Is there life?

Will I know about it?

I was having a quiet drink with mi amica bella last week and she asked me a question I have not thought about in a very long time. What happens to us after we die? At the time, I think I dismissed it with some flippant comment or other and turned back to the important business of drinking, determined to give it no more thought. However, over the weekend, I received and email from my gorgeous friend letting me know that her 5 month old niece had lost her battle and passed away on Friday night. It really got me thinking about what "it" all means. Many hours of soul-searching once again led me to the same conclusion I usually reach when I ponder these matters. While I would love to embrace the faith of my more devout brethren, I believe the answer is inconceivable. By that I mean this corporeal form I wear is incapable of knowing. So I fall back on the only position I know, and deal with the only existence I am capable of dealing with. Now. If I behave in what others deem an acceptable manner, it is because it feels right for me to do it. Now. Not in the hope of reward or the fear of retribution when my body rots, but because it is right, now. Deep down, I do hope that after I pass from this place my next step will be a joyful and peaceful one, but I cannot act based on doctrines or dogma that have been handed to me. I have learned that my ideals and values are just as worthy as everyone elses. I have learned to be silent and listen and trust in my self.

No alternative makes sense to me.

Meditate...

....while you urinate.

I have an amazing number of insights while standing at the urinal, including the fact that I have an amazing number of insights while standing at the urinal. In order to avoid accidentally catching sight of someone else's penis, it is de rigeur to stare at the blank wall less than a metre in front of your face. Wouldn't it be a great idea to post affirmations at eye level to ruminate on for the time you stand there?

Make up your mind!!

..are you a pedestrian or a vehicle!!

I have a new pet hate! Ignorant cyclists! (Note that I said "ignorant" not "all". I crossed the road yesterday, at a crossing, with the little green man and beeping noise, and was narrowly missed by some tool travelling at 40+kph stright through the light. Who swore because he had to swerve to miss me. Get Fncked!! I applaud people who cycle, it keeps them fit, it helps with the environment. But please, follow the road rules and stay off the footpath. I've included a link in case you don't know them.

Arch Enemy required....

....enquire within

I am missing an arch-rival, a nemesis. In a world of karma, of yin and of yang, where is the Anti-Ranx? Nobody, is anybody until they have a real-to-life mirror, bad to their good and black to their white and vice versa. Superman has Lex Luthor, James Bond has Blofeld, Luke Skywalker has Darth Vader, but as far as I can tell, I have no-one. Even that annoying Pokemon kid has Team Rocket. No one is plotting my downfall, and I have no one's downfall to plot. How can I be taken seriously?

I can't imagine it would be a hard job. We could start nice and easy, maybe I could thwart them stealing my neighbours paper (I've always wanted to thwart someone), then they could cunningly steal mine while I was guarding the neighbourhood. That's about the excitement level that's required. The beauty of the arch enemy, is, even though I must oppose his (or her) every move, I can harbour a deep down, grudging respect and affection for him (or her).

OR. What if I am the well-balanced individual I've always tried to be? Then, surely, my arch-rival would be me!! Am I doomed to thwart my own plans for the rest of my life? To negate every plot I hatch ?? This bears more thought....

To the bat cave!

RU486......

...or are you against it?

Yesterday the Austrlian parliament to take the power of veto away from the Health Minister Tony Abbott, effectively handing control of the drug to the Therapeutic Goods Administration. From a purely medical and scientific angle, there can be no argument that this is where control of the drug belongs, with a body set up for the specific purpose of determining the safety and appropriateness of pharmaceuticals and medicines. It is the moral angle that makes this debate so interesting. Not the morals of abortion itself, that's too complex a subject for this short forum, but whether or not when we elect out government representatives, we expect them to act as our moral compass. I, for one, vote for the candidate that I believe shares the most points of view with me. To me, yesterday's vote was one of common sense. Pregnancy termination is legal here, the moral question has been asked and answered there. Yesterday's vote was about who should decide the best way to carry out the termination.

If anyone is interested in my slant on the abortion debate, I am pro-choice. Pro-choice does not mean I agree with it, just your right to choose.

"I may disagree with what you have to say, but I shall defend, to the death, your right to say it. " - Voltaire

He who lives by the sword...er...arrow...

....makes the rules.

Our normally relaxed and calm Wednesday night gathering became quite loud and profane last night, so much so that my lovely bride came down to the shed to ask us (ok, me) to tone it down. And it's all the fault of these guys.

Ironically, if I attempted to land on the island, and had to kill the natives to do so, the only people who would think this acceptable behaviour would be the people I had just killed....

Make your own kind of music

So Real...

Music has always been an important part of my life. Other peoples music, much to my frustration, for while I can recognise all the elements that make a good song, I seem to be completely incapable of producing anything half decent.

Anyway, enough self indulgent whining. What has caught my attention today is the variety in peoples taste of music. Or my bewilderment at what defines someone's taste in music. For example, I am going through a major love affair with "Grace" by
Jeff Buckley. His unorthodox and innovative guitar style combined with a sweet, plaintive voice and incisive lyrics reach down into my soul and drag my pain and despair (however deep) into the light and makes it somehow beautiful. To me, tracks like "Grace", "So real", "Lover, you should have come over" and "Hallelujah" speak to me like the voice of god. However, my amica bella, who introduced me to Missy Higgins and The White Stripes , and turned a passing acquintance with the music of Beth Orton into an obsession thinks "he's all right, but can't really get into him." On the other side of the coin, old boy who I consider has reasonable taste in music, including The Beautiful Girls and Xavier Rudd went through a phase where he'd be playing Lyle Lovett (Find your own link!) every time I visited.

I guess different music appeals to us all in different ways, and it's these differences that make the pieces fit together. If I could explain it, then that would take the magic of it away. It also gives me hope that someday, someone, somewhere will say to me "What song is that, that's pretty cool" ;-D

Pump up the Jam.

Each man's life is but a breath. Psalms 39

Bali nine ringleaders sentenced.

This blog is not about the rights or wrongs of the actions of the so-called "Bali Nine". It is not about the Indonesian judicial system, nor the morality of drugs or the death sentence. It is about the hypocrisy of a government that promises to make "representations for clemency" (an action it has recently proven fruitless) for the lives of citizens it has knowingly delivered into the hands of a foreign nation. With the spotlight squarely on drugs in Bali because of the impending Schapelle Corby verdict, a concerned parent contacted his lawyer in an attempt to have the Australian Federal Police prevent his son from committing a crime. The AFP not only failed to to stop Scott Rush from leaving the country, they told the Indonesian goverment he was coming. He was caught in the commission of that crime in Bali. Consequently, 9 Australians will probably never set foot on home soil again. AFP head, Mick Keelty, maintains that the AFP acted lawfully and within guidelines. At least he is not brazen enough to claim they acted morally. From all reports, the biggest fish caught in this "sting" are the two young men sentenced today to face the firing squad. Bravo, Mick, good score. Maybe you will be allowed to mount the heads in the AFP trophy room.

For the government to now promise it's assistance strikes me as distinctly Walrus-like behaviour.

"I weep for you," the Walrus said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.

Valentine's Day

A "Hallmark Holiday"?

It doesn't have to be. Leading up to Valentine's Day I become very cynical and decry it as pure commercialisation, designed only to sell flowers and cards. When the day actually arrives, however, I realise that it doesn't have to be. Sure you will be bombarded with advertising contrived purely to make you feel guilty if you don't spend on your loved one(s), but you don't have to. You still have free will. Romance is not about the dollars you spend, it's the time. My wife and I don't "celebrate" Valentine's day or even wedding anniversaries with lavish gifts of even gestures. My rule is that if I can express my love for her on these days, I can do it any day. It's much cooler to make romantic gestures without the prompting of TV advertising campaigns. So by all means celebrate and rejoice in your love, no matter who it is for, your wife, your friends, your kids. Do it wholeheartedly, unashamedly and joyfully. Just do it when you feel it.

The beauty of love, to me, is that you feel it as you give it, not as you get it.

To everyone, love always, and more importantly, always love.

Would you believe.......

......I missed it by that much?

Apparently John Howard would have us believe that Australian intelligence agencies knew nothing about AWB's alleged kickbacks to Saddam Hussein, so were unable to keep the government informed.

Sorry about that, Chief

Weekend warriors

Organised lunacy

While I was driving home from the cricket club Saturday night, in a foul mood because we had lost from a strong position, I began to wonder what it is that makes the amateur sportsman tick. Maybe amateur is not even the right term here. I think I'm a cricket hobbyist.
Normally sensible grown men with comfortable lifestyles subject themselves to around 4 hours of standing in the mid-afternoon heat. Usually taciturn, well mannered members of the community taunt 14 year old boys in the hope of upsetting them enough to make them miss the ball. Unfit, overweight desk jockeys, normally too lazy to walk to the corner shop, sprint back and forth over a distance of 20 metres and dive full length on the ground, in the hope of being allowed to do it again, next ball.
What is it that drives us to prove that we can perform a set of pre-defined actions inside a framework defined hundreds of years ago better than 11 other people? It came to me last night, watching the opposition in our annual day/night match win off the second last ball of the night. Men who would freeze with embarrassment at the thought of singing in a karaoke bar joyfully wrapped themselves in their team-mates' embrace and gave full voice to the club song. Winning is what it is all about. Many will tell you that sport is all about participation. I didn't have the heart to ask the vanquished whether this was the case last night. From the outside, it didn't look like they were having half as much fun as the Nollamara boys.
Competition. To pit yourself against your peers, to test you wits, reflexes and luck inside the safe boundaries of the cricket field is, to me, baffling, exciting and uplifting. That may explain why I spend around 20 hours of my precious leisure time either coaching, playing or umpiring cricket. I tell myself I keep involved for the sake of my boys, who seem to have inherited this lunacy, but deep down I know the reason.

I just love it. How's that?

Keep them under control

{Climbs on soap box}

Recent research (check out this and this) backs up what I have been saying for ages. CONTROL YOUR BLOODY KIDS!!!! It is no longer the 1960's and we are not living on a commune where children should be "allowed to express their natural creativity". It's all bullshit. Toddlers are feral brutes and it is YOUR responsibilty as a parent to tame the little monsters. It is YOUR responsibility as citizen to educate the people you are raising and teach them how to interact with their peers in an acceptable manner. Violent movies and video games DO NOT incite violence in teenagers. They do, perhaps, weaken the tenuous grip they have on a thin veneer of civilty, but it is up to YOU as a parent to ensure that their training holds.

{climbs down and wanders off}

The Death of Chain Letters

I am absolutely committed to the death of chain emails and petitions. You know the ones.
"Little Stevie is very sick and wants to get in the Guinness book of records" and "Microsoft will give you 5c for every email". The worst ones are the public service announcements. Like this lipstick one or one about Glade air fresheners burning down your house . I used to get at least one a day from my concerned friends, who thought I needed to know these things. Then I started the crusade. Sir Woodie jumped on board, merely for the chance to be condescending and scathing to his friends (as if that's not enough inducement). But it has had results. The only time I receive these now, it is usually addressed solely to me and prefaced by "Is this true??". I have become the arbiter, a role I relish. So join the crusade, fight the good fight and spread the word. Check out www.snopes.com a great resource for the debunkers of the world.

On, Patsy.

Happy Birthday Jules

My mum's youngest brother Julian would have turned 40 today.

Growing up he was like a little brother to me. "Ian" we called him then. We competed for and at everything we could. I see that pattern repeated in my sons today. He was the kid I tested myself against. We both had awful tempers and were EXTREMELY poor losers. Celebrations went on for days, as did recriminations. As far as the loser was concerned, the only possible way the winner could have triumphed was by cheating. I sometimes wonder how my poor sister put up with us.

As we grew older, we sort of drifted apart, as you do. My sister kept more in touch with him, she's much better at the family thing than I am. He was an avid traveller and I never knew when he was in the country or not, but when we did catch up, time sort of evaporated. I've put the Comet Hyakutake at the top of this post, because that's what he was like, a bright burning flash that burst into a room and drew all eyes. He reached out to life, grabbed it by the balls and shook it till it's eyes watered.

When I found out he had cancer, I refused to believe he would die. Surely not, he was invincible. Even in the last days, I was sure a miracle would save him at the end. I wouldn't visit him in hospital, because I couldn't bear to see what it had done to him. My last image is of him standing in the car park in Subi, bald head shining in the sun, smiling and waving after we'd had lunch together.

I would say rest in peace, but I'm sure the rest part just wouldn't happen, so party in chaos.

I love you, bro.

WOO HOO!!

Another Step Taken

I made it through Wednesday night without a cigarette! Unfortunately I replaced cigarettes with more wine and feel awful this morning, but WOO HOO!

Tis a funny thing

Memory, that is. I found this photo in my old yahoo mailbox. I can barely remember the names of the 3 guys in the cubicle next to me, but can name most of the people in that photo.

Bizarre.

(p.s. Guess which one is me. Go on, guess, in the comments)

Where do they get their ideas??

This guy is a genius!!!

I can just imagine the meeting.

Tom Ford: You're traditional Hollywood issue is getting a bit tired

Vanity Fair Guy: Fair call, Tom. What would you have?

Tom: Scarlett Johannsen and Keira Knightley nude, and me between them in a suit.

Vanity Fair Guy: Right, you're in

F.M.I.W!

Yahoo!!!

I love Wednesday's. Wednesday night is really my weekend. With so much sport going on on the weekends, not to mention week day training, my availability for social interaction is limited. Since I moved to within an acceptable distance for my friends to travel, Wednesday night's "old man's club", as my friend Crystal calls it, has been my contact with "the crew". It started as fairly sedate games of Risk (yes, the board game) with Woodie, G and Andy, but gradually P, Chalks and Jenks joined the fray, with the occasional guest appearance from Coxy and Stu. With the whole world's love affair with Texas Hold'em (WTF happened there?) it was inevitable that we would be drawn in, so that's where we start. Those that are eliminated usually wander down to the shed for darts until there's two left who usually decide the stakes aren't worth the boredom and end up playing one hand winner takes all. I've known these guys 20+ years and the fact that we all hang out is a source of great pleasure to me. Chalks, Jenks and I usually play the guitar for a bit, but Chalks has a kidney infection apparently, so will be MIA (again).

Nasty

I have just put my first nicotine chewing gum in my mouth, and it is awful. Less awful than a cigarette, I'll give you that but awful nonetheless. It amazes me that a seemingly intelligent human being (which I consider myself to be) would deliberately ignite and inhale proven toxins for what ostensibly amounts to the cessation of the desire to deliberately ignite and inhale said toxins. I have over the years tried many times to quit smoking but constantly find excuses to go back. Actually I usually succumb to the "WTF" syndrome. By denying that I have an addiction (which I still believe is more psychological than physical) I allow myself to say "What the fuck, one won't hurt, It's not like I smoke a lot anyway." Wish me luck

Don't Start Me..Up

If you need proof that the Rolling Stones had shed any pretence of credibility, grab a copy of their lacklustre performance at the "Superbowl" yesterday. Their agreement to censor the lyrics to two of the three songs they performed is incontrovertible evidence that they no longer give a toss for their artistic integrity and are interested only in squeezing the last few bucks possible from their increasingly sad career.

Commuting.....

Warning!! Whinging ahead!

I've been back catching the train into the city since August last year and it is finally beginning to break me. It is a travel option fraught with inconveniences that add up to an occasionally unpleasant experience. Where I get on the train at Stirling is about halfway through the route, so the train is usually full by the time it gets there. This means I must stand fot the 10 or so minutes it takes to get to Perth. Not a problem. What does piss me off is people , who after sitting on their fat arses for the journey, stand up in front of me. I know it's a small thing but the fact that the 30 seconds earlier they get off the train is more important than courtesy grates on my nerves. Another thing I hate is when I'm stuck in the middle of the carrriage and my first two thoughts are a) God, I hope that smell is not me; and b) How can I get away from it?

On a lighter note, I had fun on the train home yesterday playing the "who was at the Big Day Out?" There's a tired look that you can only get from the Big Day Out experience, followed by a day at work, a tired, glazed smile, with a slightly puzzled look, as if to ask "Wha..???" :-)

Caught in a trap?




Who said Perth is boring? We've always got the occasional Elvis hating odd-ball to liven things up.

Racism or what colour is that kettle?

I never thought my first blog entry would be about racism. Actually I never thought I would have a first blog entry, I only signed up to post a comment on someone else's blog. However, here we are.

I like to consider myself a fairly reasonable, if not, culturally enlightened sort of person. The crowd behaviour at the cricket here in Australia has been deplorable, in relation to racist taunts directed at the Sri Lankan and South African players. I'm sure enough has been written on the subject to satisfy your curiousity. It is, however, these very writings that have prompted this drivel. Am I the only one who finds it ironic that journalists are guilty of racism (as defined by ICERD above) with comments like "national immaturity prevents Australia from recognising the racism" and "but when it comes to colour the country is expert at clamming and covering up"? That seems to group me with a bunch of (usually) alcohol-fuelled dead shits (there's a term I haven't used in a while) and/or "conservative" non-apologist politicians. I cannot identify culturally or personally with these groups, but the article I have quoted here seems to claim they represent me.

I'm Australian.
I am not racist.
Therefore, Australia as a whole, is not racist.

I've always said all generalisations are bad.