Tracking
I suppose I ought to post my progress training for the marathon here, but it’s still early days. In fact, looking more carefully at my calendar, I discovered that I’m only now in Week One, so I’m a week ahead of schedule, having hewn to the Hal Higdon method’s recommended mileage last week. My clever little spreadsheet, which converts Hal’s mileage to kilometres, is apparently too clever by half, since I was recording distances covered last week in the next week’s row. Well, no harm in being more conditioned for the big day.

Which reminds me of something one of the other runners here said about days off: they’re “scheduled deconditioning” days. Makes being lazy sound better, doesn’t it?

News
So, I’m in the new flat (week four) and the new job (week three) and have now newly enrolled for the Sydney Marathon – 21 September, if anyone’s interested – which I’m newly training for (week one; nothing much happened last week)

The new flat is working out well. I got the dryer installed finally, although it’s a little problematic, in that the space allocated in the laundry for me means I’ve only got one tap hook-up (I only ever use cold anyway) and it sits too love above my top-loading washer to get the lid all the way up. Since the washer is only a couple of years old, I’m not replacing it anytime soon, even if front-loaders are more efficient. I do still need to replace the basin in the bathroom, though, which the previous owners had cracked. It’s not bad, either looking or insofar as leakage is concerned, but a new one was purchased and sits in its box in the hallway, just waiting for me to stumble over it in the dark. And I’ve never lived anywhere darker since that basement apartment in Ann Arbor. Daytime’s not bad, but I’m not there in daylight much, especially as we head into winter. Luckily, it’s not cold.

Meanwhile, the cats have worked out the pet door and are off enjoying the great outdoors, what there is of it. The upstairs cat, who goes from window to next-door-rooftop direct, is not happy to find new competition for exploration rights.

The new job is demanding. I’m here at eight and don’t leave until five or later. This is partly due to the demands of learning the new software and new company and partly due to the fact that I need to run three days during week for the marathon training (yes, I am using the Counsellor’s recommended Hal Higdon method, although one of my colleagues, also in training for the marathon, is using their official novice’s program; insofar as we coincide with our schedules, we’re mapping out routes in the vicinity using Map My Run).

The buses are terrible. Mornings aren’t so bad, although it’s always a scramble for boarding before the seats are all taken, and the seats are cramped anyway. Nights, however, are where it all comes apart. If the bus arrives, instead of sailing by, either full or “Not in Service”, it’s almost always not the one that takes the freeway, which means an extra twenty minutes or more travel time, winding through the northern suburbs. It would be a lot easier if their signage was better illuminated and larger. And once we get to the CBD, it’s a crawl to the last stop, where I transfer to a George Street line, where there are no bus lanes, so we contend with all the rest of the traffic (and not to complain unduly, but also with every other businessperson trying to make their way west).

That all will change, eventually. The Chatswood-to-Epping project is underway (as it has been nearly since I got to this country – which sounds like a longer period than it’s been) and due to finish sometime this year, theoretically. I’ve heard that they used the wrong glue on the vibration-reduction matting under the rails and had to tear them up to start over, but I don’t know if the 2008 schedule is still, ahem, on track. The North Ryde station is five minutes away, so I’m anxious they should finish. There looks to be a fair bit of work yet to go, though.

Jasper Johns: Watch Out Crossing the Street
Robert Rauschenberg is one of a small pantheon of modern artists whom I revere. I’d probably revere more of them if I could remember them all, but never mind.

I remember the first retrospective show I saw, at MOMA, including the fabulous “Bed” and “Obelisk”, among many others I knew largely from books. A later show at the Guggenheim was somehow less compelling, and consisted largely, if not exclusively, of more recent work (so I guess not so much a retrospective).

Anyway, I guess that signed screen print of the Talking Heads “Speaking in Tongues” limited edition cover art I’ve got up on the wall just got a little more valuable. After David Byrne departs this mortal coil, it ought to be an eBay killer, but I only wish him well, really.

Shh
Today's the last day at my present job, and I've already put my forwarding order in place for my mail and switched off the land-line in preparation for moving next week. It's not that this blog's terribly active, but it's about to become much less so for a little while, until I've straightened out home internet access and so forth.

Talk among yourselves.

Bitter Draught
Does it help that Obama's right? And it's not just small towns, either. I've known plenty of bitter people in cities who cling to emotive issues or draw distinctions between themselves and others over inane political discourse, people who simply won't accept reality and back their arguments with religion, or simplistic interpretations of the Constitution, or nothing at all, just resentment that someone else might not be treated as badly as they have been. And, frankly, I'm tired of Clinton running the GOP playbook. I wonder if she isn't a little bitter herself. I'm sure McCain is.

New Job
I'm moving on, commuting to North Ryde every morning, starting in the next two to four weeks. That maternity leave replacement job has been turned into two jobs, with one of them for me. The offer came in around lunchtime, and I snapped it up.

Working at the Catholic Education Office was a good job, especially as it came just when I needed employment rather badly. They've always been supportive of me, especially during such periods as life was difficult, and I'm grateful to them. It turned a bit sour last year, when we abandoned the SQL database I was hired to install, and returned to an bit of 1980's legacy technology. But although I started my job search the moment that decision was made, it's taken all this time for someone to be willing to take a chance on me.

Bloody North Ryde, though. That's not going to be fun.

I'll be working

Not Sweeps Week
I rented a few weekly DVD’s, including one Australian film I’d neglected while it was in cinemas, Ten Canoes, a movie of Aboriginal Australia, a tale-within-a-tale of jealousy and desire and living the right way. I don’t know why I didn’t get to this when it was a new release, even, let alone why I didn’t go see it in a movie house, especially as I’d seen a fascinating short documentary on the making of. Anyway, it’s terrific. I liked the framing, with the top story in black-and-white, the present and past in color. Presented in three formats – all aboriginal language, aboriginal language with subtitles, or English voice-over narration with aboriginal language and subtitles (the theatrical release version) – it’s very accessible and offers a glimpse into aboriginal culture not commonly found. I highly recommend that if you haven’t seen it and can get it you put it on your list. Internationally renowned aboriginal actor David Gulpilil narrates, and that’s his kid, Jamie, as the young man.

Can the Nobel Be Far Now?
At least Dylan got his Pulitzer while he’s still alive.

”Vive Fafnir, Vive Giblets”
Fafblog’s back with the Medium Lobster & ever’body – and not so hard on the eyes anymore.

Employment Matters
With reference checks underway, it’s entirely possible that by this time tomorrow I’ll have a job offer. Unfortunately, it’s for a job I don’t think I want.

While my present employer is wonderfully flexible and pays generously, the work, well, there is no work. I’m bored beyond belief here, and there’s little I can do about it. The database can’t be managed by me, only by consultants, so I can’t actively improve its functionality. There simply aren’t enough reporting requirements to give me much joy in running the extracts. The underlying database is technology from the 1980’s, unused in mainstream corporations, and clunky at best. But I’ve been trying for a new job for nearly two years now, getting nowhere. So what’s wrong with this one?

It’s a maternity leave replacement contract, mainly, which means it’s employment for a set period of time. Given my current job-hunt experience, that presents a worrying condition. It’s also located in a relatively remote suburb, accessible by public transport (a bus + a train + a bus or a bus + another bus), but far from most recruiters and most major corporations. This means that interviewing for a new job would be difficult and time-consuming, whereas right now I need only adjust my hours by 30 minutes and I can make any interview anywhere in reasonable time.

Although it affords a marvellous opportunity to work again with mainstream software (SAP – about co-equal with PeopleSoft, and probably well above Oracle – a program I haven’t used before, but by learning would increase my profile in the HRIS marketplace), can I risk short-term employment?

Sure, new mothers don’t always come back, and some extend their leave, which would mean no guarantee of returning to the same job, and some want to come back to a modified role, potentially leaving room for me (and there was some suggestion that the function was perceived as requiring two people, although also that there wasn’t room in the headcount). In the course of the two interviews, I got different impressions of the incumbent: she didn’t care for the job was one, but the other was suggestive of her investiture in it. The company also does consulting work, so there’s a potential to transition to that team, if they’re satisfied with my work, get the impression that I’d make a good consultant, and have enough projects to go around.

What to do, what to do? New jobs come up all the time, although I don’t always get the interview, or the second interview (and, obviously, haven’t been getting the offers). Is this just too vague to take the chance?

’70’s Nostalgia Moments
Remember Phantom of the Paradise? Well, it just kind of jumped out at me when I was looking for a DVD to watch, something trivial to relax with after spending the day doing various chores and a little more packing, so I revisited this rather cheesy Paul Williams vehicle, directed by Brian DePalma, of all people. It’s not nearly as bad as I remembered. I doubt Mr. Williams will perform any of the songs at his Enmore gig, though.

On the other hand, Eastern Promises is one tough film, even if the logic of how Naomi Watts gets involved is more than a little unlikely.

Quiet Sunday Night
Except for all the Irish yowling from the DVD I rented, Once, featuring Glen Hansard, of the Frames. (There will be those reading this – and I’m looking at you, Mom & Dad – who should be warned against the movie purely for its soundtrack, for which the movie is actually more a vehicle than is usually the case; nevertheless, I loved every song and every repetition of the theme.) M. had recommended it to me and supplied me with a copy of the soundtrack, but I never got around to it at the cinema and hadn’t really thought much about renting it. However, faced with either this or 30 Days of Night, and oddly enough I chose the grownup movie. It’s very beautiful. It also addresses relationships unusually. I also enjoyed the bit with the vacuum cleaner.

The rest of the long weekend was largely spent packing.

Gloom
I am going to find every poem I ever wrote that uses “darkness” and submit them to Virginia Quarterly Review right away. And cats. (Thx, Kottke.)

Obligatory
Now that I’m an Australian, it is required that I like Nick Cave. I suppose I ought to go back to the days of The Birthday Party, or even just the start of the Bad Seeds, but really, I’m only coming to this recently. I mean, I love “Into My Arms,” mid-period Bad Seeds Cave, one of the only three purchases I bothered to make on iTunes, but most often I’ve found him too dark and self-indulgent, that kind of moody, emo stuff. I saw the clip for the title track off his new record, Dig, Lazarus, Dig!, and on the strength of the one song took the chance and bought the album. It’s terrific, full of the kind of biblical allusions and religious philosophizing angst he’s best at, and full of groovy beats (man). This is some rock gospel at its best. I especially like “We Call Upon the Author to Explain.”

Next up: AC/DC. (Has any other band in the history of rock employed bagpipes? Okay, better use?)

Weekend Update
I joined the Rabbitohs this year. 13 games at ANZ Stadium, out at the Olympic Park, and the home opener was Friday. (The Charity Shield, which I was unable to attend, doesn't count; it's pre-season.) This is Rugby League's 100-year anniversary, and it was a blast to attend a grudge match between two of Sydney's progenitor teams. It's just a shame that the Roosters trounced the Bunnies. Anyway, I was thrilled, and my seats are terrific, just on the 40-meter line, and only 20 rows back. They put on a fun opening ceremony, with a thousand kids out on the field, essentially doing drill-team stuff, spelling out "1908 - 2008", running around in a synchronized fashion (more or less), etc. Anyway, energizing. I was, however, kind of appalled at the level of booing, but more so at the cheers by Souths' supporters when one of the Roosters had to be taken from the field injured. While some measure of revenge was at work for the season-ending injury inflicted on our Craig Wing by the Roosters employing a tackle that seems deliberately designed to cause harm, that's really no excuse. Bitterness, at childish levels, was on display, so I was in among both the best and worst aspects of the Australian sports-centricity. Tough game, that rugby.

After spending a few hours Saturday packing LP's for my upcoming move, and a late night in among the warehouses of industrial Marrickville looking for the Tactics gig (which I abandoned after the first opening act, a duo calling themselves Real Estate, faced with the prospect of a second act, only just setting up at 10:30, meaning it would likely be midnight before the main act, and the venue was pretty horrible), Sunday was to be a day of pure rest. I had, however, some need to return to the shopping mall, so while I was there I stopped at the movies and saw No Country for Old Men, which I had expected to miss and have to watch on DVD, since I spent so long in not reading the book.

I really like Cormac McCarthy's novels, especially when they're not half in Spanish, and had enjoyed this one. I hadn't thought it terribly cinematic, although Tommy Lee Jones was an obvious casting choice. It's a very controlled, evenly paced movie, a kind of anti-thriller, in that you're never very emotionally involved with the characters, just kind of fascinated, snake-and-bird fashion, particularly in the case of Anton Chigurh. I guess it's prize-worthy, but I also agree with David Denby's assessement.

Moving House
It’s a little counter-intuitive at my age, but I’ve exchanged contracts on a new home of my own. Over the next six weeks I’ll need to pack everything up and hire a mover, but as of April 25, I’ll be in a nice two-bedroom garden flat in Glebe. And there’s a pet door already installed for the cats, conveniently enough. I’ll probably never see them again, outside of dinner time.

It all happened rather quickly. I’d been thinking of Marrickville, where I’d seen a nice flat, and Alexandria, where I’d seen a one-bedroom, loft-style unit, and which was very convenient to transport, if not to anything else, very modern, but when I asked about the Glebe place and found the price was more in my range than I’d expected, I “gazumped” – that is, made an offer above the one that had already been accepted, but where the contracts had not yet been signed. We moved very fast thereafter, with me handing over some tens of thousands of dollars in downpayment yesterday afternoon. Before close-of-business, I was the new home owner, at least contractually.

Properly, I’m in Forest Lodge, but convenient to transport, shopping, and all the best bits of Glebe (like Gleebooks, the best independent bookstore in the city). Anyway, I don’t know how long the real estate webpage will stay up, but if you want a look, there’s photos and a floor plan here. Don’t be put off by the purple feature wall.

Politics and Sex
How is it that sex scandals seem to fall along party lines? Democrats have sex outside of marriage and Republicans impeach them is starting to look like a pattern. Gary Hart, Bill Clinton, Eliot Spitzer . . . and here we’ve got a Labor Councillor in Wollongong sleeping with developers for favors and the whole council sacked. At least it was the ICAC recommending their dismissal, rather than an opposition instituting proceedings, but still. Can the left keep their pants on? Can the right try to keep their outrage muted? Frankly, Spitzer’s actions, unlike Clinton’s, need investigation: US$5,000 hookers probably aren’t being charged on his personal credit card, but it would be good to know if it was his own money he was spending. The Wollongong thing is just mind-boggling. Sleep with me and I’ll approve your development application? Weird.

Christianationalism
It’s beyond silly to still be having these debates. The question, is Australia a Christian nation, comes up at least as often as the query is posed in America, it seems, and just as often engenders furious back-and-forth commentary. Fred Nile’s right in that statements made by federalists at the turn of the century indicate their firm intention to maintain Christian standards of morality in the laws and constitution, but that isn’t any more definitional of Australia as a “Christian nation” than that Elizabeth II was crowned in the context of a “Christian Coronation Service”; the preservation of medieval ritual doesn’t imbue her with any spiritual authority over her subjects, or at least none that any of them would acknowledge or that she herself would attempt to exercise.

Religion is personal. It may be that if enough people take up a particular set of practices and beliefs they can form a subset of society and extract some spiritual benefit (and from my viewpoint that’s an emotional, psychological benefit, really, howsoever difficult it may be to define; so’s art), but that doesn’t translate into an entire national identity.

Admittedly, Australia is about the most Christian-looking country I’ve spent much time in, what with public holidays including Good Friday, Easter Monday, Christmas Day, and Boxing Day. Some states also do Easter Tuesday (Tasmania) and “The Day After Good Friday” (South Australia [psst, that’s “Easter Saturday” for those of us who know the days of the week, everywhere but Tasmania and West Australia]), but most of the public holidays are secular: New Year’s Day, Australia Day, ANZAC Day, the Queen’s Birthday, and various Labour Days and days devoted to county fair-type events or horse races.

Insofar as other nations may be designated “Muslim” or “Hindu,” we, like most of Europe and the Americas are, technically, Christian, but in many respects no more so than you’d call some Asian nations “Buddhist.” (I wonder if any African nations have these debates? How do they categorize themselves?) Yes, Parliament, weirdly, opens daily with the Lord’s Prayer, a practice I believe should cease, but we haven’t enshrined the separation of church and state as thoroughly as was managed in the U.S. Constitution, something that could perhaps be rectified at such time as we become a republic. Our principles of governance, the laws we have enshrined and value, may come from a centuries-old tradition that grew, in no small part, from the ancient embrace of Christianity throughout Europe, but that tradition has evolved, even as Christianity has, itself breaking into a variety of sects, and the principle of secular government has a firm hold on how we perceive our civic lives. This does not devalue religion, if that’s your flavor. Remember, Jesus told us not to do as the hypocrites do, making a show of our adherence to religious rules, and to keep what our right hand does hidden from our left hand.

Gigs
Saturday night, alerted by M., I headed out to the Hopetoun, in Surry Hills, to see the reunited Tactics. Described as Sydney’s answer to the Talking Heads, a designation rejected by the band themselves (in the liner notes to the CD I bought), I’d compare them more to Pere Ubu, an avant-New Wave band I came to rather late in their career, although not so late as I have to this one. Now, I admit, I mainly went to this show because a mutual friend is a member, and I like to think I’m one of those people who support their friends, especially in their artistic endeavors, but now I’m a fan. The show was hopeless, mainly because the acoustics were hideously bad, maybe because the band members hadn’t been rehearsing long, probably because they’ve got to be the loosest band to ever have a recording contract (except the drummer, who was tight – and how does that work, that only one band member can be described that way; never mind, it’s the only way to describe it). The CD is a reissue of both the first two albums the Tactics put out, “My Houdini” and “Glebe,” and it rocks. I fully intend to turn up at one of their next sets, maybe the Annadale, which is close to home, but I’m interested in the CAD Factory itself.

Life, Meet Art
Finding Nemo: it’s all true.

I Blame Myself
First-home buyers are causing their own pain from interest rate increases and rising home purchase prices. It’s true, somewhat. But I blame the willingness of home buyers to accept auctions as the default sales mechanism, rather than whopping great home loans. Mortgage repayments are normally viewed as a percentage of income, rather than whether or not your carrying $300-500,000 in principal, although that, too, can indeed be a problem, mainly, again however, because a rate rise could put the monthly repayment percentage over what you’re reasonably capable of managing, cutting into your food budget, for example.

I also blame the State and local governments, which tax so heavily that, if you buy an apartment, you’re also stuck paying building levies that have no return value. Our apartment in Surry Hills cost us significant money on a quarterly basis, in addition to our own council and water rates, essentially meaning we were paying twice for those services. The rest of the building’s budget was mainly hallway lighting and elevator maintenance. Heat and hot water were our own cost. This makes city living a pretty expensive proposition.

Now add on to that sitting in a room with a dozen other people who want to buy the property, often just as an investment, because they accrue tax advantages, whereas residential home owners do not, and everybody’s adding a thousand, five thousand dollars every 10-30 seconds until they’ve blown out whatever budget they came in with and yours, too. Suddenly, a property worth $400,000 is now $500,000. If private treaty were the norm, one offer over your own, and you’d go looking for the next place, you’d stick to your budget more easily. I’m a bit of a cheapskate, so it was easy for me to hit my limit at auction and stay there, when I could have kept on, offered a thousand more than the winning bid, and maybe taken the place. But I’d have to live with seeing my savings entirely wiped out, with little chance of rebuilding enough for emergencies, let alone another, soonish, trip back to the US. And these are relatively minor concerns.

So blame my mortgage, if you want, but own up: State and local taxes are sources of financial stress in home ownership, and auctions are a blight.

And There Was
I hadn’t actually planned it, but finding myself by the Dendy in Newtown at the right time, I stopped in to watch There Will Be Blood. Daniel Day-Lewis is beyond terrific. Barely holding on to a civilized façade, he goes so entirely bat-shit crazy over the course of this movie, it leaves your own mind reeling. I was also quite taken with the music, which I recall the New Yorker pointing out as a highlight of the production. It’s very spare, but highly effective. Paul Thomas Anderson was certainly a viable contender for that Directing Oscar. I’ll have to go see No Country for Old Men (I’d been waiting until I’d read the book) to see how the Coen brothers beat him.

Low Bid
I am not a new homeowner. And I despise auctions.

It was interesting to see and a little unnerving to participate. The auction was held off-site, and multiple properties went under the hammer on the day. I’d inspected the first property for sale, so I was surprised when it went for $561,000. It didn’t have the rising damp problem of the house I was going for, but it was still a total renovation job, with electrical work and plumbing required, years of wallpapering, damaged plasterwork, and a roof that was going to come off in the next strong wind. Bidding was fierce for a while, then fell off into a price war between just two contenders, each offering another $500 on top of the last, until finally one jumped five grand and finished off the other.

The next house was to be mine, and I opened the bidding. It seemed more dispirited than the other property, which was, admittedly, in a better location overall, and I thought for a little while that it might come off. We were at the point of going to the “third and final call” on my bid when somebody new jumped in, and the bidding took off again, well beyond anything I thought was reasonable. In the end, it went for about 20 grand more than I was willing to spend in purchasing it and about 5 more than my bank’s valuation had it.

I’ll have to find a new place in the next sixty days, or I’ll be into the bank for $600 in fees. No more auctions.

Progress Report
The Rudd government’s 100-day report card is a good idea, something similar to what Mayor Bloomberg does in New York (publicly, but for his own benefit, as well, since he’s then able to keep track of what still needs doing, as I understand it), but why isn’t it online? A booklet’s nice, but will I get one in the mail? Will further progress reports be issued? Maybe I should join the 2020 conference so I can suggest more effective use of HTML. (And I could meet Cate Blanchett.)

Questioning Question Time
Question Time is a venerable tradition in Parliament, carried down from the British House of Commons, in which members may query responsible ministers about matters pertaining to their portfolios, all the way up to the Prime Minister. The new Labor government decided that Parliament would sit on Fridays, but that there would not be Question Time, although they have not abolished it the rest of the week. This has not gone down well with the newly opposition LNP. First, under the previous government, Friday was not a sitting day. But it should be noted that it’s only a half-session, so offering an hour to QT just cuts into the regular business of governance. Today, the first Friday since Parliament was convened under the new rules, the opposition pushed the House into chaos, even temporarily routing the Speaker. It was a dummy-spit.

What I’ve seen of Question Time suggests what should be a worthy practice of ensuring government transparency and ministerial accountability is really nothing more than childish taunting, teasing, baiting, and point-scoring stunts. Members on either side hoot and holler like a pack of monkeys at every smirk and jibe. It is useless for anything more than letting off steam and seems at best merely to degrade the parliamentary system. I much prefer the system employed in the U.S. Nevertheless, this has been truly shameless behaviour, and represents – along with the various other showboating by former front-benchers like Peter Costello and Alexander Downer – an utter lack of leadership by Brendan Nelson. Is this how they intend to conduct themselves for the next three years? They’ll stay in opposition a long time, that way.

Update: It just gets worse. The opposition are clowns. No wonder they lost.

This Doesn’t Help
The house I intend bidding on in less than two weeks is going to cost me plenty, especially since I’ll “have to” renovate the kitchen and bathroom (it’s all in working order, just in need of a substantial upgrade), so reading about someone else’s trepidations, even, or especially, from the perspective of what it means as an investment, only heightens my nervousness over the financial predicament I’ll be in for the next fifteen to twenty years. (I’d go the full thirty of the mortgage, but I do hope to retire before I’m eighty. Even seventy.) At least I can borrow against the projected cost of minimal renovations and still afford the repayments, barring coming out of the three-year fixed rate period only to find whopping great interest rates. At the pace taken by the Reserve Bank, even the five quarter-percent increases (as they’ve been applying pretty much every month) that I’ve budgeted for will be quickly eaten up, leaving me with having to contemplate new sources of income or substantial cuts along the way in various lifestyle areas. Like lunch. Savings could be a problem, too, which would infringe on my ability to travel for leisure. But I want this settled, and I don’t believe renting is viable, given that rents are going up nearly as fast as interest rates and in substantially greater dollar amounts per annum and a notable dearth of alternative accommodations. The reno should also provide, at resale, for a bit of a profit, even if I only stay in the joint for ten years.

Off On Again
Last year’s inaugural Earth Hour in Sydney has expanded, now, to 28 cities, worldwide, set to switch off their lights on 29 March at 8 p.m. Out in Camperdown last year, the effect wasn’t particularly notable, because it’s already pretty quiet out there, once you get off the main drag. Still, the expansion would seem to indicate the event’s success, even if only 39,000 individuals and about 2,000 businesses have registered their support, so far.

The Future of Death Valley
I don’t usually buy into the standard time estimates for the development of some technology or whatever that will change the future. You know, “in 5 years,” “10 years,” etc., we’ll be doing this, having that, live like this. So when somebody tells me we could have 69% of America’s energy supplied by solar power by 2050, I’m sceptical. Not because I don’t believe the technology is possible, but because the implementation is projected as taking place in less than 50 years. I’m sure it’s possible, just not probable, and certainly doesn’t factor in the opposition it would face. Vast swathes of southwestern desert don’t get converted into solar farms that easily. The studies that would have to be done are as immense as the areas of land to be converted. Should we care about all the gila monsters and cactus species to be dispossessed? What would the effect be on the weather? Global warming? It’s hard enough to work out what’s going on as things stand, but such a massive implementation would have to be transformative in many ways, and not just on reducing fossil fuel dependence and carbon emissions. On the other hand, I know a country with an even bigger area of desert where such a project could be accomplished, although the subsidies projected in this study may be out of reach.

Airpain
An argument against the house in my present suburb. Not that it'd necessarily be much better in some of the other locations. Pretty much the entire inner west is under the flight path, especially now that Sydney airport are undertaking renovations to the east-west runways for the next two years.

Bush Wins Forever
Every time the House or Senate rolls over for Bush on one of his expansions of executive power, I lose more faith in the idea that a Democratic President will accomplish any meaningful change from what the present administration has done to damage civil liberties and the Constitution itself. Hillary, locked in an increasingly tight run against Obama, didn’t even turn up for the vote, but it’s Harry Reid I blame for this, and I’m sure Pelosi will roll, too, in the end. With the Supreme Court packed for the foreseeable future, the more-co-equal-than-others executive will surely prove just as susceptible to abuses under Clinton/Obama/McCain as it has now under Bush. The U.S. is screwed.

Update: See what I mean? (Maybe I should add a new tag: "Scalia sucks.")

Remakes
In a conversation with S., one of M.’s oldest friends, we somehow got on the subject of movies, specifically Hollywood’s apparent present tendency towards remakes and sequels. As a result, I rented Infernal Affairs, which is the movie Martin Scorsese finally got his Oscar for, by remaking it as The Departed. S. said something to the effect that this was the one time he’d watched a subtitled movie and wasn’t distracted reading the dialogue, and I can echo that sentiment, and his recommendation. It is at least as good a movie as Scorsese’s, or, rather, Scorsese’s is as good as it is, failing, in the end, perhaps because the American version gives the audience a moral resolution, as Hollywood is wont to do, whereas the Hong Kong original retains the ambiguities from start to finish.

Still, whereas I won’t be bothered over the next umpteenth remaking of King Kong, and know that the 3rd in a sequel series will inevitably be a disappointment at best (but still go see it), I’ve heard good things about 3:10 to Yuma, but may not bother over the Glenn Ford original.

Housing Crisis
I guess it’s official enough: I’m looking for my next home ownership experience. I spent a significant part of Saturday running around the inner west, checking out houses for sale. Last weekend, I’d see a place at the far end of Petersham – really only another five or ten minutes by public transit from where I am now, at least in non-peak hours – with a terrific garden, gas cooking, one bedroom. It’d work, but the renovations were incomplete, requiring probably a few grand to finish, and the bathroom is outside, which would mean going out in the weather (whenever there is weather, like most of last week) at all hours. Still, it would be quiet, close to transport, and not far to shopping. Most importantly, I could afford it, so long as the price doesn’t get jacked up insanely during the auction.

Auctions, now that’s a problem. There’s a lot of competition out there, too. I saw three properties on Saturday: a very small one-bedroom in Newtown (with a non-existent garden; I’m not even sure my furniture would fit), a complete renovation job in Macdonaldtown (apparently a deceased estate, but how anyone lived there in their declining years seems hard to imagine), and a weirdly panelled (walls and ceiling) house in Camperdown, my present suburb. There is a place in Newtown that isn’t open yet (appointment only) and that is being sold directly, but I’m thinking I might go for the auction in Camperdown. It will probably go low 400K’s, so it’s not only affordable, but I could even manage a little extra on the loan to pay for the minor renovations it would require, mainly painting and pulling down and replacing the built-in wardrobe in the bedroom. Well, and also tearing out the second toilet, a cubicle in the back garden (yeah, weird, I know). The garden’s no great shakes, but there’s plenty of room for the potted plants already in my possession. Still, there were a lot of people through, mostly couples, probably with two incomes, so there’ll be competition. It would be nice to stop renting, though.

Reprise
I hadn’t previously heard of the Don’t Look Back Concert series, but when I saw the Died Pretty were slated to play the Enmore as part of the Australian sets, running through what’s considered one of their best albums, “Doughboy Hollow,” I knew M. (who’d been on the scene with these guys and even has a co-writing credit on one of their songs) and I had to attend. The series has had some real classics, and this was no exception. Ed Kuepper, originally from the Saints, later the Laughing Clowns, opened with his album, “Honey Steel’s Gold,” putting on a terrific show in his own right, but it was the Died Pretty’s night, and I’ll never understand why these guys didn’t make it in the States, let alone much bigger globally. Ron Peno’s vocals are terrific, and he’s got real stage presence. When he cuts loose, Brett Myers plays a mean guitar, and has lost none of his chops. They hit the stage at about 9:30, and for the next two hours the audience was enthralled. A couple of encores allowed them to run through a near “best of” (including M.’s number) and kept the place rocking right along.

Whose Law?
One of the difficulties of multiculturalism in respect to Islam is that the Koran is the codification of all aspects of society, not just a set of religious precepts. So while the Archbishop of Canterbury may say some integration of Sharia with English law is “unavoidable”, it isn’t that hard to see what he’s getting at, although it has nothing to do with, as opposition leader Brendan Nelson puts it, ”chang[ing] your basic values, culture and law” to suit some malcontents unwilling to integrate with society, British or Australian. In fact, we already make accommodations, recognizing the authority of tribal law among the Aborigines, for example, but also in granting priests and rabbis and imams etc. the authority to conduct marriages then recognized under civil law. Granting some limited jurisdiction over financial disputes, divorce, and so forth, doesn’t seem much of stretch, when you think about it, although there would have to be some standard of equal protection applied.

Nevertheless, I oppose such accommodations, at every level. Government should remain resolutely secular, and social transactions should be conducted within that framework. Church, or mosque, weddings should be a separate process, as should divorce. You want religious or tribal recognition in addition, fine, go for it, but it’s extra.

(It's interesting to me that Nelson's the one to come out in the news with this. I assume the Rudd government saw Rowan Williams' remarks and didn't think it worth bothering about. Nelson's probably just trying to stay visible, wedge Labor if he can, and perpetuate the LNP's politics of xenophobia.)

Sorry
One of Kevin Rudd’s promises during the election campaign was to say “sorry” to the Stolen Generation. He’s going to do it next Wednesday, when the new government sits for the first time. This is an historic moment that is sure to help bridge the modern, multi-generational rift between whites and the aboriginal peoples of Australia. I say “modern” because it is only after we have moved beyond the colonial mindset that we have even been able to perceive the problem as a problem. But multi-generational shouldn’t be conceived of as ignoring the pre-Federation centuries, and modern shouldn’t be thought to have coincided only with the post-Federation decades up through the nineteen-forties. In fact, the policies that led to the Stolen Generation persisted well into the ‘60’s and ‘70’s.

But the now-opposition LNP persist in failing to understand the need for us to say and for aborigines to hear “sorry”. They insist on knowing the precise wording for the apology before committing to standing with Labor in offering it. Well, the option exists for Labor to apologize on behalf of the government, rather than the Parliament, which would be, perhaps, sufficient, but still a shame. We could have a national healing moment and a national commitment to improving the lives of the most damaged, most vulnerable, most disadvantaged among us, or we could have the commitment of the sitting government, for its term of office, to address the problems of the aboriginal communities. This is Howard’s final legacy to the party he led. This is Howard’s shame, and now Brendan Nelson perpetuates it. By doing so, should the Coalition fail to join in, the LNP condemns its present members along with the Howard government, and along with all its constituents, to the ash heap of history.

Force Majeure
Is it significant that four of the states hit by tornadoes on the same day voted for Huckabee?

Sweetness
I’ve met sixteen-year-olds I’d trust at exercising a right to vote, but very few, and mostly relatives. There have been recent studies regarding maturation, and it’s accepted fact at this point that girls mature, physically and mentally, well before boys, but that the brain is still developing well into the twenties for both. So enfranchisement of youth, while an admirable ideal, has less of an argument than does extending the age of consent. We already don’t allow young people to purchase alcohol until age 21. Perhaps we should be doing the same with voting, military service, criminal justice, etc.

Yesterday's Voting
Still underway, back in the podes (and pending here in the antipodes), and I don't know much about delegate allocations, within or between the states, but here's a prediction anyway: even pending California, the Obama/Clinton match-up will continue all the way to the national convention, but McCain will lock up the Repugs. What I'm really interested in now is, who are the possible VP's? You wouldn't think it's a job that has much push, but when it comes to the general election, it seems to count for a lot.

Super Wednesday
Tomorrow, Democrats Abroad Australia will host an election watch at the Agincourt Hotel, in Sydney, and the Queensberry Hotel, in Melbourne, both starting at 11 a.m. Over the next few days, we'll also be running on-line primary voting for U.S. citizens who haven't already voted in a primary by absentee ballot. Democrats Abroad, the parent organization, sends delegates to the national convention, so this is our shot at being heard as a bloc of our own. Sydney ballotting will take place, again at the Agincourt, on Saturday, 9 February, from 10:30 'til 1:00, and on Tuesday, 12 February, between 7:00 and 8:30 p.m. Melbourne will go to the polls on Thursday, 7 February, at the Queensberry, from 11 a.m. to 11 p.m.