Plus Perdu

A Moveable Feast

2011-10-24T15:33:00.002+10:00

I've been sitting on this one for a while. There are many reasons why I sometimes delay in writing up my thoughts on a book. Sometimes I don't know how I feel about a book until it has digested for a while, but that was not the case here. Sometimes I don't feel strongly enough about a book to be moved to write something, but that was not the case here. Here, rather, I suspect I was worried that by writing about the book I might lose some of the marvellous escapism I felt while I was reading it, that somehow in putting my feelings down on paper [sic], I might somehow lose them.

I loved this book. I really did.

Its a funny sort of book when I think about it structurally. Its basically a series of Hemingway's memories about time spent living and writing in Paris with his wife in the 1920s. The stories he tells are short, and are mostly centred about his interactions with other artists, poets and especially authors either living or passing through Paris at the same time: Gertrude Stein, Ezra Pound, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and others. Much like the other Hemingways I've read, I just felt so at home in his Paris. Its a city far removed from any I've lived in, and he fills it with activities far removed from those I prefer - betting on horses, in particular - and yet I felt such a strong connection.

That this was a book published later in his career shows through in the writing, which carries his trademark simplicity and economy of words, but with more mastery than he had shown in the other of his books I've read this year. What is lovely, too, is that much of what he writes about is his writing; he discusses his philosophy of le mot juste, and many of his practices, exemplified here by their very own description.

Ebert, or some other commentator of film, used to say that "No good film is too long, no bad film is short enough", but after reading a great novella like this one, it is tempting to suggest that a book this good is too short. We shall never know; all we have is what we are given, but like the food of the city it describes, it is a dish whose perfect flavours make any paucity of volume irrelevant. I will forever be indebted to Nicole for recommending it to me.

Next up on deck: continuing with Hitchcock/Truffaut, and starting on Pullman's His Dark Materials. Also, in a moment of weakness at Wellington airport in the early hours of Saturday, I picked up a copy of Updike's Rabbit, Run.

The Ginger Man

2011-10-06T12:50:00.002+10:00

Yesterday I finished the Ginger Man, probably the most distinctive book I've read so far this year, and probably the most difficult to review (if these little reflections can be called reviews). This was another book I'd come across via my late uncle Mick, but unlike others, one for which I had absolutely no context, in that neither title nor author were at all familiar to me (although I have since seen it in some lists of prominent books from the 20th century).

This is a striking and divisive book. The story, such as it is in what is very much an impressionist book, is essentially a year (perhaps) in the life of Sebastian Balfe Dangerfield, an alcoholic, womanising, entitled, 20-something law student living, for most of the book, in Dublin. For the most part, he's thoroughly dislikable. The women of the story - Marion, Chris, Miss Frost and Mary - are often fairly insipid characters, and although Sebastian does seem to genuinely love them, he treats them appallingly, leeching and stealing from them, beating them, neglecting his son, charming them into things they either don't want or shouldn't do, and moving on to other pursuits at a moment's notice. The other characters who drift in and out of Sebastian's world - O'Keefe, Percy Clocklan, Tone Malarkey, etc - share many of his reprehensible characteristics, and serve only to reinforce the reader's sense of Sebastian himself.

There is no denying, though, the really vital energy with which Donleavy tells the story. His style of writing reminds me of Joyce, in the pace and perhaps setting, or Thompson, or even Kerouac, in its stream-of-consciousness style, yet its somehow very different. The intensity and consistency of the style throughout the book's 350 pages is admirable - it never lets up, right through to the story's conclusion (inconclusive though it is) in London.

There were times when I wasn't sure whether I was liked the book or hated it, but it is certainly memorable, and at no point did any dislike diminish my eagerness to keep reading. As it moved towards its close, I genuinely didn't know whether it was gravitating towards a tragic but just come-uppance, a repentant redemption, or rescue for Sebastian's sorry soul, and to the author's credit, he steers clear of any archetypal resolution, and stays true to the impressionist style.

A book I won't quickly forget.

Next up: continuing with Hitchcock by Truffaut, and resuming my Hemingway journey with A Moveable Feast.

Continental Drift

2011-09-26T10:43:00.001+10:00

I bought Continental Drift on a whim last year when I was starting to get back into reading. A bit over ten years ago, Russell Banks was one of my favourite authors, mainly on the strength of The Sweet Hereafter, which I picked up after loving the film, and Trailerpark, a book of short stories. I tried to read Cloudsplitter, but couldn't get through it. So last year when, in an idle moment, I was looking for something to read, I jumped online and ordered Continental Drift. It took a while for me to get to it (I actually leant it to a friend before I read it, something I've not done before), but it was worth the wait.

The story is written from two ends. The main character is Bob Dubois, who is a heater repair-man in New Hampshire with a wife and two young daughters, who has an existential crisis and picks up everything to move to Miami in pursuit of the American dream. The other end of the story is that of Vanise and Claude, two Haitians, also on a migration, from Haiti north towards Florida in pursuit a different, but more deeply held, American dream.

The story reminded me a little of The Grapes of Wrath - the families picking up everything, driven to migrate across the country (or the sea) in pursuit of prosperity and finding opportunity not as simple as the stories say. The text is at times intermingled, like in TGOW, with more general observations about the time and theme, here that of migration of people around the globe, and its analogy to the inevitability of continental drift.

Bob Dubois as a character is fascinating. He is deeply, deeply flawed, at once childlike in his spontaneity, and weary in his view of the world. He is difficult to love, with his superficially held view of himself as a good husband and father, his short-sightedness in his plans, and his fast temper. At the same time, though, he's difficult not to relate to, with his anxiety about where his childhood dreams have gone, and his restlessness with his life as it is. The Haitians are never as fully developed, which makes more sense as the book goes on - Banks is more concerned in their story with painting the shocking circumstances through which they push north in search of their false promised land of America, and the strange transplanting of culture that they take with them.

Having recently rewatched The Sweet Hereafter, I knew not to expect a happy ending, and the tragic conclusion of that book is true to form. Like The Sweet Hereafter (although perhaps not with quite as much veritas), though, the tragedy doesn't feel forced - Banks establishes the forces acting on the characters, and what befalls them makes sense, not in a shallow karmic way, but as a consequence of the world in which they find themselves. This, too reminded me of Steinbeck's masterpiece - there are no bad guys here, just people doing whatever they can to struggle upwards in the world, or at least keep from sinking below the waterline, and the societal forces that work against them. Like Tom Joad unable to find someone to fight over the loss of his family's farm, Bob Dubois isn't angry at his brother, or at his old friend; he's just angry and confused, all the moreso because there is no easy target for his anger and frustration, and that's what makes this book great. Writing a great villain is hard, but writing a story in which there is no readily identifiable villain, just the conspiracy of circumstances that work against you, is probably more impressive.

Next: The Ginger Man, by J.P. Donleavy, in parallel with Hitchcock by Truffaut.

Between US Open wins - remembering 10 years ago

2011-09-12T09:59:00.000+10:00

I had tentatively decided not to engage in the whole "Where were you?" thing today, but I'm having second thoughts. Over breakfast this morning, though, I was watching Sam Stosur's win in the US Open tennis, which took my mind back 10 years, for reasons which had very little to do with the day's more significant context. It was an interesting time for me, so I looked back to what I had written about it in what, at the time, passed for my blog. What I found was a very disappointing:

A two weeks that I couldn't begin to document. Being the reluctant photographer, I think my total picture count was 3 (all of the same thing), so I can't live up to Chris' example of lots of piccies. Suffice to say that it was an adventurous trip, being so close to the US during such a weird time.

I have to say that doesn't really do justice to what was, indeed, a very interesting trip, so I thought I might write it up here.

I left Australia, I guess, around the first of september, flying via Sydney, Honolulu and Vancouver to Seattle, where I spent the week at the EDOC 2001 conference, accompanied by Kerry and Zoran. I presented my first full conference paper, and made really good connections with people like Jean Bezivin, Xavier Le Pallec, and bunch of others. The following weekend I flew to Toronto for the OMG Technical meeting, getting in, I think, on the Sunday, and checking into the OMG meeting hotel near the airport. I remember I had a horrible room, all glass facing west, or perhaps south. The weather was hot in any case, and the room was borderline uninhabitable once the sun hit it. I remember resolving all week to request a room change, but never got around to it.

I remember sitting in it, though, on Sunday afternoon, marvelling that I was able to watch a US Open Tennis final at a sensible hour, for the first time in my life. Lleyton Hewitt had had a storied run to the final, and played what was, at that point, the match of his life to beat Sampras in a dominating display which presaged his rise to number one in subsequent years.

I was watching Stosur's match this morning, partly via a tweet stream from Bethlehem Shoals, one of my favourite sports writers. For someone who, in his basketball writing, has always fought against "Homers", sports fans who blindly support their home teams, he certainly overly obsessed with the "Serena winning for America" storyline, and in fact failed to mention Stosur at all in his comments. This really rubbed me the wrong way. For me, Stosur's win has so many great storylines to it.

She's the first Australian to win a slam since Goolagong in 1980, a win which heralded a transition from the glory days of Smith/Court and Goolagong/Cawley into a dry spell that lasted so long.
It breaks the impression that so many, myself included, had of Stosur being someone who would crack under pressure. When I saw Stosur break in the second set, my heart went into my mouth as I wondered whether she would stay strong or go to water the way she seems to have done so often before, most notably in the French final against Schiavone.
Hewitt came from nowhere to win his first slam by beating Sampras, an American favourite who had won 13 slams already (he would win a 14th at the US the following year). 10 years later, Stosur wins her first by beating Serena, another American favourite, who had also won 13.

I had two purposes in Toronto. The first was the see through an uncontroversial vote to recommend my HUTN work for adoption, and the second was to be a technical expert for a very controversial vote on the EDOC spec. On Tuesday morning I gave my HUTN presentation. As I remember it, I think I was presenting either as or just after the towers went down. Suffice to say the audience was small and somewhat distracted. I can remember being kind of amazed. Not distressed, but very conscious that this was something pretty significant.

The rest of the meeting was kind of weird, but went on nonetheless - for the most part, people couldn't leave anyway. HUTN passed easily and I was appointed FTF Chair. EDOC passed fairly easily - I was stopped from answering technical criticisms of our submission by Kerry - "speak softly and carry a great big stack of proxies". UML Action Semantics got their semantics stripped out, and I can remember them being in the hotel bar at the same time as the EDOC group, the groups alike in size but not in spirit.

I have other memories of the week, less coherent. I remember a US$400 bill at an Outback Steakhouse, as I went with a big group and was surprised at what Americans think (perhaps) constitutes Australian food (blooming onions, Prime Minister's prime ribs). I remember catching a bus into downtown Toronto with Keith and Michi Henning and lying on the grass next to the lake.

I can remember worried exchanges of emails with DSTC about flights home, uncertain not only because of the closure of US airports, but of the demise of Ansett in Australia. Kerry's flight was re-routed through somewhere strange in Canada - Winnipeg or Calgary or somewhere. American OMG members paired up and hired cars to drive across the continent home to Florida, Arizona, California. As I went to the airport, I walked past hundreds or thousands of people sitting waiting for flights, anywhere they could, trying to get out of Canada and back to their homes, wherever they were.

Being an international trying to leave the continent, I was a priority, and my flight actually didn't change. Transiting through Honolulu, we were forced to collect our bags and walk outside the terminal along the road to check in again, but it was a pretty small imposition in the circumstances. As our flight finally touched down in Sydney, the passengers applauded, a show of nationalism I've never seen on an "Australian" flight. The Ansett drama was resolved without incident as Qantas picked up all their flights, and I was back to Brisbane as scheduled.

It was an interesting trip.Others will have reminiscences today which go on about how September 11 changed them forever. I don't think it changed me, either temporarily or permanently, but it was certainly a memorable trip.

two of four

2011-08-30T15:19:00.000+10:00

Back in April, when I was preparing for and embarking upon my holiday through Europe, I read the first of the four tomes of Le Comte de Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas. Recently, having read 7 very satisfying English-language books in the interim, I returned to the great task I'd set myself, and yesterday I finished the second tome. Having reached this half-way point (give or take), I though I'd reflect a little on the book, since its likely to be a number of months at least until I reach its conclusion.

Its length is significant not only in the period of time it takes me to read it. The length, and episodic form in which I assume the book was originally written, affords Dumas the luxury of going off on tangents at the slightest provocation. This leads to strange chapters for smoking marijuana in a cave, the life and love of a Roman bandit, ways to build resistances to poison, whose relevance to the main storyline range from minor to dubious to none. I have to say that I really like this as a change from my normal reading. Knowing that a book is a certain length gives the experience pretty reliable indications of how the story is progressing along the normal story arc, and that details that are included are likely to be relevant later on. The gun on the wall in the first act will be fired by the end of the third. This isn't true in a book as long as this. The gun on the wall might actually just be a gun on the wall, and there is something liberating as an experienced reader in not always having a clear idea of how things fit together, of just reading and discovering.

In terms of the language, everything is obviously contingent on the fact that I'm reading in French. I like to think I'm a fluent speaker of the language, but I would never claim to be a fluent reader, and the reading I've been doing has been accompanied by frequent consultation of a dictionary, and sometimes, in order to look up specific terminologies for 19th century French or Italian clothing, or nautical terminology, or consultation of Wikipedia for references to ancient Greeks and contemporary European authors, which might have been relevant to readers when Dumas wrote the book, but aren't to me. I probably check more than I should, on both counts - indeed, I still have raft of highlighted phrases where the dictionary proved insufficient, and which I will go back to at some point to work out what the phrases or references mean. The going is very slow, but I really enjoy learning new turns of phrase, or some obscure Greek reference about an obscure God or philosopher, or the leading authority on physiology from 19th century France.

So I guess that's some of the observations that I've had about the story so far, more meta than most of my reading, and perhaps missing reflection on the characters or story, but that can perhaps wait until I finish the book some time later this year or, more likely, next year. For now, I will return to reading English-language books, beginning with Continental Drift by Russell Banks, an author I got into a decade ago and put aside for absolutely no good reason.

For Whom The Bell Tolls

2011-08-24T09:50:00.002+10:00

Following a brief sojourn with David Malouf, I returned to Ernest Hemingway, to read For Whom The Bell Tolls. I bought this book in the airport in Paris, in anticipation of reading it on my Euro-Australian flight, but was, regrettably, seduced by in-flight movies. It was worth the wait.

The Spanish civil war is one of those strange historical events for me that floats indeterminately within my understanding of the 20th century. The Boer war, the two world wars, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, are all conflicts with strong dates and context for me. The Spanish war, though, has no date that I could immediately offer, and features in my memory more for impression of the way it attracted people from other parts of the world to fight, on both sides, not at the behest of their governments (with some exceptions - the soviet union, perhaps), but for individual, ideological reasons.

One such person is Robert Jordan, Hemingway's protagonist, an American university teacher who has been in Spain fighting for a year when the book's story takes place. Remarkably for what is a substantial book, the story takes place over the course of perhaps 4 days, with only occasional flashbacks to fighting earlier in the war or to Jordan's time spent in Madrid. Jordan is sent to a small encampment of rebels in the hills to rally them and destroy a bridge in order to support an attack. The action sequences, mostly in the final third of the book, are detailed and compelling, but the reason they work is because Hemingway does such a wonderful job of drawing the characters and their relationships. We get a really strong sense of Jordan, and the small group of rebels with whom he fights - Maria, the damaged girl with whom he falls in love, the worn-out rebel leader and his fiery but protective wife, and the old man who accompanies him the camp. We learn how they each got to where they are in the war, why they are fighting, and when they do what they do in the combat sequences, we know why, and we care what happens.

Like The Sun Also Rises, Hemingway does a remarkable job of conveying a sense of place and the character not just of the individuals, but of the people as a group. He uses simple language, but the reader comes away really sensing the pine forests, the snow as it falls on them, the hills and the bridge. Once again he uses this wonderful device of writing in literal translation from the Spanish. It gives a strange impression at first - the text is littered with thees and thous - but it is distinctive and feels true, and I loved it.

Having read the book, I am no more able than I was before to tell you in what year it was set. I couldn't tell you details about major battles or the significant figures on each side. But I come away with a stronger sense of why some of the "little" people were there, and what the battles, atrocities and losses meant for them.

I'm on a bit of a run of Hemingway at the moment, but I'm trying hard to pace myself. I have A Moveable Feast in my pile, but before getting to it (or the other 5 or 6 books awaiting me), I have returned to Le Comte de Monte Cristo. Because it is such a massive endeavour - because of its length, and because of the extra difficulty of reading it in French - I will probably post some sort of rundown when I finish my current sprint on it. The French version is presented in four tomes, and I will soon come to the end of the second, which hopefully will precipitate a half-time report. It certainly bears discussion.

Johnno

2011-08-24T09:38:00.004+10:00

After finishing The Sun Also Rises, I read an Australian book which had been recommended to me by a friend. Johnno is a partly autobiographical novella beautifully written by David Malouf. To be honest, I'm not sure I've read anywhere that its autobiographical, but it has a strong feeling of truth, and a description of Brisbane that came across as very personal. Having said that, although the depiction was very personal, I should stress that the view of Brisbane is quite different from mine. Partly this is because the book is set 30 or 40 years ago (Brisbane has changed fairly dramatically in that time), and partly its because I came to Brisbane for university, rather than growing up here. Its perhaps because of this latter distinction that Malouf, or at least his narrator, seems to have a very conflicted view of the city, sometimes, implicitly, seeming very fond of it, but at other times quite explicitly expressing his disdain of the town and his longing to get out to see the real world. I certainly held that view of the town of my adolescence, Mareeba, for a long time, although in recent years I've softened my view.

So I've spent a long time talking about the way that Brisbane is presented in the book. That isn't by accident - its certainly the strongest opinions I have about it - but there is a plot nonetheless. The story is told by a sometimes passive narrator as he reminisces about his relationship with Johnno, an extroverted character from his school days whom he follows through adolescence and youth, including meetings during travels to Europe. Many of the traits of the characters and their friendship are closely tied to the place and time in which they live - particularly their diversions in Brisbane, and some of the revolutionary things in Europe in the 60s. Others remind me of some of my experiences, meeting college friends in Europe and taking in the different perspectives we have on the world, reflecting on the pilgrimage so many Australians make to live in Europe (usually the UK, much to my disdain), and the paths that we take through our teens and twenties.

distance, disappointment, distinction

2011-08-08T11:41:00.005+10:00

I ran my first half marathon yesterday.

I started running regularly late last year, and a few months later, I resolved to build up to a half marathon. Specifically, I picked the Brisbane Running Festival, and over the last 3-4 months I have been building up my distance, from 5km to 8, 10, 12, 15, to 20, in order to be confident about being able to do 21.1km for the actual event.

I woke up early, in order to get to the race start at the Riverstage in time to meet my friends Meg and Tom for the start. With 3000 or so people signed up to run, the start was chaotic, although nothing like my bad experience with the Bridge2Brisbane a couple of years ago. Starting with 2 laps of the botanical gardens made things very crowded, particularly once the front-runners started lapping people. I had intended to try and follow the 1:50 pacerunner, but by the time we were over the Goodwill Bridge, I had long lost sight of him. By the time I did catch a glimpse of the bobbing red balloons, I was 4km into the race, and it was 8km until I actually caught him.

When we turned near the West End ferry stop, and I passed Meg and Tom, who were both running nicely behind me, I felt good, and was well ahead of the 1:50 pacerunner (and could even see the 1:45 runner, which should have rung some alarm bells). Over the next few kilometres, though, I flagged badly, and I essentially cracked at about 13km. For the remaining 8km coming back through Southbank and around the base of Kangaroo Point cliffs to the Storey Bridge, I was reduced to a mix of walking and jogging, all the while being very frustrated at myself¹, for not having the fitness and/or not having judged my early pace better.

The many supporters along the route, either manning drinks stations or just standing by the course calling out words of encouragement, helped me to run more often and longer than I otherwise might have, and did much to lift my spirits. The occasional photographer also gave me a lift, as I dug deep to avoid being photographed walking, but despite these things, I probably walked a couple of kilometres, on and off. Meg and Tom caught me coming back past Kangaroo Point with a shade over 2km to go, and I got a bit of a lift, running with them for a few hundred metres before I soon flagged and had to walk a little longer.

I eventually crossed the line in a "gun time" of 1:56:20 or so, and a "chip time" of 1:55:13.6 (results are here). Before the race, I had really struggled to set myself an aim, hovering between "just get across the finish line" and the dream of challenging Lee's time of 1:48 when she ran her first half. To be honest, I'm still hovering. I feel like I had a pretty bad run, walking a lot more of the race than I wanted to, and cracking much earlier than I had hoped. I feel like with some better judgement, I could have run somewhere close to 1:52 or even 1:50.

To be honest, one of the things I've learnt while building up my distances is that I probably get more enjoyment out of a 10km run than I do out of a 22.1km run. That might be down to my level of fitness, but I like the idea that I can push myself a little bit. If I was to be asked whether I'd do another half, my reaction before the race would probably have been no, that I'd stick to shorter distances. Having run it, though, and not run it as well as I would have liked, my competitive instincts would probably make me lean towards doing another, just to prove to myself that I can do a better job than I did this time.

As a final word, I should give a huge qualification to what probably comes across as a bit of a whiny post. I am very proud of having done the race. Even if it wasn't my best run on the day, when I started running last year there was no way I could have done a run like this, and I'm really satisfied at the dedication (which has never been my best attribute) I've been able to sustain in running regularly to prepare myself. I didn't break any records, but its not everyone who can run a half marathon in under 2 hours, and I'm proud to be able to count myself in the group that can.

¹: As Emily very astutely pointed out earlier this year, getting annoyed at myself is something I do a lot. I very rarely get angry at others, but I quite frequently get angry at myself.

The Sun Also Rises

2011-07-11T13:41:00.003+10:00

I was walking with Chris and Anjum in a small satellite suburb of Basel, when we came across a small table selling old books and knick-knacks outside a house. On a whim, encouraged perhaps by Anjum's enthusiastic pickup of a cutting board shaped like an apple, I grabbed a copy of Ernest Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises (published in the UK under the title Fiesta), putting 2 euros in a letterbox by way of payment.

I had intended to keep the book for my voyage home from Europe, but in the end I made a start on it as bedtime and bus reading while in Rennes. Still, I reserved the bulk of the book for the train ride between Rennes and Charles de Gaulle airport on Saturday, finishing the last 20 or so pages on a bench in the airport (when I probably should have been queueing for checkin).

Hemingway is one of those 20th century American authors who really should have been on my to-read list a long time ago, given how much I have enjoyed American literature from the period in which Hemingway operated. Its never to late to start, though, and I'm glad that I started with this book. For one thing, it was one of his first successes, and for another, its short; at about 200 pages, it falls under that delightful appellation of a "novella", probably my favourite format.

The story is told from the perspective of Jake Barnes, an American journalist, and moves from Paris down into Spain as the book progresses. The characterisations are quite good - Barnes is left fairly blank (I think deliberately - he's almost certainly a projection of the author), but I really felt a familiarity (albeit not always an empathy) with characters like Cohn, Mike and Brett (who is essentially the antagonist, as well as the love interest of the narrator and of various other characters throughout the book).

The writing is strong and to the point, but not without distinctive style. He uses the trick of translating French and Spanish (I think) very directly, which renders foreign phrases into strange English concoctions that only really make sense when thought of in terms of their original language. "How are you called?" and "a species of woman", strike oddly to the ear in English, but are much more natural in French. It was serendipitous for me, I suppose, that he uses this convention first in French, for which I was able to understand the technique, before using it in Spanish. Had it happened the other way around I would perhaps have simply found the wording strange, rather than appreciating the intent.

Having started the book, it quickly became apparent that it would not last me very long, so I spent some time on Saturday, both in Rennes and in CDG, looking for my next book. As chance would have it, what presented itself was, marooned amongst a sea of Dan Brown airport novels, a copy of For Whom The Bell Tolls, by the same Ernest Hemingway. I made a start on it, and had intended to give it strong attention on the flight from Paris to Dubai to Brisbane, but found myself distracted by films (Paul, 127 Hours, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, The Player), so have only gotten a little way in.

The other book on my horizon is a promised loan of Johnno, by David Malouf, a prominent entry on the list of Australian authors I should read.

Brothers in alms

2011-06-21T09:25:00.004+10:00

Like so many things in my life, my relationship towards charity has been haphazard and characterised by chance rather than anything that might resemble a "plan". Rennes was awkward for me, as it put me face to face more directly with poverty, and a culture with a much greater culture of "direct" charity (less euphemistically called "begging"). It's possible, though, that being confronted in that way made me more conscious about giving, and I think since returning to Australia I've become more conscientious about it. The other factor influencing my increased philanthropy, of course, has been the continuing spate of charity-supported sporting events in which I or those close to me have participated. I know some people who aren't big fans, but I think they're probably pretty constructive in terms of stimulating donations and awareness for different causes. They've certainly had a significant effect on broadening my awareness and engagement.

Anyway, this year I resolved to be a bit more systematic about my donations. One of the contributing factors was a very vague awareness of a commitment (which I can't find) of developed countries to increase their foreign aid budgets. I remember the target being 1%, but I can't say of what, and I can't find any reference to it, so its possible I'm wrong. Regardless, I felt like as someone who is fairly well off by any reasonable measure, I should be prepared to make a comparable commitment, and that 1% of my income was a reasonable target to aim for. It turns out other people have the same idea, although I only found that site while looking for the foreign aid one.

So, without further ado, these are the charities to which I have donated this year.

Red Cross Australia: In the past I've given to their specific event appeals (Haiti, Victorian Bushfires, etc). This year I gave to the Pakistan Flood appeal, and to their general Australian fund.
Premier's Disaster Relief Appeal: I wasn't personally affected by the dramatic Queensland floods and cyclone Yasi, but I had very strong links to both. I was in Brisbane during the floods and helped with the cleanup, and I grew up in Innisfail and went through cyclone Winifred (a pale imitation of Yasi).
Movember: I participated in this a few years ago, and if I have a friend doing it, I donate to their effort. If not, I donate generally - prostate cancer and depression are good causes, and I reckon Movember has been effective at involving in charity people who might not otherwise pay attention.
Oxfam: Although I like Oxfam's mission, and I have donated to them in the past, I am sometimes sceptical about some of their publicity. This donation was to Meg's team doing the Trailwalker in Brisbane.
Salvation Army: The Salvos are probably the most visible social charity in Australia (for me, anyway). In the past I've donated to them through some sporting events, this year it was through their general appeal.
Heart Foundation: The Heart Foundation are one of the more important community health charities, and becoming more so with changes in our lifestyles. I often donate to them through sports appeals, but this year it was through the general appeal.
UNICEF: International Children's charity. This year was the first time I've donated to them, on Lee's recommendation.
Kidney Foundation: I know someone who's life was extended through a kidney transplant, and in the past I've donated through their barbeques, but this year I donated through the general fund.
Fred Hollows Foundation: Eye care in Australia's remote communities and abroad. This was the first year I've donated, on Mum's recommendation.
Endeavour Foundation: Disabled service group. We used to donate clothes and things when we were in Innisfail. I know their CEO.
Cancer Council Australia: I donated to these guys because they are the supported charity for the half-marathon I'm doing in August. I recognise the name through sun protection advertising, I think.

This list will no doubt change next year. Some of the change will be for silly reasons. Charities that send me unnecessary or excessive mail or gifts, for example, won't be looked upon kindly. I am giving money in order that the charities use it to do good, not that they use it to make me feel good - for me, that comes with the act of donating. Some of the change will be for better reasons. I would like to donate more to charities working closer to my field (Engineers Without Borders might be a candidate, but I was underwhelmed with the material on their website; another possibility would be something to do with education or literacy), or in areas that have meaning to me (something in the Solomon Islands perhaps). If you're reading this and you want to recommend a charity, add a comment or send me an email.

EDIT: Added National Breast Cancer Foundation (Steve's half-marathon) and MS Society (Paul's bike ride)

Committed

2011-06-20T13:06:00.005+10:00

I just signed up for the Brisbane Half Marathon on August 7th. I have been making noises about doing this for a while, but having paid my registration, now I'm committed (doubly so once I've blogged about it). In doing so, I've taken inspiration from various people - Lee, Chad, Andy and Meg among them - who have either done or made noises about doing a half marathon. I've been running fairly regularly for about 6 months now, and over the last month or two I've been increasing my distances up over 10km, and feeling the benefits both in fitness and in my enjoyment of running. On Saturday morning, I ran 14km, part of it along the actual route for the half marathon. Although this is still well short of the half-marathon distance, I'm confident that I'll be able to get through the 21.1km, even if I won't be setting any land speed records in doing it.

Like so many other running/cycling/hiking events, this do is linked to a charity. Specifically, they're calling for sheckles on behalf of the Queensland Cancer Council, who I understand do yeoman work in providing research and support for the prevention, detection and treatment of cancer in the state. In the past I've set up a page at everydayhero, but I'm not going to do that this time. They sting both donor and charity for a slice, and although I'm sure their service does help to attract donors, I'm not 100% convinced that's effective. However, if you would like to encourage me, or if you are just feeling charitable, I would encourage you to donate. And if you want to email me or leave a comment to say that I've helped prompt you to do so, I promise to feel warm and fuzzy inside and run just that little bit harder.

Chasing the White Whale

2011-06-14T14:13:00.002+10:00

I managed to slay the lesser of my figurative reading white whales this weekend, and to resume combat with the other.

I had commented to someone during the week that it had been a while since I had finished a novel, and they had pointed out that a three week break (it might have been four) was hardly a drought, especially given that the material in question was far from the easiest.

Anyway, I finished Moby Dick this week. I'm glad to now be able to say I've read it, given its significance in the western canon, but I can't say its one of my favourite books. The first sentence, "Call me Ishmael", is grossly misleading in its simplicity. The writing style thereafter gets quite overwrought. Still, I didn't mind that so much while the narrative was advancing. Unfortunately for me, the book spends quite a significant portion of its length in discourse on the nature and history of the whale and those who hunt it. I can't say I was fascinated by this, and often wished we could get back to the story. Indeed, our protagonists don't actually sight the storied white whale until about 90% into the book, from which point everything happens in a very great rush before finishing. I suspect a contemporary editor would have very stern things to say about Melville's pacing.

Having finished with cetaceans for the time being, I've returned to weightier prey, in the form Le Comte de Monte Cristo (en francais). I made good progress on this before heading overseas, finishing off tome 1 (of 4), and resuming it yesterday reminded me that it isn't nearly as daunting as the first chapters, or its impressive size, would suggest. I'll say this, too: being such a long book, the narrative structure is much less predictable to the reader. With other books I get an idea of how, or at least at what pace, things are going to progress, but I really don't have that feeling with this book. With so many pages left, I really don't have a grasp of where the story arcs will go, and that's kind of pleasant. I don't pretend that this burst of activity will go right through to the end of the book (I had to take a break yesterday when I tired, to read some bush poetry), but I do maintain my hopes of getting through it some time this year.

Valley Jazz

2011-05-30T10:10:00.003+10:00

This past weekend saw the Valley Jazz Festival roll around. I have at times been known to bemoan the lack of a jazz scene in Brisbane, but despite that I had been very lax about planning to get along to a festival within a half hour walk of my apartment. Fortunately, on Wednesday Paul got me interested in a gig, which resparked my enthusiasm and got me more into the proper spirit of things. In the end, over the course of the festival I managed 5 gigs - all at the Judith Wright Centre, 2 wednesday night and 3 Saturday night.

The first gig Wednesday night was the Mark Isaacs Resurgence band, a 5 piece lead by Isaacs on piano. Their stuff was pretty good - I was particularly impressed by James Muller on guitar - amazing chops - and the drummer, whose name I don't recall, but who really had a good groove going, and did interesting things with his solos.

After that, there was a free gig in the Centre's Shopfront Centre by the Marialy Pacheco Trio. I had seen her play a gig last December, mostly solo then a couple of tunes with a percussionist, but I'd been looking forward to seeing her trio, with Pat and Joe Marchisella, both really good players who I've met and seen play through Paul. The format works pretty well, too - despite not being quite as invested in his music as he has been, Pat is still such a great and tasteful player. They had a really nice, and unexpected, adaptation of Sounds of Silence, just before we called it a night.

The first Saturday night gig was Jazzgroove Mothership Orchestra with Kristin Berardi. Paul studied with Kristin, and used to gig with her when I lived with him at Ironside St in St Lucia - she has a wonderful voice, and has done some great things since that time, winning some competitions and generally becoming a better singer. The band itself was OK, a 17-piece (all male, strange!), but perhaps not quite up to the standard I had expected (Paul had hyped them up a bit) - probably only 4 or 5 of the soloists impressed me.

After that gig I had planned to see Misinterprotato's free set in the shopfront area, but it was full, so I had to wait for some people to leave before I could get in. I have an album or two of theirs - all 3 of them were at the con with Paul, and used to show up from time to time at Ironside St, although that was a long time ago. They're great players - Pat Marchisella, in particular, is one of my favourite bass players - but at times they can tend to be a bit atmospheric and not get as much of a groove going as I'd like. This concert was probably the best of theirs I'd seen though - Sean's composition has improved, I think, and they really got some nice stuff going - still very much at the quiet end, but not too lost in soundscape-y stuff.

The third gig, the Aaron Goldberg Trio, was far and away the best. Goldberg is such an amazing pianist, and Paul's forewarnings about his sidemen, Greg Hutchison on drums and Reuben Rogers on bass, being pretty famous, were well-justified. They played a mix of stuff off Goldberg's two most recent albums, plus a couple of blues bits, with a range of fast stuff that really let them show off - especially Goldberg and Hutchison - and some slower, often latin stuff, where Rogers really, really impressed me with his solo-ing. Overall, they really were a cut above, and I was glad that I didn't miss this.

I have some hopes of getting along to see Ron Carter in a couple of weeks, but if not, I can be happy that I've gotten a fill of good jazz to tide me over for a while.

Holiday Reading

2011-05-17T16:16:00.002+10:00

Holidays are the best time to read. Even though this has already been a fairly fruitful year for me for reading, I still think that my recent four-week sejour in Europe saw a bit of an increase. It didn't start with departure, though. A couple of weeks before leaving, emboldened by my reimmersion into francophonie, I started reading Le Comte de Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas Père. This is my second attempt at what is a pretty voluminous work, but my last only managed a couple of chapters, and those with great difficulty. This time around seems much better - I finished off the first of four tomes not long after arriving in Europe, and am a couple of chapters into the second. I hope to continue and perhaps finish the whole thing by the end of the year.

Having finished the first tome, I decided that I needed some diversity, and decided to allow myself the luxury of reading an English-language book in parallel with Le Comte. My first effort was a short one. Some time ago I decided that having read very little poetry represented a gap in my greater education, and grabbed a bunch of "big name" poetical works from project gutenberg. So, looking for something short to fill a gap, I read Lamia, by John Keats. I quite enjoyed it, too - there's something very nice about the carefully chosen words necessary for the form, and I enjoyed the occasional side-quest to fill in context regarding Greek gods or the layout of Corinth.

Satisfied by my expedition into poetry, I next picked up a copy of Animal Farm that Em had lying around. I think I've said in the past how much of a fan I am of the novella as a form, and I wolfed this one down in about a day. I always think of Animal Farm in the context of 1984 (also Orwell), and Brave New World (Huxley), both of which I've read (although 1984 not as an adult), so it was high time that I completed the set. Its a good little analogy, pretty transparent but still a good yarn. I won't pretend I can summarize it better than it has been analyzed elsewhere - just go read it for yourself :)

After Animal Farm, I browsed through my collection and settled on The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde. I'd been vaguely familiar with Wilde's stuff through plays (The Importance of Being Ernest) and general witticisms, but I was keen to see what he did with a more weighty medium. The book starts out fairly lightly, a fairly loosely connected collection of witticisms around a couple of characters which seemed to represent the different aspects of Wilde's character. As the story develops, though, the trite sayings are fewer, and the subject matter gets darker. Wilde never actually reveals much of the depravity that he implies about Dorian (other than opium), but the drama builds nonetheless, and generally the thing works well as a narrative arc.

The last book I finished on the holiday was A Tale of Two Cities, by Dickens. I read my first Dickens, Great Expectations, a little while back, and enjoyed more than I had expected to, and AToTC had been recommended to me as perhaps his best book, so it was next on my list. Like Expectations, Dickens doesn't content himself with a study of a few characters - he makes a quite deliberate effort to paint the period as bigger than the characters of the story, to flesh out what is happening in the place and time in which the story takes place. I felt like he let himself explore his prose style more than Expectations too, with parts being quite ambitious. The story is good too, following the characters as they dodge across the channel between the titular towns, fighting off the threat of Madame Guillotine.

Although Cities was the last book I finished, it wasn't the last I started. I am presently about a third of the way through Moby Dick, by Melville. I'm not enjoying the prose style particularly, but following Orwell, Wilde and Dickens is a tough ask, I suppose.re

Travel Planning is hard

2011-03-29T15:44:00.002+10:00

In a few weeks I'm off to Europe for a 4-week holiday (mid-April to mid-May). Its tempting to say that 4 weeks is a lot, but it really isn't. Living in Rennes for more than 3 years means I've got a lot of friends I'd like to to visit, and in the years since I've left, they've been inconsiderate enough to scatter themselves across the continent (or so it seems, anyway). The last few weeks I've been wracking my brains to work out how I can get around to visit 20 or so people scattered over 5 or 6 countries (France, Switzerland, UK, Netherlands, Luxembourg, Norway). The additional complication is having other people travelling around concurrently, and trying seeing to what extent we might join forces.

Its all a bit hard. Every time I think I have a plan, something changes and everything goes up for renegotiation. I'm getting to the point where I have to start booking transport within Europe, and accommodation, at which point changing requirements will have to be ignored.

back to books

2011-03-25T09:55:00.004+10:00

This year is proving to be extremely eventful. The end of March is not yet here, but already the year has brought me floods, a change of jobs, a couple of papers being accepted, the achievement of a long-held goal, a family wedding, a bunch of concerts and just a generally more active social life. Nonetheless, one of the things I enjoyed more and more towards the end of last year was getting back into reading, and I've managed to keep that up pretty well.

Since the start of the year, I've read 7 books, across a nice variety of genres. In a less busy time I probably would have blogged about each individually, but in lieu of that, and with more busy times ahead of me, I'll just summarize them here:

The Code of the Woosters (Wodehouse): This was the second of three (see below) in an anthology of Wodehouse's Jeeves stories. I hadn't read any Wodehouse before, and they're nice little stories, very well written and very easy to read. They reminded me in time and tone a little of The Importance of Being Ernest, light-hearted and bouncy. To be honest, I can't precisely remember what this one was about - the three I read tended to follow a fairly similar pattern of interwoven personal intrigues - but its the tone and style and movement that matters more than the story.
A History of the World in 10 and a Half Chapters (Barnes): I didn't know what to expect of this book, although Michael L recommended it, which made me optimistic. I wasn't disappointed. The book is a series of occasionally and very loosely related parables about, well, the world, I guess. Its hard to pull out more specific themes - certainly religion is prominent, and the way that it influences people's outlooks on the world. I got the feeling that there might have been deeper analogies going on than I was understanding, but that didn't adversely affect my appreciation of the book.
Right Ho, Jeeves (Wodehouse): See above, more Jeeves, reliable and fun.
The Breaks of the Game (Halberstam): This was an impulse buy based on repeated passing praise of this book by the FreeDarko guys and probably other basketball blogs that I've read over the years. Set around the 1980 Portland Trailblazers, its a really very well written insight into basketball people, from players to coaches and administrators, how they got to where they are and how they relate to the larger changes that were going through basketball, be the implications of race, the role of television, the growing professionalism and salaries, or the onset of injury. I can see why the book has the status it does among basketball pundits.
Claudius The God (Graves): After finishing I, Claudius a couple of years ago, I had started on the sequel, but for one reason or another, be it needing a change of style, or because my copy was so fragile I wasn't comfortable carrying it around, I kept putting it aside. Finally this year I started again, and read it through within a few weeks. Like the first book, it treads a fine line between sacrificing narrative form for historical detail, but on the whole it manages it pretty well. I can't help but feel that the first instalment was better, just because it had more going on in terms of having 3 emperors (Augustus, Tiberius, Caligula, with snippets of Julius at the start and Claudius at the end) rather than one (Claudius). I also felt that Livia, for all that I read she might have been hardly done by, made for a better villain than Messalina. Still, a good book.
Notes From Old Nanking (Hamilton): This was a nice little book about observations made by an Australian diplomatic aid in China in the years between 1947-1949. This was the time when the communists overthrew the nationalists, but to be honest, most of the book is vignettes about the lifestyle at the time, and the revolution itself gets relatively little treatment. This surprised me, but changed rather than diminished my enjoyment of the book, in that it made for more of a historical portrait rather than a war story.
Holden's Performance (Bail): Murray Bail is one of those Australian authors who I have been remiss not to have read before now. I can see why. This is the story of Holden Shadbolt, and his life between growing up in Adelaide in the years after WWII, before moving to Manly and Canberra in the 50s and 60s. He falls in with a bunch of delightful and delightfully named characters along the way - his stepfather McBee, his uncle Vern and friends Flies & Wheelright, the eccentric theatre owner Alex Screech, his love affair Harriet, the womanising politician Hoadsley, and the collection of bodyguards like Colonel Light and Irving Polaroid. The book is frequently funny and delightfully written, and when Bail extends himself he can be really quite adventurous with his prose. The characters border on caricatures at times, but all are treated with love and respect, and come across as very real. Its also really nice the way he taunts us with historical fact, references to the PM R.G. Amen, to the "one syllable PM" who follows him, enough to give us some context, but steering well clear of historical fiction.

So there you go, 7 books in 3 months. Last year it took me until at least September to get to that point, and so far I've been really enjoying the books, and their variety.

The IMDB Top 250

2011-03-07T09:39:00.002+10:00

Its a bit strong to call it a quest, or even a resolution, but over the last 5 or 6 years, when I've been looking for a movie to watch, my first port of call has been the IMDB's Top 250, a list of films ranked by an adjusted average rating of all the users of the IMDB site. It has been a moving target, obviously - there are probably well over fifty films that have entered and departed the list since I started following it, so I've ended up seeing a lot more than what is currently in the list. This has been to my great profit - some of these I had never heard of, but now count among my favourite films.

On Saturday, I went down to Palace Centro and watched True Grit, the Coen Brothers' latest western, a good film with very strong characters and performances, even if the denouement was disappointing (note to self: if I start a film review blog, consider "disappointing denouement" as a name - its an epidemic). At the time I saw it, this was the last remaining film I hadn't seen on the list, so as of March 5, I have completed the list. I expect this will only last a few weeks at the most, but its something that, for no particularly good reason, I'm a little bit proud of.

I've had a wonderful time going through the list. There are so many films, directors and genres that I had never really watched, and would not necessarily have expected to like. I loved the westerns, from Sergio Leone to John Wayne, Butch and Sundance to Unforgiven, and new ones like 3:10 to Yuma (the remake) and the Coen Brothers' latest. I was surprised by how much I liked the silent films I saw, especially Chaplin and Keaton (especially Keaton), but also films like M, Metropolis and The Passion of Joan of Arc. I saw more Asian films because of the 250 list than I had seen previously, and really enjoyed Kurosawa, Old Boy, Infernal Affairs, and In The Mood for Love. Some of the films were "tough" to watch - Bergman and Fellini come to mind - but there was always something to take away from them. The worst film I saw from the list was without question A Christmas Story, which has no place in the list, but its the only one that springs to mind that really disappointed me.

In some ways, its a little sad that I've finished the list, in that I no longer have it as a reference to go to when I want to find a film to watch. On the other hand, I have a much fuller appreciation now of different filmmakers, and I know there are a bunch who I really haven't explored as much as I'd like - Truffaut and Godard, and the French new wave (having really liked Les 400 Coups and Au bout de souffle, and La Salaire de la Peur), and some filmmakers who didn't make the list, like Fassbinder. I also feel a little more comfortable now going back and rewatching some of the films, especially those I haven't seen for a long time now. Also, its only a matter of time before there are new entries to check out :)

up the creek

2011-03-04T11:02:00.000+10:00

Some people who follow me on twitter and had some inside connections already knew this was happening, but it probably warrants a proper announcement for anyone else who's still subscribed here or elsewhere.

A couple of weeks ago I tendered my official resignation to QUT. In just over a week I will be starting a new position as lecturer in the School of ITEE at the University of Queensland.

Sudanese Australians and sport

2011-02-23T12:03:00.003+10:00

Gee, I hope I can get the tone of this OK.

I don't know when Australia started seeing increasing populations of Sudanese immigrants. I guess it was probably in the last 10 years or so. I started noticing them more when I arrived back, and among my first thoughts were, "my goodness, I can't wait until these folk start playing the sports I follow". The physiques of the immigrants I've seen are just remarkable, fit and long and lean and lithe. The dominant sport in Sudan is probably soccer, but I just reckon they are so physically well-suited to sports like basketball, cricket, netball (which I don't enjoy much, but whose position I respect) and australian rules.

The first Sudanese-Australian sportsperson I have seen in the news is the basketballer, Ater Majok. He was a high-profile recruit to a major US college, UConn, but declared for the NBA draft prematurely, without ever having made any real impact in the college game. He wasn't drafted, and has recently been playing a couple of short stints in the NBL here in Australia. He hasn't set the world on fire, and I've heard worries about his fundamentals and his attitude, so time will tell how far he goes.

This weekend also saw the first appearance by a Sudanese-Australian in the AFL, with Majak Daw playing in a preseason game with North Melbourne. Early reports are good, and personally I really want to see him succeed. The Kangaroos aren't my team, but I really hope if nothing else that Majak can serve as a role model to people in his community.

Here's hoping we see more and more Sudanese Australians breaking into top-level sport in Australia. I really think they have a great contribution to offer to our sporting landscape.

retirement

2011-02-14T19:24:00.003+10:00

About 18 months or so ago, I posted about my experience playing Age of Conan. At that time I'd played for just over a year, and this week will see me finish playing after just a shade over 2 and a half years of being subscribed.

When I posted last time, I had fairly recently joined my third guild, Primal Fury. Not long after posting, PF almost fell apart, as a number of the senior players in the guild lost interest and left to play other games. I was one of a few players, and along with Vic, I'd like to think one of the main ones, who stepped up and rebuilt the guild, going back to lower level raids and introducing new players until we were able to get back to where we had been. It took a few months, but PF became a very powerful guild. At our peak, we were running 2 raids in parallel through tier 2, and we were the first guild on the server to craft an Ibis blade.

About a year ago, the guild had begun to fade slightly, focussing more on PvP (which doesn't interest me) and less on PvE (which does), and the game's expansion pack was released. I wasn't excited by the prospect of playing the xpac on a PvP server, so I rolled an assassin on the PvE server (Wiccana), and joined the Third Time Lucky guild, which my friend Misaki played with. I was fortunate that I came in playing a class in which TTL were undermanned, and I was able to quickly get gear and become a regular raider. I raided with TTL as we progressed through T3, where they have now downed Thoth-Amon.

I wasn't there for that kill, though. My interest in the game started fading about 3 months ago, and in the last 2 months I've probably only played 3 or 4 times. Given that, I've cancelled my subscription. It was difficult to do, simply because there are a lot of people in the game whose company I have enjoyed for a long time, some of them, like Misaki, going back more than 2 years. Its been very interesting to see just how solid a social group can be formed over a voice chat server, when everyone is working together to achieve a collective aim. I hope I'll be able to meet up with some of the people I've played with if I play another online game.

For now, though, "serious" gaming has somewhat lost its appeal, and I'm devoting more of my time to some activities that I've let lapse in recent years, particularly books and movies.

Reading, 2010

2011-01-27T09:24:00.004+10:00

At the beginning of last year I set myself a very vague, non-binding and unambitious target of reading 12 books. I think I'd set the same target the previous year and only achieved it courtesy of a burst of 3 or 4 books in the last 2 weeks of the year (coinciding, not surprisingly, with the only leave I took that year). Not one to break with tradition, I did a similar thing this year, excepting only that the burst period was more like 6 weeks, and coincided instead with some discussions about books.

So, the books I read in 2010 (with links, were appropriate, to what I wrote about them) were:

The Sound of One Hand Clapping (Flanagan)
The Big Sleep (Chandler)
The Quiet American (Greene)
Heart of Darkness (Conrad)
Love in the Time of Cholera (Marquez)
The Beach (Garland)
Lonesome Traveler (Kerouac)
Breath (Winton)
Bike Snob: Systematically and Mercilessly Realigning the World of Cycling (BikeSnobNYC)
The Tree of Man (White)
The Mating Season (Wodehouse)
Cold Comfort Farm (Gibbons)

My favourites were probably two of the Australian entries - Breath and The Tree of Man -although Cold Comfort Farm was also very good.

As to this year, I would like to think I'll read more, and have in my mind a vague, non-binding and unambitious target of 15 books. Last year was better in terms of having more Australian entries than previous years, so I'd quite like to continue that, and I wouldn't mind if I saw a couple of non-fiction entries this year. I haven't finished any books yet this year, but I'm probably 75% of the way through two.

rising waters

2011-01-25T09:31:00.003+10:00

My last blog post was about getting a close look at Australia's propensity for natural disaster, and specifically flooding. At the end of that post, I commented that I hadn't been directly affected. That remains true, I guess, but in the last couple of weeks I've come closer.

Two weeks ago today, I was at my second day back at work. The previous day we had been confronted by quite dramatic images of flash-flooding at Toowoomba, which claimed a number of lives (2, I believe) and produced youtube videos of cars being tossed like so many rubber ducks down the erstwhile main street, now raging torrent, of Toowoomba's commercial district. The spectacular images were followed by images that were less spectacular, but to me more troubling, of a great inland sea that had descended down into the Lockyer valley, sweeping homes off their stumps and destroying entire towns. In the week that followed, the death count in that area has risen to, I think, 15 or so. The stories are horrible.

So, on Tuesday, the Bremer River (which flows through Ipswich) and the Brisbane River (which, strangely enough, flows through Brisbane) began to rise. By lunchtime, some low-lying suburbs like Rocklea and West End had begun to be evacuated. Fearing that the bus would cease to run to New Farm, I headed home. As the afternoon progressed, the predictions escalated, until by the end of the afternoon, Anna Bligh announced that waters were predicted to reach levels comparable and even beyond those of the 1974 flood (which stands as "the" Brisbane flood).

My apartment was and is at no risk of flooding, as became increasingly apparent in the subsequent days. Parts of Newstead, the suburb in which I live, are low-lying - Teneriffe Ferry had flooded from king tides in the days leading up to Christmas, though - so I was concerned that I would lose electricity, so I stocked up on bread, grabbed some supplies (batteries, tinned food, UHT milk), and bunkered in. At the behest of my mother/brewer, I also filled my freezer with ice and my fridge with beer. I'm telling people the reason was because a full fridge keeps cold longer, but to be honest, who needs a reason to fill their fridge with beer, right?

I followed the flood news assiduously, through the 2-hourly press conferences with Anna Bligh, the deputy police commissioner and the rotating cast of related higher-ups, through the excellent QPS updates over facebook, and through the dramatic images posted by people on twitter under #qldfloods. In the meantime, I sat at home, alternately transfixed by the news, and bored, unable to focus on work or reading. Although I never lost power, and I was never physically isolated, after a few days sitting in my apartment essentially doing nothing, I was feeling a bit socially isolated, and welcomed the weekend and the opportunity to get out of the apartment and help clean up.

On Saturday I joined my friends Ted & Meg on a trek over to Fairfield to help clean the house of one of Meg's colleagues. The volunteer effort following the flood has been quite spectacular and very moving, with many tens of thousands of people venturing out into the streets with whatever gear they could muster, as well as others wandering the streets giving food and cold drinks to anyone affected or working. As for me, I spent most of the first Saturday after the flood shovelling silty, sloppy mud out of the garden at Fairfield. On Monday I caught a bus out to St Lucia, where I spent the morning moving huge piles of mud-soaked kerbside garbage into trucks. In the afternoon, as it became increasingly a job for bobcats rather than willing hands, a group of us moved to Milton. There we helped with the Sisyphean task of sweeping out the bottom floor of a house that had been flooding every day at high tide (and that would be swept again 12 hours later). We also helped clean the house of a guy who had been evacuated with dysentry after his house had flooded a metre deep on the upper floor. The stories told by residents and second-hand by other volunteers were just amazing.

In the interim, when not volunteering, I was working from home. Our office building in the city had had its power shut off on the Wednesday morning, and the basement had flooded. We are now told that it won't be accessible for another month, and we are in temporary offices on the main university campus. We were allowed into the building for an hour on Friday, without power, during which time we climbed the 12 storeys up the lamplit fire stairs, and retrieved what we could (mostly laptops) from the foetid air of our office.

We live in interesting times.

of droughts and flooding rains

2010-12-30T08:57:00.002+10:00

On the morning of Friday I played golf with Dad. It was a pleasant morning, and the weather, which over the previous month had been inclement by Toowoomba standards, held off, making for an enjoyable walk. In the afternoon, it began to rain.

All through Christmas day the rain continued, never thundering down in the way to which I had become accustomed growing up in the tropics, but unrelenting nonetheless. Boxing day was, if anything, more inclement, with the rain at times increasing in intensity. I love the rain, but come the 27th, I was becoming itchy with being trapped inside. I have the tendency while visiting my parents towards the sendentary lifestyle, reading books, watching cricket (a function of the times of year at which I tend to visit), and tapping away on my computer (the latter a vice not specific to Toowoomba, it has to be said).

By the afternoon of the 27th, though, the rain had eased, and we ventured out to inspect the consequences. Gowrie Creek was brown and angry and running at speed, but did not seem to have broken its banks, or at least not with consequence for drivers. Further out towards Meringandan, the waters encroached further and further onto the roads, until we turned around as the rain began to fall.

Later in the day, we headed west, out towards Biddeston, along roads flanked by natural gutters awash with rushing brown water, bursting out to flow across the road every few hundred meters in its rush to find lower ground. After a while we stopped at a what had once been a small creek, that had exploded into a great sea of water, more than a hundred metres across. The bridge, guarded by a police car, had a great roaring brown race of water rushing under it, emerging out the other side in great waves that wrapped viciously around a hapless telephone pole. There was an old four-wheel drive in the middle of the torrent, washed half of the road and pinned against a railing, clearly abandoned.

Two days later, and under the bright sun and brisk wind that I have always associated with Toowoomba, we headed out for another drive, starting along the same route. The water was gone, the impromptu creeks that had appeared were gone. The evidence of the flood was there, though, in the crevasses carved by the water, in the crops laid down by the rush and covered in with silt and debris. The wide and raging creek had receded to its more habitual 4m width, although water still rushed through. For hundreds of meters beyond, one could see the debris and distressed crops where the water had spread, but it was still hard to believe that less than 48 hours earlier it had been a rushing lake.

We drove on, down to Brookstead. We had hoped to see the mighty Condamine in full force, but we were stopped several kilometres short, behind a Victorian family towing a car, and a barrier blocking further access. After a few minutes a police car pulled up, and told us that the bridge was out, and that they were stopping traffic at Brookstead to prevent further damage to the road. I have to say I was disappointed. I have always heard of these great Queensland rivers - Condamine, Bulloo, Paroo, Coopers Creek - that terrorise the west as they alternate between trickling or even buried rivers during droughts, and great rushing, sprawling inland seas that isolate and inundate towns during floods, but I haven't seen them, or if I have it has been at their most unspectacular. It would have been nice to see one of the giants at its most angry, even just to say I've seen it.

So, thwarted, we turned and drove back. Like wandering tourists we picked small backroads to wend our way back north-east, driving through fields of cotton and grain sorghum showing the recent layers of silt and debris, the silt at times stacked in strata like slate. Out in the fields the water still rushed along beside the road, giving a lie to the impression of the land being flat. Every now and then we would slow, as the sunlit mirages floating on the road refused to give way to approach, and revealed themselves as swathes of water moving across the road. Once we sent Mum out as a scout to test the depth of a 50m stretch of water, but she walked across it Jesus-like, and never got more than ankle-deep. So we pressed on, past a field of sunflowers, not staring up gleefully at the sun, but gazing mournfully down at the gathered silt at their feet, and their dying lower leaves.

They say that the floods were the worst for some time. It is with a little guilt that I say that I enjoyed them - I feel reinvigorated in my Australianness having seen in flood lands that 2 years ago I saw in drought. I know, though, full well, that the reason for my enjoyment was that I saw them only as a spectator. Others were not so lucky, including in some ways, people I know. I can only hope that when the time comes for me to confront one of Australia's great natural disasters, I can show the fortitude and resourcefulness that they have.

thinking about soccer

2010-12-01T10:41:00.004+10:00

My friend and erstwhile colleague Ricky called me out today on twitter, making reference to my past needling of him on the merits of soccer and its position in the Australian landscape. Its a timely nudge. This week in Switzerland, FIFA are (as I understand it) voting on the venues for the 2018 and 2022 soccer world cups, with Australia having thrown its hat in the ring for the latter.

I'm conflicted on this.

On one hand, I'm a nationalist, and for pure parochial reasons it might be nice to see Australia "win". From an objective point of view, the events we've held in recent times - the Sydney Olympics, the 2003 rugby world cup, the Melbourne Commonwealth Games - have gone well, in terms of getting very good attendance and generating a good atmosphere amongst fans. I have no doubt the same would be true for a soccer world cup. Also, I know that there are soccer fans in Australia, and I don't begrudge them the opportunity to see the best soccer nations in the world competing here.

Of course, I should make it clear that I'd be unlikely to attend any games. I've dabbled in following soccer - I've seen the Serie A at the San Siro, I saw France play Bosnia in an international friendly, I've seen the French Ligue 1, I've seen the Socceroos play, and during the 2006 world cup I followed a lot of games on television, in bars, at friends' houses, and in public squares. There were enjoyable moments, although for me they sprang from the company rather than the game. In terms of the game itself, I tend to come away frustrated. The tendency of the players to play the umpire rather than the ball feels dishonest, especially when I compare it with the way I like to see my preferred code, Australian Football, played. And I get bored by the comparative lack of adventure and aggression in most games, even by sides like Brazil and Holland, reputed for their attacking football. I should stress that these criticisms are of the game at its so-called highest level. I've found that the further you move away from professional soccer, the more honestly and earnestly the players play, and the more entertaining the game becomes.

My biggest concern, though, is about the impact that the event might have on the Australian sporting landscape. My biggest criticism of soccer as a culture is that in a lot of countries where it takes root, it comes to monopolise the sporting landscape. In France, I lived in such a country, where year-round (with the exception of a short summer break during which sport seemed to be ignored altogether), soccer is the only sport with any real currency in the street. I feel like the battle over the word "football", which we are told by some people can only be used for soccer, is illustrative of this "there can be only one" inclination. By comparison, in Australia, we have this beautiful phenomenon of the changing seasons of sport, from the football season (by which I mean the big three football codes in this country - Australian Football, Rugby League and Rugby Union, with netball and growing and commendable addition, even if I have little taste for the game myself), to the "cricket season", during which we also get a healthy helping of golf and tennis. There's even that strange month of October when some parts of the country obsess about horseracing (whose appeal I find much more inexplicable than soccer). For much of Australia, the changing of the sporting season is a much more significant and distinct transition than any climatic cycle.

All told, we have a wonderful diversity of sports, that cycles through seasons and offer choice to the fan as to which code they can follow. If the impact of the world cup is to raise the profile of soccer closer to the other football codes, then I'm fine with that. But I know the power of soccer and its international links. Even if I don't understand what it is that they like in the game itself, I understand the appeal of having a huge array of leagues and nations playing the game around the world. And I fear that these links, fuelled by the Australian sporting fan's parochialism, might eventually lead to a reduction in the diversity of our sporting landscape, which would be a tremendous shame.

like old times, only better

2010-11-28T22:12:00.004+10:00

Its amazing how one conversation, albeit a prolonged one, can have a big impact on how one approaches things. In what has been a very active last week and a half, I've rediscovered a bunch of activities that, at various points in my past, have been very regular parts of my life, but that in recent times have been neglected or entirely absent.

I had been making very little progress on the book I'm reading, Jack Kerouac's Lonesome Traveler (I have neglected to write a little review for The Beach, which I read in between Love in the Time of Cholera, and this one). This past week, though, I made more an effort to make time for it, and as a consequence, I got into it, enjoyed it, and finished it. In my defense, I still think it starts slowly. His style is somewhat stream-of-consciousness throughout, but early on, as he is traveling through Mexico and working on the railway in northern California, it seemed less coherent. As the book and its author moved on, to New York, the Seattle Mountains and Tangiers, I thought the prose got much clearer, and I enjoyed the book a lot more. Its a strange style with which he writes. The narrator is the central, often only, character, but at no point is he developed, which gives the book a certain sense of a travel diary, albeit one that is eloquently and interestingly written and paints a vivid picture of the places through which it travels.

The next book on the pile was Breath, by Tim Winton. There was no slow starting for me on this book. I read a third of it in the first sitting, and I finished in about a day and a half. The story is a kind of coming of age story for a young boy who takes up with a group of surfers during his upbringing in a small town. Winton's prose style is just so familiar and easy to read, and the plot just slides so by very comfortably. Like Cloudstreet (the only other Winton I've read thus far), the book is set in Western Australia, in this case around the late 70s, and like the other, it has a very strong sense of place. I have never been to the town where the book is set, or even spent any meaningful (i.e. as an adult) time in the state, but for some reason the setting and characters feel very true. If I had a criticism, I thought the dénouément was a bit drawn out; the book might have worked better for me had it been topped and tailed and presented as a novella.

In addition to doing a lot more reading, I've also been getting more exercise this week. In addition to my usual Monday night volleyball, I got out for 3 runs, which is a lot more than I have been doing in recent months. My leg is starting to hurt from them, which is worrying - I might have to curb my enthusiasm a little.

I also went for a bike ride. In Rennes, a 20-40km ride out along the canal was a fairly common activity on my weekends, but other than organised charity rides and commutes to work or tennis, and excluding one ride up Mt Coot-tha a while ago, I haven't been doing social rides in Brisbane. Yesterday afternoon, though, I just jumped on the bike and rode out past the city, around the river past Toowong and out along the freeway to where it intersects Moggill Road, and back again. It was a nice little 35km route, and it reminded me of what I used to enjoy about riding out of Rennes (although i would trade Brisbane's Western Freeway for Rennes' Canal St Martin any day of the week).

This afternoon, frustrated by Australia's stagnation in the cricket, I rode down to New Farm park and threw a basketball around for an hour or so. This was something I used to quite often while I was living in St Lucia and Toowong, and it was good to try my hand again, even if I quickly realised that the shortcomings I had as a basketballer before my knee operation were not excised with the torn ligament.

I also found a little time for new activities, going with some friends for a night of pickup ultimate disc. I threw a lot of frisbee as a kid, and realised playing social games of ultimate at college that it was something at which I might be reasonably capable. This proved to be true enough, although after a while I fell into the trap of playing dumb, expending a lot of energy without getting my hands on the disc. This, combined with playing almost non-stop for two hours without substitutes, meant that I was well and truly spent by the time the night was finished. It probably took 3 or 4 days for my hip flexors, groin muscles and quadriceps to stop hurting, but I'll be back for more this week, I think.

I also managed to squeeze in an extremely pleasant night at the movies, seeing Gainsbourg, a biopic about the French chanteur from the 60s and 70s. The performance of the lead, Eric Elmosnino, was very strong, convincing in both likeness and style. Although he came across as a flawed character, especially in his relationship to women (at least, from my perspective he did), it was a very interesting film, and nice too as a means of exercising/refreshing my French language comprehension.

I even got out to a concert. My friend Kylie's band Laïque (the haven't been putting the trema on the 'i', which is a little vexing) had the launch for their album "Cravin' just a little misbehavin'", at the Old Museum last night. There was a good crowd in, which was reassuring for their sakes, and everyone seemed to have a good time.

Its tempting to ask what it was that I sacrificed from my previous routine in order to make room for these things, but to be honest, nothing sprung to mind. I watched less TV, which is a boon rather than a price, as was playing less computer games (I am rapidly losing enthusiasm for the games I have been playing of late). I even squeezed in a visit from my parents, a screening of Cinema Paradiso (it had been too long since I'd seen it), and got plenty done at work. I need to be this aggressive about getting off my bum and doing things more often.

The to-read pile, and the on-hold pile, as at November 22 2010

2010-11-22T23:08:00.002+10:00

The to-read pile, and the on-hold pile, as at November 22 2010, originally uploaded by jsteel.

In recent days I've been having a wonderful time talking with various people about books. One of the topics I seem to keep mentioning, along with my poor record in terms of what/whom I've read, has been the pile of books that sit metaphorically and, for the sake of this photo, physically, on my bedside table ready to be read. Unmentioned, so far, is the other pile, on the same bedside table, of books that I have started reading and put aside for one reason or another.

So, here they are, my two piles. First, the to-read pile, starting from the top:

Lonesome Traveler - Jack Kerouac (currently reading). Kerouac is one of the many conspicuous absences in the list of 20th century authors whose works I have sampled. I found this one in the remaining collection of my late uncle, nominally housed with my grandmother but slowly working its way to other homes in the family.
Breath - Tim Winton. I've read one Winton - Cloudstreet, probably his most famous book - and enjoyed it a lot. I picked this one up at the Library on my most recent scavenging expedition.
Bike Snob: Systematically and Mercilessly Realigning the World of Cycling - Bike Snob NYC. I was recommended the blog from whence this book has sprung, and have been enjoying it for a few weeks now. I have yet to read a blog-to-book adaptation that I haven't liked (sample size: 1), so I have high hopes.
The Tree Of Man - Patrick White. As Australia's only winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, another embarrassing omission from my reading resumé. Also another pickup from my grandmother's library, although I suspect not from my uncle.
The Undisputed Guide to Pro Basketball History - FreeDarko. The second book to emerge from the FreeDarko collective. Truth be told, I feel like the freedarko blog itself has waned a little in terms of the frequency of its really high-quality contributions, but I suspect this is because Shoals and his co-conspirators have been devoting more of their attention to commercial writing and to this book. Also another blog-to-book adapation, so almost certain to be good. Bought online, with ...
The Breaks of the Game - David Halberstam. Widely cited as one of the best books yet written on basketball, following the 1979-80 Portland Trailblazers. Bought online.
Hitchcock/Truffaut - Francois Truffaut. I bought this book years ago on Amazon, on a whim, being super-impressed by the idea of an extended interview of one of the era's great directors, conducted by another of the era's great directors.
Down Under - Bill Bryson. A 20th century author that I don't feel especially embarrassed about not having read, but nonetheless one who people I trust have said is an entertaining read. I think I picked this book up from my father.
The Sentimental Bloke - CJ Dennis. To be honest, I'm not sure I'll get to this one anytime soon (the pile has a tendency to grow from the top, or sometimes from the middle, leaving scant chance for entries near the base). I just noticed it on my bookshelf as a nicely presented book, that I don't believe I've read. On the inside cover it has a sticker identifying itself as the 1994 year 11 prize for Chemistry from Mareeba State High School.
A History of the World in 10 1/2 Chapters - Julian Barnes. I have no idea what this book is about. I picked it up from my grandmother's library for precisely that reason. There is a high probability it will hold up this pile for a long time.

And the other pile, including some not pictured:

Claudius the God - Robert Graves. To be honest, I quite enjoyed I, Claudius, and I was enjoying this sequel until I put it aside. The only thing that prompted the interregnum was the somewhat fragile condition of the book itself, which makes it impossible to take it anywhere without fear of losing pages.
Thus Spake Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche. I was aware before starting this book that it would be challenging, not only in its content, but in its presentation. However, after only a few dozen pages I found the style too much of an impediment to the ideas, and I put it down. I will probably pick it up again at some point, though, when I am feeling brave.
A Thousand Plateaus - Deleuze & Guattari. A colleague at work is an ardent admirer of Deleuze's work, and recommended this to me. I lasted 5 pages before becoming infuriated by the pretentiousness of the prose style, and the obstacle it represented to understanding whatever ideas the authors were trying to communicate. I will almost certainly return this without reading another page.

sad

2010-11-16T09:37:00.004+10:00

I was almost home. We had lost at volleyball, but had played well and enjoyed ourselves. Chad had again been kind enough to give me a lift home, and we had talked about manners and architecture. All was good in my world.

We pulled up outside my building, and I got out and said goodbye and thanks to Chad. Looking down in the dim light, I noticed what looked like an old tennis ball, a "dog ball", lying on the road next to the car. I gave it a nudge with my foot, and started walking towards my gate. To my surprise, the ball did not roll, but hopped uncomfortably and began a distressed chirping. I quickly realised that this was not a ball, but a bird, and an infant at that.

When I was in high school, our house had a garden planted to attract birds, but was flanked on two sides by cats. I have a distinct memory of coming home from school one day to find a baby miner bird shivering and crying helplessly under a tree, its wings torn and broken. I had no special sympathies for the miner, but it was impossible not to pity such a small creature in obvious distress. The predatory instincts of the cat had been enough for it to hunt and corner the bird, but years of domestication had taken away the killing blow and the need to devour its prey, leaving the bird helpless. I had put the bird in a tree, where it might be safe from cats for a while, but I knew then that it would not survive.

The cries of that bird were echoed now in my mind by those of this small bird on the road. For a brief moment I fancied that it too had been the victim of some neighbour's pet seeking an outlet for long-lost hunting instincts. This time, though, I was not crouched with open hands, but looming over it having delivered a blow. Quite rightly, it struggled to flee the foot of its inadvertent assailant, but alas, this only took it further into the road, and into the path of an oncoming car. It had scarcely waddled a metre when, with a cruel, precise timing, it crossed the wheel line of the car. There was a small crunch as the unwitting vehicle ended its life.

Powerless to help, I thought to attend to the bird, or body, but instead turned away. There was nothing more to be done. The baby bird lived on only as a troubled image in my mind. And neither of us are happy about that.

Juvenal Urbino's hat

2010-10-29T10:24:00.002+10:00

Two things happened at the beginning of last week. First, I visited the library and reacquired two books that I'd borrowed but not finished earlier in the year. Secondly, fresh in the realisation that last week's wedding (which merits its own post) was to be held on a Queensland beach in a Queensland summer, I resolved to buy a hat.

Hats are back, or so the story goes, and I was fortunate to have a friend who I knew had bought a hat not that long ago, so I leant on him to give me a lead on where I might find a hat that could be worn with a suit. He supplied me with such, and on the Wednesday I swung by said vendor, knowing that my unrefined requirements would be insufficient but hoping for the grace of a helpful salesman. I found one, who directed me not towards the trilbies and fedoras that I expected, but towards a bewildering range of panamas. After a lengthy discussion of the why, which and how much of his selection, I walked away with a black-banded white number, which time would paint as either dapper-cool, or gangster-pretentious.

So what on earth does all this have to do with books? Well, one of the neglected-but-revisited borrowings from earlier in the year was Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Love in the Time of Cholera. The story, vividly painted by presumably both the author and his very adept translator, is set on the Caribbean coast of Colombia in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. Its three characters are Dr Juvenal Urbino, a very civilised and socially elevated type, Florentino Ariza, a socially awkward romantic who flickers between unrequited love and wild promiscuity, and Fermina Daza, a sketchily drawn parvenue who is pursued by Ariza as a girl, but finds social respectability by marrying Urbino.

As far as the story itself goes, I could take it or leave it. What I did like was the romantic combination of the place and time, which came through so vividly for me. This was most true, I think, in the early part of the book, with Dr Urbino tripping around the city dressed up to the nines with his suits and carriage. And, in my mind anyway, in his hat. My hat. Whenever I get dressed up and wear it, I shall think of myself of Juvenal Urbino. At some point, I may get myself a cane. Of course, he's also a devout catholic who dies falling out of a mango tree, but we get to pick and choose what we like in a character.

Talking with friends, its probable that the book has, in the relationships between its central characters, symbolism for the nature of love in changing times, with Florentino the romantic impractical and Urbino the stable and practical, but I really didn't feel the need to break down the prose to extract drier meaning. I focussed on hats.

Heart of Darkness

2010-10-12T11:17:00.003+10:00

I just finished a book, for the first time in what seems ages.

When I got my iPad, one of the things I was looking forward to was trying it as an e-reader. I had tried this briefly on my laptop years ago (I read some Cory Doctorow, and Kipling's Kim), but it didn't really stick, and I went back to paper (aided by the added adventure of having my reading guided by whatever was available in Rennes' bouquineries). The iPad's screen, and Apple's iBooks app, represents an opportunity to re-explore the medium. For now, iBooks only has copyright-free books available (I am taking this up with Apple as we speak, actually), but given my sketchy experience with the english-language "canon", this leaves plenty of scope. I grabbed a bunch of books, by Dickens, Defoe, Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Joyce, and Conrad (as well as some "big" french names, although I expect to struggle mightily with those, and might wait until Apple add a french dictionary to the iBooks app). My first attempt was Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness.

My experience with Conrad has been limited. I think it was last year (ed: 2 years; time flies) I bought and read Lord Jim. I enjoyed it (and find myself relating to it from time to time), perhaps more in hindsight than at the time; it took a long time to read. That story was about a young man's journey to Sulawesi (not explicitly, but I like to think of it as Sulawesi) in order to seek redemption, and for me was a lot about the difference between a person's intrinsic character or potential as perceived by others, and a person's actions, and how one influences the other.

Heart of Darkness, again from my perspective, was also a lot about intrinsic character and how it interacts with one's environment. The story is told by an old seaman, about his trip on a steamer up a river in the Congo (I believe; again, never made clear), to retrieve ivory from a colonial trader named Kurtz, who has been left alone deep in the wild for, apparently, too long. When the steamer reaches Kurtz' camp, they find him at death's door, and driven by overlong exposure to the wildnerness into a kind of madness. The book does a lovely job of building anticipation of Kurtz; he probably only features in person for a dozen pages. The other 100 pages (this is a novella, not a novel), though, all revolve around him, and his relationships with and effects on others, as a man of immense charisma and promise, but stripped raw from living too long away from civilisastion.

The book at times comes across perhaps not as racist per se, but with a note in its discussion of the native tribes that would not be palatable from a modern author. Even the central theme, that a white man in this "heart of darkness" cannot sustain without losing his sanity, has an overtone that today perhaps isn't a widely accepted view. (Having said that, I suspect one could write a very interesting book today about the Congo as a heart of a very different kind of darkness).

One of my reasons for choosing this, of all Conrad's short stories, was because it was returned to prominence through its adaptation by Coppola from a British ivory trader in colonial central Africa to an American commando in war-torn Indochina, in Apocalypse Now. It's been a long time since I watched the film, and less than 24 hours since I finished reading the book, but it actually feels to me like the adaptation was remarkably faithful. The same air of mystique, the same suspense by talking about but never meeting Kurtz, the same almost indifferent relationship between narrator and Kurtz. My appreciation for the film has grown.

I'm not sure what my next book will be. I've started reading A Thousand Plateaus, by Deleuze and Guattari, based on a recommendation from someone at work, but after a few pages, I'm already getting a little fed up by the pretentious prose style, so I'm not sure if I'll get through it.

papering over cracks

2010-10-11T14:02:00.004+10:00

My academic publication record in recent years has not been what I would have liked it to be. Still, last week was a good week. Our paper "Model Interoperability in Building Information Modeling" went up on the SoSyM journal web site. It had been almost 3 years since my previous journal paper. I don't normally blog about work stuff here (I have another rarely-used blog for that), but its something that made me happy, and assuaged, however fleetingly, my concerns about my job.

nostalgia again

2010-10-07T12:23:00.002+10:00

My last blog post was long, so here's a short one.

When I was in France, my stories always seemed to start with "In Australia...".

Now I'm back in Australia, my stories always seem to start with "When I was in France..."

What's up with that? This isn't a rhetorical question - the comments section is there for a reason :)

Trying CityCycle

2010-10-07T11:18:00.004+10:00

While I was living in Rennes (a lot of my stories seem to start this way nowadays), the local council had a city-wide bicycle hire scheme, called Velo a la Carte, run by a large advertising company (Clear Channel). I never used it, but the parking stations were everywhere, and I saw people riding the clunky bikes around town fairly often, and trucks moving them around balancing load across stations. It turns out (and perhaps someone will correct me on this) that this was one of the first cities to have such a scheme in recent times, in many cases bankrolled by advertising companies. Since it launched in 1998, there have been dozens of cities, among them Paris, Dublin, Vienna, and this year Melbourne, the first in Australia. Last week, Brisbane joined them.

Australia offers some challenges for this kind of system, as does Brisbane. Australian cities are much, much sparser than European cities, where apartment living is much more common. Our climate is much warmer. Most significantly, we are the first country to implement this kind of system in conjunction with mandatory helmet laws. I've read that Melbourne has had significant teething problems. In Brisbane, which has the additional problem of being much hillier than Melbourne, the city council and JC Decaux (the French company running the scheme) have gone in boots and all. Walking around the city and my neighbourhood, there are bike ranks every block or two, and construction sites for more springing up all the time. If it fails here, its going to fail spectacularly.

I mostly live and circulate in the inner suburbs of Brisbane to which the scheme presently limits itself, presumably for reasons of population density and demographics. I'm not, however, its idea target. I already own a bike, and I already use it for commuting (albeit not as much as I should) and for getting around to visit friends. However, I can see situations - one way or mixed mode trips - where it would be nice to not have to find somewhere to park a bike. So, although I didn't sign up at launch, I did sign up pretty quickly (actually, the only thing that stopped me signing up at launch was probably that the parking station nearest me wasn't open at launch).

I tried it this morning to get into work. The machine to hire a bike is a little clunky; it took me two attempts to get the bike (timeout), and there were some vestiges of french language on the machine, which was cute. Once I did get the bike I was struck by how heavy it was - at a guess at least 3 or 4 times the weight of my bike. I adjusted the seat up as high as it would go, but it was still a bit too short for me. The basket got me some looks as I was riding, but not having a backpack sweating onto my back was worth it.

My route was problematic. I have two routes I can cycle to work. The first is 7km, and flat, but has a few traffic lights, and takes me about 20 minutes on my normal bike. The second is 5km but quite hilly, and takes me about 15 minutes on my bike, but is more tiring. With CityCycle, journeys over 30 minutes cost money so, being worried that a 20 minute trip could well turn out longer, I opted for the hilly route. I regretted it almost immediately. Having three gears instead of 18 is fine, until you need to up a hill (Kent street, in my case). Being in the wrong gear, combined with the great weight of the bike, meant I was pretty tired after the first hill. Still, I got to work (there is a station about 50m from my building) in about 20 minutes, and returning the bike was pretty easy.

I'm not sure how much I'll end up using the scheme. The 30 minute limit is a real nuisance - if I'm visiting friends in West End, then it will probably take me more than 30 minutes on those bikes, depending on traffic. At $2.20 for the second half hour, I'm better off on a bus. I'll probably try it for popping down the shops though, where I don't want to take my bike because I'm coming back loaded up with groceries.

blowing my own trumpet

2010-07-29T10:49:00.003+10:00

There have probably been a dozen or so occasions over the last dozen or so years that I have resolved to get back into playing music.

Throughout primary and high school, I was basically never not involved in some sort of musical group, mostly on trumpet, but with brief forays into french horn and even tuba. I was never going to make a career of it - I was good at some things like sight reading and time, but my tone and range were never up to snuff - but I wasn't bad. Probably my high point was playing Handel's trumpet concerto near the end of high school (although I also have fond memories of my french horn stuff).

Anyway, since then I basically haven't played. Every 6 months or year, I pick up the trumpet and practice, but then I get discouraged by my lack of range and endurance (trumpet is very demanding on the condition of the player's lip), and put it away again.

Well, I practiced Monday, and Tuesday, and again last night, and enjoyed it. I've transcribed a (bad) arrangement of Alfonsina y El Mar, and I've been trying to get that sounding OK. I've been playing lots of scales. I even pulled out my sheets from the Handel concerto and gave that a try, although I'm still a way off having a lip capable of doing it any sort of justice. We'll see if this lasts longer than my previous attempts.

an early look at candidates

2010-07-19T12:58:00.003+10:00

In past years I've gone into some detail on the candidates available to me for the federal election. I'll probably do the same this year. I may be somewhat less engaged in the politics this time around (or maybe not), but the choice I have in my local electorate is much, much more interesting than it has been in the past. The official list of candidates won't be out for a couple of weeks, but there are three significant candidates each with more than 10 years experience as elected representatives in federal politics.

Arch Bevis has been the sitting ALP member for 20 years, but was marginalised at the last election being demoted from a high-profile shadow cabinet post to a minor role as a subcommittee chair.

Teresa Gambaro was the Liberal member for Petrie between 1996 and 2000, and was an assistant minister when she lost her seat.

Andrew Bartlett took the Queensland Democrats seat in 1997, then won it in his own right in 2001, before being defeated in 2007 when the party was wiped out. He is running this year for the Greens.

Last time around, Bevis grabbed 45%, the Libs 39%, and the Greens polled 12%, with Bevis winning the 2PP by 6.8%. Redistribution has narrowed that to 4.6%, and both the Libs and Greens are (in my opinion) fielding much stronger candidates than last time, so the seat promises to be very interesting in the primary. Having said that, I would expect a bump for the Greens, which might actually make Bevis safer on 2PP, even if his primary drops).

My first instinct is to go for Bartlett (West Wing indoctrination?). I don't like the Greens as a party - I think they're unconstructive - but I do like him as a candidate. I will have to look more closely at policy positions, though.

charity ride

2010-06-22T09:28:00.003+10:00

I'm doing a charity ride this weekend, 50km out to the beach and back with a few friends. If you haven't made your annual donation to the MS people, feel free to use me as an excuse to do so.

The Quiet American

2010-05-28T17:16:00.002+10:00

It was a long time between novels this time. I've said that before, right?

The other day I finished reading The Quiet American, the first novel I've read by Graham Greene. Its a story set in the latter days of French colonial Vietnam, just as the US started getting involved. The central characters, the English reporter Fowler, the eponymous American Pyle, and the Vietnamese Phuong, feel very much like metaphors for the old colonial powers, for the US, and for Vietnam itself, although I was never very sure whether this analogy was intended as an analogy or just the way the whole scene was seen by Pyle.

The story, which isn't very long (it could probably be classed as a novella), is fairly simple, and well-told. Although I haven't been to southeast Asia (one of the conspicuous holes in my travel experience), it felt evocative of the place and time in which the story is set, although it really doesn't explore or even expose the French point of view. I get the feeling, too, that the book, which was written before the real buildup of US involvement in the country, has proven more prophetic than the author could possibly have imagined.

After finishing the book, I watched Philip Noyce's 2002 adaptation, with Michael Caine as Fowler and Brendan Fraser in a very subdued mode as Pyle. The movie was faithful in its adaptation (other than conflating Fowler's Indian assistant with his local Communist contact/s, in order to reduce the number of characters), but lacked a spark. I certainly enjoyed the book more, and felt the movie would have been a bit bland seen in ignorance of the book.

The NBN and latency

2010-05-07T15:51:00.003+10:00

I blogged some thoughts about latency and the NBN over at my other blog. Having separate work and personal blogs made more sense 5 years ago, when I wanted to separate boring technical stuff from whining about being homesick (for the benefit of both sets of readers). Now it seems kind of redundant. Especially since I hardly post to either of them any more :)

respect

2010-03-29T16:37:00.003+10:00

I went for a run on Sunday afternoon. I covered 5.38km in 30 minutes, which is a little slower than I'd like to be going, but I hope a good start to running more often.

On the same day, the Australian leader of the opposition, who more than 20 years my senior, completed an iron man triathlon. That's a 3.8km swim, followed by a 180km bike ride, followed by a 42.2km run. In my life, the most I've ever managed of each, on separate days, is I reckon a 2km swim, a 110km bike ride, and a 10km run. Doing them on the same day is just crazy.

I disagree pretty vehemently with most of Tony Abbott's politics (and have been known to describe him as "dangerous"), and there's no way in hell I'd ever vote for him (and I don't get to), but I respect and admire him for getting out and doing the Iron Man. It was very disappointing to see at least one Labor politician (Roxon) using it to score political points..

adapting books to films

2010-03-09T22:37:00.002+10:00

I was just browsing the TV tonight, and stumbled on a special edition of the First Tuesday Book Club, talking about adapting books to films. I found myself trying very hard to participate in the panel, but somewhat frustrated that they didn't respond to what I was saying. So, I thought I'd write down some of my thoughts here about 5 of the books whose adaptations I've found interesting. I've done it in a roughly chronological order.

Perhaps one of my first experiences with adaptation was with what remains one of my favourite films, The Sweet Hereafter. I saw the film in my second year of university, and I have no hesitation in admitting that I teared up. Atom Egoyan's film is stark, and paints its characters so viscerally. After I'd seen the film, I chased up a copy of Russell Banks' book, from which it was made. I can only imagine that the task of adapting the book must have been extremely daunting. The book is atmospheric, very slow moving (as is the way of Russell Banks) as it tries to paint an impression of the community. Watching the film and liking it before reading the book makes it very hard to assess the adaptation objectively, but this was a fine book that I think was made into a better film, that did a great job of capturing the stark desperation of the town.

The next adaptation was another where I saw the film before reading the book. Mary Harron's American Psycho was a black, black comedy that I really enjoyed, and indeed bought on DVD. Years after I'd seen it, someone (I can't remember who) gave me a copy of the book, which I suspect was actually banned in Queensland at the time (and may still be). I read it slowly, and have to say that I didn't care for it. I found that the book really belaboured the stylistic elements that were its signature, and that I had liked in the film. The lasting impression that I gained was the whoever adapted the book to film did a great job of summarizing the stylistic elements of the book to a point where they didn't grate.

The third adaptation was the first in this list where I read the book before seeing the film. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas remains one of my favourite books - its first chapter might be the best first chapter ever written - and surely loomed as an enormous task for adaptation, with its extravagant writing style and madcap storylines. Terry Gilliam might have been the perfect choice as director (one suspects that given his career since then he would no longer be given the opportunity), with his flare for style in telling unconventional stories. The film, which isn't a great film (in my opinion), does an admirable job of staying faithful to Thompson's book, in a way that works on the screen.

The Constant Gardener was a book that I read closely, and discussed with a number of friends who had read it at the same time. In this case I don't come to praise the film, but just to note the impact that having very recently read the book (I think I finished the book the week before I saw the film in the cinema) had on my experience watching the film. I found myself thinking more about the choices that the adaptation made in adapting the story (which roams much too wide in the book to reproduced in a film), than immersing myself in the film in the way I normally would. That perspective forever changed my experience of that film, which I did nonetheless like a lot.

Perhaps the most disappointing adaptation (in keeping with the structure of the Jennifer Byrne show) for me was Watchmen. I read the graphic novel and greatly admired it as the best I'd seen of the genre, and was intrigued to see how it would be adapted to the screen. Visually, a graphic novel offers some advantages - it has already been made visual, for one. The parallel threads that had been used to build the story in the printed form were lost, as they had to be, and I missed that. More problematically, though, I think the director was much too faithful to the original story elements, and as a result made a film which was too long, in which too much happened, and that really failed to capture the essence of the book.

The Sound of One Hand Clapping

2010-01-18T15:27:00.003+10:00

So my reading effort of the year has its first milestone. A week ago I finished reading The Sound of One Hand Clapping, by Richard Flanagan. I got this on a whim, based on author name recognition, during a trip to the library, although when I visited Mum in Toowoomba, I remembered that she had recommended him to me a while back, partly on the historical links between her family history and his interest in Tasmania. That he is an Australian author also fits with my goal of reading more of my country's literature.

Unfortunately though, I can't really say that I loved this book. I found, especially in the first half of the book, that he really wallowed in the misery of the characters, without any sense of balance or, I suspect, realism. It felt like stacks on, and I wasn't into it. To an extent the first of these gripes was mitigated by the redemptive second half and conclusion of the book, but even so I never really developed any great affinity for or empathy with the characters. I also felt like his writing style was at times contrived and laboured. Perhaps that is partly a consequence of coming to the book having read Vonnegut, whose style is quite the opposite, but I didn't enjoy it as much. That all sounds very negative, which perhaps isn't a fair representation, since at times I did really enjoy the book, and some of the moments near the end are evocative and even emotional. I guess, though, that I had hoped for more.

2009, I hardly read you

2010-01-11T23:53:00.003+10:00

One of my resolutions for 2009 was to read more than I had in the preceding year. Looking back now, I think I accomplished that, albeit marginally (I think I read maybe one or two more books), although it bears mentioning that I did achieve the difficult constituent ambition of reading a novel in French. I'm a little unsure as to which books I had read by the end of 2008 and which I read in 2009, but a best estimate puts the list as follows:

I, Claudius (Robert Graves). This historical dramatisation/embellishment was recommended (and indeed given) to me many years ago by either or both of my mother and my sister, but it took me a long time to get around to it. I am glad I did - the characters, though numerous, are interesting, the research impressive, and the stories captivating.
Underground (Andrew McGahan). This book was given to me when I left NICTA at the end of 2007. The story and writing are diverting enough, although not of the standard of some of the other books I read this year. Significantly, it reminded me how few Australian novels I have read.
Le Lion (Joseph Kessel). This book, en francais, was given to me by a french girl from a french conversation group that I was going along to. Although not particularly long, it took me many months and countless hours to read. I read it assiduously, trying to understand every word, dictionary in hand. This attention probably detracted from my opinions of the characterisation, but the setting of the story was interesting, and it is by far the best french-language novel I have read ;-)
FreeDarko Presents the Macrophenomenal Pro Basketball Almanac (The FreeDarko Collective). I have been a FreeDarko reader for many years now, and although my enthusiasm for the blog waxes and wanes over time, my opinion of their significance in what might be a new age for sports writing, does not. The book is a lovely distillation of their manifesto, and beautifully presented. Anyone with a love of ambitious writing, and of the zen of sport, should read this, if for no other reason than to reassure themselves that these two can be reconciled.
Cloudstreet (Tim Winton). I suspect this might be the first significant adult Australian novel I had read in my life. I got it from Lee, and have since passed it on to Mum. Winton's evocation of place and time reminded me of Steinbeck, and the quality of his writing and storytelling has given me a desire to better explore my country's body of literature.
Great Expectations (Charles Dickens). I have a strong skepticism of things both British (courtesy in no small part of my national broadcaster's infatuation with British content) and of writing more than, say, 150 years old. I refuse to read Austen, for example; I find her characterisation of both men and women to be infuriating, even if it was an accurate reflection of the times. Dickens, though, holds a stature only a rung down from the Bard in english literature, and my exposure to his works through film adaptations had given me faith that he dealt with bigger and more timeless issues. This book, of which I had seen 2 adaptations (by Mills and by Cuaron), vindicated that faith.
All the Pretty Horses (Cormac McCarthy). Lee lent me this book, too. I am considerably less skeptical about both American 20th century "classics", and I greatly enjoyed this one. Again, I had seen a film adaptation of this (by Billy Bob Thornton), which probably makes for a different reading experience (I knew what was going to happen), but like Cloudstreet, the writing was very good, and it had a very strong sense of place and time.
Anathem (Neal Stephenson). I've been a Stephenson fan for a while now, so I bought this before heading to NZ for a holiday. While it is neither as ambitious nor as good as Stephenson's preceding books (The Baroque Cycle, and Cryptonomicon), he does a pretty good job of both spinning a good fantasy yarn, and of imparting to the reader his enthusiasm for the philosophical and mathematical history that he analogizes.
Mother Night (Kurt Vonnegut). I am rapidly becoming a Vonnegut fan. I read one of his more recent books many years ago, but reading Cat's Cradle, this book, and more recently Slaughterhouse 5, I am learning to appreciate his succinctness, the humanity of his characters (including his remarkably passive "protagonists"), and his lightness of touch in dealing with weighty issues. I have hopes, too, that I will succeed in introducing his writing to my sisters.
Of The Farm (John Updike). This was one of a pile of books I borrowed from the library for the summer holiday. Updike is a big name to which I had no associations of style or subject. Although I did enjoy this novella (a format I'm coming to like), I will look for more of his stuff not because I found this a great book, but because I did not.
Slaughterhouse 5 (Kurt Vonnegut). What a great way to end the year. We unearthed this (among other books) from our late uncle's remarkable collection, while visiting Mullum, and I can see why it has its reputation as Vonnegut's most significant book. It is a remarkable story that led him to write this, and it is equally remarkable that the story lead to this book, which deals with Dresden in a truly unexpected, and yet very genuine way. I really like the way he can tell such strange yet very telling stories, in so few pages of seemingly very simple writing.

A good year's reading. I hope to read more novels again in 2009, and will hopefully blog about the first of them soon.

thoughts on ETS

2009-12-01T16:51:00.003+10:00

Since I'm not getting any work done, perhaps I'll jot down some thoughts on the current turmoil in Australian politics.

The Liberals (foreign readers should note that this is a liberal party in name only - they are the conservative side of Australian politics) changed leaders today, from Malcolm Turnbull to Tony Abbott. This all happened because the conservative side of the party couldn't stomach the negotiation on the Emissions Trading System, and behind Abbott and Nick Minchin, they organised a leadership spill. Abbott ran against Turnbull and Joe Hockey (who had been seen as the compromise candidate, each running different lines on the ETS senate vote - Abbott saying vote against, Turnbull saying vote for, Hockey saying vote conscience. After Hockey was knocked out in the first round, Abbott beat Turnbull by a single vote. Its made more controversial by one of the votes being informal, one of the Turnbull supporters being unable to attend due to illness (and unable to lodge a proxy since the Libs don't support such things), and the prospect that after this weekend's bi-elections, there will be two new Libs in the party room, both of whom project as Turnbull backers.

Anyway, Malcolm has gone to the backbench, and the Libs are once again led by a conservative (in fact, more socially conservative than any leader they've had in a long time). Its sad, because Turnbull offered much promise, based on his past and to a certain extent his stated intentions during his short-lived tenure as leader, of a transition for the party towards somewhat more progressive, small-"l" liberal politics. Feeling towards him was good amongst the Labor voters that the Libs hope to poach at the next election, but as was pointed out on Insiders this weekend, whether this would transition to votes remained to be seen, and he was understandably a bit on the nose for the conservative side of the party.

What does this mean for the unwitting cause of the drama, the ETS bill? Well, I think its stuffed. The Libs will, after a secret party-room ballot, try to send the bill to committee or, failing that, oppose it. They don't hold a majority, but nor does the government, so the likelihood is that (a) it won't go to committee (there have already been numerous senate committees on this topic, so I don't see how they could justify another), and (b) the ETS won't pass, barring at least a handful of Liberal senators crossing the floor. That's not as impossible as it sounds, but its a lot less likely now than it would have been 2 weeks ago - after all the division in their party, the last thing they want is more. The alternative negotiation position for the government, with the Greens, is even less viable. Winning the Greens over by strengthening the bill might be possible, but doing so definitely rules out getting Fielding (who is unlikely to support the bill anyway), and probably any rebel Libs who would already have crossed the floor in the above scenario. So my feeling is that the bill will go down, and Rudd/Wong will go to Copenhagen without any legislation. Rudd in particularly will be disappointed not to have his trophy, but by way of compensation, the government will get a trigger for a double dissolution.

They may take it. It has political advantages in terms of giving them a shot at Abbott before he either builds himself a more credible public image (the prevailing wisdom is that he is presently unelectable, due to past indiscretions and a huge image problem with women in particular), or they see sense and replace him, although having shot down Turnbull and forsaken Hockey, its hard to see to whom they might turn. Having failed to get the ETS before Copenhagen, I don't think it matters much (politically) one way or another whether the government gets it after an election in February/March, or the scheduled one at the end of next year.

So my feeling is that the bill gets tabled, at least until March, and possibly until 2011.

by way of comparison

2009-11-18T13:19:00.002+10:00

I sat down to write this post about the satisfaction I'm drawing from volleyball as opposed to tennis, under the mistaken belief that I'd recently written about how bad my tennis is. Reading the blog, though, would suggest that perhaps I covered this a couple of weeks ago.

Anyway, to recap, last week I finished up a season of tennis fixtures that from a team perspective was very disappointing (we only won one night, and finished last), and from a personal perspective was extremely frustrating. I didn't win a game of singles, but it wasn't so much the losing that annoyed me as the poor quality of my play, and the way I could collapse and lose streaks of 4-6 games straight. Anyway, I have resolved to not play bad tennis any more. In the short term this means having a break from the game. In the medium term it may mean getting some coaching as well as just playing fixtures.

Meanwhile, I'm still really enjoying volleyball. On Monday night I played maybe my best game yet. I didn't get any blocks, but I got some good retrievals, had some good hits, and served well in the second half. My setting (the worst part of my game) wasn't great, but I did get a few good ones, and didn't turn too many over. After the game I got compliments from both my teammates and from the umpire, which was really gratifying.

my life as a cyber stalker

2009-11-03T16:24:00.002+10:00

Its so ridiculously easy to cyber stalk people these days. Recent example of my cyber stalking exploits include:

following my sister's football games through the ACT women's Australian football site
following my dad's golf scores through the AGU golflink handicapping site
following my friends' progress in an online game through the game's site
diverse facebook activities

These are all done (I think) with the knowledge of the people I'm "following", so I don't feel guilty about it. It does make for strange conversations later on though:

I had a good day in football/golf/gaming this week. I know - you scored X.

the race that stops the ... zzzzzzz

2009-11-03T14:00:00.002+10:00

I would be willing to bet that, by way of distinguishing today's "sporting" event from most others:

the winner of today's race will have almost no idea what it's doing and why it's running around
the winner, and every other participant, will be whipped
most people watching the event will have little interest in the athletic endeavour or achievement involved, or at least will be more interested in the result of their bet than the result of the race

Of all the great sports that we play in Australia, there is only one event during which it is taboo to schedule meetings, and for which we can legitimately drink at work and wear silly hats. Why, in god's name, is that event in such a mindlessly boring "sport" as horseracing?

For me, the whole "racing season" is just a wasted month in the Australian sporting calendar lost in between the winter (football) and summer (cricket, tennis, golf) seasons, that would be better spent on something, anything, else.

yelling and screaming

2009-09-10T10:04:00.003+10:00

I see myself as a pretty reserved person. It may that others disagree (and they're welcome to comment to that effect), but I see myself as someone who keeps my emotions to myself most of the time.

The two biggest exceptions to that are watching football, and playing tennis. In the last couple of weeks, there have been two classic examples.

On Saturday night, Brisbane played Carlton in an elimination final at the Gabba. Being members, our posse of Gav, Doug, Andy (claiming the floating ticket) and I went along to cheer along our respective teams. Brisbane started poorly (or Carlton well), and the Blues fans in front of us were in strong voice, jumping out of their seats to cheer Carlton goals. Brisbane came back, and I felt obliged (and moved) to respond in kind, leaping to my feet and letting forth an appropriately guttural roar. Come the fourth quarter, Brisbane were 5 goals down, and up against the wall. They came, though, with a furious rush that put joy in the heart of any non-Carlton-supporting fan (Carlton are not a well-loved club in recent times). It was a famous victory, that will live long in the memory, and left my vocal cords in tatters for Sunday and Monday.

Although this was one of the more notable (and justified) examples of me having a good yell at the football, it is far from the only one. Its not always in triumph - the umpires bear a heavy load, and I do not shirk from making suggestions to or critiques of Brisbane players. In general, though, its an environment where I feel comfortable letting myself go and just yelling at the top of my lungs.

The other, less fortunate scenario in which I find myself yelling, is while playing tennis. I like to think, and it may not be true, but I like to think that at some point between 5 and 10 years ago, I was a handy tennis player. I have never been blessed with consistency; when I play, I live and die by the sword, and many of my matches are decided by whether the ambitious groundstrokes I attempt come off or not. More often that not, they don't, particularly at times like now when I haven't been playing regularly. Other than this Achillean, live-well-and-die-young approach, the other notable characteristic of my tennis game is that I play stupid. I try shots that aren't on, repeat the same mistakes over and over again, and generally make dumb decisions.

Anyway, these unfortunate aspects of my tennis game, combined with the impression (or delusion) that I was once capable of making the shots I try, mean that I get very frustrated. And I yell. I yell at myself for being stupid, I call myself a moron, and I swear (in French, now, as is my wont). I'm not proud of it, but its something that I seem to do. Last week was pretty bad. I played very poorly (despite doing some things very well - I probably hit a dozen aces), and yelled at myself quite a lot. Last night wasn't so bad. I hit the ball a bit better, and was able to be slightly more circumspect when I didn't, although I still let fly with a few gros mots.

So, two places where I yell. One I like, and feel like its a place where having a shout is fair play. The other, I don't like, and over time hopefully I can quieten down there.

sportfolio management

2009-09-02T16:15:00.002+10:00

The variety of sports that I play regularly (weekly, fortnightly, as opposed to the occasional outing on a weekend) has generally hovered around 2. Tennis has been the most common of them, but at various there has been basketball, golf, indoor soccer, cycling, and most recently beach and indoor volleyball. When I got back from New Zealand, I was invited to play tennis with Gav's team, meaning that my Monday (indoor volleyball), Tuesday (beach volleyball) and Wednesday (tennis) nights are all given over to sports (in the case of Monday and Wednesday, supplanting AoC).

When I was asked to play tennis regularly, something inside told me that either the number (3 nights a week) or the density (3 nights in a row) would probably be slightly too high for me, and that's proving to be true. I like my nights at home to myself, so long as they aren't too numerous (as they were for much of my time France, for example), and I'm finding that I miss that at the start of the week.

Something has to give. It won't be indoor volleyball at this point (much as having Monday nights free would suit my gaming). I'm enjoying the challenge of learning to play, and the guys I'm playing with (Chad, Brett, occasionally Lach) are great, because they are better than me, and play the "right way", which makes it easier to learn and improve. I also feel like I need to give tennis a proper go. Its without doubt the sport I'm best at (at this point; one day I'll be a better golfer than tennis player, but that day has not yet come). I haven't been playing well, and have been getting frustrated, but I feel like I need to give it some time so I can find some form, and work on being smarter and calmer (being smarter would help me not get frustrated, and I suspect not getting frustrated would help me play smarter) on court, in order to play better and enjoy it more.

The likely casualty is beach volleyball. I have enjoyed playing, and we've improved as a team, but I can't help but feel that I've stopped improving personally. We play an unstructured game, and I'm probably one of our better players, neither of which help me to learn and improve. Learning and improving are really important parts of the enjoyment I gain from playing a sport, so losing that really doesn't bode well for beach volleyball's spot in my weekly routine.

The spectre on the horizon is that I've become intrigued by the idea of playing rec footy, and the season for that starts on Tuesday. Which night depends on where I play. I had pegged Kedron, based partly on the idea of signing up friends (notably my Lions season ticket mates) to play with, although some of those are falling away, which could see me opt for the geographically more convenient alternative of Morningside. The likelihood is that I don't have a body which could withstand the rigors of "actual" football (assuming that training could overcome my lack of fitness), and rec footy would represent a nice surrogate.

Bridge to Brisbane

2009-08-31T14:34:00.004+10:00

The 2009 Bridge to Brisbane was a mixed experience for me. To be honest, I probably enjoy having done more than I enjoyed doing it. Nonetheless, I couldn't class it as anything but well worthwhile.

The day started early, with a 4:30am wakeup. After a quick breakfast, I grabbed a backpack and walked off to Bowen Hills Station (about 2km). There I caught the 5:13am train (the first of many, I suspect) to Murrarie, near the start of the run. The place was awash with people, and it was very hard to work out where we were supposed to be. I found myself at the back of the "green" (50-60min expected time) starting zone, but was unsure, as I was surrounded by people with yellow numbers. This was indeed a bad thing. I waited for what must have been at least an hour between arriving (6-ish, I guess) and actually getting to the start line, which did nothing for my wellbeing or my patience. Also, having left my iPod at home having read the requirement to do so in the race guide, I was disappointed to see every second runner with headphones in.

Once I started, it was a matter of picking my way through the people already walking, pushing prams, and chatting on their way over and down the bridge. This continued for almost the entire 10km, despite my having started in the "green" zone. The system of starting people separately is fine, and should work, but the poor signage and almost complete lack of any marshals, meant that people essentially started whenever they could, irrespective of the guidelines.

After 3km I took on water, probably too much, and I started to slow a little. By 5km I was counting the kilometres, telling myself "one more km before I stop to walk" - wussy, but it was a hot day, and I really hadn't trained properly (at all). I managed until the 7km mark without stopping, then broke and walked for two or three hundred meters. Over the final 3km I had another 2 breaks, for a total of perhaps 800m or so of walking, before finishing strongly over the last 200m (for the cameras, you know).

The finish line was almost as chaotic as the start. Big queues for water, for fruit, and especially to reclaim bags left at the start. I somehow also came away with a bag of goodies from the Heart Foundation, having raised more than $50 for them. (Fortunately, I'm 90% sure the goodies were donated, not bought), in addition to my "I finished!" shirt. I thought about wearing it to work today, but its quite offensively white, and there are 46,000 other people with one, so I'm even less inclined to brag about it.

Having started so long after the official start time, I have no idea what time I ran. With my breaks, I'm sure I was well outside my ideal time of 50minutes, and possibly outside my more realistic aim of 60min. I suspect the official times won't be posted until the major sponsor (The Sunday Mail) prints them next weekend (at which time hopefully they can be read online - I refuse to buy that rag). The day proved frustrating, but talking about it with other runners today has been really good, and it has motivated me to improve my running and fitness so that I can complete 10km "properly" (i.e. without walking, and under 50min) in future.

EDIT: According to the race website, I ran 56:44, which was good enough for 6056th place (not that I care about the place). I'm reasonably happy with that time, given the conditions, the weaving through people, and that I walked for a bit of it. My target for my next 10km run remains 50 minutes, though.

My fundraising page is still up over here. The Heart Foundation do good work fighting the effects of heart disease, so if you're inclined to give them a hand to do it, then I'd encourage you to do so. If you donate through my donation page, then it'll make me feel good about myself, and lend creedence to the Bridge to Brisbane as a useful fundraising activity, which can only be a good thing.

holiday schnee

2009-08-31T14:19:00.004+10:00

Schnee. Not knee.

So a couple of weeks ago, my sister and I headed over to New Zillund for a ski holiday. It started badly. I got up at 4am and caught a taxi to the airport. I was ready for my flight to Sydney to meet Lee and head across the ditch. The aeroplane was not, at least not until an hour and a half after it was supposed to leave. So, when I got to Sydney, Lee had organised for us to fly out the next day (which was great). We had a nice day in Sydney, visiting galleries and the gardens during the day, then going to the opera house for the Sydney Symphony in the evening, before a late but excellent dinner with Andrew & Steven, who put us up for the night.

The next day, we put into play the plans we had made for the day before. We flew in Christchurch, picked up a rental car, and drove down to Lake Tekapo to stay at the YHA for the night. Then, on Saturday, we drove down to Cardrona, and after some initial problems with directions, found our way up the mountain to Snow Park. There we met up with Di and Mike, and our hosts John & Mary.

We spent 6 out of our 8 days on the cross-country trails at Snow Farm, with conditions that went from very good to a bit slushy, although the groomer denied the warm wet weather to ensure that the trails were always accomodating. When we weren't on the snow, we hung out with Di & Mike, John & Mary, and a few other acquaintances who cycled through the Snow Park. All were accomodating, charming, and great company, especially those named. It was great to spend some time with Mike, who I'd previously only met for a day and whose company I really came to appreciate, and Diana in an environment I'd long known as one of her "natural habitats". Hanging out with John & Mary gave a really great insight to the park, with their stories about the history and operation of the Park/Farm adding real depth to the visit.

As for the skiing, I think both Lee and I really benefited from the lesson we got on the first day, which confirmed a lot of things I think we consciously or unconsciously worked out in Norway so many years ago, at the same time as giving us things to fix and concentrate on. I know that we both got a lot better during the week, especially at the things that had given us troubles, Lee on the up-hills, and me on the down. On the last day, we were still being breezed past by the Olympians (Canadian, Korean, American and Kiwi, all there for training and the Winter Games), but we felt less likely to fall over when it happened :)

A good holiday, despite a false start.

EDIT: Lee's photos from NZ are up here. I'll look at putting mine (unfortunately not many) up soon.

charity run

2009-08-05T11:57:00.004+10:00

I enjoyed my charity rides last year, and I do regret skipping the first two this year.

By way of penance, I've signed up for the Bridge to Brisbane charity running event, entailing a 10km run from the Gateway bridge to the Ekka grounds (which is fortunately near my place). I've never really been a very devoted runner, but I'm not too terrible at it, and will have my friend Andy to keep me company (at least until my fitness gives way and he leaves me behind). My aim is to finish somewhere around the 50 minute mark, which should be do-able if I can get my cardio endurance built up over the next few weeks.

Much like the bike rides last year, the Bridge to Brisbane is linked to a charity, in this case the Heart Foundation. I have set up a web page for people to sponsor me, with their donations going to the Heart Foundation. If you feel the urge to give, please do so here. Alternatively, there's a little box on the right-hand side of this blog with a nice easy link to Donate. I'll endeavour to do my part by getting to the finish line without falling over (I'll also be donating, of course).

off to the snow, bro

2009-08-05T11:55:00.002+10:00

Tomorrow I fly out (bright and early) to New Zealand for a holiday in the snow with my sister Lee, aunt Diana, and her partner Mike. Lee is fit courtesy of her football and other activities, Diana is a long-time die-hard x-country skier, and Mike is a park ranger, so I anticipate being challenged keeping up with them on the trails.

I'm really looking forward to it :)

Still at 232/250, and more 2008 films

2009-07-21T10:22:00.002+10:00

In the last week or so I've watched 3 more films from 2008, 2 of which were also in the top 250. This has gotten me back to 232 out of 250 seen, at which I've been basically stable for the last year or two.

The first I watched was the Curious Case of Benjamin Button. The story, of a man aging backwards through the changing times of the twentieth century, has a strong influence on the style of the film, part yarn, part strange romance, and part historical retrospective. There are a lot of elements in common with Forrest Gump, although its less overtly comic. Its well made, and well told, and has moments of real compassion.

The next I watched was the one not currently in the top 250 (and probably not likely to appear there, albeit not for lack of merit. Lars and the Real Girl is a strange film about a man who develops a delusionary relationship with a doll, and the reaction of the community in which he lives. This is a great example of a very simple film done very, very well. The performances are note-perfect, and the story arcs naturally and interestingly.

The third film I watched was The Wrestler. I had looked forward to this film based on the acclaim given to the performance of Mickey Rourke, its lead. It is a good performance, too; it really rings true with the strength and love that the character has for his sport/profession, and the way he reacts to crowds, and his striving and failing despite himself as a person, particularly in his relationship with his daughter. The ending is really tragic, but very true, which is something I've always loved in a film. I'm a sucker for tragedy.

I would have put all of these films as more meritorious than Slumdog Millionaire for Best Film of 2008. Rourke's performance was really good, but I think I'd still put Ledger's in The Dark Knight, and Langella's in Frost/Nixon, as my favourites for 2008. Brad Pitt got a nomination for Benjamin Button, but I don't see it. Outside of 12 Monkeys, Fight Club and Snatch, he generally plays too close to type for my tastes.

back to "A to B to A to bed" *

2009-06-25T13:20:00.005+10:00

A couple of weeks ago, Lee visited Queensland for a week or so, splitting time between relatives in Brisbane, Mullumbimby and Toowoomba. When she went back to Canberra, I went with her, taking a week or so off work to recover some energy and see how Lee lives in the day-to-day.

It was a great holiday. I caught up with Greg at ANU (Greg visited our team in Rennes for a few months), I saw a crappy hollywood movie matinee, I checked out the national gallery and new portrait gallery. I went to question time, saw an MP cry, and heard Tanner tell People Skills to "stay in the car and bark at strangers". I ate really well - Lee had her cooking chops on full exhibit, despite not cooking chops. I managed to go to two of her footy games and two training sessions, including helping out with goal umpiring, training drills, being a runner and even calling some substitutions at one point. I also, importantly, got to catch up with lots of family - Liz, Mike, Dave, Marg, Toby, Tom, Joe, Leonie, Daisy and Tess (in rough order of age).

Its almost a shame to be back, but it had to end.

* "A to B to A to bed" is a lyric from The Idea, a song on the latest Guild League album Speak Up, which has some great stuff in it. I love how evocative such a rhythmic phrase is off the workaday grind; its yet another reason to deeply mourn the passing of Tali White from songwriter to schoolteacher).

A year in the life

2009-06-10T15:03:00.002+10:00

It has now been a year and two weeks since I started playing Age of Conan. I don't think I've mentioned it here before. Although I have put a lot of time into the game, I suspect its not something most of my readers would care about.

I started playing with Paul and Julie - the choice to play on a PvP (player versus player) server - Bloodspire - rather than a PvE (player versus environment) server was theirs. Left to my own devices, I likely would have chosen PvE, although I don't really regret the decision much. Ali joined us for a very short while, but she found the personalities of PvP a little hard to bear - understandable, there were then, and there remain, a lot of players who are immature in their communications and in the way they play the game.

My main toon (and still my only toon to reach the level cap) is Danlara, a Cimmerian guardian. I chose to play a tank because my previous MMO experience (in WoW) had been as a healer, so I thought I would try the other essential (in my opinion) group PvE role. My only other toon is a (as of last night) level 79 barbarian named Rokito.

The thing I have enjoyed most about the game has been the people I have played with. We started with our own guild, Hashhashin (or something like that), which was fine while we were levelling up our toons to the level cap (80). When we approached the cap, we merged into a guild called Wake of Fury, with a bunch of other (mainly) Australians. WoF dipped their toes into raiding in late October, and despite not really having the numbers, it went well.

I had a break over Christmas, and when I came back near the end of January, I found that Wake of Fury was doing weekend raids with a US guild called Immortal. I enjoyed these, and started having a significant role in the raids as one of the main tanks. Near the end of February, guilds started abandoning the server we were on because of falling population, in favour of the more populated Tyrrany and Cimmeria servers. Immortal was one of the last to leave, and Wake of Fury decided to follow them to Cimmeria, rather than be left as the only guild on Bloodspire.

When we arrived on Cimmeria, we merged with Immortal to briefly form Immortal Fury, which quickly reverted to the name Immortal. I became their main tank (with first dibs on guardian gear), and we were raiding tier 1 fairly comfortably. One weekend, though, Immortal quite suddenly fell apart, and the oceanic members (including those of us that had come from WoF) all moved across to the main Oceanic guild on Cimmeria, Primal Fury.

Primal Fury had recently absorbed the Acadians guild, and we fairly quickly moved up to easily completing the tier 1 raids and attempting the tier 2 raids. After 6 weeks or so (in April) we had 3 tier 2 bosses on farm, and had downed 3 more tier 2 bosses (leaving just 3 to go). However, a bunch of the most experience players, including the guild officers and raid leaders, moved to other guilds, or tired of the game and returned to playing other games. There were a couple of weeks where numbers were well down, and it looked like the guild might fold. A couple of weeks ago, I and another ex-WoF guy stepped up to lead some tier 1 raids with the remaining members and a few new raiders. The raids went well, and with the new members (and a few returning members), in the last week we have downed all but one of the bosses we had previously. I now find myself an officer in the guild, and frequently involved in forming and leading raids, and it is gratifying to be able to help new people come to grips with raiding.

I am really happy with the guild I'm in. Wake of Fury had great people, but was too small. Immortal had the size, but raided at inconvenient times for me, and had some members who were sometimes a bit too precious. Primal Fury, though, has mature people whose (virtual) company I enjoy, and in numbers that make all of the (PvE) endgame content available to us.

The server, too, is a step-up from Bloodspire. Being a PVP-RP server, and because the game has been around a while, there are a lot fewer adolescent ("zOmg, I wtfpwned you, n00b!") morons running around. Being a non-Oceanic server, we aren't able to participate much in mass-PvP sieges (the siege windows are during Australian workdays), and the combination of latency and battlekeep buffs (and IMHO some exploiting) prevents us from competing with the top guilds in PvP. I'm not really a PvP fan though, so I don't feel like I'm missing much.

I will now return you to regularly scheduled programming talking about sport and my other, less geeky, day-to-day banalities.

no voice

2009-06-09T16:22:00.002+10:00

Today, as Sunday and yesterday, I am hoarse.

The damage was done on Friday night at the Brisbane-Carlton game at the Gabba, taken by Carlton by 6 points despite a 4th quarter comback by the Lions. It was the worst-umpired game of football I can recall seeing. I harbour no conspiracy theories. The umpires had the worst game I can recall seeing, generally allowing far too many free kicks to go uncalled, and making those that they did call inconsistent and alarming to supporters. I am biased, but the opinion of neutrals that I've read echoes my opinion that Brisbane (with 8 free kicks against 16 for Carlton) had much the worse of the inconsistency.

That the Lions lost by only one straight kick makes it more vexing. I'm not sure whether the Lions deserved to win - they played a poor first half characterised by hesitancy coming out of defence (where they were missing their 3 tallest and best defenders), and did not kick especially straight when it counted. However, in my opinion the result was, in no small measure, decided by the umpires' decisions, more than by the endeavours of either team.

I shouted at the men in green all night, but to no end other than the altered tone of my voice this week.

Now is the autumn of our discount tent

2009-06-01T16:01:00.001+10:00

Autumn at middle ridge, originally uploaded by jsteel.

I really needed a weekend away. On Friday I penned a draft blog entry bemoaning my work situation (which may yet see the light of day depending on how this week goes). I left work a little early and jumped on a bus to Toowoomba. The service was poor, departing a half hour late and arriving more than an hour late, leaving me hungry and tired. Fortunately, the weekend that followed was idea for taking my mind of things.

On Saturday morning Dad and I had 18 holes at Borneo Barracks. The scores were tied after 18 holes, courtesy of an 18th on which both Dad and I hit great approaches to manage matching pars and post twin 94s. In the afternoon we went down to Dad's new local course (he joined last week) to squeeze in 11 holes before the light and fatigue beat us. I hit the ball better in the afternoon, and managed +9 through 9 holes, meeting my aim of bogey golf.

Sunday was bushwalking. Mum and Dad's club had a navigation day, so we convoyed to the mystery location south of Toowoomba. There we were given a map and a set of coordinates/instructions/requirements. We walked a loop of the property through fairly untamed grazing land, stopping at each of the checkpoints. We were accompanied by Naomi and Claude, who were along for the first time (as was I, I guess), having recently arrived to work on a defence-type project at Oakey. The company was good, the weather was good, and the lantana, although present in abundance, did not cut deep.

We left slightly early, in order to get me to my bus, which delivered me back to Brisbane, leaving on time and arriving early. I felt much refreshed for the sojourn.

return of serve

2009-05-28T10:23:00.003+10:00

It's been the worst part of a year
Since you turned a cartwheel in here

(Lucksmiths, All The Recipes I've Ever Ruined)

It had just ticked over 6 months, I reckon, since I had played tennis. That reckoning is based on a small sticker left in my tennis bag from a restring I had last year, deposited in May and picked up six months later in November.

Anyway, I got the call to fill in with Gav & Dave's fixtures team, so I wandered along to see if I still knew how to hit a forehand. I didn't, and sprayed them all over, but I will never forget how to serve, and that alone earnt me a couple of games in an otherwise undignified but I suppose not disgraceful 6-2 singles defeat. I found a little more touch in the doubles, and we scraped home 6-5, salvaging a little bit of my pride, albeit not enough to get the team a win on the night.

I do miss tennis - its something at which I have the potential to be quite good, and the improvements that suggest themselves are not physical, but mental (much like golf). I play stupid, and playing smarter is something not hindered by the progression of time, which is reassuring.

Cloudstreet

2009-05-27T14:58:00.003+10:00

Yesterday afternoon, on a bus-stop bench across the road from the dentist, I finished reading my third novel of the year: Cloudstreet, by Tim Winton. It was comfortably the best of the three.

Set in Australia during the 1950s, Cloudstreet revolves around two starkly different families that share a house in suburban western Australia, and the evolution of the families as their children grow to adulthood. The story ambles along and I guess explores the influences that different family members have on each other - mother on daughter, wife on husband, husband on wife, brother on brother - and the influence that each family has on the other. At the same time, though, it is an exploration of the times, and the changing of the times, I suppose, which is carried as much by the general flow of the storytelling as in the story itself. The writing is a strange mix of Steinbeck's gentle imitation of working class accents and lifestyles (although without the former's depth of feeling or insight), and something more lyrical, at times toeing the line of pretentiousness but without, in my opinion, crossing it. The rhythm of the story is at times uneven - the ending, or perhaps dénouément, feels somewhat peremptory and even unnecessary in my view - but in many ways it is the rhythm of the writing that wis more important, and this is generally strong and even throughout the book.

Having finished Cloudstreet, I'm now returning to FreeDarko Presents The Macrophenomenal Pro Basketball Almanac, which I began after buying it for myself at Christmas, but which lends itself well to sporadic reading. Also, from today, I resume with the knowledge that it will at some point be followed by a sequel (or perhaps more accurately a prequel).

The Greatest Band I Ever Knew

2009-05-13T10:03:00.002+10:00

Music won't be the same for me. From their world-famous website, their mailing list, and in the gaunt undertones of the curlew's plaintive wail, comes news of the Lucksmiths:

There's no easy way to put this, so please accept our apologies for the seemingly abrupt nature of this post. We are saddened to announce that after sixteen years as The Lucksmiths, the band has decided to break up.

Their music was so full of melancholy nostagia for loves lost, but looking through them for something to quote on their own demise would be just too bittersweet.

Their last Brisbane concert is in August.

reading to achieve

2009-05-12T10:43:00.004+10:00

I finished a novel last week, and it was kind of special. For the first time, I managed to get through a complete novel in french, after having tried and failed a couple of times previously (Le Comte de Monte Cristo, and Le Peuple Turquoise).

The book was Le Lion, by Joseph Kessel. The story, narrated by a frenchman visiting a wildlife park in east Africa, deals with a young girl and her relationships with her father, mother and a lion that they adopted as a cub. At times I felt like it got a bit pretentious in its descriptions of things, and I really didn't like the mother character, although whether that was intended or not I cannot say. The plot, though, was interesting, and the ending was handled fairly well, albeit perhaps a little brusquely.

I read the book somewhat assiduously, taking a lot of time to read every word and spending a lot of time looking up words in the dictionary. The vocabulary was unfamiliar - I had very little occasion to discuss lions' manes or overalls or watering holes with my friends in Rennes. Also, books in french are written in the simple past tense (passé simple), which I have never studied. I was easily able to pick the roots of verbs, so the passé simple wasn't really a problem, but the vocabulary made the going very slow, and the anticipation of that slowness made it difficult to pick the book up, the main cause of the many months it took me to finish.

In hindsight, I'm very proud that I got through the book, and I did enjoy reading it, but I probably take more pleasure from the sense of achievement than I did from the reading. I certainly didn't enjoy it as much as I enjoy reading in English, where I read considerably faster and better appreciate the art of the wordsmithing. I will go back and read french again, but not for a little while.

Next on my reading list is Cloudstreet, by Tim Winton, and also some more from FreeDarko presents the Macrophenomenal Pro Basketball Almanac.

hesitation move

2009-04-28T10:11:00.002+10:00

Being as my last post was about cooking, here is another.

Over the course of last week I rather recklessly bought up quite a lot of ingredients for cooking. I had grand plans - another kangaroo roast, another quiche-cum-tarte-thing, galettes, a chicken & leek pie, brie pizza, etc. Unfortunately, the nature of fresh ingredients meant that I had to get cracking.

With that in mind, last night I started on a quiche-cum-tarte thing, using a bunch of things in my fridge that needed using - some crème fraiche, a pack of smoked salmon, a bunch of celery, some leek, onion. I have a couple of new tricks with quiches, courtesy of Emily. First, I am separating the eggs and beating the whites to get a fluffier texture. I still don't have a beater, electric or hand, but I have been getting reasonable results just going to town with a fork. Secondly, I have been trying to blind-bake the shortcrust pastry in order to have it crispier in the final product.

That last step brought me undone last night. Monday night is not a great night for cooking. I generally get home between 5:30 and 6, and I have trivia at 7:30, which doesn't leave a lot of time for preparation. I managed to get things underway with (I thought) enough time to at least get the pie cooked and out of the oven before leaving. In my rush, though, I forgot to put down a sheet of oven paper between the pastry and the rice weighing it down, which was, to paraphrase Ron Burgundy and his wise words on dairy products, a bad choice.

Anyway, I had to put aside my ingredients and run off to trivia (reasonably succesful - 83 points, good for 5th place on the night). This morning I baked a new pastry and got the pie cooked and out just before heading off to work. It will be waiting for me when I get home, to fill my belly and reinvigorate me for beach volleyball.

By way of rejoinder

2009-04-16T13:26:00.002+10:00

I would have to say that, on the whole, the quality of my culinary preparations has probably gone slightly down since returning from France. This is attributable to any number of factors: the unavailability of ingredients to which I had become accustomed, the increased distance to the shops, and perhaps the general laziness associated with getting older :)

However, one of the great blessings I've had is introducing myself to kangaroo meat. I've had a number of kangaroo steaks, fillets and roasts since getting back, and I have found them thoroughly palatable, both from a pure taste point of view, and from the point of view of eating a lower-fat, lower-carbon-footprint, lower-water-footprint form of meat.

" * * * "

What's that, skip? You say you'd taste lovely with some roast potato, sweet potato and garlic? Ok!

Watchmen

2009-03-16T11:50:00.002+10:00

Last year I bought the graphic novel Watchmen on a whim, and quite enjoyed reading it. The specific whim upon which I bought it was that it was mentioned on a webcomic I read, in the context of its then-upcoming movie adaptation.

A week or two ago, I saw said adaptation.

A group of us went along, roughly corresponding to our pub trivia team, all bar one of whom had read the book. That's an important fact, because this is a film that is, more than most, coloured by what you have or haven't experienced from the book. I can only speculate - and I will - what the film might be like for those who haven't read the book.

First of all, it has to be said, the movie is generally very faithful to the book. There are some sections cut out (the thread with the kid reading the comic and the newstand owner, and the stuff about the comic book writer, are omitted, and the ending is changed), but most of the style and plot are intact. This might be a problem if you haven't read the book - the consequence is that the film is quite long, and quite broad.

The film is also quite violent. I guess this is to be expected from the director of 300, and when I think back, the book was also probably quite violent, but I still found it confronting at first experience. The performances are generally sound - performances aren't what you generally look for in a superhero movie - but Rorschach and Dreiburg deserve mention for being better than the others. The romance scenes are handled with remarkable success - eliciting the same humour and feeling that the book had.

Without giving things away, I had no problem with the changes they made to the ending. I don't quite understand why they made them, but it wasn't my favourite part of the book, and the movie ending might actually have more relevance to the rest of the movie, in terms of character arcs.

Anyway, enough rambling. Go see it - its colourful.

Gran Torino

2009-03-16T11:31:00.002+10:00

Gran Torino, the Clint Eastwood movie, was another in the list of top movies from 2008 that I didn't see in 2008. It didn't get nominated for any Oscars, but it did get bandied around a few of the awards lists, mostly for acting (Eastwood).

Eastwood doesn't act as much as he used to, although he has done some good stuff (Million Dollar Baby). As a director, he's done some very, very good films (MDB, Mystic River, Unforgiven, Iwo Jima). I would argue, in fact, that he's turned into a more skilled director than actor, notwithstanding my view that some of the films he acted in - the Leone films, Dirty Harry - might be better than those he's directed.

Anyhoo, I'm spending a lot of time talking about Eastwood's past, and not a lot about this film. That's probably because I found this a bit underwhelming, and I prefer to remember him for his other stuff. The plot is ambitious in a way, I guess, dealing with the changing of generations as Eastwood gets old, and the intermixing of race (Hmong/White) and lifestyle (families/gangs) in suburbia. Perhaps this is the problem with Eastwood as the lead. I felt he was a little bit one-dimensional as the grizzly old man. Maybe this is his baggage as an actor - he felt like a retired Harry Callahan - or maybe its a lack of range - he was never the most chameleon of performers. Anyway, the upshot is that I didn't quite buy the performances, either Eastwood's or the others, and that hurt the film for me.

I read that back, and it sounds like I'm panning this film. I suppose its important to say that I didn't mind this film. It bounces along, and the ending is slightly surprising, but does make sense in the context of the film. It arcs nicely enough, and it has something worthwhile to say. Its a pleasant watch.

It isn't, though, a great film - it didn't make me feel anything very strong, one way or another, and for me that's the mark of a great film, it sucks you into its world, and makes you feel something.

Frost/Nixon

2009-03-09T11:23:00.002+10:00

I enjoyed writing my little review of Slumdog, so I'm going to do it again.

Last week I saw another film that was nominated for best film at this year's Oscars: Frost/Nixon. It was also nominated for director, editor, adapted screenplay and best actor, although it won none of them. Of the films I've seen, it would win a couple of those, but as I mentioned in my Slumdog post, I still haven't seen a lot of the films discussed for those awards.

Frost/Nixon is a very different beast to Slumdog Millionaire. This is a film built upon performances and characters, not on story, or place. Elements like the direction, editing, pacing, setting and cinematography are well executed here, but for me they weren't notable, nor especially important.

For me, this film lives and dies by the performances of its two leads: Michael Sheen as Frost, and most importantly Frank Langella as Nixon. The former is solid - he displays the TV smile but also the ingenuity and at times insecurities behind Frost. More importantly, though, he does enough to keep up with Langella, who has the "juicy" role. Langella is really excellent. Playing Nixon is fraught with the danger of slipping into parody. His manner and mannerisms are so distinctive, and have been so often lampooned over the years, and Langella does an outstanding job of avoiding the temptation of shallow imitation, and instead crafts a nuanced and balanced portrayal. He looks a bit like Nixon, but not exactly like him, but most importantly he makes sure that what the viewer takes away isn't the physical attributes of the performance, but the behavioural: Nixon's frustration at his own actions and its impact on his legacy, his failings (greed), and his love of the intellectual combat in the interview.

I was thoroughly impressed by this film. It might not do as many things well as a film like Slumdog, and it might not be as accessible to some, but the things it does well, it does with more ambition and yet with great success.

Slumdog meh

2009-03-04T16:09:00.004+10:00

Either in response to its Oscar win, or simply because its on my IMDB 250 quest list, on Sunday I watched Slumdog Millionaire. Although I did enjoy it, I have to say I was underwhelmed.

I admit that I had strong expectations for the film. Danny Boyle has a good history as a director (I enjoyed Trainspotting and loved 28 Days Later, although A Life Less Ordinary was mediocre), and it has won just about every award under the sun. I can't really see why though. Its a good film; don't get me wrong. The 2 plot threads (the game show, and the vignettes of his life that lead him there) are woven together nicely. Its very colourful and nicely shot, with great images of Mumbai. The acting never stands out as bad, but nor does it stand out as good. The story bounces along nicely, and doesn't get boring, but on the whole, there isn't anything great about the film. The film is currently at #41 in the Top 250, one place ahead of Vertigo(!), and it just doesn't belong in that company. It felt to me like a solid "nice" film, and if that sounds like damnation with faint praise then it is in reaction to and slight bewilderment at the lavish praise that it seems to have garnered in the wider community and media.

I didn't see many great films in 2008 (or at least, not many great 2008 films), a fact I hope to remedy in the coming months; The Wrestler, Benjamin Button, Frost/Nixon and Gran Torino are all on my list. Of those I did see, The Dark Knight is the one I would most definitely class as superior to Slumdog. The story and cinematography were at least on a par, the characterisations were deeper and more complex, and the performances - Ledger's, Eckhart's and even Bale's - were more noteworthy, in a genre that has often been thin on character and always on acting. Although The Dark Knight is undeserving of its #6 position on the IMDB list (which I think will soften over time), it seems like an oversight on the part of the Oscars to have omitted it from the best film nominations, if Slumdog Millionaire is the measure.

Ed: A shout-out to Pete, whose readership I never would have anticipated, and who reminded me that I haven't been posting much recently.

Win some, lose some

2009-03-04T15:49:00.002+10:00

We had been going well at pub trivia on Monday nights. After a couple of inauspicious nights in the mid-80s to start the season, we'd settled into a groove at or around 90 (out of 100). That sort of scoring doesn't win much cash, but is a pace guaranteed to grant access to the $1000 round at the end of the season. This Monday past, it went horribly wrong, and we came away with 78. It was the music round that did most of the damage, but the night for me was marred by a question in the bonus round (each question worth 5 points).

What is the formal Italian word for goodbye? And I don't mean "see you later" or something. Goodbye.

Now there is no correct answer to the question. The two obvious candidates are Ciao and Arrivederci. Ciao is wrong because it is not formal. Arrivederci was given as the correct answer, which got me very annoyed. Arrivederci comes from the verb rivedere, meaning to see again - the term literally means see you later, which was explicitly ruled out in the question. I was very angry.

By Tuesday, I had almost recovered. We have made the finals in each of the three seasons I've played beach volleyball, with previous efforts being a loss in the grand final (in C Grade Mixed) and a loss in the semifinals (in B Grade Mixed). Last night, we took all before us (B Grade Mixed), scraping through a semifinal 42-39) (in extra time, after being 39-39 after regulation), before going ahead early and staying ahead in the final to win 40-26. I felt like we played pretty well, in the final particularly, and thoroughly deserved the engraved tumblers we won as a result. Next season will be tougher; due to a contraction from 3 grades to 2, we will be playing in A Grade Mixed.

couple of flics

2009-02-06T13:11:00.004+10:00

For some reason i watched a couple of films over the past 24 hours. During the opening credits of the first, I was thinking to myself, "Arnold Schwartzenegger and Wilt Chamberlain co-starring, what could possibly go wrong?". 90 minutes later that question was answered with a resounding "plenty". The previous conan film, Barbarian, was good naive fun, and essentially worked despite generally poor acting and a fairly thin premise. The same cannot be said for the second, Destroyer - the acting is much, much worse (Wilt Chamberlain is the least of the problems, despite probably being the only member who at the time had a credible other career), the premise is thinner, the pacing is terrible, and it all just doesn't work at all.

Then, this morning, on a whim, before going to work I put on "How To Lose Friends and Alienate Poeple", with Simon Pegg and some other people. I suppose it was written as a comedy, and it kind of has some grin moments, but very few laugh-out-loud ones, so I guess it doesn't really work as a comedy. It kind of works as a movie, though - the little plot tumbles along nicely, and Pegg and co-stars (Kirsten Dunst) are amiable, so it makes for a distracting flick, and I left for work feeling good about the day.

I don't know what it is that makes films work or not. What made Conan the Barbarian work for me, and Destroyer feel like rubbish? What makes HTLFaAP work for me, even when its raison d'être isn't really satisfactorily met?

active passivism

2009-02-02T15:55:00.002+10:00

A wise man probably once said "if you have nothing interesting to say, don't say anything at all". He would be right. I choose to flagrantly disregard this wise advice.

I have recently been doing precisely nothing of interest.

Work has been frustrating. I have a paper upon which I am able to make good progress, but it is third on my priority list between a report and a grant application, neither of which I seem to be improving through my staring at them. I expect that to continue.

Outside of work, I have been doing nothing. Well, that's not quite true. By virtue of waiting a few weeks since my last post, I can cobble together a couple of things. I played a round of golf at Victoria Park and shot 81, which at 16 over par was probably my best statistical round ever, even if it didn't feel like it. I went to a movie night that did nothing to improve either my or the other attendees' understanding of the human condition. We won a few more games of beach volleyball. And I've spent an inordinate amount of time arsing about in AOC (the MMO game I've been playing for ages but out of shame have not mentioned).

In my opinion, it is presently the case that things could become interesting at any moment. I expect that circumstance to continue.

Stepanek vs Verdasco

2009-01-12T11:13:00.002+10:00

Stepanek vs Verdasco, originally uploaded by jsteel.

Tennis is back in Brisbane! Probably 20 years after top-level tennis was last seen at Milton, Brisbane has a top-class tennis venue and tournament again, in the Queensland Tennis Centre and the Brisbane International.

I wanted to go to more of this tournament, but work and other commitments limited me to the men's singles and doubles finals yesterday, with Matt, Steve, Emm and Craig. The venue is great - the house was full and despite most of the crowd not being emotionally behind either player, the atmosphere was pretty good (a better test will be a Davis or Fed Cup tie).

The tennis was pretty good, too. Verdasco got an early break, but was a bit off his game, especially on his backhand. He held on to win the first set, but from late in the first set, Stepanek lifted and from that point it always felt that he had the running in the match. Stepanek is a strange player - flat groundstrokes, and lots of changeups - and probably well-matched against Verdasco, who didn't cope well with the varied pace and depth of Stepanek, whose dropshots to Verdasco's backhand were particularly successful. Our most fervent interest, though, was reserved for the celebration antics of both players, mainly in the third set. Stepanek worked hard to get the crowd into the match, and Verdasco had some sort of bull-fighter-cum-horseriding movement that he used over and over, often multiple times for one shot, and at one point he collapsed backwards pumping his fists ... on a 15-all point.

The doubles final was between Verdasco (again) and a german bloke named Mischa Zverev, and the french pair of Tsonga and Gicquel. Tsonga was clearly the most imposing player on the court, in terms of serves, groundstrokes and athleticism, but Zverev probably impressed me most in terms of doubles acumen. He was let down, though, by Verdasco, who was either exhausted from the 3-set singles final, or having a bad day, or both. The frenchmen won comfortably.

I'm looking forward to my next trip back the tennis centre being as a player, in obedience of Geoff Pollard's plea at the singles presentation to spend the next 12 months playing rather than just waiting.

resolutions

2009-01-12T10:14:00.003+10:00

Last year I set myself a new year's resolution of getting back into physical activity, and for the sake of measurement put 3 metrics down: 1000km of cycling, 12 games of tennis and 12 games of golf. As I've blogged before, I met those pretty comfortably; the final numbers were 2162km of cycling, 12 games of tennis, and 18 games of golf (the latter two numbers might be a little fuzzy). In addition, I played beach volleyball every week (probably 40-odd times, I guess), which gave me an opportunity to play a new sport and to dive around a bit once a week.

I was at a bit of a loss for resolutions this year. Having played two bad games of golf in the week before new year's eve, I set myself a goal of playing a game of bogey +18) golf, but I met that on January 2, so perhaps it was conservative. As my parents will insist, one of my concrete aims will be to get my driver's license, but to be quite frank, that isn't something I anticipate offering any great succour to my soul.

I have a bunch of things I want to do, but I'm loathe to put them down as resolutions, because I can't see myself getting all of them done, and a lot of them might be pie in the sky:

read more, including more in french. I reckon I read 8 books last year, mostly in the second half of the year, and that's down on what I'd like to be getting through. I've started a french novel (Le Lion, by Joseph Kessel), but its very slow going, and I'm having trouble finding time to devote to reading
write something. I've always thought, and some people have occasionally told me, that I have the facility of words to be able to write something decent, and I'd love to find something to write - perhaps a short story or something. All I need is a story to tell, and time to devote to writing it.
holiday more. I am grossly overdue for holidays, and I have a lot of vague plans: getting down to Canberra to see family, getting back to Europe to see friends (as they have scattered across a half dozen countries, this will require at least 3 weeks, I think), getting over to Vancouver to see Liz, cross-country skiing in New Zealand with Diana, snowboarding somewhere with Jez & Mick, a golfing holiday somewhere, perhaps the Murray river or Victoria somewhere.
get back into music somehow, either resuming trumpet or learning guitar
meet new people. My current peer groups are fantastic, but haven't changed much in quite a long time. It would be nice to broaden my horizons.
continue my physical activities. As much as I'd like to commit to trying one of the sports I'd like to play - football and cricket - I'm physically ill-suited to the former (with my history of breaking bones and my lack of bulk to protect them), and I don't know a way into the latter.

As you can see, these are all very vague, and I'm not sure to what extent they are realistic - it would be quite a miraculous year if I were to get to all of them - so I don't want to put them down as resolutions so much as aspirations.

I'll continue to jot down whatever I feel are significant achievements in my sidebar, including last year's criteria, and any emergent ones that I feel are significant.

holiday break

2009-01-06T11:37:00.002+10:00

I was due a break, and I enjoyed it.

I had a nice couple of days in Brisbane before heading up to Toowoomba (with Lee), getting some things done that had been overdue. In Toowoomba, I had a nice relaxing time, eating and drinking very well. We had a couple of nice day trips, one down to Mullum to see Granny and Andrew, and another down to Oumbabell to see Don, Marian and Daisy (who we hadn't seen for 17 years). Also, on Sunday we had a party for Mum's birthday with a lavish table set for 19 with innumerable dishes cooked by all 4 of us.

In between, I managed 72 holes of golf, with varying results. I played Keperra with Neil and shot a satisfying 91, the best I'd managed for quite a while. Then Dad and I played a couple of disappointing rounds at Borneo and City, where I shot 101 and 100 respectively. Then, having set myself a new year's resolution of playing a round at or below +18, I achieved it on January 2 by shooting 89 at Middle Ridge, which was very pleasing, and quite probably the best round I've played.

I also managed a little bit of driving practice. Renewing my learner's permit was one of the tasks I'd gotten around to in Brisbane before leaving, and I managed a handful of hours driving to and from golf courses, and 100km or so driving down from Toowoomba yesterday.

pfft

2008-12-17T16:49:00.003+10:00

Seven weren't even the best Australian olympic broadcaster (SBS); how can they possibly win any world award?

while i'm in a blogging mood...

2008-12-16T15:45:00.004+10:00

I inadvertently had a weekend during which I watched a lot of movies. On Saturday I picked up my IMDB list and settled on The Day The Earth Stood Still - the 1951 original, not the current Nenanu remake (which I haven't seen, which I won't see, and which I am nonetheless quite prepared to put in a basket with other crap remakes of classic films). The film does a good job at the science fiction edict of using tehnology as a McGuffin in order to shine a light on some aspects of human nature. Perhaps its more by the accident of a stretched budget than by design, but the film also does a good job of using special effects matter-of-factly and not letting them overshadow the film's story and message (a restraint I can't imagine being respected by the remake). Also, the performance by its lead, Michael Rennie, is surprisingly good for an early film of a genre not known for acting.

On Sunday Mick brought round a DVD of Before The Devil Knows You're Dead, an ensemble drama with Philip Seymour Hoffman, Ethan Hawke, Albert Finney and Marisa Tomei. Its essentially a character study of family members perpetuating and dealing with an event that messes with their identities and relationships. The performances are strong, and although the first half of the film has some pacing problems - it seems to hurry the event itself in a rush to explore its consequences - it's a solid effort.

Come Sunday evening, the next IMDB flick picked out was The Sweet Smell of Success. Burt Lancaster headlines ahead of Tony Curtis, but in reality its Curtis' film, and a pretty solid one, about the New York journalism/gossip machine but mixed with a nice dose of charisma, fuelled by that pre-70s style of scriptwriting that died with the mainstreaming of realist dialogue.

I had an ambitious plan to turn it into a double feature, and started watching Fritz Lang's Metropolis. I was impressed by what I saw, particularly in terms of the scope of the technical achievement, but my eyes had been bigger than their capacity to stay open, so I had to abandon after 40 minutes. To be continued...

My IMDB list progress has essentially stayed stagnant over the last month or two at roughly 230/250. My plan is to get that up towards 240 over the coming break, and hit the line some time in the new year.

5% is bollocks

2008-12-16T14:29:00.003+10:00

The government yesterday announced their intention to cut emissions by 5% from 2000 levels. Not only is this at the lowest end of what had been predicted (between 5 and 25%), but it is against 2000 levels, and not against 1990 levels. I understand that it is comparable on a per-capita basis to the reductions discussed by the EU of 20% from 1990 levels, but this argument only holds water if you think that developed, higher per-capita emitters should not be aiming to reduce their emissions by more than others, which I don't think is valid. It is by any measure a very conservative commitment, and the industry reps are doing everything they can to keep from grinning in the press they are doing (while the environmental lobbyists are doing everything they can to keep from yelling or crying).

To make it worse, the scheme will be accompanied by a rash of middle-class ("working families") and corporate welfare, the former to the extent that they will be reimbursed more than 100% of the increase in costs due to emissions trading, making behavioural change towards lower energy consumption much less likely. With a budget already slipping into deficit, this was a prime opportunity to break from the contemporary populist politic at throwing cash at the mortgage belt, but it seems that Rudd lacks the courage or inclination to do so.

The government also mentioned a cut of 15% in the event that a consensus is reached amongst the key countries in global talks (including Copenhagen). However, having failed to commit to a significant reduction ourselves, it will now be very difficult for Australia to play any significant diplomatic role in the negotiation of significant global targets.

This sort of scheme was one of the key reasons that I voted Labour at the last election (not that I ever could have voted for a Howard government candidate), and as such I am very, very disappointed. They have followed a process (they are known for following processes) to get what I've heard described as a very sound scheme, but have wilted under pressure when it comes to configuring it (certainly with a reduction target, and in my opinion in terms of compensation, as well).

Between this and the clean feed debacle (which I haven't blogged about, yet), as well as other areas (education, for instance) upon which they promised much but have delivered little, my optimism of a year ago has much faded. More and more when I look at politics I am finding that I like (Tanner, Gillard, occasionally Turnbull) or dislike (Conroy, Pyne, Bishop) individuals, but can find little to like about the parties and their policies. Its unlikely that this will change my broader voting tendencies - Howard's legacy is still too much in evidence, both in my memory and in parliament - but it is loosening them to the point where a genuinely good candidate on either side (I've never really had the chance to vote for such in the House) could change my vote in a specific contest.

To summarise, partly for Ali's benefit, 5% is bollocks.

neither a borrower nor a lender be

2008-12-03T10:56:00.003+10:00

Shakespeare was wrong on that point; I love lending people things.

Last night, Andy told me that he had started on the IMDB 250 list, and had seen about 70 or so. Watching those films has been one of my great pleasures over the last 4 or 5 years, and I relished the chance to talk up old films that he might otherwise be deferring (he's quite reasonably starting with the more recent films). I also managed to lend him a few of my DVDs to further his quest - Rear Window, Vertigo, Lawrence of Arabia and The Good, The Bad and the Ugly. I always get a buzz when I can relay my enjoyment of films to other people, and especially when I can put the film in their hand to make it happen.

Movies are probably my bigger passion, but I've had similar experiences, albeith to a lesser extent, and probably with a little less success (I heartily recommended Ilium and Quicksilver to Lee and Ali respectively, but they haven't gotten far with them, AFAIK) with books and music, too.

guerre de prononciation

2008-11-03T13:22:00.004+10:00

I watched Offsiders yesterday morning, and was appalled by the consistent mispronunciation of "C'est la guerre", which is apparently the name of some nag running around Flemington on Tuesday. The consensus on their panel was "sailor gur" (rhymes with "fur"). The "sailor" part is close enough, but people like Barry Cassidy (or someone on the panel) should at least be able to manage "sailor gair" (rhymes with "air". We're not talking "ou" vs "u" or Parisian "r"s here - its really very, very easy.

For the record, I reckon horseracing is a complete waste of time, and the spring racing carnival is a blight on the sporting calendar that puts a entirely unnecessary gap between the footy and cricket seasons.

Fin de plainte. ("fan der plant", for those keeping score at home)

revolution/revulsion

2008-10-29T09:44:00.001+10:00

When an object is in the act of revolution, it is revolving.

When a person is in the act of revolution, it is revolting. When a person revolts, we speak of revolution.

When an object revolts, the process is revulsion.

What's up with that?

golfing weekend

2008-10-27T10:02:00.003+10:00

A couple of games of golf this weekend.

On Saturday morning Neil, Ross, Andy and I played Nudgee north. After a slow start, I hit the ball really well off the tee, which was a change from recent outings where I'd been struggling. My short game was off, though - my putts were OK, but not dropping, but my chipping was just bad. Of course, driving for show and putting for dough, so my score of 99 (+28) was disappointing.

The story on Sunday, at Keperra (holes 10-27), was similar. I hit the ball well off the tee, but my putting wasn't giving me the chance to make scores, and I managed to lose a few balls, which is never good for the scorecard. I finished with a disappointing 101 (+30). I hit a couple of bunker shots that I was pretty proud of - I went for years without really needing to, somehow, and I lost the touch I think I once had. As for the course, 9-18 was really pretty and in good nick, but I found 19-27 a little lacking in length and charm. The 27th, in particular, is a very bland hole to finish on.

I've been having looks at hitting par 5s in two recently, which has been surprising. Mostly this has been because I've been playing shorter courses (no 500m par 5s), but also I've been starting to hit my 3 wood off the deck, which brings a 220m second shot into play. I haven't hit any yet (I reached the 9th at Vic Park at one point, with 6 iron - albeit bunker rather than green - but Vic Park doesn't count), but its going to happen.

Neil regressed a bit after his strong outing at Vic Park. He's having a hard time spraying the ball right, either sliced or off the toe, and not getting down to the ball. He started hitting it better on the back 9 on Sunday, though, once he firmed his hands up and made more of an effort to keep his head still.

trivia paydirt

2008-10-14T12:13:00.003+10:00

We won our first ever money at trivia last night. We aced the first round, and surprisingly were the only team to do so, and we walked away with $450 for our troubles, very satisfyingly in the form of a big pile of $5 notes. We also won the night, also for the first time, as we went off for 96/100 (which I think is our best score), good for a 2-point victory. We've been there and thereabouts for the last month or so, with some 2nds and 3rds, and we'd been saying amongst ourselves that we were due.

cycle of pain

2008-10-13T09:49:00.003+10:00

Well, I got there.

Yesterday morning I got up at 4:45am, and within a half hour was on my bike, as I would be for most of the day, off to the Brisbane to the Gold Coast bike ride. I decided that my aim was to get there in under four and half hours ride-time, and under 5 hours total time.

There were 7800 participants (or so we were told), and I arrived in time for the 25-30km/h group, so I started with them, rather than the 20-25 group, as I'd anticipated. I started well, and felt good early, covering 27km in the first hour.At about 35km my calves started getting tight, so to avoid cramping (as I did last time) I made sure I was getting enough fluid, and stretched them out on a couple of downhills, which seemed to relieve it. The rest stop at 40km was welcome.

At about 60km, I hit the wall, I guess you'd say. We were in open flat land, the wind was starting to come up slightly, and I found myself without a group to ride with. I ran into Peter Mascaro, which was nice, but his and other groups rode past me just a little too fast to tag onto. I found myself a gear or two down on hills and on flats and really doing it tough, and the rest stop at 80km couldn't come fast enough.

I started well on the last segment, putting 8 solid kilometres down before I started feeling it again. Its never a good sign when you look down at your computer and you've advanced 300m since you last checked it. The computer ticked over 100km at 3:59:33 ride-time - 25km/hr - which was a benchmark I'd thought of targetting but abandoned as too ambitious. A good thing too - the ride didn't finish until 104km and 4h12 (ride-time, about 4h42 total). I am actually very happy with that time - I had expected more like 23 or 24km/hr. Anna Bligh was allegedly quicker (they told us 26-27km/hr), but I figure she had a peloton working for her, and probably proper gear (as opposed to me - hybrid, no cleats, civilian clothes) so I don't feel so bad.

It really did hurt, too. My calves and quads, and also my ankle, shoulders and wrist, were all pretty sore after I finished, and a few of those I can still feel today. I'm very proud of having finished, though - it was one of the hardest physical tests I've ever given myself, I'd say.

The fundraising hasn't so far been as successful as the Brissie To The Bay Ride, which is a little disappointing. For those who still want to donate, head over to my donations page. The Heart Foundation appreciates anything you can spare.

won't someone think of the children?

2008-10-07T11:38:00.001+10:00

LittleBigPlanet looks awesome. This is awesomer.

golf

2008-10-06T10:39:00.002+10:00

Neil and I went for 18 holes on Saturday at Vic Park. Neil is improving noticably. He's only played 2 rounds of 18 where he actually counts strokes (twice we played ambrose), but over those 2 he's gone from +56 to +36, and is noticably more controlled swinging the club. I had an up-and-down day, or more specifically a down-and-up day, shooting +17 for the front 9, and +7 for the back.

The course itself was typical for Victoria Park, only more so. The greens were being "scarified and recored" (whatever that means), so were a bit rough, and the 4th hole is always a bit gravelly, but I really do like the Vic Park layout. Its by no means a high-level course, but the holes, although very short, are often interesting, and there is a lot of up-and-down variation, which they use well. The shortness, though, is frustrating, because I know that pars on par 4s are devalued when they're only 240m. It got slightly worse when they put the inner-city bypass went in (shortening the 5th), and when they put the inner northern busway changing the 15th and 17th). Yesterday was worse again, with the 1st and 12th changed from par 4s to short par 3s (moved tees), and the 9th from a par 5 to a par 4 (crappy temp green). Par 62 is a funny type of golf.

swimming

2008-10-03T15:42:00.003+10:00

I went for another swim today. Much easier, 40 laps without too much trouble, and felt fine pushing myself for the last 3 or so. I might try 50 next time. Hopefully I don't feel it tomorrow playing golf...

stepping up

2008-09-30T13:30:00.004+10:00

My first charity bike ride this year was 35km, and I finished it regretting that I didn't try the longer option. My second was 50km, and I finished it tired but happy with my time. (Regrettably, I can't find exactly how much I raised for each of these - something around $250 for the second one).

My next ride is 100km. And it's scaring me a bit.

The ride is the Wilson HTM Brisbane to the Gold Coast Cycle Challenge. It's on October 4, just under 2 weeks away and, contrary to what the name suggests, we (5600+ of us at last count) are actually going to be riding from Brisbane to the Gold Coast.

My preparation has been less than ideal. I've had varying degrees of the flu for 4 or 5 weeks now, and am only getting back into cycling to work in the last week or so. I haven't ridden more than 15km since the 50km ride in August, and I'm a little afraid that my aerobic and muscular endurance might not be quite ready for 4-5 hours on the bike.

However, I've paid my entry fee, and received my first donations, so there's no backing out.

Here's where you come in! The ride is in aid of the Heart Foundation, who do great work in helping people suffering from cardiovascular diseases, which at 1 death every 10 minutes, is Australia's leading killer. If you can help out with a dollar, 10 dollars or any amount you can spare, head on over to my fundraising page and sponsor me for the race. The money will help the Heart Foundation, and the good vibes will help me push my wearying legs down to the Gold Coast. I don't want to be found dead on the side of the road near Beenleigh. I hate Beenleigh.

adding some more physical activity

2008-09-30T13:11:00.002+10:00

(quick weekend recap: Saturday grand final BBQ at Neil's, Sunday saw M&D off to Europe)

I'm quite the health nut today. I rode into work (continuing my attempt to get enough cycling into the next 2 weeks to not collapse on the gold coast ride - details to follow). I brought a cut lunch, including Mum's homegrown tomatoes and my homegrown spinach. And, for the first time this year, I went for a swim at lunch.

I have no excuse for not having gone before this; a well-thrown stone could quite conceivably reach the pool from my office (although the risk of incapacitating an otherwise innocent swimmer, and of being brought up on charges for it, would make that inadvisable). Near the end of my time in France, I actually started going swimming with Franck Chauvel on an almost-regular basis (the archives don't reveal whether this was before or after my surgery, strangely), and although I'm not much of a swimmer, I did enjoy it.

I think the coming 24-48 hours will see me pay the price for not having swum laps for a long time. I only swam 30 laps (750m), but my arms are already sore, and I expect that will continue. Probably a better day to start would have been a day where I'm not playing volleyball in the evening.

I'm contemplating adding a very late objective to my new year's physical activity resolutions - something like 10km or so of swimming. Perhaps I'll wait and see if my enthusiasm lasts for more than a hour after leaving the pool.

another hit of golf

2008-09-26T10:57:00.002+10:00

I was up at the Sunshine Coast for a workshop the last couple of days, and yesterday afternoon, one of the med.eng. researchers and I snuck out for a quick 18 holes. Holding a workshop at a resort course hotel and not allocating time for a round seemed like cruel and unusual punishment, and we would have been disappointed to have not gotten out for a hit.

I played pretty poorly. I shot a scratchy 52 on the front 9, and on the back 9 my swing really fell apart and I shot 61. My hands weren't coming through, I was swinging outside-in, and something weird was going on at the top of my swing, with the end result being that I lost all confidence in first my driving and then my irons. There are a few excuses, I guess. I was playing with a mixed set of rental clubs, having played exclusively with my own clubs for many years now. The course is a difficult one, with a fair bit of water and lots of well-placed bunkers. I haven't played many bunker shots over recent years, and although I used to be quite good at it (had a great day at Royal Melbourne at one point). Anyway, I had my moments, but there were a few 10s and 9s in there, which was unfortunate.

The course was in great nick. The fairways were really tightly cut, but cushiony, and I didn't have a bad lie all day. Even the rough posed little problem (which is nice, but not "proper"). The greens were fast but basically true. The sand was soft, although I did "bottom out" a couple of times, so they might have been a bit shallow.

My partner, who is probably slightly better than me, but comparable (were we both to play well), played well, particularly with his short-mid irons, and shot 97. That was 1 shot under his handicap, which is really good going for playing a tough course for the first time.

I reckon I can now say I've met my resolution of 12 games of golf for the year. I was never sure how to count 9 hole outings, but I reckon around 10 of the dozen were 18 holes in any case, and I probably played 9 holes 5 or 6 times.

up to t'ba, a little golf

2008-09-22T10:30:00.003+10:00

I headed up to T'ba for the weekend past to spend some time with my folks before they head off to Europe next week.

On Saturday, Dad and I played 18 holes at Borneo Barracks. I shot 94 (+22) for 18, which is a little outside what I hope for these days (+18), but about what I expect. There were 3 or 4 magpies dive-bombing, which was pretty distracting. I had a 4-putt on one hole which I put down a little bit to watching for attacks, and on another hole I hit an 8-iron that should have been just off the green, but which we couldn't find - a search made more difficult by having to watch for birds.

On Sunday we played 9 holes at Eustondale. There was no wind this time, which made it a very different course. I had a weird round. I started par-par-birdie, and was in good shape on the 4th, but my second shot trickled over the back and down a bank, and I took a triple-bogey. After a par on the next (a short uphill par 4 where I nearly drove onto the green), I did everything wrong (out of bounds, failed to get out of the bunker, 3-putt) and took 8 on the par-3 7th. I finished bogey-par for a +10 43. I was +8 on the 3 par 3s, and +2 on the 6 par 4s, which I suppose makes some sense since the par 4s are mostly very short.

While I was home, I also got to look around the garden, which was in really good nick. There were lots of flowers out, and lots of the trees and shrubs were shooting and looking vibrant. I also got to see the new tank, which is fairly subtle for its size, and sample the self-supplied water, which is really good.

wow, he's right

2008-09-17T14:07:00.002+10:00

Over at AGB, and citing the Wire as one example, Tone observes:

TV has been better than film since, oooh, around about the most recent fin de siècle.

You know, he might be right. Over the last 10 years, the TV series as a genre has really started to get to grips with the arc of a series, as opposed to the arc of an episode. I'd probably add shows like The Sopranos and Six Feet Under to The Wire, as highlights.

If you had to point at notable trends in film over the same period, you'd probably look at the success of effects-based films, particularly the big-budget fantasy adaptations (LOTR, Harry Potter, new Star Wars), and the return of the superhero genre (Spidey, X-men, Batman). I can't think of many notable other dramatic developments - renewed interest in epics, perhaps?

Quis legit ipsos custodes?

2008-09-17T09:00:00.000+10:00

Back around the time of my birthday, I made a big impulse purchase from Amazon. Among the items I bought was a copy of The Watchmen, a graphic novel I'd seen commended on Ctrl-Alt-Del, amongst other places, as one of the best graphic novels one could find. I figured I'd give the genre a try.

Its a good read. The plot, which is something of a MacGuffin, revolves around a series of deaths of current of former suited adventurers (not necessarily superheros, in the fantastical superpowers sense). The more interesting aspects, though, are the portrayals of the masked characters - the reasons they got into it, the reasons they got out of it, and the psychological consequences of both. The form of the book, mostly comic strip but interspersed with "found" prose, is a very natural fit for the story and themes that are recounted, and I doubt whether a novel could have done so quite as well.

For all that, though, I don't see myself becoming a regular reader of graphic novels. For all that I enjoyed this story, I get more enjoyment out of a good novel, and much more out of a great novel.

For the record, I've moved onto reading His Master's Voice, by Stanisław Lem. I had made a tentative start on Thus Spake Zarathustra, but I've put it down for now - very intimidating.

Ed: I think that the title of this post might be my first real attempt at Latin, and certainly my first attempt at latin jeu de mot (wordplay).

Dubliners

2008-09-16T15:24:00.002+10:00

I've been a bit sick with a cold the last few weeks, and one of the consequences is that I've stopped riding my bike to work, in favour of taking the bus. One of the benefits of, and perhaps even reasons for, taking the bus is that it affords me 2x20 minutes a day to read, which offers a great boost to the momentum I have getting through something.

So, having finished Possession and Cat's Cradle, I picked up a copy of Joyce's Dubliners, a collection of character-piece short stories which I figured would be , and which turned out to be, a convenient format for reading on a bus.

Unlike my memory of Ulysses, the Dubliners stories are told in a very even and objective style, which makes the stories more readable and forces the reader to assess the characters, rather than having them come pre-assessed by the author. The stories varied to the extent that they struck a chord with me - some, like Eveline, Counterparts, and A Mother, rang true, others less so. On the whole, though, I enjoyed the stories, and liked that they made me think about the characters.

Joyce confuses me. Two of his books that I've now read have been quite accessible, but Ulysses not at all (and from what I've heard, I can expect difficulty should I attempt Finnegan's Wake).

Paralympics

2008-09-16T09:56:00.003+10:00

I posted a couple of times on the Olympics, so its probably only fair that I comment on the Paralympics.

I haven't been watching an awful lot, although I did see quite a bit on Saturday. The ABC coverage gets 10 for effort, but to be honest, some of the commentators are pretty crap. I was watching a close wheelchair basketball game, and the team that was down was fouling as soon as the other team inbounded, which is simply what you do in that situation, in any form of basketball, but the commentators seemed to have no idea why it was happening, which is just weird.

Unlike the Olympics, all of the sports I've seen in the paralympics are objective - no diving, dressage, gymnastics or judo. I am a little uneasy about the classification systems, but its an inevitable problem - the disabilities that people have are different, and although they have lots of categories (and hence LOTS AND LOTS of events), you still get people with wildly different disabilities competing against each other - someone with cystic fibrosis swimming against someone with no arms, against someone with one arm and one leg. This makes it interesting, but in some respects its a bit less even. What is incontestable, though, is just how impressive the individual performances are. Seeing someone with no arms swim 100m of I-guess-you'd-call-it-butterfly is just super-impressive (although banging into the wall with their head makes me giggle, I confess), and the number of personal bests is just amazing. I saw a swimming relay last night where the Australian team took the world record from 4:22 to 4:11, which is just crazy. There have been similar big records elsewhere in swimming and in track - one Kenyan arm-amputee runner broke the 5000m world record by 19 seconds (he earlier broke the 1500m record by 6 seconds).

The team sports are the best of all. Wheelchair basketball is impressive, and seems to be the marquee event. Australia won bronze last night, beating Japan, having taken out the world-champion Canadians in the quarter-finals (the Australians might be the second-best team in the tournament, after the Americans). The men are playing for gold tonight against the Canadians.

My favourite, though, is the wheelchair rugby. The Australians have this guy, Ryley Batt, who is just a superstar. He's a big bloke, built like a prop, which superficially might seem an advantage in a sport called rugby, but it really makes little difference. What sets him apart is his speed in the chair and particularly his acceleration. More than any other player he's a nightmare in terms of blocking the runs of one or more players on defense, and of quick spins and acceleration to get out of traps in attack. He beat the New Zealanders scoring with 0.2 seconds earlier in the tournament, and last night he was key in beating the Canadians in overtime (the Canadians had a great chance to send it to a second overtime but had a skill error on the last play).

little golf

2008-09-06T14:51:00.002+10:00

Neil, Dave and I went for a hit of golf this morning at St Lucia. After a rough start (+5 through 2), I steadied and was at +9 through 9. I had some troubles on the back 9, and finished with a 92 (+22). The wind was blowing very hard all day, and swirling around considerably. On the 375m 10th, I hit a huge drive and a sand wedge into the green, yet a couple of holes later I was hitting a 7-iron to pin high from only 115m out. I hit some really good drives, on a day where getting the ball in the fairway really was tough, which was really pleasing.

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance

2008-08-29T09:40:00.006+10:00

Years ago, I watched what I thought was most of The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. Then, a month ago, I bought the DVD as part of a birthday care package from Amazon, and last night watched it in its entirety. I thoroughly enjoyed it, both on a superficial level, where it works as a western, and in a subconscious perhaps-imagined sense in which it stands for the evolution of America and particularly the westward expansion.

WARNING: Artsy interpretation includes spoilers.

Jimmy Stewart plays Law'n'Order, who arrives in town and is assaulted by Lawlessness. He is brought out of the wilderness by Toughness (John Wayne), and taken in by New America (Vera Miles). New America and Toughness are an item, but the arrival of Law'n'Order makes her wonder if that's what she really wants. As the film progresses, New America realises that Law'n'Order can take her places and teach/show her things that Toughness never will, and she throws her lot in with the bookish guy, leaving Toughness all broken up. In a showdown between Law'n'Order and Lawlessness, Toughness steps in at the last minute and saves Law'n'Order's bacon, but as a result, New America casts Toughness aside in favour of Law'n'Order. Years later, America and a greying Law'n'Order return to town, and it is revealed that America regrets her decision, and although her head said Law'n'Order, it was Toughness that she really loved.

End artsy interpretation/spoilers.

Ed: I'd also add that discovering the Western genre has almost certainly been the most pleasant aspect of my IMDB Top 250 quest. I've watched the following films as a direct result of the quest: The Good, The Bad And The Ugly; A Few Dollars More; Once Upon A Time In America; Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid; The Searchers; Rio Bravo; High Noon; The Magnificent Seven; The Treasure Of The Sierra Madre; The Ox-Bow Incident; The Wild Bunch, and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. About 8 of the dozen I've really enjoyed, which is a pretty good strike rate.

breakdown

2008-08-26T10:01:00.005+10:00

Beijing medal count (sports conducted sitting down):

Britain: 14 gold, 8 silver, 7 bronze
Australia: 5 gold, 5 silver, 3 bronze

Beijing medal count (other sports):

Britain: 5 gold, 5 silver, 8 bronze
Australia: 9 gold, 10 silver, 14 bronze

Just saying.

This counts cycling, canoeing (excluding the kneeling canoe events), equestrian, rowing, and sailing (excluding sailboards). Interestingly, only dressage made my hate-list the other day.

On a less flippant note, the discrepancy in medals between the two countries, GB 19-13-15 vs AUS 14-15-17, can be attributed almost entirely to cycling, where Britain dominated (8-4-2), and Australia had one of our worst Olympics ever (0-1-0).

bushwhackin' Bulimba

2008-08-25T12:03:00.003+10:00

Amusing weekend. On Friday night Mick & I watched Tropic Thunder, which was a bit underwhelming. On Saturday night, the Lions choked on their knees against the Blues, which was quite depressing.

On Sunday morning, a bunch of us went for breakfast at Bulimba before a game of golf. We settled on a new Olympic sport, tentatively named the Randomathlon, where individuals or teams compete in a selection of events randomly selected on the day of competition from all of the Olympic sports. So in the individual you can might have a day of table tennis, diving, swimming, equestrian, rhythmic gymnastics, and shotput, and in the teams it might be synchronised swimming, tennis doubles, hockey, and volleyball.

The golf was fun. I shot 36 for the 9 holes, including a really great section on the 6th and 7th. I put my tee shot on the 6th over the back of the green, on the steep side of the 7th tee mound, and with 10m to the pin including a 4m high fence. With an unlikely stance, I threw up a flop shot that landed pin high and rolled about 4m past the pin. I 2-putted for 4. On the 7th I hit a high half-wedge to the back of the green and hit a super-fast, curling downhill putt for birdie. The greens were very fast all day, and since they are all inverted saucers, holding greens was challenging and putting was intimidating.

In the evening, Mick had people round to his for his birthday. He set up a projector in garden and showed film clips and a horror comedy film. It was a bring-a-plate dinner (I made a couple of quiches), which went really well. Julz, Paul, Andy and I also presented Mick with Project X, his birthday piñata coated in 12 years' worth of movie stubs, and it seemed to go down well.

reiterating - sport should be objectively measurable

2008-08-22T14:17:00.007+10:00

Something tells me that I made this point back when the Athens Olympics were on, but here we go again - it deserves reiteration.

Judges/referees/umpires in sport should judge fact, not merit. "Sports" which are decided by judges' scores should not be in the Olympics. This includes:

Gymnastics, including both rhythmic and artistic gymnastics, and trampoline (which make up 18 gold medal events)
Diving, synchronized or otherwise (8 gold medals)
Synchronized swimming (2 gold medals) (Frankly, this one isn't a sport by any reasonable criteria).
Equestrian dressage (2 gold medals, plus the dressage component in the 2 eventing medals)
The winter olympics has a whole swag of events, including figure skating, ski jumping and probably things like the freestyle skiing - jumps and moguls and stuff.

30 less opportunities for people to quite reasonably complain about judges' subjective decisions costing them medals. In particular, anyone who argues that rhythmic gymnastics, synchronized swimming, or figure skating are legitimate sports is flat out kidding themselves.

There is also a group of sports for which the judging of points or facts can be very arbitrary. The following are on shaky ground, and should be either dropped or told to make themselves more objective:

Fencing, in which something like 75% of touches are simultaneous, and scores thus effectively become subjective. ~~Get a machine to do it, for crying out loud - if it works for Operation and Sale Of The Century, then it can work for Olympic fencing.~~(Ed: My reading suggests they have moved to electric judging, although I still question the real significance of striking someone 41ms before being struck oneself.) 10 gold medals
Walking, in which a judge's call about breaking contact with the ground or bending knees frequently decides the outcome. 3 gold medals.
A lot of the combat sports, i.e. taekwondo (8 gold medals), judo (14 gold medals), wrestling (18 gold medals) and even boxing (11 gold medals) at times, are very prone to "judgement calls" by judges.

Incidentally, I also have a nice little pile of other sports that I would like to see banished, headed by water polo and modern pentathlon, but I'll have to leave them for a day when I have a more cogent argument than "I think they're rubbish".

From 3 years to 5 days

2008-08-22T09:49:00.004+10:00

The previous book I read took 3 years, the next one took 5 days. I started Cat's Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut, on Saturday or Sunday, and finished it late last night. It was significantly shorter, at a sparse 179 pages, but of equal significance was that I actually devoted some time to reading it, taking buses rather than riding a couple of days, and taking it to lunch with me a few days.

As for the book itself, I don't have an awful lot to say on it. Its a science fiction story with some commentary on religion/science/politics, but nothing as insightful as, say, Foundation. There seems to be an attempt to neologise (add new words into the vernacular, a la "grok" from Heinlein's Stranger In A Strange Land) but they didn't stick for me. (Ed: I draw these comparisons only to highlight the story elements, not to belittle Vonnegut's book by comparison to what are, after all, probably two of the greatest SF novels ever written).

Apparently Vonnegut was awarded his PhD based on this novel as his thesis, after his original thesis was rejected. I probably wouldn't have given it to him for this book, although his later efforts (what I've read of it, and what I've heard about that which I haven't read, e.g. Slaughterhouse 5) probably merit it, and his overall body of work certainly does.

Next up was going to be Thus Spake Zarathustra, by Nietzsche, but the copy I have is a little delicate in its cover, so I baulked at bringing it on the bus today, instead grabbing Joyce's Dubliners. Its a compilation of short stories, the first of which I read this morning, which he wrote before Portrait of the The Artist As A Young Man (which I liked), and Ulysses (which I have struggled, and thus far failed, to finish). Hopefully its episodic nature will lend itself to easier reading than Ulysses, and also to my current episodic pattern of reading.

Apologies to Ali if this post seems pretentious :)

3-year books make bad 100-minute films

2008-08-18T11:39:00.003+10:00

On Saturday I finally allocated some time to finishing off the novel I've been reading, Possession: A Romance, by A.S. Byatt. Lee gave me the book about 3 years ago, and I essentially read it over two periods: the first two thirds of it then, and the last third over recent months.

The time it took me to finish the book shouldn't be interpreted as a slight on its quality. It is well-written, and although the poetry sections can be slow-going at times, I came to appreciate their contribution to the story. I thought most of the characters were well-drawn, showing a range of personalities and motivations in the sphere of literary academia in which the novel is set. The exceptions are perhaps La Motte, who feels too imbued with the stereotypical passivity and victim syndrome of 19th century literature, and perhaps Maud, who can be a bit blank at times. The plot moves nicely, bouncing between the 19th century fling between the poets and the modern mirror between the critics. The Brittany phase, while evocative in some of the ambience it painted of the area, felt weak in terms of the story, perhaps partly because it dwelt upon, or even wallowed in, the less edifying aspects of Christabel's character. Nonetheless, that was followed by a nice little section of pomo self-reflection, a nice albeit not quite credible ending, and a very elegant epilogue.

While reading the book, I was conscious that there was a film adaptation, directed by Neil LaBute and starring Gwyneth Paltrow, who seemed to me a good casting option for Maud. I tracked down a copy of the film last night and watched it, with the book fresh in my mind.

This is only the second time that I've watched a film adaptation soon after reading the source novel, the first being Le Carré's The Constant Gardener. That film was a much better film on its own merits, and the experience of comparing the two renditions of the story was an amusing exercise in understanding the filmmakers' reasons for trimming the elements they did.

This time, though, felt more like counting the casualties of the adaptation, and wondering if the greater damage was done in adaptation or in editing. The film is far, far too short at 100 minutes long. Neither the 19th-century couple nor their modern counterparts are given a chance to develop any credible chemistry. Ash and LaMotte's tryst, in particular, lacks all the intellectual motivation of the book, which was entirely the point. The casting is quite poor. The character of Roland is so very English, but is inexplicably recast as an American. Blackadder is, seemingly for no reason, cast as an Irishman rather than a Scot.

The casualties of the adaptation range from the minor, like the disappearance of Dog Tray, who I quite liked, to major, as in the absence of Beatrice Nest and particularly of Leonora Stern, who offered an interesting alternative view of the academic, and Val, whose relationship with Roland was so important to his character and his subsequent relationship with Maud. More concerning is the absence of any real character development, so often the case in a book-to-film adaptation. Aside from the relationships between the 4 main characters, parts like Cropper and Fergus are given no chance to develop credibly, and Roland's arc is lacking in its beginning, in his relationship with Val, and its end, in his finding professional and creative escape at the story's resolution. The other absence, I suppose, is poetry. I concede that poetry is almost impossible to adapt for the screen, but without that underpinning, the film seems to lack fundament.

I will confess that watching the film and thinking about its shortcomings did make me appreciate many of the aspects of the book, in particular the way it had developed characters and relationships, and the different ways the characters related to the literature that was their work. Obviously, though, this is damnation by faint praise. The book was a poor choice for adaptation - the story's poetic base is unfilmable, and there are too many characters (that there are 4 distinct leads cannot be avoided) - and a 102 min running length made the task all but impossible.

rundown on ride-around

2008-07-28T13:02:00.002+10:00

Sunday morning was the Brissie To The Bay charity ride, a 50km ride from West End to Wynnum and back in support of Multiple Sclerosis sufferers.

My preparation for this ride was not, it must be said, ideal. I went out for drinks on Thursday and Friday nights, and on Saturday night I stayed up until around a quarter to 2, watching Le Tour and hoping for (but not getting) inspiration from Cadel Evans. I set my alarm for 5:40am, but slept through the radio until 6:10am, which meant I had to hurry to get my things together and cover the 8.5km to Musgrave Park for the start, without using too much energy.

Anyway, get there I did, and I took my place with the more-than-2500 other riders on the 50km ride (there were also 25km and 10km rides). I was in the fourth tranche, figuring that I was neither especially fast nor especially slow. My aim was to finish inside 2 hours, for an average speed of 25km/h.

I took things reasonably conservatively on the way out, expending a bit of energy but not too much on the hills (I tend to pass quite a lot of people on the short climbs, in general), and just cruising on the flats. After a 10-minute or so break at the Wynnum rest stop, I headed off again. I pushed hard along the long flat section near the start of the return, keeping right on 30km/h for perhaps 3 or 4km, with an old chap on my wheel. I took a turn on his wheel after a break, a little bit slower but not much, and started to get cramps in my calves around 38km. I pushed past him (and quite a few others) up a hill, and pushed on through a bit of fatigue, trying to get home inside 2 hrs. The last 5km or so through Woolloongabba were quite stop-start with the traffic, but I managed to get home in 1:56:37, just inside my target, and an average speed of 25.8km/h.

Once again, I enjoyed being on an organised ride: the idea of riding with other people, with marshalls to help with traffic and to show us the route. Were it not organised, its highly unlikely that I'd do a 50km ride through Brisbane, and I thus wouldn't get the sense achievement.

I also like the fact that the ride is linked with a charity. I've managed to raise a nice chunk of change for MS ($230 at time of writing), a good proportion of which wouldn't have been donated otherwise. Dad noted this morning that I'm up in the top 100 fundraisers for the event, which is surprising and pleasing. If anyone still wants to donate, or if anyone was waiting until I'd finished the ride, donations are still being accepted for another fortnight or so (after that point, just go to the MS society site).

My next organised ride is probably going to be the 100km Brisbane to the Gold Coast ride in October.