Boring....

...but i won't let that stop me.
I am amazed by the blogs I turn up just by hitting the next blog button on the title bar. From disillusioned teenagers to middle age christians, it seems like everyone has an opinion about something, and is more than happy to share it. In the face of the overwhelming number of opinions, I have found it hard to motivate myself to keep this updated, but then I thought "What the hell". I really like to write and I really like to make my opinion known and this combines the two. It also appeals to me (or my vanity) that someone may read one of my entries and re-think an issue that's been bothering them. So, boring or not, I'll keep at it.

"You should be the change you want to see in the world" - Mohandas Gandhi

Seconds again

That's cricket
Literally. Cricket has officially finished for 2005/2006 for me. It was a disappointing end for the club, with both finals sides suffering defeats. Friday rain and an unlucky coin toss put paid to the top sides hope of promotion to first grade. Batting first on a soft damp wicket was always going to be difficult, but even so 107 all out was a disappointment. The 6th grade, on an artificial wicket, bowled out the opposition for a mere 148. Unfortunately it meant we had to bat for 8 overs before stumps on day 1, 3 for 16. Still gettable. We lost 4 for 6 to be 7 for 22 less than half an hour in to day 2 and all of a sudden, not so gettable. Kudos to Brickie for his defiant half century, but all out for 92, game over.

Oh, well, back to Saturday afternoons at the soccer club for the next 5 months for me.

Go Lions

Perspective

The strangest things


I am constantly amazed by the means life* employs to remind me not to get too caught up in myself. I was on the morning train, armed with my usual "war against everyone" mentality, glaring at the people sitting, daring them to try and stand up and leave the train before me (one of my pet hates). The girl in front of me leaned forward and her "Harrods" carry bag gaped open. Do you know what was inside?

Her lunch.

A bottle of water, a can of Coke and something wrapped in aliminium foil. In that instant, she went from being "she, her, they" to being "me". The simple recognition that half an hour earlier, she, like me, was packing her bag with her lunch to get to work filled me with a sense of peace and hope I rarely experience, but cherish when I do. The acknowledgement that no matter who or what someone is or does, we share a common humanity is spiritually uplifting for me, and I am grateful that life* reminds me occasionally.


*{insert your preferred name here}

Boycott the Osborne Park Hotel - Dummy Spit Ahead

I'll give my money to somebody else.
Unbelievable!!!

It was 30 odd degrees (C) in Perth today, and I spent from 8:00 until 5:30 in the sun at a soccer lightning carnival. I ducked out for an hour or so to watch some club mates play cricket. On the way, I thought, "Geez a beer would be nice" so I pulled in to the drive through of the OSBORNE PARK HOTEL. "Four TED's and a can of Coke thanks mate". The snot nose at the counter says "no mate, nothing less than a six pack" What the fuck?!?!. He then followed by what I can only assume was his attempt at a sales pitch "look mate, I don't even want to sell you less than a carton, have you seen how cheap it is?". Needless to say, I did not, as I was already on my way to find someone who wanted my custom. What a twat! Cross that pub of your list of places to drink (it's a shit hole anyway). The place must be doing well enough that it can do without my twelve bucks today, and any future money I would have spent there, so it probably doesn't need yours either. I won't put up with that shit. I'm a nasty prick when annoyed, and am not averse to the odd crusade. I wonder what his boss will think when he reads my email.

Beer on tap

Norwegian beer? Apparently the barman connected the wrong hose when setting up a new keg, and the apartment downstairs got beer instead of water, and the bar got water instead of beer. How did anyone notice? There is a law in Norway banning the production of beer over 4.75%. Still, an odd story, and stories about beer always catch my attention.

Urinspiration #1

Grumpy old man





I've had another of my "Urinspirations"
I am fated to be a grumpy old man. You know, the type who complains about every slight inconvenience.

The logic goes something like this.

I spend a great deal of my time trying to eradicate problems from my life, to make my life as easy as possible, and have spent most of my adult life doing so. I now believe that it has become a Pavlovian response, so that, even as my life gets easier (which it does) I am compelled to find "problems" to solve. The worst thing is that as the compulsion, through conditioning, gets stronger the problems will be come increasingly trivial, until finally I am arrested and jailed for laying in wait and strangling the lady that delivers "The Stirling Times" for sticking it in the letterbox in such a way that I tear the front page when I remove it.

Who says time in the toilet is unproductive?

Ugly Parents...

....raise ugly children

Sad to say, I wasn't really surprised when I came across this story. For the last 4 years I have been involved in junior soccer, the last couple at a fairly competitive level. Soccer parents are very intense. Bear (my younger son) started training in January for a season that kicks of on the last day of April, but one of the other Mums fronted his coach at training because she didn't believe the training sessions go for long enough!! It was 38 deg on Tuesday, and the boys ran from 5 o'clock until 6:15 or so. "This is Academy level football", as if that were a mantra. I guess I'm just the opposite, because I think that Fred (the elder) is being pushed too hard. February saw him start high school, play cricket at District level, start pre-season soccer and take up indoor soccer as part of his training. I love the game, I love sport in general, but some people just take it too far.

It's just a game.

Forever Young

Melancholy

I had a brief but interesting conversation with G and Sir Woodie last night about sadness and perspective. G mentioned watching a video clip of a song (Forever Young) that has young guys skating in it, and tried to describe the sadness and at the same time pleasure he felt reminiscing. I really thought I was the only one who thought like that. Sir Woodie, of course, never thinks like that, so he informs us, and I envy him if that is the case. I'm not trying to imply that all memories send me spiralling down into depression, but sometimes, the sense of loss for who I was, and what I was is almost overwhelming. I think it is because of the finality of it, the fact that it is impossible for me to go back and be that person that allows me to indulge myself in this way. If it was the re-creation of the experience I truly desired, then I would do something more about it than blog it. No, it is not the longing for past experiences I feel, but a longing for the past. The very fact that it is denied me allows me to rail internally about the unfairness of it all without the obligation (or even option) of having to do anything tangible.

Marto's return

Neither Rhyme nor Reason

I’ve always thought that Damien Martyn looks like he’s just been startled. With his recent recall to the Test team I now understand why. Originally selected in 1991/92 more on potential than substance, then dropped after “losing” a Test by 5 runs against South Africa, he spent seven years on the outer, the first few of those with the added weight of captaining Western Australia. Forcing his way back into the team, he was rewarded with the recognition of “Test Cricketer of the Year” in 2004/5. A dismal Ashes tour (178 at 19.77) however, saw him don his “scapegoat” hat again. Obviously his poor return from the domestic four day competition was enough to allow the selectors to “right their wrong” and bring him back into the side.

Looking at the selection process over the last few months, it has suddenly become clear why Merv Hughes got the job. They needed a “mo’” to go with “Eeny”, “Meany” and “Miney

Sunny days

On the Beach.
I really don't spend enough on the beach. Last Friday was an awful day for me, for no particular reason than it was really just a shitty day. I woke up convinced that I was shrinking, fading away to nothing, and the day never really got any better. Saturday started early with junior cricket, and standing in the sun umpiring and supervising a dozen apparently disinterested 13 year olds can be just as much fun as it sounds. Saturday afternoon, 37 in the city equates to about 42 in the hills, and I'm playing cricket again. That was my highlight up until then, a good bunch of guys, and I actually made runs, though sprinting up and down a 20 metre strip of grass with a helmet and pads on in the mid-afternoon heat does take a bit of shine off the experience. Then a 45 minute drive home to get into the car to spend another hour driving to Mandurah for an 18th birthday party. Finally crawled into bed at around 2 a.m. Sunday morning started with a mass of pain from my cricketing exploits plus the additional dehydrating effects of a dozen or so TED's. Then the boys wanted to go to the beach. It's 35 degrees and I'm as sick as a dog, and they want me to take them to the beach. You know what? It's the best thing that could have happened. The beach down the road from Bonnie Doon (old boy's holiday place) is nearly always deserted. I find it almost impossible to stay stressed, or even concerned, sitting on the sand, looking out over the ocean, or lying on my back cloud watching. Watching the kids play in the waves, being able to see for miles for 180 degrees says something about my place in the scheme of things. Standing knee deep in the surf as the waves relentlessly, unstoppably wash in around me. Thousands of grains of sand sticking to my feet with each step (or hop) I take across the hot beach. Watching the seagulls drifting lazily in circles hundreds of feet in the air. I came away from there feeling refreshed, invigorated and peaceful, and the only thing that had changed was my perspective.

"Shall I compare thee....."

Red Irish Rovers?

Bono and Bob

With the impending visits of Bob Geldof and U2 to Australia, the news is naturally full of stories about Bob and Bono's activism. Though personally, I don't call pointing out the bleeding obvious to an audience "activism", I began to wonder if it was some sort of rule that Irish musicians have to "take a stand".

I'm waiting for B*witched or the Corrs to bring out a protest album.

We shall not, we shall not be moved.