This has been a difficult week. I've been below my best as a teacher, and as a researcher. I was reminded that I can make a big difference to my students with very small gestures, but those won't get save my job next year, and its frustrating that I'm not doing the big things better.
More importantly, though, I've been struggling to find things outside of work to make good on my great French lesson of travailler pour vivre et non vivre pour travailler (perhaps the greatest lesson I learnt during my time in Rennes1). It is hard to recall when my work-life balance was less life-focussed than now.
Tonight, though, I made a really good lamb stew. I had some diced lamb that needed using, a bag of capsicums on special at the local fruit'n'veg, and a bottle of big Australian Shiraz that I'd been saving for illogical reasons. The smell was tantalising, and in the end all ingredients were better for each other's company.
Small pleasures, but it helps.
1 Well, either that or "Il manque un peu de beurre".
Sunday, 18 August 2013
Wednesday, 20 March 2013
Copycat
One of the cakes we had for Em's birthday brunch on Sunday up at Mt Tamborine was a gluten-free orange and almond number. It was very nice, and Em mentioned that she had previously made one, and that it wasn't especially difficult.
As it happened, the following day I was asked if I could bring something for our group morning tea today (Wednesday). I found myself a recipe, grabbed myself some oranges, and had a go last night.
I'm fairly happy with it by eye and by nose, but we shall see how it goes in the mouth. I'm a little worried it might not quite be cooked through, but time will tell.
For a long time, I used to always try while eating out to order something that I couldn't or wouldn't cook myself. I've moderated that now; I often find that I can glean a lot of tips in what a waiter or waitress brings me that I can use in my own cooking (such as it is).
ED. Verdict = winner.
As it happened, the following day I was asked if I could bring something for our group morning tea today (Wednesday). I found myself a recipe, grabbed myself some oranges, and had a go last night.
 |
| First attempt at Orange and Almond Cake |
For a long time, I used to always try while eating out to order something that I couldn't or wouldn't cook myself. I've moderated that now; I often find that I can glean a lot of tips in what a waiter or waitress brings me that I can use in my own cooking (such as it is).
ED. Verdict = winner.
Monday, 18 March 2013
Sunday out and about
External forces, in the form of family and friends, drove me out of my little hermit hole on Sunday and out into the big wide world.
The primary force acting on me was Emily's Birthday. The plan was for the four of us (with Mum and Dad) to head down to Mt Tamborine and do some walking. So at around 8ish, we rolled out of town and up into the hills.
Our first port of call was at Cedar Creek Falls. The road was signposted as closed, and although some other cars seemed to be ignoring the signs, we parked at the top of the hill and walked down to the crossing. There was probably about 6 inches of water across the road, so we doffed shoes and waded across. The water was cool, clear and very pleasant - it was almost a shame to put our boots back on. We wandered down the short track to the titular Cedar Creek Falls, which was a very little waterfall with a rockpool at the bottom flanked by sheer rocky cliffs. There were some swimmers being a bit silly clambering on rocks, but I was feeling very zen, and was happy to leave them to their own follies. The creek itself was in very fine form, flowing quickly and happily through the dry rainforest.
After another pleasant wade back through the ford, we reclimbed the hill and drove on into North Tamborine for some coffee and cakes. It was nice to find decent coffee and good cake on our first attempt, and with a nice view out from the ridge.
After our break, we drove on up to the well-named Knoll section, and took another quick walk out to Cameron Falls, descending through sections of rainforest and palms. Cameron Falls was quite a lot bigger, and offered a great view out north across the plain to the Brisbane city Skyline.
We then walked back up the hill to the Knoll, with an accompanying conversation about the distinction between lichen and fungi. Seeking lunch options, we did a bit of a reconnoitre along the ridge, driving out as far as the Mount Tamborine Golf Club, which offered great views out east across the Gold Coast (views of the Gold Coast have the added pleasure of reassuring you that you're not on the Gold Coast). We finally settled on a pie from the baker back at North Tamborine, judging people based on the cars they were driving past (the Corvette driver came in for the harshest speculation, and the flatback Morris the highest praise).
After lunch, we went seeking one more quick walk, and after being foiled by the closed MacDonald track, we took a brief walk downhill to Curtis Falls, the smallest of the falls we'd seen, but with a pleasant-looking waterhole at the bottom and, like the others, in fine form with plenty of water flowing.
I have a sneaking suspicion I've been to Mt Tamborine at some point before, although I can't recall why, when, or with whom. Based on what I've heard, and reinforced by what we saw at times, its a very popular weekend getaway from either Brisbane or the Gold Coast. Still, the tracks we walked, while well-frequented, were not unpleasantly crowded, and seemed to be bearing up well to the traffic (notwithstanding a number of others being closed, whether because of traffic, floods, or regular maintenance). The tracks are short, and probably not sufficient if you're looking for some serious bushwalking, but as a half-day out, its pretty nice, and as it turned out yesterday, 6 or 7 degrees cooler than the valley below.
However, my day wasn't quite done at this point. After a brief drive back to Brisbane, we flicked on my air-conditioning and had a cup of tea, then I wandered over to Bardon, in response to a suggestion from Miri of fish and chips in the park. Being an uncharacteristically hot day, the plan had evolved somewhat to slip-n-slide in the Brown's backyard, but it was still very pleasant to see the Brown and Thomson girls playing, and to meet the newest tiny addition to the Brown clan. We stuck to the fish'n'chips plan, and I got a big hug from Ess before I headed home.
Perhaps its because I have some shut-in tendencies on other weekends, but I really enjoy the occasional weekend out, and I was very grateful for the provocations on this occasion.
The primary force acting on me was Emily's Birthday. The plan was for the four of us (with Mum and Dad) to head down to Mt Tamborine and do some walking. So at around 8ish, we rolled out of town and up into the hills.
 |
| The ford at Cedar Creek Falls |
Our first port of call was at Cedar Creek Falls. The road was signposted as closed, and although some other cars seemed to be ignoring the signs, we parked at the top of the hill and walked down to the crossing. There was probably about 6 inches of water across the road, so we doffed shoes and waded across. The water was cool, clear and very pleasant - it was almost a shame to put our boots back on. We wandered down the short track to the titular Cedar Creek Falls, which was a very little waterfall with a rockpool at the bottom flanked by sheer rocky cliffs. There were some swimmers being a bit silly clambering on rocks, but I was feeling very zen, and was happy to leave them to their own follies. The creek itself was in very fine form, flowing quickly and happily through the dry rainforest.
 |
| Cedar Creek Falls |
After another pleasant wade back through the ford, we reclimbed the hill and drove on into North Tamborine for some coffee and cakes. It was nice to find decent coffee and good cake on our first attempt, and with a nice view out from the ridge.
After our break, we drove on up to the well-named Knoll section, and took another quick walk out to Cameron Falls, descending through sections of rainforest and palms. Cameron Falls was quite a lot bigger, and offered a great view out north across the plain to the Brisbane city Skyline.
 |
| Looking upstream from the top of Cameron Falls |
 |
| Cameron Falls |
 |
| Looking north from Cameron Falls towards Brisbane |
We then walked back up the hill to the Knoll, with an accompanying conversation about the distinction between lichen and fungi. Seeking lunch options, we did a bit of a reconnoitre along the ridge, driving out as far as the Mount Tamborine Golf Club, which offered great views out east across the Gold Coast (views of the Gold Coast have the added pleasure of reassuring you that you're not on the Gold Coast). We finally settled on a pie from the baker back at North Tamborine, judging people based on the cars they were driving past (the Corvette driver came in for the harshest speculation, and the flatback Morris the highest praise).
After lunch, we went seeking one more quick walk, and after being foiled by the closed MacDonald track, we took a brief walk downhill to Curtis Falls, the smallest of the falls we'd seen, but with a pleasant-looking waterhole at the bottom and, like the others, in fine form with plenty of water flowing.
 |
| Curtis Falls |
However, my day wasn't quite done at this point. After a brief drive back to Brisbane, we flicked on my air-conditioning and had a cup of tea, then I wandered over to Bardon, in response to a suggestion from Miri of fish and chips in the park. Being an uncharacteristically hot day, the plan had evolved somewhat to slip-n-slide in the Brown's backyard, but it was still very pleasant to see the Brown and Thomson girls playing, and to meet the newest tiny addition to the Brown clan. We stuck to the fish'n'chips plan, and I got a big hug from Ess before I headed home.
Perhaps its because I have some shut-in tendencies on other weekends, but I really enjoy the occasional weekend out, and I was very grateful for the provocations on this occasion.
Monday, 4 March 2013
Geographical distribution of Australian sporting teams
Next weekend, the Bendigo Spirit will host the Townsville Fire in the final of the WNBL. I think having two "small market" teams in the final is terrific, and hopefully its a sign of things to come.
I have, on a few occasions, had discussions with people about Australia's cities. In particular, a few years ago there was a lot of talk about the projections for Australia's population over the next 40-100 years, with many sources (including the ABS) projecting that we could be at 40-50 million people by 2050.
I am firmly of the opinion, that expanding to this kind of number but maintaining our current pattern of huge proportions of our population being centralised in 5 cities (Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Adelaide, Perth), is less than ideal. It might be doable, but it will put huge strains on infrastructure, and more importantly, its pretty boring. I would like to think that if we're increasing our urban population (which seems unavoidable - rural vs urban is a different debate), then the way to do it is by growing the number of significant centres, not by growing those that are already big.
How to do this escapes me; I'm not an urban planner, and discussions I've had about how to shift industry/government sectors out of the capitals have left me convinced of that. However, one place I think is ripe for decentralisation is sport.
Taking a quick glance at the teams which compete in some of Australia's biggest sporting leagues (AFL, NRL, Super Rugby, domestic cricket (using BBL), A-League, W-League, NBL, WNBL, Netball and ABL), an overwhelming number of the teams are based in the five major cities. Of the 90 Australian teams competing in these leagues (the NRL, Super Rugby, A-League, NBL and Netball leagues include teams from New Zealand and/or South Africa), 70 come from one of the big five metros:
The others are split across smaller centres:
I have, on a few occasions, had discussions with people about Australia's cities. In particular, a few years ago there was a lot of talk about the projections for Australia's population over the next 40-100 years, with many sources (including the ABS) projecting that we could be at 40-50 million people by 2050.
I am firmly of the opinion, that expanding to this kind of number but maintaining our current pattern of huge proportions of our population being centralised in 5 cities (Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Adelaide, Perth), is less than ideal. It might be doable, but it will put huge strains on infrastructure, and more importantly, its pretty boring. I would like to think that if we're increasing our urban population (which seems unavoidable - rural vs urban is a different debate), then the way to do it is by growing the number of significant centres, not by growing those that are already big.
How to do this escapes me; I'm not an urban planner, and discussions I've had about how to shift industry/government sectors out of the capitals have left me convinced of that. However, one place I think is ripe for decentralisation is sport.
Taking a quick glance at the teams which compete in some of Australia's biggest sporting leagues (AFL, NRL, Super Rugby, domestic cricket (using BBL), A-League, W-League, NBL, WNBL, Netball and ABL), an overwhelming number of the teams are based in the five major cities. Of the 90 Australian teams competing in these leagues (the NRL, Super Rugby, A-League, NBL and Netball leagues include teams from New Zealand and/or South Africa), 70 come from one of the big five metros:
- 22 in Sydney: Swans, Giants (AFL), Eels, Panthers, Roosters, Tigers, Dragons, Bulldogs, Sharks, Rabbitohs, Sea Eagles (NRL), Sixers, Thunder (BBL), Sydney United, Wanderers (both A-League and W-League), Waratahs (Super Rugby), Kings (NBL), Flames (WNBL), Blue Sox (ABL), Swifts (Netball)
- 21 in Melbourne: Magpies, Blues, Bombers, Tigers, Kangaroos, Saints, Hawks, Bulldogs, Demons (AFL), Storm (NRL), Renegades, Stars (BBL), Victory (A-League and W-League), Heart (A-League), Rebels (Super Rugby), Tigers (NBL), Boomers, Rangers (WNBL), Aces (ABL), Phoenix (Netball)
- 10 in Perth: Eagles, Dockers (AFL), Scorchers (BBL), Glory (A-League and W-League), Force (Super Rugby), Wildcats (NBL), Waves (WNBL), Heat (ABL), Fever (Netball)
- 9 in Adelaide: Crows, Power (AFL), Strikers (BBL), Adelaide United (A-League and W-League), 36ers (NBL), Lightning (WNBL), Thunderbirds (Netball), Bite (ABL)
- 8 in Brisbane: Lions (AFL), Broncos (NRL), Heat (BBL), Roar (A-League and W-League), Reds (Super Rugby), Bandits (ABL), Firebirds (Netball)
The others are split across smaller centres:
- 5 in Canberra: Raiders (NRL), Brumbies (Super Rugby), Capitals (WNBL), Cavalry (ABL)
- 3 in Newcastle: Knights (NRL), Jets (A-League and W-League)
- 3 in Townsville: Cowboys (NRL), Crocodiles (NBL), Fire (WNBL)
- 2 in Gold Coast: Suns (AFL), Titans (NRL)
- Geelong Cats (AFL), although some of their games are played in Melbourne
- Central Coast Mariners (A-League), based in Gosford
- Wollongong Hawks (NBL)
- Cairns Taipans (NBL)
- Bendigo Spirit (WNBL)
- Logan Thunder (WNBL)
- Hobart Hurricanes (BBL)
A strong case can be made that a few of those cities could easily support more teams - Hobart, Gold Coast, Geelong, and Wollongong and Townsville have all had other teams in the past. The list of second-tier (by population) cities without teams is huge. The Sunshine Coast, Darwin, Toowoomba, Launceston, Albury and Ballarat are all bigger than Bendigo, and there are other large population centres without teams in central Queensland (Mackay, Rockhampton, Bundaberg, Gladstone and Hervey Bay) Mandurah in WA, Coffs Harbour and Wagga Wagga in NSW, to name a few.
The recent trend has been to put new teams into Western Sydney, but if I were looking to expand or realign one of the smaller leagues, I'd be looking at these smaller centres where a team has a chance to be the only (or one of the only) games in town. Even the AFL and NRL would be wise to look that way, rather than to continue with half of their league in the one city.
It may be that the league most poised to go in this direction is the A-League, which has made some noise about moving to a promotion/relegation system. I would have thought this would necessitate adding quite a few new teams, and it could be that the success (from what I've seen) of their Central Coast franchise leads them to look at some of these new areas.
Tuesday, 19 February 2013
dividends
A few years ago, while driving up from Brisbane to Toowoomba for Christmas, Lee and I stopped in at the Big Orange to buy fruit. This is a fairly common occurrence, but on this occasion we were charged with buying mum a fig tree which they had on special. At least, I think it was a fig tree; I have a dim memory of buying what was requested and also something that wasn't, but I can't recall what those might have been. Anyway, we bought a fig tree, and gave it to mum for Christmas.
The fig tree had a bit of a rough time of it at times in the garden. In one storm in particular it was knocked over, and it was touch and go as to whether or not it would recover. However, these days it is in rude health, and this weekend past, Mum brought down a crop of 10 fresh figs for me. As an investment, that tree has well and truly paid itself off now in fruit, not to mention what it adds to the garden as a tree.
I neglected to take a photo of the whole box, but after two meals, these four were left. Of course, today, they aren't - I was under strict instructions to make sure I got through them quickly, and I was not about to disobey.
Shocking form to post pictures of food, but at least they're not instagrammed, I suppose.
I also enjoyed reading up a little about figs online. I suspect that the variety I've just been eating is the brown turkey fig. The other interesting thing I found was that many species of fig have a symbiotic relationship with a certain type of wasp, whereby the wasps can only reproduce by injecting their eggs into the fig, and the fig tree can only reproduce by the wasp carrying pollen between male and female trees (although I believe the figs here don't play this game).
Monday, 4 February 2013
Unwriting
Work at present is all about grant writing (tis the season) and paper writing, so my intention this weekend was to spend a little time catching up on some of that, specifically on a paper due this coming Friday. However, as it turns out - and this is hardly surprising given my form - I didn't do any writing, but instead spent most of the weekend reading. Of course, a weekend spent reading can never, ever, be considered to have been completely wasted.
Before I get to this weekend, though, I owe the usual clearinghouse of books I've read but haven't yet mentioned here (note to self: everything since Cry, The Beloved Country). Actually, this corresponds pretty closely to my holiday reading.
My holiday reading began with Tess of the D'Urbervilles. In the end, this book cut through my holiday, as I frequently put it aside, often angrily, and went away to read something else. 2 of those something elses where finished by the time I finally put Tess to bed.
As I've done at times in the past, my holiday reading was fuelled early by a trip to my library, and as usual, the ideas I walked in with bore no resemblance to the books I walked out with. The first of these was The Sense Of An Ending by Julian Barnes. I read one of Barnes' books, A History of the World in 10 1/2 chapters, a few years ago, and although I wasn't overly excited by its at-times-too-clever religious analyses, it has grown on me with time. Its odd sometimes the books that you remember. Unfortunately, I can't see Sense of An Ending being one of them. Its a fairly short book told by an unreliable narrator looking back at his past relationships and friendships, and who becomes less likeable as the book goes on. Oddly enough, one of the things I liked about 10 1/2 chapters was the feeling that I didn't quite understand what was going on, but what I didn't like about Ending was the feeling that I did.
After my first library book, and as my second escape from morbid 19th century rural English moralism, I picked up something close to hand. One of my family discoveries a few years ago was that, against all the odds, we had a world champion as a distant relative. To be fair, pretty distant, though. As it turns out, I have a third cousin (or something equally vague) named Chrissie Wellington, the now-retired four-time world champion in the ironman. Although none of my close family have met her, we picked up a copy of her autobiography last year, and have all been working our way through it. Its actually a pretty good read - certainly interesting in terms of what she has done in her life, but not just in simplistic "I won this, I won this" boasting or "you can be your dreams" motivational ways. The characters - principally Chrissy herself and her coach Brett Sutton - are conflicted characters with flaws and virtues in different measure. In some ways it feels premature as an autobiography - she is only a few months older than me, and one would hope that she has a lot left to achieve in her life (the autobiography was actually written before she retired, although one wonders if it was on her mind). Hopefully our distant connection, principally through her uncle & aunt, will allow us to remain up to date with what happens beyond the last page of the book.
Having whisked through a couple of sidetracks, I finally gritted my teeth and finished off Tess. Reading shouldn't be as hard as this, but this isn't the first time I've found it hard reading from this era. At times I've whinged to people about the female "protagonists" being so passive and the social norms so backwards (as regards women, mainly). I know its not that simple, and I've never been satisfied with the words I use to complain about it, but somehow I don't enjoy reading it, even though I have enjoyed other social commentary literature from back then (Dickens, mainly). Anyway, Tess was morbid, joyless and frustrating to me, and what enjoyment I gained from the descriptions of the landscape did little to counterbalance her.
As a palate cleanser, the morning I finished Tess, I skipped through The Little Prince. Nice book, I suppose, in an early-19th-century-fantastical-childrens-book-with-transparent-social-motivational-analogies kind of way. Mostly I liked the pictures.
That brings me to this weekend (anyone new to this blog and expecting my clearinghouse to be brief would do well to free themselves of these delusions - my sporadic longwindedness is part of this blog's charm, I maintain). After Tess, I decided to go back to my wheelhouse. One of my five favourite books (back when I made the mistake of compiling such a list) is Dan Simmons' Hyperion, which was a marvellous series mixing scifi, fantasy, and literary references. His follow-up series, Ilium/Olympos, wasn't quite in the same class, but was also fascinating in the way it mixed the fantastical and the classical. So, when my browse through the library took me past Simmons' Drood, I picked it up. After a protracted reading over what has been an eventful January, I finally finished it on Saturday morning.
I had always had in my mind an impression of Simmons as two authors, one who wrote scifi/fantasy (neither of those terms fits, in fact), and another who wrote horror. I suspect now that this clear distinction between his outputs only really works until you've read sufficient of his work to realise that the the reality is much more blurred. Drood is essentially historical fiction, with supernatural/psychological elements mixed in. The story is told from the perspective of Wilkie Collins, as an unreliable narrator who is addicted to laudanum and later other opiates, and deals with the last 5 years of Charles Dickens' life following the Staplehurst rail crash. The book is a little uneven, with compelling sections, such as the pair's descent into the Undertown tunnels, but also with a tendency to drag at times. The unreliable narrator element is perhaps the best part of the book - one can never be sure what role Collins' drug use is having on the story that we are told, either in terms of the characterisations or of the events themselves.
The final book in this lengthy spiel was the one I most enjoyed. Discovering Hemingway a couple of years ago, via a chance purchase on a street near Basel (best 2CHF I've ever spent), has been one of my great pleasures of recent years, so A Farewell To Arms was another library encounter which met with no hesitation. The story is of an American working as an ambulance driver in northern Italy during the first world war. He falls in love with a Scottish nurse, then deserts the army during a retreat in which the military structures start to break down, and flees with the nurse to Switzerland. To be honest, the characters are thinly drawn, especially Catherine, who is a ghost of a woman with no discernable traits beyond lovely hair and being submissive. Henry, the protagonist, would be in AA if he existed in today's world - the quantities of vermouth, whiskey, cognac and white wine he gets through are extraordinary. However, there is something about the story that just worked for me. I don't know if its Hemingway's simple writing style, or his beautiful pacing, but I picked the book up on Saturday afternoon, and put it down Sunday evening, and really felt good about it.
My next book will be All That I Am, by Anna Funder, which won the Miles Franklin last year. The lovely Nicole is hosting a book club next week, and for all the talking I've done about books over the years, I've never done so in a more organised setting where people come actually expecting to talk about the book I've just finished reading. So I'm looking forward to it tremendously.
Having loosened my authorial gland through the above braindump, I shall now return to avoiding the writing I really should be doing.
Before I get to this weekend, though, I owe the usual clearinghouse of books I've read but haven't yet mentioned here (note to self: everything since Cry, The Beloved Country). Actually, this corresponds pretty closely to my holiday reading.
My holiday reading began with Tess of the D'Urbervilles. In the end, this book cut through my holiday, as I frequently put it aside, often angrily, and went away to read something else. 2 of those something elses where finished by the time I finally put Tess to bed.
As I've done at times in the past, my holiday reading was fuelled early by a trip to my library, and as usual, the ideas I walked in with bore no resemblance to the books I walked out with. The first of these was The Sense Of An Ending by Julian Barnes. I read one of Barnes' books, A History of the World in 10 1/2 chapters, a few years ago, and although I wasn't overly excited by its at-times-too-clever religious analyses, it has grown on me with time. Its odd sometimes the books that you remember. Unfortunately, I can't see Sense of An Ending being one of them. Its a fairly short book told by an unreliable narrator looking back at his past relationships and friendships, and who becomes less likeable as the book goes on. Oddly enough, one of the things I liked about 10 1/2 chapters was the feeling that I didn't quite understand what was going on, but what I didn't like about Ending was the feeling that I did.
After my first library book, and as my second escape from morbid 19th century rural English moralism, I picked up something close to hand. One of my family discoveries a few years ago was that, against all the odds, we had a world champion as a distant relative. To be fair, pretty distant, though. As it turns out, I have a third cousin (or something equally vague) named Chrissie Wellington, the now-retired four-time world champion in the ironman. Although none of my close family have met her, we picked up a copy of her autobiography last year, and have all been working our way through it. Its actually a pretty good read - certainly interesting in terms of what she has done in her life, but not just in simplistic "I won this, I won this" boasting or "you can be your dreams" motivational ways. The characters - principally Chrissy herself and her coach Brett Sutton - are conflicted characters with flaws and virtues in different measure. In some ways it feels premature as an autobiography - she is only a few months older than me, and one would hope that she has a lot left to achieve in her life (the autobiography was actually written before she retired, although one wonders if it was on her mind). Hopefully our distant connection, principally through her uncle & aunt, will allow us to remain up to date with what happens beyond the last page of the book.
Having whisked through a couple of sidetracks, I finally gritted my teeth and finished off Tess. Reading shouldn't be as hard as this, but this isn't the first time I've found it hard reading from this era. At times I've whinged to people about the female "protagonists" being so passive and the social norms so backwards (as regards women, mainly). I know its not that simple, and I've never been satisfied with the words I use to complain about it, but somehow I don't enjoy reading it, even though I have enjoyed other social commentary literature from back then (Dickens, mainly). Anyway, Tess was morbid, joyless and frustrating to me, and what enjoyment I gained from the descriptions of the landscape did little to counterbalance her.
As a palate cleanser, the morning I finished Tess, I skipped through The Little Prince. Nice book, I suppose, in an early-19th-century-fantastical-childrens-book-with-transparent-social-motivational-analogies kind of way. Mostly I liked the pictures.
That brings me to this weekend (anyone new to this blog and expecting my clearinghouse to be brief would do well to free themselves of these delusions - my sporadic longwindedness is part of this blog's charm, I maintain). After Tess, I decided to go back to my wheelhouse. One of my five favourite books (back when I made the mistake of compiling such a list) is Dan Simmons' Hyperion, which was a marvellous series mixing scifi, fantasy, and literary references. His follow-up series, Ilium/Olympos, wasn't quite in the same class, but was also fascinating in the way it mixed the fantastical and the classical. So, when my browse through the library took me past Simmons' Drood, I picked it up. After a protracted reading over what has been an eventful January, I finally finished it on Saturday morning.
I had always had in my mind an impression of Simmons as two authors, one who wrote scifi/fantasy (neither of those terms fits, in fact), and another who wrote horror. I suspect now that this clear distinction between his outputs only really works until you've read sufficient of his work to realise that the the reality is much more blurred. Drood is essentially historical fiction, with supernatural/psychological elements mixed in. The story is told from the perspective of Wilkie Collins, as an unreliable narrator who is addicted to laudanum and later other opiates, and deals with the last 5 years of Charles Dickens' life following the Staplehurst rail crash. The book is a little uneven, with compelling sections, such as the pair's descent into the Undertown tunnels, but also with a tendency to drag at times. The unreliable narrator element is perhaps the best part of the book - one can never be sure what role Collins' drug use is having on the story that we are told, either in terms of the characterisations or of the events themselves.
The final book in this lengthy spiel was the one I most enjoyed. Discovering Hemingway a couple of years ago, via a chance purchase on a street near Basel (best 2CHF I've ever spent), has been one of my great pleasures of recent years, so A Farewell To Arms was another library encounter which met with no hesitation. The story is of an American working as an ambulance driver in northern Italy during the first world war. He falls in love with a Scottish nurse, then deserts the army during a retreat in which the military structures start to break down, and flees with the nurse to Switzerland. To be honest, the characters are thinly drawn, especially Catherine, who is a ghost of a woman with no discernable traits beyond lovely hair and being submissive. Henry, the protagonist, would be in AA if he existed in today's world - the quantities of vermouth, whiskey, cognac and white wine he gets through are extraordinary. However, there is something about the story that just worked for me. I don't know if its Hemingway's simple writing style, or his beautiful pacing, but I picked the book up on Saturday afternoon, and put it down Sunday evening, and really felt good about it.
My next book will be All That I Am, by Anna Funder, which won the Miles Franklin last year. The lovely Nicole is hosting a book club next week, and for all the talking I've done about books over the years, I've never done so in a more organised setting where people come actually expecting to talk about the book I've just finished reading. So I'm looking forward to it tremendously.
Having loosened my authorial gland through the above braindump, I shall now return to avoiding the writing I really should be doing.
Thursday, 29 November 2012
Reading update
Earlier in the year I set myself a goal of reading 25 books this year. At times that has seemed like an easy goal, and at others an impossible one. One of the forces working against me has been my guilty conscience - when I have marking, or proof-reading, or reviewing on my slate at work, then I take work home. This isn't to say I stop reading because I'm working (although that does sometimes happen), but the presence of the work in my unopened bag makes me guilty enough to stop myself reading for pleasure.
Nonetheless, it hasn't been a bad year thus far for reading. The chief reason for this has been Game of Thrones, which has accounted for 5 of the 18 books I've read thus far, and a much greater proportion of the pages I've read. Last night I finished the 5th of the series, A Dance With Dragons, bringing me up to date and into the large group of people waiting patiently for Martin's final 2 instalments, whenever they should arrive. Its a pretty serviceable series, better written than a lot of fantasy, and less closely drawn to the standard fantasy story archetypes (the hero's quest for symbol of power, blah blah blah). Martin's willingness to kill off significant characters gruesomely, and often suddenly, also helps to make the stories less predictable for the rusted-on reader of the genre, which is nice. Having watched the first season of the excellent TV adaptation before reading book 1, and the second at the same time as I read book 2, I now find myself a long way ahead. To date the adaptation has produced one series per book, but I suspect it will struggle to do so as the stories broaden across Martin's world, and as the source books thicken.
I've also read a couple of other books to break up the flow. I started Murakami's 1Q84 while in London, and finished after I got back, but I can't say I enjoyed it much. It moves at a very slow pace, and a number of things about his writing frustrate me - he's obsessed with women's bodies, more than I found reasonable, and his ambition in his prose style outstrips his ability, I thought, with a lot of strained metaphors and distracting detours from the central plot, mixed with excessive exposition and leaps of logic from his characters. It also desperately wanted a severe editor - a 300 page story in a 1000 page book.
At the Lifeline book fair earlier this year, 3 of the books I bought were Kim Stanley Robinson's Mars trilogy. Having read Red Mars, the first instalment, its certainly an impressive piece of work. There is a really strong sense of scientific credibility in his writing, and no lack of depth in the way he has thought out the colonisation and terraforming of Mars. However, the narrative does suffer, and its not always a compelling read in terms of its characters or story, so I found it a bit hard going. I will probably dip into the second and third books at some point, but I'm in no hurry.
At my mother's urging, I have managed to squeeze in a local book as well. Very local, in fact - Over the Top With Jim by Hugh Lunn is set only 4 about blocks from where I live, and a number of the settings for the 1950s coming-of-age story are places I frequent every week - the "state school" (as opposed to the catholic school) next door to me, Ekibin Creek at the bottom of my street (even if its really a park-and-drain now), and various others (alas, not the cinemas, which have all closed in the intervening years). The book itself is a decent enough yarn, with enough geographical and historical familiarity to keep me interested even if the cultural and temporal settings didn't resonate particularly with me, not having grown up either catholic, in the fifties, or more importantly in a time when religion was a conspicuous cultural discriminant.
The other book I've read recently was another I picked up at the Lifeline book fair - Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton. Its a fairly simple story about a black South-African reverend who comes to Johannesburg to seek people from his village who have run afoul of various of the social issues which burnt South Africa through much of the 20th century. Its a fairly grim tale at times, but Paton writes very well, with what felt to me like strong influences from Steinbeck, in the way he uses individual characters to represent larger social movements, and Hemingway, in the way he uses cross-language dialogue.
Nonetheless, it hasn't been a bad year thus far for reading. The chief reason for this has been Game of Thrones, which has accounted for 5 of the 18 books I've read thus far, and a much greater proportion of the pages I've read. Last night I finished the 5th of the series, A Dance With Dragons, bringing me up to date and into the large group of people waiting patiently for Martin's final 2 instalments, whenever they should arrive. Its a pretty serviceable series, better written than a lot of fantasy, and less closely drawn to the standard fantasy story archetypes (the hero's quest for symbol of power, blah blah blah). Martin's willingness to kill off significant characters gruesomely, and often suddenly, also helps to make the stories less predictable for the rusted-on reader of the genre, which is nice. Having watched the first season of the excellent TV adaptation before reading book 1, and the second at the same time as I read book 2, I now find myself a long way ahead. To date the adaptation has produced one series per book, but I suspect it will struggle to do so as the stories broaden across Martin's world, and as the source books thicken.
I've also read a couple of other books to break up the flow. I started Murakami's 1Q84 while in London, and finished after I got back, but I can't say I enjoyed it much. It moves at a very slow pace, and a number of things about his writing frustrate me - he's obsessed with women's bodies, more than I found reasonable, and his ambition in his prose style outstrips his ability, I thought, with a lot of strained metaphors and distracting detours from the central plot, mixed with excessive exposition and leaps of logic from his characters. It also desperately wanted a severe editor - a 300 page story in a 1000 page book.
At the Lifeline book fair earlier this year, 3 of the books I bought were Kim Stanley Robinson's Mars trilogy. Having read Red Mars, the first instalment, its certainly an impressive piece of work. There is a really strong sense of scientific credibility in his writing, and no lack of depth in the way he has thought out the colonisation and terraforming of Mars. However, the narrative does suffer, and its not always a compelling read in terms of its characters or story, so I found it a bit hard going. I will probably dip into the second and third books at some point, but I'm in no hurry.
At my mother's urging, I have managed to squeeze in a local book as well. Very local, in fact - Over the Top With Jim by Hugh Lunn is set only 4 about blocks from where I live, and a number of the settings for the 1950s coming-of-age story are places I frequent every week - the "state school" (as opposed to the catholic school) next door to me, Ekibin Creek at the bottom of my street (even if its really a park-and-drain now), and various others (alas, not the cinemas, which have all closed in the intervening years). The book itself is a decent enough yarn, with enough geographical and historical familiarity to keep me interested even if the cultural and temporal settings didn't resonate particularly with me, not having grown up either catholic, in the fifties, or more importantly in a time when religion was a conspicuous cultural discriminant.
The other book I've read recently was another I picked up at the Lifeline book fair - Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton. Its a fairly simple story about a black South-African reverend who comes to Johannesburg to seek people from his village who have run afoul of various of the social issues which burnt South Africa through much of the 20th century. Its a fairly grim tale at times, but Paton writes very well, with what felt to me like strong influences from Steinbeck, in the way he uses individual characters to represent larger social movements, and Hemingway, in the way he uses cross-language dialogue.
Friday, 31 August 2012
a friday evening at home
Too often I write of the long, and not often enough of the now. Here I sit on a Friday afternoon, in need of escapism, and finding it, in scribed fantasy with a side of G'n'T. The G has more effect, I'm sure but the T, cheap but freshly released, is more distracting, as it crackles on the roof of my mouth while I linger on the words that so well distract me from the dreary week.
As I read of vivid characters doing great deeds, I reflect on my own small, pyrrhic victories fought over grounds devoid of consequence, and wonder which of the great boulders arrayed around me will descend next. Recently I seem to have managed those that matter, or at least those descending from hills nearby, pushing them back up their respective slopes to fall on me another day.
I had to make the hard choice this week to push one rock to the side, rather than back up a hill. Conferences are one of the things that really renew my energy for what I do, but a combination of onrushing time and a performance review pushing me to different priorities has made me delay what would have been a very stimulating and enjoyable conference tour through the Germanic-speaking parts of Europe, in favour of a less educational but hopefully more productive trip to oh-so-familiar parts a few months further distant.
I am revelling in my return to fantasy. It has been months since I last plunged deep under its crashing waves, but the characters, the lexicon and the pleasant rhythms of its lost words come rushing easily back. It is interesting, renewing acquaintances with characters first met on the screen, which faces survive into the mind's eye through the written page. Some appear instantly on their name as they I once saw them, but others reject their televised visages and come from the page in the abstract, in ignorance of their adapted provenance. Testament to casting, I suppose.
In a little while, Asha and Arya and Lord Snow (who knows nothing!) will release me, and I'll turn to my tarte (bacon and leek and zucchini and cheese, oh my!), but for now, its downtech and backtime and offworld to esapism...
As I read of vivid characters doing great deeds, I reflect on my own small, pyrrhic victories fought over grounds devoid of consequence, and wonder which of the great boulders arrayed around me will descend next. Recently I seem to have managed those that matter, or at least those descending from hills nearby, pushing them back up their respective slopes to fall on me another day.
I had to make the hard choice this week to push one rock to the side, rather than back up a hill. Conferences are one of the things that really renew my energy for what I do, but a combination of onrushing time and a performance review pushing me to different priorities has made me delay what would have been a very stimulating and enjoyable conference tour through the Germanic-speaking parts of Europe, in favour of a less educational but hopefully more productive trip to oh-so-familiar parts a few months further distant.
I am revelling in my return to fantasy. It has been months since I last plunged deep under its crashing waves, but the characters, the lexicon and the pleasant rhythms of its lost words come rushing easily back. It is interesting, renewing acquaintances with characters first met on the screen, which faces survive into the mind's eye through the written page. Some appear instantly on their name as they I once saw them, but others reject their televised visages and come from the page in the abstract, in ignorance of their adapted provenance. Testament to casting, I suppose.
In a little while, Asha and Arya and Lord Snow (who knows nothing!) will release me, and I'll turn to my tarte (bacon and leek and zucchini and cheese, oh my!), but for now, its downtech and backtime and offworld to esapism...
Monday, 13 August 2012
more running
I had a few days away from running after the half marathon last weekend. Partly this was in order to allow my feet the time to recover from blisters, and partly it was because I was at uni late 4 out of the 5 nights, and couldn't find the time to run.
On Saturday, though, after a day walking around inside talking to 12-year olds, I decided a run was in order. So, profitting from another beautiful Brisbane winter afternoon, and headed out along the Norman Creek greenway to blow out the cobwebs.
I had initially only planned to take it fairly easy, but I felt really good, so I actually kept up a strong pace, running up to Stanley St East and back, on what has become my goto route for about 8km. I took my phone, strapped to my arm, but it proved pretty useless, with first the mp3 player (perhaps because of dodgy headphone) and then RunKeeper both letting me down, the latter insisting I had run 830m at 7:23 pace, rather than 8km at (I reckon) about 4:40.
On Sunday afternoon, I found a few reasons to go out again. In recent times I've had trouble running two days in a row, with shin splints in my right leg causing me a lot of shin pain. A recent visit to the podiatrist, though, has given me some hope of alleviating that, so my first reason for going out was to see whether the exercises and new shoes would make it possible for me to back up. The second was that I have recently had my eyes on Toohey Forest Park as a promising place to go running, and wanted to scout it out. The third, and most significant, was that I had so enjoyed running the previous day that I wanted to make the most of another perfect afternoon.
I headed south down to Toohey Road, and followed it south up and over Weller's Hill (past the school of some of the students I'd met the day before) then up to the forest. Once there I headed along the Toohey Ridge track. I was feeling good, though, so I doubled back along the Sandstone circuit, before again following the Ridge track through the park before emerging on Monash Rd along what I think was the Tallowwood Track (although it wasn't signed as that). The park was everything I hoped it would be, isolated from the city bustle with only a few dog- and bushwalkers, with native birds calling and even a few native plants in bloom. The path was in good condition, and although I stumbled once, I quickly adjusted to running on a less stable and predictable surface, and really enjoyed the extra challenge. Its a bit of a hike to get there (4km each way over some reasonably significant hills, although I mucked around a bit on the way back winding my way through Tarragindi), so it won't be my regular run, but I can see myself spending a fair bit more time getting to know the other trails in the park. I may even consider riding my bike down so I can try some runs up and down the hills.
This was certainly the best couple days of running I've had since I ran in Berlin earlier this year, and perhaps beyond that.
Who knows, I may turn into a runner yet.
On Saturday, though, after a day walking around inside talking to 12-year olds, I decided a run was in order. So, profitting from another beautiful Brisbane winter afternoon, and headed out along the Norman Creek greenway to blow out the cobwebs.
I had initially only planned to take it fairly easy, but I felt really good, so I actually kept up a strong pace, running up to Stanley St East and back, on what has become my goto route for about 8km. I took my phone, strapped to my arm, but it proved pretty useless, with first the mp3 player (perhaps because of dodgy headphone) and then RunKeeper both letting me down, the latter insisting I had run 830m at 7:23 pace, rather than 8km at (I reckon) about 4:40.
On Sunday afternoon, I found a few reasons to go out again. In recent times I've had trouble running two days in a row, with shin splints in my right leg causing me a lot of shin pain. A recent visit to the podiatrist, though, has given me some hope of alleviating that, so my first reason for going out was to see whether the exercises and new shoes would make it possible for me to back up. The second was that I have recently had my eyes on Toohey Forest Park as a promising place to go running, and wanted to scout it out. The third, and most significant, was that I had so enjoyed running the previous day that I wanted to make the most of another perfect afternoon.
I headed south down to Toohey Road, and followed it south up and over Weller's Hill (past the school of some of the students I'd met the day before) then up to the forest. Once there I headed along the Toohey Ridge track. I was feeling good, though, so I doubled back along the Sandstone circuit, before again following the Ridge track through the park before emerging on Monash Rd along what I think was the Tallowwood Track (although it wasn't signed as that). The park was everything I hoped it would be, isolated from the city bustle with only a few dog- and bushwalkers, with native birds calling and even a few native plants in bloom. The path was in good condition, and although I stumbled once, I quickly adjusted to running on a less stable and predictable surface, and really enjoyed the extra challenge. Its a bit of a hike to get there (4km each way over some reasonably significant hills, although I mucked around a bit on the way back winding my way through Tarragindi), so it won't be my regular run, but I can see myself spending a fair bit more time getting to know the other trails in the park. I may even consider riding my bike down so I can try some runs up and down the hills.
This was certainly the best couple days of running I've had since I ran in Berlin earlier this year, and perhaps beyond that.
Who knows, I may turn into a runner yet.
The bad and the good
Work has been pretty crazy over the last, well, 7 months or so. I think I can trace it back almost exactly to a point 2 weeks after returning from my Christmas holiday, since which point I've basically been constantly behind what I needed to do. At the moment I'm neglecting my paper reviewing duties, as well as a few hangover things from tidying up last semester's course. I'm fortunate enough to not be coordinating any courses this semester, but that will be more than made up for by my service duties.
Sometimes, though, there are some things that make it worthwhile. On Saturday I went along to serve as a judge at Young ICT Explorers, a competition held at UQ for primary and high school students. The competition, which has been running for a few years now, sees groups of students from grades 4 through to 12 present projects they have been working on over the last year. I served as a judge last year and was really impressed by so many things about the day: the quality of the students' work, their enthusiasm for working with ICT, and the number of students participating (and especially the number of girls participating - ICT needs more girls!). So I was keen to come back and help out again this year.
This year I was judging with Dan Angus, another lecturer from ITEE (actually a joint appointment with the school of journalism), and Mithila, a student in our multimedia and design degree. We had 7 projects to judge, but one didn't show, so we made very good time getting around talking to the students. The first five projects were pretty good, and once provoked, the students were enthusiastic about telling us what they'd enjoyed, what they'd found hard, and why they were proud of their work.
The sixth project was by just one girl, who had made a website providing maths and english exercises for other year 6 students. She had clearly put a lot of work into it, had thought about why it was useful, and had done a bunch of other things such as making a maths game with some quite well thought-mechanics linked to her theme. She was our pick as the best project we saw, and wound up in a tie for first place in her category.
Before the presentation of the awards, I heard she'd been having a cry because she'd had such a good day. Knowing that she was about to get some more good news, I was just so excited, and sure enough she had another cry when she was called up on stage. It was such a good feeling to be able to give her the acknowledgement she deserved for her hard work, and to see how happy it made her.
Sometimes, though, there are some things that make it worthwhile. On Saturday I went along to serve as a judge at Young ICT Explorers, a competition held at UQ for primary and high school students. The competition, which has been running for a few years now, sees groups of students from grades 4 through to 12 present projects they have been working on over the last year. I served as a judge last year and was really impressed by so many things about the day: the quality of the students' work, their enthusiasm for working with ICT, and the number of students participating (and especially the number of girls participating - ICT needs more girls!). So I was keen to come back and help out again this year.
This year I was judging with Dan Angus, another lecturer from ITEE (actually a joint appointment with the school of journalism), and Mithila, a student in our multimedia and design degree. We had 7 projects to judge, but one didn't show, so we made very good time getting around talking to the students. The first five projects were pretty good, and once provoked, the students were enthusiastic about telling us what they'd enjoyed, what they'd found hard, and why they were proud of their work.
The sixth project was by just one girl, who had made a website providing maths and english exercises for other year 6 students. She had clearly put a lot of work into it, had thought about why it was useful, and had done a bunch of other things such as making a maths game with some quite well thought-mechanics linked to her theme. She was our pick as the best project we saw, and wound up in a tie for first place in her category.
Before the presentation of the awards, I heard she'd been having a cry because she'd had such a good day. Knowing that she was about to get some more good news, I was just so excited, and sure enough she had another cry when she was called up on stage. It was such a good feeling to be able to give her the acknowledgement she deserved for her hard work, and to see how happy it made her.
Thursday, 9 August 2012
personal bests and proxy bests
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| Finishing the 2012 Brisbane Half Marathon (photo courtesy of David Curnow) |
Despite my lamentation a couple of weeks ago that I wasn't a runner, running played a reasonably significant role in my last two or three weeks, albeit more by significance than by actual time spent.
A bit over two weeks ago I popped over to inTraining to get myself some new shoes. My previous pair were a bit over a year old, and I reckon probably had 800-1000km on them. I had heard that this was about the useful life of a pair of running shoes, and I was seeing signs of this in the guise of some foot pain after my runs. After trying on a few pairs, and hearing my sob stories about sore feet and shins, the salesman suggested that I might be well advised to see their podiatrist before I rushed into buying something. I was able to get an appointment that afternoon, and he gave me a few useful tips in terms of some stretches/exercises to strengthen some muscles in my hip to try and lessen the stress on my feet and legs, and made a nice little cushion to protect my sore foot. I wound up buying one of the pairs of shoes I'd tried earlier, certainly the most colourful I've ever owned, with garish green splashed lavishly on the sole and upper.
This weekend just passed, I once again ran the half marathon in the Brisbane Running Festival. I was fortunate enough to get a lift in with David, an old college friend who has just gotten back into running in the last couple of years, and was running his first official half. He's actually a very handy runner, though, so I harboured no illusions of keeping up with him.
The start this year was on Alice Street near the botanical gardens' entrance, which was a marked improvement of last year's chaotic laps of the gardens. I fairly quickly fell in with the 1:45 pace runners, which hadn't been my plan, but I felt comfortable, so I stuck with them for the first 5 or 6 km. Although we started before the sun appeared, it turned into a sensational Brisbane winter morning - cool and crisp under a clear, deep-blue sky - and I was feeling really happy as we were going across the Story Bridge. The pace runners were running a bit behind 1:45 though, and when they lifted in order to make up some time, I couldn't and didn't go with them. I felt pretty reasonable for quite a long time, but whether from the fast start, or from my not having done many long runs, by around 16km I was really struggling.
I had a few walks between 16 and 19, and saw the 1:50 pace runners pass me somewhere just before the North Quay stretch. The route had the misfortune to run us right past the finish line with 2km still to run, uphill up Garden's Point Road then around the gardens. After a last walk up the hill, and looking regularly behind me expecting to see the caped, scythe-toting spectre of the 1:55 pace runner, I dug deep and finished strongly over the last km or so, and was delighted to see a time just a shade over 1:53. David had finished 20 minutes earlier, and was waiting for me at the line, which was great. The results were up within 5 minutes, which was super-impressive, and my chip time came in at 1:52:27, almost 3 minutes faster than I ran last year, on what I think is a more difficult course. Its quite possible that this will remain my PB for some time, so I lashed out and got my time engraved on my finisher's medal (photo to follow).
As well as my results, it was great to be able to have a group of friends also running good times. Dave Curnow ran 1:32-odd in his first official half, which he seemed to have mixed feelings about, but which I reckon is pretty impressive. I also caught up with Dave Coyle and Neil, who ran the 10km, in 50 and 47 minutes respectively, which I believe are both also PBs. Its been really interesting to see how the social systems built into RunKeeper (which we all use to track our runs) have kept us up to date with what the others in our "Street Team" are doing, and (in my opinion) encouraged us to keep running. I feel a definite sense of pride in their achievements as well as mine; their is an element, however small, of team success in them.
A few days on, I'm recovering from what was a fairly nasty-looking collection of blisters, and feeling good about getting out for another run in the next few days (when I find some time!). Like last year, I'm not sure that running half marathons is what I most like doing in the world, but I can see myself doing it again. Perhaps even more than last year, I'm really proud of having done a PB, especially when I don't think I was quite as fit as last year. At the same time, I'm still "running dumb", and with some better training and some better race-management (for lack of a better word), I reckon I can still improve.
Wednesday, 18 July 2012
Red eyes looking back at you stumbling
A few months ago I signed up to have another go at the Brisbane half-marathon. As proud as I was of finishing last year, and of going under 2 hours, I was disappointed with how I ran it, and my main motivation for signing up again was to see if I was capable of running it "properly" (whatever that means), and seeing what doing so would mean for my time. It seemed like a good idea when the run was still 3 months away. Now, though, its 3 weeks, and I am forced to admit that I am not in the kind of shape that will allow me to test my hypothesis on what is a more difficult course than last year.
My motivation for signing up is significant in part because it does not stem from any tremendous joy experienced during last year's tilt. To be honest, I get bored beyond about 10km, and one of the dominating emotions I have while running longer distances is that of self-admonition for not being better at it. (This isn't the only time I go in for self-admonition - its one of my goto moves - but it is one of the more intense ones).
The race organisers sent around an image on their facebook page the other day.
I know some people for whom this has some truth. My lunch hours, though, are for eating. My Saturday mornings are absolutely for sleeping, and I'm pretty keen on the idea of taking it easy on my holidays. By any reasonable interpretation of this motivational, then...
I am not a runner. I'd quite like to say otherwise, but its just not the case.
That said, I've paid my entry fees, and since I'm (a) too tightarsed to go asking for a refund, and (b) not a fan of that feeling of walking when I should be running, I figure I'll keep training as much as my body allows for a couple of weeks and hope I can somehow scrape in under 2 hours again.
My motivation for signing up is significant in part because it does not stem from any tremendous joy experienced during last year's tilt. To be honest, I get bored beyond about 10km, and one of the dominating emotions I have while running longer distances is that of self-admonition for not being better at it. (This isn't the only time I go in for self-admonition - its one of my goto moves - but it is one of the more intense ones).
The race organisers sent around an image on their facebook page the other day.
I know some people for whom this has some truth. My lunch hours, though, are for eating. My Saturday mornings are absolutely for sleeping, and I'm pretty keen on the idea of taking it easy on my holidays. By any reasonable interpretation of this motivational, then...
I am not a runner. I'd quite like to say otherwise, but its just not the case.
That said, I've paid my entry fees, and since I'm (a) too tightarsed to go asking for a refund, and (b) not a fan of that feeling of walking when I should be running, I figure I'll keep training as much as my body allows for a couple of weeks and hope I can somehow scrape in under 2 hours again.
Tuesday, 10 July 2012
Cheers, Lucksmiths
I had always suspected that there was at least one reference in the Lucksmiths' Requiem to the Punter's Club that I hadn't yet gleaned. The other day I happened to hear the Cheers theme song,
For those unfortunates who don't know the Lucksmiths' refrain,
Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name,
And they're always glad you came;
You want to be where you can see,
Our troubles are all the same;
You want to be where everybody knows your name.
For those unfortunates who don't know the Lucksmiths' refrain,
So act surprisedYears after they called it quits, I get so much pleasure out of their music.
It's been a while since I came calling
I know it's late
But old times' sake and all that junk
I'll be alright
We'll make tonight tomorrow morning
Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows you're drunk
Tuesday, 26 June 2012
from beneath the toppling towers
It was never my intention to stop writing. This is my liturgy, of course, but in the case I really did return from Europe with every intention of continuing the renewed activity of blogging stimulated by the surrounds, stimulus and above all the great company I had in Europe. Life, though, and more specifically working life, took a hand.
I will not for a second pretend that I am a victim of overwork. I am not someone endowed with a work ethic, and having seen closely the commitment exhibited under great demands by those who are, I would hasten to say that I don't think what has been asked of me has been beyond me. It has, though, been a significant step up from what I was doing last year and before that, particularly in the number of responsibilities, which has gone from numerous to bewildering.
My trip, too, for all its aforementioned merits, came at an inconvenient time. As much as the visits I made stimulated my enthusiasm for research, it left me with a significant backlog of both teaching and service duties on my return to the campus, a backlog from which I have still to extricate myself two months on.
A big part of the problem has been that I spend a lot of time counting my tasks and stressing over them as opposed to doing them. When I have occasioned to list my outstanding tasks, I fairly easily run to and beyond a full A4 page, and I have had trouble seeing the trees for the forest (let alone the florist for the flowers, if I might be permitted a smell-the-roses/Lucksmiths reference).
Also, whether it is a subconscious devotion to the idea of work-life balance or a reluctance to admit the urgency of my obligations, I have had difficulty getting work done at home. As a general principle, I don't have a problem with this, but the practical reality is that I need to be working weekends at present, and that has proven difficult. Despite that, I have been actively depriving myself of some of my preferred leisure activities - shying away from starting certain novels (which isn't to say I haven't been reading them!), a complete abstinence from gaming - although on these fronts too I am not convinced that the deprivation has been in any way profitable, with the time redirected more to stressing about obligations than to meeting them.
There is some hope that over the next fortnight or so, I will be able to extricate myself somewhat and restore some kind of normality to my work-related stress levels. This hope, perhaps better qualified as an imperative, relies on my really pulling my finger out in the short term to meet some fast-approaching deadlines. Hopefully their successful resolution will, if nothing else, allow me to not work at home without the overbearing sense of guilt.
I will not for a second pretend that I am a victim of overwork. I am not someone endowed with a work ethic, and having seen closely the commitment exhibited under great demands by those who are, I would hasten to say that I don't think what has been asked of me has been beyond me. It has, though, been a significant step up from what I was doing last year and before that, particularly in the number of responsibilities, which has gone from numerous to bewildering.
My trip, too, for all its aforementioned merits, came at an inconvenient time. As much as the visits I made stimulated my enthusiasm for research, it left me with a significant backlog of both teaching and service duties on my return to the campus, a backlog from which I have still to extricate myself two months on.
A big part of the problem has been that I spend a lot of time counting my tasks and stressing over them as opposed to doing them. When I have occasioned to list my outstanding tasks, I fairly easily run to and beyond a full A4 page, and I have had trouble seeing the trees for the forest (let alone the florist for the flowers, if I might be permitted a smell-the-roses/Lucksmiths reference).
Also, whether it is a subconscious devotion to the idea of work-life balance or a reluctance to admit the urgency of my obligations, I have had difficulty getting work done at home. As a general principle, I don't have a problem with this, but the practical reality is that I need to be working weekends at present, and that has proven difficult. Despite that, I have been actively depriving myself of some of my preferred leisure activities - shying away from starting certain novels (which isn't to say I haven't been reading them!), a complete abstinence from gaming - although on these fronts too I am not convinced that the deprivation has been in any way profitable, with the time redirected more to stressing about obligations than to meeting them.
There is some hope that over the next fortnight or so, I will be able to extricate myself somewhat and restore some kind of normality to my work-related stress levels. This hope, perhaps better qualified as an imperative, relies on my really pulling my finger out in the short term to meet some fast-approaching deadlines. Hopefully their successful resolution will, if nothing else, allow me to not work at home without the overbearing sense of guilt.
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