness. In fact, your emotions tend to influence everything you do. You are unique, creative, and expressive. You don't mind waving your freak flag every once and a while. And lucky for you, most people find your weird ways charming! |
Thursday, June 15, 2006
some more of my favourite spam sender names:
Obedient E. Dendrite
Coolness B. Shrink
Reminisced V. Pampas
I've been trying to find a gig or album by the maddeningly elusive band The Exotics since I heard them on PBS a while back: now they have a show on Saturday night, but we're having friends over and I can't go. Is it old-fashioned of me to expect that they'd have a web site or something?
seeing as I've just bought my first set of tickets to part of a symphony orchestra season - three shows, cheap seats - maybe it is. maybe these days it's cool not to be online, and I'm just too over-40 to know that.
Obedient E. Dendrite
Coolness B. Shrink
Reminisced V. Pampas
I've been trying to find a gig or album by the maddeningly elusive band The Exotics since I heard them on PBS a while back: now they have a show on Saturday night, but we're having friends over and I can't go. Is it old-fashioned of me to expect that they'd have a web site or something?
seeing as I've just bought my first set of tickets to part of a symphony orchestra season - three shows, cheap seats - maybe it is. maybe these days it's cool not to be online, and I'm just too over-40 to know that.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Friday, May 12, 2006
Thursday, May 11, 2006
this is my response to this
Dear Growing Esteem people,
Thanks for your letter of May 8, signed by Glyn Davis. In line with my commitment to not receiving unnecessary paper, could you please remove me from your mailing list for this project? While doing so, could you please correct your records; I'm surprised that a progressive university would automatically address anyone as Miss. Ms is fine, thanks.
...and I could have added, why on earth did you send me a letter and a six-page glossy foldout brochure on the latest PR spin for the university? and when will the Old Arts building get extra chairs? every semester, people sit on floors for the first three classes. and the library could do with new carpet...
Dear Growing Esteem people,
Thanks for your letter of May 8, signed by Glyn Davis. In line with my commitment to not receiving unnecessary paper, could you please remove me from your mailing list for this project? While doing so, could you please correct your records; I'm surprised that a progressive university would automatically address anyone as Miss. Ms is fine, thanks.
...and I could have added, why on earth did you send me a letter and a six-page glossy foldout brochure on the latest PR spin for the university? and when will the Old Arts building get extra chairs? every semester, people sit on floors for the first three classes. and the library could do with new carpet...
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Thursday, April 27, 2006
this beggars belief. the cover of today's Age has a pic of a forklift delivering the wrong coffin at Tullamarine.
now, I am not a military-type person. but I have a nephew in the air force, and my grandfather served in WWII. and you do not send Australian servicemen home with "contractors". You do not leave their coffins on the tarmac, or even use a forklift. you use human beings to lift the coffin straight into an undertaker's van. in fact, even if that body was some unidentified person, that person deserves better too.
the whole thing just smacks of treating a person who volunteered to die for their country as a commodity, the waste of which is to be delivered home as cheaply as possible. there should have been a soldier or dedicated dept of defence person or diplomat with the body. all the way home. sheesh, the guy's not a delivery from amazon.com. come to think of it, amazon does a better job.
now, I am not a military-type person. but I have a nephew in the air force, and my grandfather served in WWII. and you do not send Australian servicemen home with "contractors". You do not leave their coffins on the tarmac, or even use a forklift. you use human beings to lift the coffin straight into an undertaker's van. in fact, even if that body was some unidentified person, that person deserves better too.
the whole thing just smacks of treating a person who volunteered to die for their country as a commodity, the waste of which is to be delivered home as cheaply as possible. there should have been a soldier or dedicated dept of defence person or diplomat with the body. all the way home. sheesh, the guy's not a delivery from amazon.com. come to think of it, amazon does a better job.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
dear City of Yarra planning dept, and one planner in particular: this is what you don't do.. you don't send me a letter telling me that under subsection x(y)z, I "must" provide more drawings of an unclear nature. you don't reply to my email asking why the photo I sent in isn't enough information with the phrase "it is noted that". you don't suggest, when my child starts crying in the background, that we talk later. I want to sort it out now, for good. you don't try to refer me to your email reply rather than giving me a straight answer. you don't tell me, when I ask how much longer this will take that you "have 60 days to decide", a veiled threat to drag it out if I ever heard one. you certainly don't go on to then try to tell me how many other reports you have to write; not, that is, unless you really want to hear the problems I have, which are a) greater than yours, believe me, given that you sound about 21 years old, and b) won't stop me sending this information back so fast it'll make your head spin.
in general, you wake up to the fact that you are a person, you're dealing with humans and you need to engage with them, not block them.
in fact, why the hell do I have to get a planning permit for a rollerdoor anyway? because our neighbours hate us and might report us if we did what EVERYONE else does and build the stupid thing regardless of Procedure.
angry? moi? never.
in general, you wake up to the fact that you are a person, you're dealing with humans and you need to engage with them, not block them.
in fact, why the hell do I have to get a planning permit for a rollerdoor anyway? because our neighbours hate us and might report us if we did what EVERYONE else does and build the stupid thing regardless of Procedure.
angry? moi? never.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
I want to know: who makes up the names that spammers email under? my spam box (Gmail does a great job of filtering, btw) currently includes correspondence from Tundra P. Hollyhock, Boadicea Jablonksi, Jehovah Darling and the fabulous Inhumane H. Idolaters.
This is more than someone with little English trawling the dictionary for words. this is humour that even Monty Python would appreciate.
This is more than someone with little English trawling the dictionary for words. this is humour that even Monty Python would appreciate.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
can't believe we're prepared to stop media coverage of an event in a public place (the Yarra River) in order to protect media profits for one organisation. if that's the price of funding these big events with sponsorship, we shouldn't have them at all. seriously.
Monday, March 06, 2006
the Commonwealth Games are fast approaching and oops, I forgot to buy tickets. the truth is that while I'll be vaguely interested in the whole production, I don't really care. not enough to use up a rare outing on watching people sweat around a track.
and given that the paper this morning had a photo of a flying tram, for goodness' sake, I'm not sorry I'm not going to the opening ceremony, either.
and given that the paper this morning had a photo of a flying tram, for goodness' sake, I'm not sorry I'm not going to the opening ceremony, either.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
the site won't let me pinch this photo, but it's just amazing: the Canberra bushfires of three years ago.
that's it: I am officially an old fogey. having decided not to try to get tix to the Rolling Stones, partly on principle and partly because I couldn't access the Web site, I took my son to childcare down the street.
On the way back, I saw a car driving very slowly and unsteadily. the driver, of course, was texting or dialling on her mobile phone. I considered running after her and bashing on the back of the car; instead, I took her number, came home and rang the police, where I had a very nice conversation with a very nice young man named Will, who coincidentally used to live in this street. he can't do much except maybe write to her and let her know there was a report - I think that would be a start anyway - but I'm not sorry I called. my son is two years and three months old - old enough to get out onto the street alone (not that he ever has or, I hope, ever will - too young to know it's dangerous, and too short to be easily seen by a drive who's busy rtig 2 hr frnds.
hope it scares the bejesus out of her.
On the way back, I saw a car driving very slowly and unsteadily. the driver, of course, was texting or dialling on her mobile phone. I considered running after her and bashing on the back of the car; instead, I took her number, came home and rang the police, where I had a very nice conversation with a very nice young man named Will, who coincidentally used to live in this street. he can't do much except maybe write to her and let her know there was a report - I think that would be a start anyway - but I'm not sorry I called. my son is two years and three months old - old enough to get out onto the street alone (not that he ever has or, I hope, ever will - too young to know it's dangerous, and too short to be easily seen by a drive who's busy rtig 2 hr frnds.
hope it scares the bejesus out of her.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
warning: idly typing an ancestor's unusual name into Google can make your head spin. this cached site appears to go back around 500 years; my great-great grandfather was one of them.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Saturday, December 24, 2005
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).
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
and here. thank God for blogs, as Microsoft's fine product keeps crashing. I only have 23 windows open!
Monday, December 19, 2005
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?
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?
Thursday, December 15, 2005
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?
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.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
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.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
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?
feeling: redundant. after 8 years I will shortly no longer be an employee of the mighty Age. what's next?
Monday, November 28, 2005
Friday, November 25, 2005
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...)
(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...)
Monday, November 21, 2005
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...
(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...
Sunday, October 09, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
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.
OK, I'm laughing. I still have my job.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Saturday, September 03, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Saturday, August 13, 2005
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.
Monday, August 08, 2005
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
the underwear goes inside the pants
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Thursday, July 14, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Sunday, July 03, 2005
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
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).
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Friday, June 10, 2005
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
