An intriguing, though no doubt unintentional, thread runs through today's Sunday Mail. Early on, we read of "Pastor" Benny Hinn, the unabashed worshipper of the dollar, and his so-called "miracle crusade" of Australia. The newspaper reports that people "wept, rocked and chanted, cried silent tears, spoke in tongues and smiled..."
Some of them were in a special "roped-off section" of the Brisbane Entertainment Centre - the name is eerily appropriate for Hinn's particular talents - to be cured. According to the paper, no miracles were performed, perhaps because Hinn delegated this task to several Australian "volunteers" ("how do you become a volunteer? I didn't vote for you! I want the proper charlatan").
One family came along to seek a cure for various medical infirmities. '"We've tried everything", Mrs S said. "Fung shui, wind chimes, crystals and positive thinking. We really wanted to give this a go."'
Give it a go, indeed. When one participant repeated Hinn's imprecations, "Pastor Hinn says the more you give, the more wealth and love you receive." Not much in there about miracles, healing, or God for that matter. So you may as well give it a go as sit on the back verandah with some incense and a wind chime from the Eumundi market. Or go to a proper church, for that matter.
Or the doctor.
Turn to the Body and Soul section and you learn that "getting back in touch with our natural surroundings is something that has many benefits", and I think I hear the crystals calling already. Oh yes: '"The first step towards re-establishing a bond with nature is to notice it," says "Pagan priestess Amargi Woulff."'
We'll leave this selective extract right there - not much more to be said, yes? - and jump to an alarming article in which we learn that the Catholic church has revealed how growing interest in satanism and the occult has led to a rise in exorcisms across Queensland (I would have said "throughout", but I'm just a pedant).
Anyway, the church's only "authorised" (I'd love to see the entrance examination) exorcist in Queensland says that "it's frightening what can happen when you invite entities into your life which are not meant to be part of God's world."
I wonder where "Pastor" Hinn fits into the hierarchy of nasties and crazies who need to be exorcised? Above or below Pagan Priestess Amargi Woulff? Only a matter of how many figures, including the noughts, after the dollar sign, perhaps?
This blog post has been brought to you by the Church of VVB, dedicated to ridding the world of its nonsensical beliefs.
17 February 2008
16 February 2008
money for nothing
Duh. 501= jeans. Sorry Mark, it wasn't until I navigated away from the comments that I got the allusion.
Tonight I've been trying to rewrite an 'Action Plan', this wasn't the way I used to spend my Saturday nights back in the day. In fact, it's late February, so it'd be an almost exact 33 years to the day since that fateful Saturday night when I met a Miss M, later to become Mrs VVB. But that's another story...as they say in the cheap tabloid columns.
Anyway, the thing about Action Plans is that they always need a power of rewriting and you can bet your (RM Williams) boots that the more they get rewritten, the less actual action there'll be. So I only rewrote it once so I can get to the action bit, although there are others lining up to rewrite the rewritten.
The rewriting is accompanied by the Floyd on the DVD, Pulse in fact, so I occasionally have to get up, pick up the guitar and noodle along. Which is how I now come to know the chords to Learning to Fly.
In the outside world the mighty Fitzroy is still a couple of metres up and flowing quickly. In The Australian, so help me, are several coumns lauding PM Rudd. Whoda thunkit indeed?
Indeed, what on earth possessed me to buy the Australian, which the old man used to refer to as the Troglodyte Times even in its milder periods? Maybe it was because I suspected that it may have changed its tune. Learning to Fly, indeed.
The paper also talked about some arcane financial finagling going on in the ASX whereby some institutions - hedges funds, boo hiss - are borrowing to 'short' the acquired shares, which drives down their price. Cool, the market is where the animal spirits congregate, we know that.
Except in this case the borrowing is undertaken without any record keeping due to some loophole in the rules. And many of the shares being subjected to this practice are staples of superannuation funds, so everyday Australians, working families in fact, are being robbed of their savings so that highly numerate but morally vacant wide boys in Sydney and Melbourne can buy a new Beemer and some blow for the weekend. And the share trades do not attract capital gains tax.
The ASX is of course the owner of the share trading business as well as undertaking some sort of two-bob regulatory role. Because the Exchange was privatised, along with everything else, to show obeisance to a damn fine theory that is, at its heart, also morally vacant.
Now you tell me - rather than me lecturing you - in how many ways is this all wrong?
You can tell I know bugger-all about the technicalities but you can surely grasp that I think there are limits to deregulation, well past which we have gone in seeking to pay obeisance, etc etc.
However, there are signs on the horizon that the fresh faces in Canberra understand a little better than the last lot that you need some direction from government on these sorts of things. I have to say that Steve Bracks would not have been my first choice to the review the car industry (I would have picked Jeremy Clarkson, Dr Karl, the blokes from Mythbusters and a token sheila, maybe the sheila from Mythbusters or Therese Rein, conflict of interest be damned) but the recognition that allowing all our expertise and capability to drift off to China and India is just plain stupid has been well overdue.
You see the problems with long sentences, at least.
Dr Kim's review of innovation policy is also overdue and I'm ultra keen to see the recommendations. It's cultural, it always is, so we need to break down the barriers.
Finally, as the reality of the change of government slowly sinks in, the term 'leftist' is being thrown around with rare abandon and ther's more to come. The snippets on Oz Politics drip with rage and venom as the more inclusive way of looking at the world begins to assert its authority. Guns, folks, we need more guns and those leftists are taking them away, as well as forcing us all to become Dhimmis.
For f**cks.
Well you have to laugh, you certainly don't have to read (as Mrs VVB constantly reminds me when I relate the latest outrage).
It's a complex old existence and we muddle through, as Charles Lindblom quite rightly pointed out some 50 years ago. Fifty! Yet we seem to learn little in the meantime - an age of rationality, I think not.
Anyway, back to the Floyd.
Tonight I've been trying to rewrite an 'Action Plan', this wasn't the way I used to spend my Saturday nights back in the day. In fact, it's late February, so it'd be an almost exact 33 years to the day since that fateful Saturday night when I met a Miss M, later to become Mrs VVB. But that's another story...as they say in the cheap tabloid columns.
Anyway, the thing about Action Plans is that they always need a power of rewriting and you can bet your (RM Williams) boots that the more they get rewritten, the less actual action there'll be. So I only rewrote it once so I can get to the action bit, although there are others lining up to rewrite the rewritten.
The rewriting is accompanied by the Floyd on the DVD, Pulse in fact, so I occasionally have to get up, pick up the guitar and noodle along. Which is how I now come to know the chords to Learning to Fly.
In the outside world the mighty Fitzroy is still a couple of metres up and flowing quickly. In The Australian, so help me, are several coumns lauding PM Rudd. Whoda thunkit indeed?
Indeed, what on earth possessed me to buy the Australian, which the old man used to refer to as the Troglodyte Times even in its milder periods? Maybe it was because I suspected that it may have changed its tune. Learning to Fly, indeed.
The paper also talked about some arcane financial finagling going on in the ASX whereby some institutions - hedges funds, boo hiss - are borrowing to 'short' the acquired shares, which drives down their price. Cool, the market is where the animal spirits congregate, we know that.
Except in this case the borrowing is undertaken without any record keeping due to some loophole in the rules. And many of the shares being subjected to this practice are staples of superannuation funds, so everyday Australians, working families in fact, are being robbed of their savings so that highly numerate but morally vacant wide boys in Sydney and Melbourne can buy a new Beemer and some blow for the weekend. And the share trades do not attract capital gains tax.
The ASX is of course the owner of the share trading business as well as undertaking some sort of two-bob regulatory role. Because the Exchange was privatised, along with everything else, to show obeisance to a damn fine theory that is, at its heart, also morally vacant.
Now you tell me - rather than me lecturing you - in how many ways is this all wrong?
You can tell I know bugger-all about the technicalities but you can surely grasp that I think there are limits to deregulation, well past which we have gone in seeking to pay obeisance, etc etc.
However, there are signs on the horizon that the fresh faces in Canberra understand a little better than the last lot that you need some direction from government on these sorts of things. I have to say that Steve Bracks would not have been my first choice to the review the car industry (I would have picked Jeremy Clarkson, Dr Karl, the blokes from Mythbusters and a token sheila, maybe the sheila from Mythbusters or Therese Rein, conflict of interest be damned) but the recognition that allowing all our expertise and capability to drift off to China and India is just plain stupid has been well overdue.
You see the problems with long sentences, at least.
Dr Kim's review of innovation policy is also overdue and I'm ultra keen to see the recommendations. It's cultural, it always is, so we need to break down the barriers.
Finally, as the reality of the change of government slowly sinks in, the term 'leftist' is being thrown around with rare abandon and ther's more to come. The snippets on Oz Politics drip with rage and venom as the more inclusive way of looking at the world begins to assert its authority. Guns, folks, we need more guns and those leftists are taking them away, as well as forcing us all to become Dhimmis.
For f**cks.
Well you have to laugh, you certainly don't have to read (as Mrs VVB constantly reminds me when I relate the latest outrage).
It's a complex old existence and we muddle through, as Charles Lindblom quite rightly pointed out some 50 years ago. Fifty! Yet we seem to learn little in the meantime - an age of rationality, I think not.
Anyway, back to the Floyd.
14 February 2008
roadhouse blues
I have been keeping my eyes on the road and hands up-on the wheel these last few days, having driven from Rocky to Longreach and back with a last minute detour to Gladstone and back this arvo.
Bad driving conditions for much of it, the Bruce highway between Rocky and Gladstone is very cut up and potholed as the B-doubles still thunder up and down. But they're tiddlers compared to B-triples, which the sign on the back of each warns is 50 metres long. Water over the road in a few places and lots, I mean lots, of water alongside particularly around Rocky.
Having been out of, or in patchy, NextG reception for much of this the blogging had to dry up.
But some quick reflections: listening to part of PM Rudd's apology to the stolen generation while traversing the wide, wide plains coming out of Longreach was kind of special. It's a big, wide land we live in and those distant horizons induce a warm, somehow familiar feeling even in a whitey. For the original inhabitants, how could we ever understand how they feel?
The Stockman's Hall of Fame is actually better than I expected. Even if its lack of interactivity renders it unsuitable for today's attention and patience deprived youngsters.
The Chateau VVB indicator of civilisation, a decent espresso, can be found in more places than it useter. I particularly recommend the Merino Bakery in Longreach. A long way to go for a coffee, I grant you, but should you happen to find yourself there...
Camrys are remarkably comfy for long hauls, even the decaying VVB neck was still OK after 5 hours' non-stop driving today. On the other hand, you need all the wide open plains you can find to get around a B-triple in a car with all the acceleration of a tree.
Radio National is tediously self-important.
On the other hand, you can pick it up in more places than any other station.
And now for some long-awaited sleep.
This, folks, has been post number 501.
Whoda thunk it?
Bad driving conditions for much of it, the Bruce highway between Rocky and Gladstone is very cut up and potholed as the B-doubles still thunder up and down. But they're tiddlers compared to B-triples, which the sign on the back of each warns is 50 metres long. Water over the road in a few places and lots, I mean lots, of water alongside particularly around Rocky.
Having been out of, or in patchy, NextG reception for much of this the blogging had to dry up.
But some quick reflections: listening to part of PM Rudd's apology to the stolen generation while traversing the wide, wide plains coming out of Longreach was kind of special. It's a big, wide land we live in and those distant horizons induce a warm, somehow familiar feeling even in a whitey. For the original inhabitants, how could we ever understand how they feel?
The Stockman's Hall of Fame is actually better than I expected. Even if its lack of interactivity renders it unsuitable for today's attention and patience deprived youngsters.
The Chateau VVB indicator of civilisation, a decent espresso, can be found in more places than it useter. I particularly recommend the Merino Bakery in Longreach. A long way to go for a coffee, I grant you, but should you happen to find yourself there...
Camrys are remarkably comfy for long hauls, even the decaying VVB neck was still OK after 5 hours' non-stop driving today. On the other hand, you need all the wide open plains you can find to get around a B-triple in a car with all the acceleration of a tree.
Radio National is tediously self-important.
On the other hand, you can pick it up in more places than any other station.
And now for some long-awaited sleep.
This, folks, has been post number 501.
Whoda thunk it?
09 February 2008
for emily, wherever I may find her
Looks like I found her on ebay. The only car owned since marriage that had a name (well apart from the the more unreliable examples which were universally called "that f**cking car"), Emily was a 1965 Morris 1100. And indeed she was in this same light green colour, although our Emily did sport a set of Starsky and Hutch stripes up the C pillar. Possibly the only 1100 to have been so decorated.
It's a big day today on ebay for cars that have graced the driveways of various chateaux VVB over the years. Apart from Emily, here's an Austin Freeway, again in the same colour as the Freeway sedan I owned. I also had a Freeway wagon in two tone grey, and here's a Wolseley 24/80 in a slightly darker green or grey than one I owned. That car had a name too - Eric, of course short for Eric the Half a Car.
And here's pretty sad looking Dolomite in the same colour as the one we had for a year or two while in Singapore.
Saving the best until last - I never owned an Austin A95, but the old man had one that he bought from maternal grandfather's estate. That car had been bought new on dad's advice and very well looked after.
In contrast to the other cars pictured here, this one has actually attracted some bids and it does look pretty good for a 1958 car. I remember very well how they drove - heavy, lumbering, but very positive switchgear - and the advertising slogan: "long, low and lovely."
Couldn't have put it better myself.
08 February 2008
the air that I breathe
...has been uncontaminated by anything blogatorial for several days, caused by an uncommon coincidence of work, travel, and alcohol.
So even though I'm back in the bosom of the fambly for a few days I haven't even opened a blog page for a while, although I've published the comments on the last short post. It would be good at some stage to do a longer post on language. It's one of my favourite subjects, the old man was always good for a yarn on regional dialects and the loss of vocoabulary and finally, I eventually came to appreciate the value of three years of Latin in deriving roots and becoming comfortable with polysyllabics.
I loved a quote I read attributed to Wilbur Smith, although I've never read a Wilbur Smith book (I gather they are about Africa and are all versions of a single story): "I love the feel of language on my tongue."
Anyway, back at Chateau VVB we are consumed by the prospect of moving to Rockhampton for a couple of years. There appears to be some desire in the organisation that I remain there after the current short term stint expires at the end of March. Whether the job is open depends on a number of interdependent variables that I can't go into - sorry to be so Delphic - but the odds on being asked to stay on are shortening.
This causes all sorts of dilemmas for us although, personally, the prospect of keeping on with this new challenge is quite enticing. Seduced by the task, I think they call it.
Anyway it's not a decision we need to make immediately although when the time comes, the Man is going to want a response.
Things thta make you go "hmmmmmmmm."
So even though I'm back in the bosom of the fambly for a few days I haven't even opened a blog page for a while, although I've published the comments on the last short post. It would be good at some stage to do a longer post on language. It's one of my favourite subjects, the old man was always good for a yarn on regional dialects and the loss of vocoabulary and finally, I eventually came to appreciate the value of three years of Latin in deriving roots and becoming comfortable with polysyllabics.
I loved a quote I read attributed to Wilbur Smith, although I've never read a Wilbur Smith book (I gather they are about Africa and are all versions of a single story): "I love the feel of language on my tongue."
Anyway, back at Chateau VVB we are consumed by the prospect of moving to Rockhampton for a couple of years. There appears to be some desire in the organisation that I remain there after the current short term stint expires at the end of March. Whether the job is open depends on a number of interdependent variables that I can't go into - sorry to be so Delphic - but the odds on being asked to stay on are shortening.
This causes all sorts of dilemmas for us although, personally, the prospect of keeping on with this new challenge is quite enticing. Seduced by the task, I think they call it.
Anyway it's not a decision we need to make immediately although when the time comes, the Man is going to want a response.
Things thta make you go "hmmmmmmmm."
06 February 2008
talk to me
Words, I love 'em. I read somewhere that the Macquarie (???) dictionary had identified pod-slurping as a valid neologism in general use. Yep, it's good, very evocative.
A couple of weeks ago I read about Australianisms that had died out, amongst these was "cobber', which my old man used to use all the time.
So I go into a newsagency in Rocky last Saturday to buy a paper, I proffer some money, the bloke says "thanks cobber."
So there.
Or, like, "whatever."
That is to say, I was, like, whatever.
And I was.
A couple of weeks ago I read about Australianisms that had died out, amongst these was "cobber', which my old man used to use all the time.
So I go into a newsagency in Rocky last Saturday to buy a paper, I proffer some money, the bloke says "thanks cobber."
So there.
Or, like, "whatever."
That is to say, I was, like, whatever.
And I was.
03 February 2008
waiting for the man
The local - very local - radio station announced on its midday news that State Liberal leader Mark McArdle and Nationals leader Lawrence Springborg would examine merging the two parties by appointing an "imminent persons group."
I imagine they'll be along any minute now.
After that, they'll work on the merger once they get a round tuit.
Meanwhile, international extortioner extraordinaire Bernie Ecclestone, owner of the Formula 1 business, has threatened to withdraw the F1 race from Melbourne after the current contract expires in 2010. He wants more money - that's taxpayers' money, folks, ie yours and mine, laundered once through the Victorian Treasury - or to hold the race at night to suit European TV schedules. Or, presumably, both.
He says that Victorian Premier John Brumby has paid the race "'scant attention." The money train for Ecclestone was of course originally waved out fromn the station in 1996 by former Premier Jeff Kennett, presumably from savings found by closing schools (boo!) and amalgamating councils (yay!).
What Premier Brumby should do is tell Ecclestone to get f*cked. In a variety of European languages, for preference, just to make sure the advertisers get the message.
The potential for the Gold Coast, in wonderful but rather wet Queensland, to benefit through its increasingly popular Indy race, which gets a few buckets of Qld government tax dollars, is not really the point here. Ecclestone's business model is simply theft and people should start to say 'enough'. They did it with Rupert's Super League and it can happen again. Just because someone can make a dollar or several million from something doesn't automatically mean they should.
The air in Rocky this morning was decidedly whiffy, but a strong breeze for most of the day has blown a lot of it away, at least for a while. The river is down about half a metre but still flowing strongly. I'd imagine it'll take a week or so to get back to normal levels.
I imagine they'll be along any minute now.
After that, they'll work on the merger once they get a round tuit.
Meanwhile, international extortioner extraordinaire Bernie Ecclestone, owner of the Formula 1 business, has threatened to withdraw the F1 race from Melbourne after the current contract expires in 2010. He wants more money - that's taxpayers' money, folks, ie yours and mine, laundered once through the Victorian Treasury - or to hold the race at night to suit European TV schedules. Or, presumably, both.
He says that Victorian Premier John Brumby has paid the race "'scant attention." The money train for Ecclestone was of course originally waved out fromn the station in 1996 by former Premier Jeff Kennett, presumably from savings found by closing schools (boo!) and amalgamating councils (yay!).
What Premier Brumby should do is tell Ecclestone to get f*cked. In a variety of European languages, for preference, just to make sure the advertisers get the message.
The potential for the Gold Coast, in wonderful but rather wet Queensland, to benefit through its increasingly popular Indy race, which gets a few buckets of Qld government tax dollars, is not really the point here. Ecclestone's business model is simply theft and people should start to say 'enough'. They did it with Rupert's Super League and it can happen again. Just because someone can make a dollar or several million from something doesn't automatically mean they should.
The air in Rocky this morning was decidedly whiffy, but a strong breeze for most of the day has blown a lot of it away, at least for a while. The river is down about half a metre but still flowing strongly. I'd imagine it'll take a week or so to get back to normal levels.
01 February 2008
will and the (standard and) poor boys
This, from a comment on today's Crikey.com.au:
Today's AFR - the Business Council of Australia refutes Clive Hamilton's suggestion that all they do is whinge about lowering tax and reducing the regulatory burden. True - the BCA does some top class analysis and, a year or so ago, some excellent work on futuring and trends, to help inform policy development.
But whenever they're asked about a current issue, the response is invariably about lowering the rate of corporate tax. The simple answer to all of life's complex problems.
It's all about marketing, businesspeople! You of anyone should understand that!
Note the exclamation marks, a new low point in the reportage from pied a terre VVB.
Pied a terre, I should add, outside of whose windows the mighty Fitzroy rushes like an endless tide. Complete with scum-like stuff on top, branches, trees, crocodiles, snakes and poo.
Standard & Poor's:Possum Comitatus's and my point exactly.
Alan Kerlin writes: Re.
"Wall St endgame? S&P drops a $265b bombshell" (yesterday, item 1). Glenn Dyer wrote: "S&P said it will start reviewing its ratings for some banks, especially those that 'are thinly capitalized'." So what exactly is it that they’ve been doing to justify their keep before now? Is this move by Standard & Poors just an attempt to disguise their failure to adequately perform their core function, and in so doing, further undermine the global markets for all of us plebs out here with money in super accounts? This whole issue has never been just about poor management in some US (and Australian?) banks. It is also an indictment on the job done by ratings
agencies, and by the general investment community, who after all are supposed to
be looking for – and avoiding – these sorts of problem companies.
Today's AFR - the Business Council of Australia refutes Clive Hamilton's suggestion that all they do is whinge about lowering tax and reducing the regulatory burden. True - the BCA does some top class analysis and, a year or so ago, some excellent work on futuring and trends, to help inform policy development.
But whenever they're asked about a current issue, the response is invariably about lowering the rate of corporate tax. The simple answer to all of life's complex problems.
It's all about marketing, businesspeople! You of anyone should understand that!
Note the exclamation marks, a new low point in the reportage from pied a terre VVB.
Pied a terre, I should add, outside of whose windows the mighty Fitzroy rushes like an endless tide. Complete with scum-like stuff on top, branches, trees, crocodiles, snakes and poo.
31 January 2008
human league
I like listening to radio when you hear someone mention "the human condition." It's a sure sign you're tuned to Radio National. A process check, if you like.
Anyway we got that this morning en route from the mildly poo-infested suburbs of Rocky to the stridently industrial surrounds of beautiful downtown Gladstone. I was glad to be tuned to the graceful cadences of Ramona Koval, which were very much in sync with the small undulations of that piece of road, sitting on a very steady 100 kph, the song of the mighty Toyota Camry motor wheezing in the background. It was an interview with some US writer whose name escapes me, but the book is called Pontoon and if you Amazon (there's a nice neologism for you) I'm sure you'll find it.
Like all the very earnest people whose graceful tones emanate from Radio Communism, Ramona was at pains to elicit some discussion on the human condition and with a cooperative subject, whose name still escapes me, it was actually a nice piece of work. Death, angels, fundamentalism, people's hidden lives and the pretences or faces that we show to the world.
In fact it formed a useful framework in which I could digest my experience yesterday, which was a last minute dash to Emerald to (allegedly) help out with our organisation's efforts there. I haven't been exposed to people who have been through disaster and its associated trauma before, and this was a real eye-opener.
The situation of the small claims holders, the miners who live out in the gem fields around Anakie and so on, was quite dire but their reactions even more pronounced, for these are people to whom their house literally is their castle, because their mining lease is their livving and their life. So to lose everything and have to contemplate strangers on your territory is anathema, leading to some very strong emotions.
What mainly got me thinking - and it was evident that to people who do or experience this sort of thing more regularly it wasn't a surprise - was how country people react. How people who are by nature very independent, resourceful and proud, cope with needing assistance.
Which in turn got me thinking about how the west - sorry, the bush - got settled, for want of a better term, in the first place. I never did history as a separate subject in high school, only did Blaxland, Wentworth and Lawson and the Human Hovell in primary school. Names, dates, routes. No causes, reasons, analysis or stories attached that I can recall. And nothing about the settlers.
Without any sort of knowledge from which to work, then, I guess I simply left it as an open question - what were the factors, the things that drove establishment of settlements, towns and villages. Gold, sheep, and so on with railways as an early link and forming the critical mass - sorry about that - in certain places where routes intersected.
And somehow out of all that we got some sense of Australianness, a country of country dwellers who react in certain ways, hold certain things dear and so on. So when a (probably) typical urban blight like looting hits a place like Emerald, it hits deeper and the reaction is stronger, more vehement. Wouldn't like to be those families, eh?
So with Ramona and whatisname prattling in the background, the hills sliding by, I thought about this great brown land of ours and the people in it. I didn't come to any blinding insights as you probably guessed about 3 paragraphs ago or, in the case of regular readers of this blog, at about the second line of my first posting.
Doesn't matter, mate. We all just need, I think, to occasionally sit back in the fabulously proportioned armchairs of a Toyota Camry, a packet of Minties (how come some Minties are nice and hard and other packets are all gooey? whatever happened to quality control?) on the passenger's seat, the road rolling underneath our wheels, and think about Australia.
You bloody beauty.
So up the old red rooster and sink more piss.
No idea where that came from.
As if.
Back to work, then.
Anyway we got that this morning en route from the mildly poo-infested suburbs of Rocky to the stridently industrial surrounds of beautiful downtown Gladstone. I was glad to be tuned to the graceful cadences of Ramona Koval, which were very much in sync with the small undulations of that piece of road, sitting on a very steady 100 kph, the song of the mighty Toyota Camry motor wheezing in the background. It was an interview with some US writer whose name escapes me, but the book is called Pontoon and if you Amazon (there's a nice neologism for you) I'm sure you'll find it.
Like all the very earnest people whose graceful tones emanate from Radio Communism, Ramona was at pains to elicit some discussion on the human condition and with a cooperative subject, whose name still escapes me, it was actually a nice piece of work. Death, angels, fundamentalism, people's hidden lives and the pretences or faces that we show to the world.
In fact it formed a useful framework in which I could digest my experience yesterday, which was a last minute dash to Emerald to (allegedly) help out with our organisation's efforts there. I haven't been exposed to people who have been through disaster and its associated trauma before, and this was a real eye-opener.
The situation of the small claims holders, the miners who live out in the gem fields around Anakie and so on, was quite dire but their reactions even more pronounced, for these are people to whom their house literally is their castle, because their mining lease is their livving and their life. So to lose everything and have to contemplate strangers on your territory is anathema, leading to some very strong emotions.
What mainly got me thinking - and it was evident that to people who do or experience this sort of thing more regularly it wasn't a surprise - was how country people react. How people who are by nature very independent, resourceful and proud, cope with needing assistance.
Which in turn got me thinking about how the west - sorry, the bush - got settled, for want of a better term, in the first place. I never did history as a separate subject in high school, only did Blaxland, Wentworth and Lawson and the Human Hovell in primary school. Names, dates, routes. No causes, reasons, analysis or stories attached that I can recall. And nothing about the settlers.
Without any sort of knowledge from which to work, then, I guess I simply left it as an open question - what were the factors, the things that drove establishment of settlements, towns and villages. Gold, sheep, and so on with railways as an early link and forming the critical mass - sorry about that - in certain places where routes intersected.
And somehow out of all that we got some sense of Australianness, a country of country dwellers who react in certain ways, hold certain things dear and so on. So when a (probably) typical urban blight like looting hits a place like Emerald, it hits deeper and the reaction is stronger, more vehement. Wouldn't like to be those families, eh?
So with Ramona and whatisname prattling in the background, the hills sliding by, I thought about this great brown land of ours and the people in it. I didn't come to any blinding insights as you probably guessed about 3 paragraphs ago or, in the case of regular readers of this blog, at about the second line of my first posting.
Doesn't matter, mate. We all just need, I think, to occasionally sit back in the fabulously proportioned armchairs of a Toyota Camry, a packet of Minties (how come some Minties are nice and hard and other packets are all gooey? whatever happened to quality control?) on the passenger's seat, the road rolling underneath our wheels, and think about Australia.
You bloody beauty.
So up the old red rooster and sink more piss.
No idea where that came from.
As if.
Back to work, then.
27 January 2008
charlie big potato
Via here, we discover that 2008 is the International Year of the Potato. Yes folks, it's the United Nations again, off on another zany escapade with your money.
I am sure that all our lives are enriched immeasurably by this fact. And, as I was discussing with someone only a few days ago, if Pauline Hanson had better understood the insane lengths that the UN goes to in pursuit of pointlessly wasting other people's money, her invective would have been off the scale. Anyone who'd ever feared the UN as the stalking horse for 'one world government' evidently hasn't ventured far into the labyrinthine weirdness that characterises much of the UN outside of the Security Council. In fact regardless of the Security Council's stunning powerlessness, the rest of the UN is likely to make you feel quite insecure.
For example, the FAO. It's on the job, vis-a-vis all thing potato.
Here's the official website of the Food and Agriculture Organisation, one of the specialised agencies of the UN and indeed it is chocka with facts you never knew about potatoes. Strangely, there is no Irish language version of the site, although they are working on a Russian version. That in itself is pretty spooky, yes?
The international year of the potato appears to have commenced in 2007 (and at least it was in Idaho where potatoes can be picked from the ground with sour cream and chives already in place) and does not conclude until 22-25 March 2009 at the 7th World Potato Congress in Christchurch, New Zullund.
Quite apart from raising the perfectly reasonable question of how you can fill in three days talking about potatoes - oh I forgot, it is in New Zealand, say no more - it is also another perfect demonstration of the UN's incompetence. Because it's not a year, is it? It's more than a year. Quite a bit more, really.
Anyway, for those of you with even more time on your hands than me, here's more about potatoes. "Breaking News! President Parker (hmm... not Spiderman, surely? is he moonlighting for the International Potato Conspiracy?) announced the Congress in Christchurch."
Book my tickets, Miss Jones, I feel the need to get Up-To-Date with Nicola Nooksack.
Fo' shizzle.
I am sure that all our lives are enriched immeasurably by this fact. And, as I was discussing with someone only a few days ago, if Pauline Hanson had better understood the insane lengths that the UN goes to in pursuit of pointlessly wasting other people's money, her invective would have been off the scale. Anyone who'd ever feared the UN as the stalking horse for 'one world government' evidently hasn't ventured far into the labyrinthine weirdness that characterises much of the UN outside of the Security Council. In fact regardless of the Security Council's stunning powerlessness, the rest of the UN is likely to make you feel quite insecure.
For example, the FAO. It's on the job, vis-a-vis all thing potato.
Here's the official website of the Food and Agriculture Organisation, one of the specialised agencies of the UN and indeed it is chocka with facts you never knew about potatoes. Strangely, there is no Irish language version of the site, although they are working on a Russian version. That in itself is pretty spooky, yes?
The international year of the potato appears to have commenced in 2007 (and at least it was in Idaho where potatoes can be picked from the ground with sour cream and chives already in place) and does not conclude until 22-25 March 2009 at the 7th World Potato Congress in Christchurch, New Zullund.
Quite apart from raising the perfectly reasonable question of how you can fill in three days talking about potatoes - oh I forgot, it is in New Zealand, say no more - it is also another perfect demonstration of the UN's incompetence. Because it's not a year, is it? It's more than a year. Quite a bit more, really.
Anyway, for those of you with even more time on your hands than me, here's more about potatoes. "Breaking News! President Parker (hmm... not Spiderman, surely? is he moonlighting for the International Potato Conspiracy?) announced the Congress in Christchurch."
Book my tickets, Miss Jones, I feel the need to get Up-To-Date with Nicola Nooksack.
Fo' shizzle.
26 January 2008
24 January 2008
mondo rock
Actually, in this case Mondeo Rocks.
I was in the supermarket carpark yesterday when one of the new Ford Mondeos pulled in. Must say, they are very pretty piece of kit - nicely proportioned and all.
The bloke gets out and I ask him what he thinks of it. He's wearing a t-shirt with a company logo on it, it didn't register with me - not a logo I knew.
He says it's a bloody great car, etc etc, then reveals that he's a salesman at a Ford dealership. I then notice that the logo on the shirt matches one on the car.
Then he gets excited - a prospective sale! - and goes into full-on salesman mode.
I can confirm that the Mondeo does indeed have astonishing boot capacity.
OK then.
Outside my window, the Fitzroy is flowing faster and faster.
If I wasn't going home to celebrate Australia Day in the traditional way - by inviting friends around for a lamb chop and a beer or 27 - I'd be perfectly happy to sit on the balcony here and watch the river rise. Like watching paint dry, but quicker.
I was in the supermarket carpark yesterday when one of the new Ford Mondeos pulled in. Must say, they are very pretty piece of kit - nicely proportioned and all.
The bloke gets out and I ask him what he thinks of it. He's wearing a t-shirt with a company logo on it, it didn't register with me - not a logo I knew.
He says it's a bloody great car, etc etc, then reveals that he's a salesman at a Ford dealership. I then notice that the logo on the shirt matches one on the car.
Then he gets excited - a prospective sale! - and goes into full-on salesman mode.
I can confirm that the Mondeo does indeed have astonishing boot capacity.
OK then.
Outside my window, the Fitzroy is flowing faster and faster.
If I wasn't going home to celebrate Australia Day in the traditional way - by inviting friends around for a lamb chop and a beer or 27 - I'd be perfectly happy to sit on the balcony here and watch the river rise. Like watching paint dry, but quicker.
22 January 2008
rock and roll
It's been a long time since I rock and rolled...
As 7.30 Report reminded us tonight, it's been a long time since Led Zeppelin performed at Sydney Showground in 1972. They interviewed all sorts of people who were there, who all agreed that it was most special, the high point of Led Zep's career, the high point of their lives, nirvana in a bottle (to mix a few musical metaphors). Only a select few were there and they remember.
I remember. I was there. I was there with a young lady whose acquaintance I had made some months earlier at wonderful Jewish wedding of friends of the family.
I should point out at this juncture that this was some years before the young lady now referred to as Mrs VVB appeared on the scene.
To be frank, folks, I stuffed it up big time. We were in the stands, the band started (Immigrant Song), thousands rushed onto the ground. I was too scared because I thought we'd get arrested. Even after several hours I hadn't moved. Talk about strait-laced, incapable of any lateral thought or even...I don't know what.
It was the end of a beautiful friendship before it began.
I heard later she'd run away from home and was living at Byron or somewhere with several/several dozen/several dozen families of hippies (mother was always prone to exaggeration when it came to behaviour unbecoming).
The sound in the stands was appalling and we were several miles from the stage so we couldn't see anything. My could-have-been friend must have been utterly desolate - I'm surprised she didn't just go off and join the crowd.
I do have some good photos somewhere, as I had a 300mm lens on the old Spotmatic.
Regrets, I've had a few...
And this was one of them, it sounded like it must have been a great concert.
As 7.30 Report reminded us tonight, it's been a long time since Led Zeppelin performed at Sydney Showground in 1972. They interviewed all sorts of people who were there, who all agreed that it was most special, the high point of Led Zep's career, the high point of their lives, nirvana in a bottle (to mix a few musical metaphors). Only a select few were there and they remember.
I remember. I was there. I was there with a young lady whose acquaintance I had made some months earlier at wonderful Jewish wedding of friends of the family.
I should point out at this juncture that this was some years before the young lady now referred to as Mrs VVB appeared on the scene.
To be frank, folks, I stuffed it up big time. We were in the stands, the band started (Immigrant Song), thousands rushed onto the ground. I was too scared because I thought we'd get arrested. Even after several hours I hadn't moved. Talk about strait-laced, incapable of any lateral thought or even...I don't know what.
It was the end of a beautiful friendship before it began.
I heard later she'd run away from home and was living at Byron or somewhere with several/several dozen/several dozen families of hippies (mother was always prone to exaggeration when it came to behaviour unbecoming).
The sound in the stands was appalling and we were several miles from the stage so we couldn't see anything. My could-have-been friend must have been utterly desolate - I'm surprised she didn't just go off and join the crowd.
I do have some good photos somewhere, as I had a 300mm lens on the old Spotmatic.
Regrets, I've had a few...
And this was one of them, it sounded like it must have been a great concert.
sorrow
Here at pied a terre VVB we are full of sorrow, because we watched Anthony Albanese demonstrate his early familiarity with the dark arts of being interviewed by sticking stupidly to a stupid set of talking points, ritually ignoring the intent of each question. I’ve got a wind-up toy from about 1955, a monkey that bounces on its backside and claps a pair of cymbals: it gives a more convincing performance.
Full marks to the bimbette who gave him a free ride. I Iike to see that my 8 cents a day buys a Labor-compliant ABC, that’s the way it’s supposed to be, yes?
It would have been nice, albeit quite hopeless, to expect that the new government might conduct itself in different ways.
But no, we have 5 point plans, highly structured regional listening tours and all the other hallmarks of the Blair which? Project, now in its terminal decline phase back in old Blighty. So of course we now have 5 years of the same here.
Oh well, at least they’re better than the alternative. By the way, it’d be fascinating to see the feedback forms from attendees at those conferences where our revered former (former! yes! he’s gone!) PM is a keynote speaker on globalisation and leadership. Yes, two issues that he studiously avoided in both word and deed for all 11 years of his dictatorship. Would you feel dudded once you’ve had 30, or 45, or 3,250 million minutes of that piercing whinge insinuating your brain?
I know I would. You know, I think I miss him…
No, not really. Gotcha.
Meanwhile there was the entertainment of Top Gear last night, the first half of which I missed because I was out throwing up over the balcony as a result of Minister Albanese’s polished efforts. Anyway, part of tonight’s show was a three way contest between the Mazda RX8, the Audi TT (2 litre version) and the Alfa Brera, each supported in the usual highly structured fashion by one of the team of Jeremy, Hammond and James May. The track test was undertaken by the Stig and as the Audi (Jeremy’s pick) eased off the start line, Hammond called out ““there he goes, off to the hairdresser.”
And the celebrity track star was Hugh Grant who told an absorbing story about how his testicles got sore in a Bentley Continental GT he once owned. It’s amazing what you can get away with on prime time TV nowadays.
Full marks to the bimbette who gave him a free ride. I Iike to see that my 8 cents a day buys a Labor-compliant ABC, that’s the way it’s supposed to be, yes?
It would have been nice, albeit quite hopeless, to expect that the new government might conduct itself in different ways.
But no, we have 5 point plans, highly structured regional listening tours and all the other hallmarks of the Blair which? Project, now in its terminal decline phase back in old Blighty. So of course we now have 5 years of the same here.
Oh well, at least they’re better than the alternative. By the way, it’d be fascinating to see the feedback forms from attendees at those conferences where our revered former (former! yes! he’s gone!) PM is a keynote speaker on globalisation and leadership. Yes, two issues that he studiously avoided in both word and deed for all 11 years of his dictatorship. Would you feel dudded once you’ve had 30, or 45, or 3,250 million minutes of that piercing whinge insinuating your brain?
I know I would. You know, I think I miss him…
No, not really. Gotcha.
Meanwhile there was the entertainment of Top Gear last night, the first half of which I missed because I was out throwing up over the balcony as a result of Minister Albanese’s polished efforts. Anyway, part of tonight’s show was a three way contest between the Mazda RX8, the Audi TT (2 litre version) and the Alfa Brera, each supported in the usual highly structured fashion by one of the team of Jeremy, Hammond and James May. The track test was undertaken by the Stig and as the Audi (Jeremy’s pick) eased off the start line, Hammond called out ““there he goes, off to the hairdresser.”
And the celebrity track star was Hugh Grant who told an absorbing story about how his testicles got sore in a Bentley Continental GT he once owned. It’s amazing what you can get away with on prime time TV nowadays.
19 January 2008
my chemical romance
It must be the drugs that brought on this vision (thanks Geoff Pryor, yet again).
http://canberra.yourguide.com.au/opinion.asp?class=your%20say&subclass=general&story_id=1165449&category=opinion%20cartoon
http://canberra.yourguide.com.au/opinion.asp?class=your%20say&subclass=general&story_id=1165449&category=opinion%20cartoon
me and my shadow
It's a bit rich for an obscure indie blogger with no economic cred to say "I told you so", but there was a little schadenfreude in the air as I read Denis Atkins' column in today's Courier-Mail. Atkins surveyed the unveiling trail of wreckage the sub-prime crisis is creating. Two of his points really struck me:
1) "It is the hidden black holes that analysts fear most." Well, der, as they say. My point exactly. This is precisely what deregulation facilitates (that's bureaucratese for "makes happen.") Human ingenuity, which of course reaches its apogee in the financial sector - with a little help from the legal fraternity - will find ways to profit from any regulated environment. So, when you deregulate in the expectation that money will find its highest and best use, don't be surprised when all sorts of arcane practices become the norm, and no-one outside the immediate players can figure out what's gone on. And they ain't telling.
2) But what I really liked was the example given of how a couple of the mega-investment houses, Morgan Stanley and Merrill Lynch, had their credit-worthiness down graded from AAA to CCC, as rated by Standard and Poors and Moodys.
Somewhere many posts ago, I seem to remember that I ranted about these so-called independent rating agencies. How could their analysis have been so far off the mark that they downgrade such impeccable companies overnight? Are they so incompetent?
Of course not. They are not independent. They are as independent as those other egregious examples of the untrammelled benefits of extreme wealth, the remuneration consultants. You'll never find one of these firms recommending a lower salary, and you won't find a ratings agency downgrading a client.
These are the arrangements, the systems of governance, that will have to be unwound before any sense of fairness, of decency, can start to inform our economic system. You may well argue that economic systems are not meant to deliver either fairness or decency and you may be right. But if so, there will be costs and eventually they won't be pretty. A little regulation may, unlike knowledge, actually be a good thing.
Anyway, economic growth has its benefits which were demonstrated today when I spent a little time in downtown Rocky while out doing the grocery shopping. One, there are several good coffee places. There are a couple of good antiques shops. And a magic music shop (Green Bros) where I picked up a capo for the Aria. They are indeed brothers - well they all look awfully alike) and a couple of them were knocking out some mighty fine jazz standards on piano and trumpet. This is living!
1) "It is the hidden black holes that analysts fear most." Well, der, as they say. My point exactly. This is precisely what deregulation facilitates (that's bureaucratese for "makes happen.") Human ingenuity, which of course reaches its apogee in the financial sector - with a little help from the legal fraternity - will find ways to profit from any regulated environment. So, when you deregulate in the expectation that money will find its highest and best use, don't be surprised when all sorts of arcane practices become the norm, and no-one outside the immediate players can figure out what's gone on. And they ain't telling.
2) But what I really liked was the example given of how a couple of the mega-investment houses, Morgan Stanley and Merrill Lynch, had their credit-worthiness down graded from AAA to CCC, as rated by Standard and Poors and Moodys.
Somewhere many posts ago, I seem to remember that I ranted about these so-called independent rating agencies. How could their analysis have been so far off the mark that they downgrade such impeccable companies overnight? Are they so incompetent?
Of course not. They are not independent. They are as independent as those other egregious examples of the untrammelled benefits of extreme wealth, the remuneration consultants. You'll never find one of these firms recommending a lower salary, and you won't find a ratings agency downgrading a client.
These are the arrangements, the systems of governance, that will have to be unwound before any sense of fairness, of decency, can start to inform our economic system. You may well argue that economic systems are not meant to deliver either fairness or decency and you may be right. But if so, there will be costs and eventually they won't be pretty. A little regulation may, unlike knowledge, actually be a good thing.
Anyway, economic growth has its benefits which were demonstrated today when I spent a little time in downtown Rocky while out doing the grocery shopping. One, there are several good coffee places. There are a couple of good antiques shops. And a magic music shop (Green Bros) where I picked up a capo for the Aria. They are indeed brothers - well they all look awfully alike) and a couple of them were knocking out some mighty fine jazz standards on piano and trumpet. This is living!
17 January 2008
the music goes round and round
Two or so decades of liberalisation and deregulation at national and international levels created the environment for ever more complex financing models, derivatives, hedge funds and the several thousand others that I can't name.
So when, eventually, something goes a little pear-shaped, or a lot, no-one really knows how to fix it because it's a complex, living system beyond rational comprehension.
Anyway, I know bugger-all about it so that's how it appears to me.
For once I'll forgo the soapbox, but surely there would be some value in a little backroom/skunk works effort between consenting countries to start to get some governance in place that is obvious to the partially interested bystander, rather than what I imagine happens now, which is taxpayer-funded jaunts to tax havens (sorry, international financing centres) to discuss not much at all.
There's an awful lot of short term profits being made and there is presumably a measure of economic/industry activity, both public and private, that gets done purely because these arcane financial instruments exist.
You've got banks or non-bank lenders in the US making home loans to people who blind freddy can see will never be able to repay, even as the value of their homes goes into freefall. Then try to imagine what's going on in the commercial rather than domestic lending market, where the complexity is exponentially greater, not to mention the actual sums at stake.
So who pays the piper? Not to mention the ferryman?
So when, eventually, something goes a little pear-shaped, or a lot, no-one really knows how to fix it because it's a complex, living system beyond rational comprehension.
Anyway, I know bugger-all about it so that's how it appears to me.
For once I'll forgo the soapbox, but surely there would be some value in a little backroom/skunk works effort between consenting countries to start to get some governance in place that is obvious to the partially interested bystander, rather than what I imagine happens now, which is taxpayer-funded jaunts to tax havens (sorry, international financing centres) to discuss not much at all.
There's an awful lot of short term profits being made and there is presumably a measure of economic/industry activity, both public and private, that gets done purely because these arcane financial instruments exist.
You've got banks or non-bank lenders in the US making home loans to people who blind freddy can see will never be able to repay, even as the value of their homes goes into freefall. Then try to imagine what's going on in the commercial rather than domestic lending market, where the complexity is exponentially greater, not to mention the actual sums at stake.
So who pays the piper? Not to mention the ferryman?
14 January 2008
on the road again
Great episode of Top gear tonight, the return of the Hamster. I was most taken with the motivational speeches.
And because Mrs VVB hates Jaguars with an entirely unreasonable passion, she agreed with my assessment that when the Lotto comes in, we'll be getting an Aston Martin DB7 Vantage. Oh yes.
And they're casting for a team to host an Australian Top Gear franchise.
How about three blokes in their fifties who talk loudly in restaurants about cars, to the extent that someone at the next table comes over to ask them questions about the Australian motor industry? One of them can drive, one knows what he's talking about and the other is the token village idiot. Well, Kim and Derf, what about it?
And because Mrs VVB hates Jaguars with an entirely unreasonable passion, she agreed with my assessment that when the Lotto comes in, we'll be getting an Aston Martin DB7 Vantage. Oh yes.
And they're casting for a team to host an Australian Top Gear franchise.
How about three blokes in their fifties who talk loudly in restaurants about cars, to the extent that someone at the next table comes over to ask them questions about the Australian motor industry? One of them can drive, one knows what he's talking about and the other is the token village idiot. Well, Kim and Derf, what about it?
what a feeling (flashdance)
What a feeling (flash!dance!)
Post title comes because we will shortly be talking about Toyotas.
Before then, though, a quick update. We’re back safely ensconced in pied a terre VVB (although being on the fifth floor it’s not really a terre I suppose). For a while the ‘safely’ aspect was in a little doubt as we came back into Rocky through a storm including a quite severe storm cell. Because the plane’s relatively small - a Dash 8 400 series, twin turboprop) - you tend to get thrown about quite a bit.
There was an awful lot of the sound of breaths being sucked in and a few screams trying to get out – it really was quite a savage little ride as you try to estimate how many metres the plane is being bucked up and thrown down in a short space of time. And while you wonder what stresses the plane is capable of withstanding, there’s not much you can do about it. I’ve seen what remains of passengers after a plane has had an unscheduled encounter with terra firma: you’re not going to walk away so you may as well close your eyes and trust in pilot training and technology. It does concentrate the mind wonderfully, though.
It took a day to get back into the swing of work: still being relatively new in the job, I’d forgotten what I was meant to be doing. Ha ha, sort of. But by week’s end we were right back in the swing and the high quality suburban infrastructure of the lovely southern highlands was but a distant memory.
The new job brings a few new management challenges with it which have been a character-building exercise to overcome, or perhaps duck around, much the way the pilot ducked around the rest of the worst of the storm after we’d been through the savage cell.
And this week for some unfathomable reason the new job also brought a new car, I’ve somehow swapped the Falcon, which was uniformly awful, for a Toyota Camry Grande. Yes folks, that’s Grande with an ‘e,’ which makes it grander than grand.
It’s a bloody barge to drive, you can’t see where the bonnet and boot end and although it has every bell and whistle known to man and car designer, it doesn’t have the one thing I’d really like, which is park assist, which in a proper English-speaking world would have been known as parking assistance, in other words the machine that goes beep beep beep when you’re about to reverse into something.
But was it does have – along with a sunroof (yeah! got one again at last!) rain-sensitive wipers and sat nav – is an extremely comfortable seat and excellent seating position. And that to my mind is something that Toyota has done very well for quite a while. Even my old AE86 (ie 1988 model) Corolla had a comfy seat, albeit without electric positioning, lumbar support and (oh yes) leather.
But the Camry has a steering column adjustable for both height and reach which means you can get the seating position exactly right for legs and arms. I like the steering wheel to be down low and I’ve gradually grown out of the straight-arm steering position, which is tiring on the arms and physically unsound because you can’t get maximum leverage, so it’s great to be able to get the wheel close enough while still being able to stretch the legs. But I have to say that the Grande is quite a nice place to be provided you’re not too particular about knowing which direction the front wheels are pointed. Good lord, what am I saying? A Toyota? I must be going soft in the head. Please ignore this post.
I wasn’t going to write about the US elections and then, as if by some sort of telepathy, a friend sent me a very funny, rather obvious but savagely cruel joke about Republicans. Which I won’t reproduce here ‘cos I said I wasn’t going to write about it.
So, what else? I was reading Kathleen Noonan in Saturday’s Courier Mail; it’s a kind of general reflections on life column which, probably more often than not, provokes a little useful thought. But today’s column got me thinking mainly about the posts and comments from a week or so ago about why (and how) I keep VVB going when it doesn’t usually have anything of any immense import to say.
I think it’s partly that blogging itself is still very much in an evolutionary stage. I’ve certainly found through the two years (aaargh! really?) of VVB that my relation to the blog has not only waxed and waned but also matured (well I think so). And it’d be reasonable to expect that experience replicated across the blogosphere, particularly with the small, more personal blogs like VVB. Maybe the bigger, more ‘sophisticated’ blogs have been able to set out a rationale and stick to it – certainly in the case of group blogs with a predetermined raison d’etre or philosophical/ideological position – but for all of us who simply caught the wave and are still precariously hanging on, it’s a day by day existence as we continually wrestle with the whole point of it all, not to mention the effort of churning something out.
Deep, eh? And yet, I don’t feel at all ashamed of stating the bleedin’ obvious in this case because I can’t recall having the read the bleedin’ obvious anywhere else.
More to the point, the additional comments that the conversation provoked indicated to me that this is an issue (oh yes, we all got ‘issues’) that many of those who frequent the little circle of VVB are probably wrestling with either personally or by virtue of searching for some value in small, independent blogs.
I’d kind of also like to rant a bit about Australian sporting prowess, the win-at-all-costs mentality, the impact of commercialism on sport, and the decline of civility not to mention everyday manners. So now you can guess where I stand. I’ve had the Hewitts and the Pontings and Brett bloody Lees up to here. I think all competitive sportspeople should first have to play competitive bowls, darts or snooker to learn a bit of self bloody restraint. Then they can get on with their chosen profession. Oh, golf too. Self bloody restraint is an admirable thing. Hmm, all individual sports, although you do get team bowls (up to 4). I think there’s a lesson in that. Isn’t individualism and self-reliance meant to be a good thing?
Discuss.
Post title comes because we will shortly be talking about Toyotas.
Before then, though, a quick update. We’re back safely ensconced in pied a terre VVB (although being on the fifth floor it’s not really a terre I suppose). For a while the ‘safely’ aspect was in a little doubt as we came back into Rocky through a storm including a quite severe storm cell. Because the plane’s relatively small - a Dash 8 400 series, twin turboprop) - you tend to get thrown about quite a bit.
There was an awful lot of the sound of breaths being sucked in and a few screams trying to get out – it really was quite a savage little ride as you try to estimate how many metres the plane is being bucked up and thrown down in a short space of time. And while you wonder what stresses the plane is capable of withstanding, there’s not much you can do about it. I’ve seen what remains of passengers after a plane has had an unscheduled encounter with terra firma: you’re not going to walk away so you may as well close your eyes and trust in pilot training and technology. It does concentrate the mind wonderfully, though.
It took a day to get back into the swing of work: still being relatively new in the job, I’d forgotten what I was meant to be doing. Ha ha, sort of. But by week’s end we were right back in the swing and the high quality suburban infrastructure of the lovely southern highlands was but a distant memory.
The new job brings a few new management challenges with it which have been a character-building exercise to overcome, or perhaps duck around, much the way the pilot ducked around the rest of the worst of the storm after we’d been through the savage cell.
And this week for some unfathomable reason the new job also brought a new car, I’ve somehow swapped the Falcon, which was uniformly awful, for a Toyota Camry Grande. Yes folks, that’s Grande with an ‘e,’ which makes it grander than grand.
It’s a bloody barge to drive, you can’t see where the bonnet and boot end and although it has every bell and whistle known to man and car designer, it doesn’t have the one thing I’d really like, which is park assist, which in a proper English-speaking world would have been known as parking assistance, in other words the machine that goes beep beep beep when you’re about to reverse into something.
But was it does have – along with a sunroof (yeah! got one again at last!) rain-sensitive wipers and sat nav – is an extremely comfortable seat and excellent seating position. And that to my mind is something that Toyota has done very well for quite a while. Even my old AE86 (ie 1988 model) Corolla had a comfy seat, albeit without electric positioning, lumbar support and (oh yes) leather.
But the Camry has a steering column adjustable for both height and reach which means you can get the seating position exactly right for legs and arms. I like the steering wheel to be down low and I’ve gradually grown out of the straight-arm steering position, which is tiring on the arms and physically unsound because you can’t get maximum leverage, so it’s great to be able to get the wheel close enough while still being able to stretch the legs. But I have to say that the Grande is quite a nice place to be provided you’re not too particular about knowing which direction the front wheels are pointed. Good lord, what am I saying? A Toyota? I must be going soft in the head. Please ignore this post.
I wasn’t going to write about the US elections and then, as if by some sort of telepathy, a friend sent me a very funny, rather obvious but savagely cruel joke about Republicans. Which I won’t reproduce here ‘cos I said I wasn’t going to write about it.
So, what else? I was reading Kathleen Noonan in Saturday’s Courier Mail; it’s a kind of general reflections on life column which, probably more often than not, provokes a little useful thought. But today’s column got me thinking mainly about the posts and comments from a week or so ago about why (and how) I keep VVB going when it doesn’t usually have anything of any immense import to say.
I think it’s partly that blogging itself is still very much in an evolutionary stage. I’ve certainly found through the two years (aaargh! really?) of VVB that my relation to the blog has not only waxed and waned but also matured (well I think so). And it’d be reasonable to expect that experience replicated across the blogosphere, particularly with the small, more personal blogs like VVB. Maybe the bigger, more ‘sophisticated’ blogs have been able to set out a rationale and stick to it – certainly in the case of group blogs with a predetermined raison d’etre or philosophical/ideological position – but for all of us who simply caught the wave and are still precariously hanging on, it’s a day by day existence as we continually wrestle with the whole point of it all, not to mention the effort of churning something out.
Deep, eh? And yet, I don’t feel at all ashamed of stating the bleedin’ obvious in this case because I can’t recall having the read the bleedin’ obvious anywhere else.
More to the point, the additional comments that the conversation provoked indicated to me that this is an issue (oh yes, we all got ‘issues’) that many of those who frequent the little circle of VVB are probably wrestling with either personally or by virtue of searching for some value in small, independent blogs.
I’d kind of also like to rant a bit about Australian sporting prowess, the win-at-all-costs mentality, the impact of commercialism on sport, and the decline of civility not to mention everyday manners. So now you can guess where I stand. I’ve had the Hewitts and the Pontings and Brett bloody Lees up to here. I think all competitive sportspeople should first have to play competitive bowls, darts or snooker to learn a bit of self bloody restraint. Then they can get on with their chosen profession. Oh, golf too. Self bloody restraint is an admirable thing. Hmm, all individual sports, although you do get team bowls (up to 4). I think there’s a lesson in that. Isn’t individualism and self-reliance meant to be a good thing?
Discuss.
08 January 2008
now we're getting somewhere
Where we have got to is Rockhampton. But as the office has to cop the cost of my after hours computer usage if I am online, I don't think it's sustainable or right to spend hours on line on non-job stuff.
So VVB will go into a short hiatus, cunningly disguised as oblivion, until I am again in the bosom of the family or get meself to a net cafe or library.
TTFN.
So VVB will go into a short hiatus, cunningly disguised as oblivion, until I am again in the bosom of the family or get meself to a net cafe or library.
TTFN.
04 January 2008
it's scientific (*)
Using up all my available desktop pooter time until again removed to the wilds of Rockhampton and the concomitant need to blog on a laptop, whose controls I do not understand, at a coffee table, which makes my neck ache, I learn that one of my favourite lines from one of my favourite songs is a reference to William Yeats with (possibly, it was David Byrne after all) a passing glance at African literature.
Larvatus Prodeo has a lot to answer for, but who would have thought that this would be amongst it? Note: this is a hat tip, even if delivered in a grudging, curmudgeonly fashion. LP has great posts but often the commentary gets out of control. However, to acknowledge where it is due, they actually do have commentary and quite a lot. We can but dream.
To coin another cliche: "will this do, John?"
(I was sure that is a song title but be blowed if I can find a reference...anyone?)
Speaking of music, here is a picture of some being made (Halfway at the Powerhouse, Brisbane).
(*) Do doot, doot, do de doo doo doo doo etc etc..."things fall apaaaaaart, it's scientific..."
Larvatus Prodeo has a lot to answer for, but who would have thought that this would be amongst it? Note: this is a hat tip, even if delivered in a grudging, curmudgeonly fashion. LP has great posts but often the commentary gets out of control. However, to acknowledge where it is due, they actually do have commentary and quite a lot. We can but dream.
To coin another cliche: "will this do, John?"
(I was sure that is a song title but be blowed if I can find a reference...anyone?)
Speaking of music, here is a picture of some being made (Halfway at the Powerhouse, Brisbane).
(*) Do doot, doot, do de doo doo doo doo etc etc..."things fall apaaaaaart, it's scientific..."
freebird
If once owning a Toyota Corolla (oh yes, and a Crown as well, I had one of those too!) doesn't qualify you to blog authentically, I don't know what does.
Actually, yes I do. Boag's Draught. It's been coming from the same slab but tonight it somehow feels stronger, you know, tonight. It feels kind of liberating.
Which brings us neatly to libertarianism, would you believe.
Actually, you have to believe or if you don't, you have to believe in something else.
This person, for example, is evidently not a believer in libertarianism but the thought of a prospective visit to the post office, of all things, brings on such thoughts.
I get similar thoughts because various representatives of the IPA keep getting valuable column inches (centimetres, all right) in the mainstream media and they'd only get that if they were right, right?
There you go, John. James Joyce, eat your heart out. Shit, I've run out of Boag's.
Actually, yes I do. Boag's Draught. It's been coming from the same slab but tonight it somehow feels stronger, you know, tonight. It feels kind of liberating.
Which brings us neatly to libertarianism, would you believe.
Actually, you have to believe or if you don't, you have to believe in something else.
This person, for example, is evidently not a believer in libertarianism but the thought of a prospective visit to the post office, of all things, brings on such thoughts.
I get similar thoughts because various representatives of the IPA keep getting valuable column inches (centimetres, all right) in the mainstream media and they'd only get that if they were right, right?
There you go, John. James Joyce, eat your heart out. Shit, I've run out of Boag's.
mr writer (*)
Well in his comments on "wherever I lay my hat", Gerry has taken the fight up to me - why do I blog here at VVB?
I suppose originally I did it because it was a 'coming thing', 'everybody was doing it' and so on. Did I really think I had something original and useful to say?
(a) Unlikely;
(b) Of course, we all think we do.
Let's go (b), at least we'll score some points for authenticity (not that being authentic is a competition, of course).
As I've mentioned before, the availability of a soapbox and the seemingly unending ubiquity of the former Prime Minister (former! previous! no longer there! whacko!) inevitably led to a considerable amount of vitriolic and not particularly original Howard hating. This was extremely comforting for a while but eventually even it started to pall - I ran out of vitriol. And now he's no longer there! Has anyone noticed? I have! It's really, really, really good. Did I mention?
So now I'm a bit lost for content. I'm not going to buy into the US election as many, including like-minded (ooh, 'leftist', look out, heterodoxy under every bed!) blogs are. Yes, the orientation and ability of any US administration is of immense importance to Australia. But there are thousands of blogs and sources out there that actually know what they're talking about, there are several million more of a VVB-esque-ish type which just help to avoid a vacuum ocurring and, finally and quite frankly, Bush-bashing is even less rewarding than Howard-hating.
(a pause of some several hours occurred at this point)
I'm avoiding the question, aren't I?
I suppose originally I did it because it was a 'coming thing', 'everybody was doing it' and so on. Did I really think I had something original and useful to say?
(a) Unlikely;
(b) Of course, we all think we do.
Let's go (b), at least we'll score some points for authenticity (not that being authentic is a competition, of course).
As I've mentioned before, the availability of a soapbox and the seemingly unending ubiquity of the former Prime Minister (former! previous! no longer there! whacko!) inevitably led to a considerable amount of vitriolic and not particularly original Howard hating. This was extremely comforting for a while but eventually even it started to pall - I ran out of vitriol. And now he's no longer there! Has anyone noticed? I have! It's really, really, really good. Did I mention?
So now I'm a bit lost for content. I'm not going to buy into the US election as many, including like-minded (ooh, 'leftist', look out, heterodoxy under every bed!) blogs are. Yes, the orientation and ability of any US administration is of immense importance to Australia. But there are thousands of blogs and sources out there that actually know what they're talking about, there are several million more of a VVB-esque-ish type which just help to avoid a vacuum ocurring and, finally and quite frankly, Bush-bashing is even less rewarding than Howard-hating.
(a pause of some several hours occurred at this point)
I'm avoiding the question, aren't I?
Well, I'd certainly like to improve my writing skills although I must say that composing and posting 'live' is not a good way to hone your style when you don't have a good, flowing style to start with.
I do like recounting things that happen that I find interesting - for example I haven't told the stories about giving two sets of people a lift on the one day during our holidays - and drawing some conclusions from the behaviours I see about me. Even simplistic, fatuous conclusions, I must admit.
Interestingly, via Oz Politics and the excellent Joshua Gans' Core Econ, earlier today I saw an article in which a number of economists were polled about why they blog. And blow me down, the reasons are similar to why you'd expect people to blog.
Who would have thought that economists were like everybody else?
Interestingly, via Oz Politics and the excellent Joshua Gans' Core Econ, earlier today I saw an article in which a number of economists were polled about why they blog. And blow me down, the reasons are similar to why you'd expect people to blog.
There were a series of questions asking respondents to rate factors according to their importance as motivations for blogging on a scale of 1 to 5. “Fun or entertainment”, “To raise my profile”, “Contribute to policy/political debates”, “To educate the public or disseminate research”, and “As a way of recording thoughts or ideas” were rated highest, all with a median score of 4. “Contribute to academic debates” had a median of 3, “To get reader feedback from comments” and “To improve writing skills” both scored 2, while “Actual or potential direct income” and “Actual or potential indirect income” both had a median of 1.
Who would have thought that economists were like everybody else?
So, Gerry and everybody, I'm just on a journey like everybody else and I have enough hide to think that some of it might be interesting to my devoted 4 or 5 readers (at this point I took a detour to look at my most recent stats - I am in fact getting about a dozen unique visitors a day with about 3 returning visitors per day). Hardly the stuff of a new career (I already have one of those, thanks to the current appointment in Rockhampton) but maybe enough reassurance to keep it going, to try in every day and every way to get a little bit better?
But what will I write about tomorrow? Who knows. In the meantime, here's a picture of some excellent neighbourhood infrastructure in Burradoo - between Bowral and Moss Vale. Pretty and quite high quality, yes?
(*) By Stereophonics, I am informed by Google.
03 January 2008
one on left is on right (*)
Anyway so I'm thinking about what comes next and while I'm doing this I'm scanning the excerpts in the Oz Politics feeds and it looks like "leftists" are proliferating - multiplying even, although I can't imagine that they're all that good at the hard subjects like mathematics - if the number of posts accusing leftists of everything that's ever gone wrong in the world are any indication.
And that got me thinking about how non-leftist-thinking people are always simplistic, black or white, with us or against us people, whereas leftists always see the complexity in issues and so find it more difficult to devise appropriate solutions.
Of course it's also probably a factor that the views you get in personal blogs, from no matter which standpoint, are most likely simplified and exaggerated and that's the type of view mainly picked up in the Oz Politics feeds. Certainly here in the Chateau that's the way it usually pans out.
A moment's reflection should by rights have led to the same conclusion as that explained in the Edge article, but why disturb that poor sleeping brain cell?
Seriously though, you scan through the excerpts and mainly decide not to click through because the introductory paragraphs are so unappealing.
Rather, here is a picture to soothe the brain cell to sleep.
And if you're interested in the song title, it turns out to be quite fitting.
And that got me thinking about how non-leftist-thinking people are always simplistic, black or white, with us or against us people, whereas leftists always see the complexity in issues and so find it more difficult to devise appropriate solutions.
And are more willing to be critical: witness the number of 'leftist' posters having a go at Stephen Conroy over the net-filtering proposal.
Then I discover that it's all in the perception - where you stand depends on where you sit, or something.Of course it's also probably a factor that the views you get in personal blogs, from no matter which standpoint, are most likely simplified and exaggerated and that's the type of view mainly picked up in the Oz Politics feeds. Certainly here in the Chateau that's the way it usually pans out.
A moment's reflection should by rights have led to the same conclusion as that explained in the Edge article, but why disturb that poor sleeping brain cell?
Seriously though, you scan through the excerpts and mainly decide not to click through because the introductory paragraphs are so unappealing.
Rather, here is a picture to soothe the brain cell to sleep.And if you're interested in the song title, it turns out to be quite fitting.
02 January 2008
wherever I lay my hat
In parts chuffed, amazed and distressed by the revelation that at least one reader has Chateau VVB on an RSS feed (really! get a fucking television if you need entertainment, for crying out loud!), my private (until now) reflections about what to do with the Chateau were brought to a head today.
I have no Howard to hate and I suspect that the new government will take at least one term to learn its ropes. With a new government, I am always reminded of the old man's exclamation shortly after Hawke's ascension in 1983: "this is the best Liberal government we've ever had." He was prescient in that observation, at least.
Rudd and co. do not inspire in quite the same way, but we can always be amazed if they do better than expected. However, it's not the stuff of daily blogging, certainly not the superficial off-the-cuffisms so typical of so-called analysis here in the Chateau.
I said it would be about politics, economics (ha! let's ensure that dog never wakes up), cars and music. I've still got a few of the car stories to do and really, I must get a round tuit one of these days. But they are hardly the stuff of general interest so comprehensively displayed by all of VVB's 4 or 5 readers (sorry John!). And I'm going to run out of models soon, which will mean the end of the stories.
Music? I yam what I yam. But I know bugger all compared to others (yeah I know, it's not a competition). But I'm not sure I could contribute anything likely to start some interesting conversation: but then, neither has much I've written on anything else, as yet ;-)
Chateau VVB is not alone in its current state of self-examination, and even the ups and downs in Propensity to Blog (P2B) that we've experienced here in the Chateau over the past two years have indicated that blogging is very much an evolutionary activity at both individual and aggregated levels.
There's always the role of finding out interesting/useful/useless stuff and passing it on but again, even though it's not a competition, there are others who do this awfully well, for which you could read 'so much better.'
Although, the title of this post was brought to mind by this article. This British innovation (eh?) sounds just like the Countdown Australian live tour with a few additional restrictions on the performers. Incidentally, I picked up the linked review rather than the official website - which I assume exists somewhere - but this is a very nicely weighted, well written audience reflection well worth a read, along with the comments including one from Ross Wilson of Mondo Rock.
Reading the Guardian article, I was reminded of buying our one Rick Astley CD. We were living in Burma at the time so retail therapy was carried out in a very concentrated fashion during leave trips to Singapore. It was quite cathartic (hmm? maybe) to walk in to a store and walk out with 20 CDs at a time, but this was offset by having to ask the shop assistant what was 'hot' or 'new', as we had no way of knowing. And on one of these visits, in one of the these stores, on being asked this particular question, the assistant pointed to a Rick Astley CD and played a bit of it. "What a voice" I thought, along with "and it sounds so incongruous coming from such a dorky looking person."
So I bought it, took it back to Rangoon, played it once and put it away - a very unrewarding purchase. Whereas Belinda Carlisle got played over and over.
Well, there's a few minutes of your life you won't get back, and I won't go into how long it took me to type.
Back to the navel lint, there must be more to life than this.
I have no Howard to hate and I suspect that the new government will take at least one term to learn its ropes. With a new government, I am always reminded of the old man's exclamation shortly after Hawke's ascension in 1983: "this is the best Liberal government we've ever had." He was prescient in that observation, at least.
Rudd and co. do not inspire in quite the same way, but we can always be amazed if they do better than expected. However, it's not the stuff of daily blogging, certainly not the superficial off-the-cuffisms so typical of so-called analysis here in the Chateau.
I said it would be about politics, economics (ha! let's ensure that dog never wakes up), cars and music. I've still got a few of the car stories to do and really, I must get a round tuit one of these days. But they are hardly the stuff of general interest so comprehensively displayed by all of VVB's 4 or 5 readers (sorry John!). And I'm going to run out of models soon, which will mean the end of the stories.
Music? I yam what I yam. But I know bugger all compared to others (yeah I know, it's not a competition). But I'm not sure I could contribute anything likely to start some interesting conversation: but then, neither has much I've written on anything else, as yet ;-)
Chateau VVB is not alone in its current state of self-examination, and even the ups and downs in Propensity to Blog (P2B) that we've experienced here in the Chateau over the past two years have indicated that blogging is very much an evolutionary activity at both individual and aggregated levels.
There's always the role of finding out interesting/useful/useless stuff and passing it on but again, even though it's not a competition, there are others who do this awfully well, for which you could read 'so much better.'
Although, the title of this post was brought to mind by this article. This British innovation (eh?) sounds just like the Countdown Australian live tour with a few additional restrictions on the performers. Incidentally, I picked up the linked review rather than the official website - which I assume exists somewhere - but this is a very nicely weighted, well written audience reflection well worth a read, along with the comments including one from Ross Wilson of Mondo Rock.
Reading the Guardian article, I was reminded of buying our one Rick Astley CD. We were living in Burma at the time so retail therapy was carried out in a very concentrated fashion during leave trips to Singapore. It was quite cathartic (hmm? maybe) to walk in to a store and walk out with 20 CDs at a time, but this was offset by having to ask the shop assistant what was 'hot' or 'new', as we had no way of knowing. And on one of these visits, in one of the these stores, on being asked this particular question, the assistant pointed to a Rick Astley CD and played a bit of it. "What a voice" I thought, along with "and it sounds so incongruous coming from such a dorky looking person."
So I bought it, took it back to Rangoon, played it once and put it away - a very unrewarding purchase. Whereas Belinda Carlisle got played over and over.
Well, there's a few minutes of your life you won't get back, and I won't go into how long it took me to type.
Back to the navel lint, there must be more to life than this.
31 December 2007
hook me up
"Everything is connected to everything else" has been one of my favourite expressions for a long time. It's neither deep nor original, and so sums up the VVB ethos to a T.
Anyway it's not often you get to see it proved, but within this post you'll find a pretty convincing argument. Anyway it shows biomedical research as being at the centre of the knonw universe, as least as proven by academic citations.
Whether this is a result of substantial government funding of research in the field or whether this is the centre of the universe just because it is, isn't addressed in the article.
The article was found via here and here, because Fumier thinks that Philip is very funny, not to mention insightful in the nature of government. And who would disagree?
Anyway it's not often you get to see it proved, but within this post you'll find a pretty convincing argument. Anyway it shows biomedical research as being at the centre of the knonw universe, as least as proven by academic citations.
Whether this is a result of substantial government funding of research in the field or whether this is the centre of the universe just because it is, isn't addressed in the article.
The article was found via here and here, because Fumier thinks that Philip is very funny, not to mention insightful in the nature of government. And who would disagree?
29 December 2007
holiday (the Bee Gees version)
Interim post until I'm home tomorrow with the time and the better gear to insert links and so on...
Well this is a bit of a first for Chateau VVB, as it’s the first post ever constructed offline. As I write, Mrs VVB and I are ensconced just outside the Barrington Tops National Park, which is 20 km outside Dungog, in turn of course the home of Doug Walters. Although, inexcusably, the map of the town doesn’t show his house. Whereas two days ago, in Bowral, all roads led to the Don.
It’s probably also a bit of a come-down for Chateau VVB, a ‘what I did on my holidays’ post rather than the incisive political commentary which we have offered over the last two years. Incisive political commentary cunningly disguised, of course, as two years of obsessive and not particularly original Howard-hating. Anyway, this is a chance to hone and refine, and to rid Chateau VVB of its obsessively chronological writing style. By the time we return to hearth and cat (assuming that the cat has satisfactorily withstood her enforced holiday to the end), we will have been away only a bit over a week but we’ll have been to Foster, Katoomba, Burradoo, Sydney, the Barrington Tops and Armidale.
Rather we will dip, we will linger, and we will observe, all cunningly disguised as witless prejudicial snarking. Bear with us, there may be a morsel amongst the dross.
“Not particularly original Howard hating?” During our stay in Mrs VVB and I took a trip on a Sydney ferry (just around to Balmain and back, the holiday crowds prevented a Manly trip as the queue was about 300 metres long), and as we returned to Circular Quay I asked my long-suffering spouse whether she knew what was the best thing about visiting Sydney? She proferred no response (rolling eyes doesn’t count as a response) and so I pointed across to Kirribilli and said “because that lying little weasel doesn’t live there any more.” Although she hadn’t seen the response coming, she sighed as if she could have guessed. Know what I mean?
Anyway, hearing newsreaders on TV each night introduce a story with “Prime Minister Kevin Rudd” still doesn’t sound quite right and the fact that he went to the cricket, gave us his views on the game and has a suitable jersey to wear on his morning walks (monring walks ffs, I mean I ask you...) all point to the somewhat distressing conclusion that the country has changed rather less than we might have desired.
Back to the holiday, and I’ll warn again that descriptions will be embellished with the usual kind of thoughtless prejudice that has always informed stories from the Chateau.
The first concerns those who drive four wheel drives. These people are all maniacs. Why someone who presumably is reasonably level headed in all other aspects of life would want to endanger his whole family – 3 or 4 of them – by pulling his Landcruiser V8 out in the face of an oncoming semi just so he could arrive at the 80km limit on the edge of the next town about 20 second sooner just defeats me. It may have a big V8, but it’s shaped like a house and weighs three times as much as a whale, it’s not going to accelerate like a Lotus, mate, so just get used to it.
The second concerns the urban spread of Sydney, and particularly the small country-sized suburbs of McMansion land around Baulkham Hills, Kellyville and those other areas in Hillsong territory (ooh, it’s button pressing time folks).
I’d read about it of course, but nothing prepares you for the reality of mile upon mile of identikit two storey boxes, all built within mere centimetres of each other (please forgive mixed imperial and metric measurements, it’s about what resonates you see). But for me the most distressing thing was that, from birth (or house purchase), if you’re in this part of the world you’re in the grip of the oligopilists. The suburbs, the estates, the houses, they're are all the brainchildren of the big developers. The houses, as the ‘McMansion’ pejorative illuminates, are boxes made of ticky-tacky built by the same big builders. But they’re big – enormous – not little, as in the song.
You go to shop, the majors have got you. The names on the billboards are all the same – the Harvey Normans, McDonalds, Video Ezy, Fantastic Furniture, and so on. You’re trapped, no choice, no originality.
No wonder that the brand of religion offered supposedly to compensate for the consumption-based existence is simply more of the same.
I suppose when you build whole regions from scratch, this is what you have to do in these circumstances. The variety you get from organic growth is just a luxury that such rapid increases in population who have to be housed, fed, entertained and furnitured quickly cannot contemplate.
Another observation has to do with ‘luxury’ self-contained holiday accommodation, which is Mrs VVB’s and my preferred type of holiday, with the ‘luxury’ very much in inverted commas – it’s more just good quality and attention to detail that we appreciate. We’ve had really quite luxurious places, very well appointed and with the little touches that make it special such as four different kinds of breakfast cereal. Which is why when we pulled into tonight’s place, we were a little taken aback – it’s rather home-built and rather patchy.
However, the compensations are the wildlife – so far we’ve had a wallaby, some kangaroos including one with a joey in the pouch, a possum, various birdlife and who knows what else, all poking around the balcony. The noises outside are quite amazing, it’ll be an interesting night.
Update after the fact: no, they were just money-grubbing penny-pinchers and it wasn't a good look after people who showed it can be done really well for the same money.
However, the one thing that these two places had in common was some interesting reading. The luxury place had the New Yorker. Somehow – probably passed on to him by relatives – my father used to get the New Yorker when I was in my early teens. I was fascinated to dip into it again some 40 years later to discover that it retains the same ‘look and feel’. The writing is brisk, insightful, and with the same mannered, slightly ironic tone I recall from all those years ago. The cartoons are still very New York although if anything, their quality had dropped a bit I thought, compared to the writing.
When I mentioned my love of the magazine to the proprietor, his eyes lit up and we had a good chat about it.
Whereas here, I find Car magazine. I used to get Car back in the days when the late, the wonderful, the iconoclastic LJK Setright was its main correspondent. Unlike the New Yorker, Car had been updated several times and is now a bit too ‘try-hard’. But it still retains its great section at the back wherein all cars on the UK market are listed, not only by useful statistics but also a great summary under three headings, viz. ‘For’, ‘Against’ and ‘Verdict’. Which leads to some magic commentary.
“Maybach: For – Powertain, equipment. Against: Truly vulgar. Verdict: Shows the difference between taste and money.
Perodua Kenari: For – Plenty of headroom. Against – but people might see you in it. Verdict – upsetting.
And speaking of cars, we came out of Sydney today along the old Parramatta Road (the rule for the trip has been ‘no payments to bloodsucking monopolists who run privatised motorways’). And I was pleased to see that Parramatta Road is still mainly a car alley with lots of new and secondhand purveyors, much as they purveyed when my mates at I would trawl the road in the early 70s looking for our dream cars. Mind you, the massive concentration of ‘big box’ and other retailers around Auburn is new, and also generates a bit of traffic.
Apart from that, our trip out of Sydney was smooth and then we headed north through Windsor and up the old Putty Road. This was, I believe the motoring writers’ test track of choice back in the 60s when car manufacturers used to just give them a car to test and hang the consequences, rather than the more stage-managed efforts that seem to occur nowadays. The road is an appealing mix of very tight, twisty hilly bits with some open touring over the higher country and there was very little traffic, which was utterly different to last year when we got stuck in a 30km traffic jam outside Bulahdelah. As indeed the news reports said was happening again this year.
Although I’m still a car fan, I’ve slowed down a lot and with Mrs VVB observing that unlike me, she has no steering wheel to hang onto, I take it somewhat easier than I used to. So when the local yokels scream up behind in their 4WDs on narrow, bumpy roads, as they do, I’m looking for somewhere to pull over and let them past. No wonder that deaths of young blokes in the country are still disproportionately high as indeed they were when I was growing up in central NSW, and three classmates perished during years 11 and 12.
However I still find sharing the road with the terminally death-wished a little disconcerting. That said, on a suitable piece of back highway today, I still managed to sit on an easy 120 which Mrs VVB noticed but didn't take exception to, as the Saab is quite comfortable on smooth surfaces, but it hates choppy surfaces and suffers from terminal understeer on tighter roads, which mean you carry car speed into corners that then cannot be satisfactorily washed off or compensated (with great dollops of turbo assisted throttle) without undue distress to the passenger(s).
We’ve done a bit of bushwalking but regrettably as neither of us know much botany, we don’t range far as one piece of subtropical rainforest looks much like another I have to admit. But we enjoy the solitude and the restorative properties of nature.
Well that's it, will update (or possibly delete) later.
Update: if anyone really wants me to insert links to explain Doug Walters, Donald Bradman, the Putty Road, LJK Setright or anything else that doesn't immediately strike a chord, let me know. Otherwise, take it as read. I'll post some photos later - most of them are on film, not digital.
We have returned to hearth and cat, the cat is mightily pleased to be home again. And speaking of cat, the best memory of the whole trip was seeing a cat hanging out the window of a car when offpsring no 1 took us for a day trip to the Fitzroy Falls and Kangaroo Valley. It has its tongue hanging out and fur flowing in the breeze, just dogs usually do. It looked wonderful.
Well this is a bit of a first for Chateau VVB, as it’s the first post ever constructed offline. As I write, Mrs VVB and I are ensconced just outside the Barrington Tops National Park, which is 20 km outside Dungog, in turn of course the home of Doug Walters. Although, inexcusably, the map of the town doesn’t show his house. Whereas two days ago, in Bowral, all roads led to the Don.
It’s probably also a bit of a come-down for Chateau VVB, a ‘what I did on my holidays’ post rather than the incisive political commentary which we have offered over the last two years. Incisive political commentary cunningly disguised, of course, as two years of obsessive and not particularly original Howard-hating. Anyway, this is a chance to hone and refine, and to rid Chateau VVB of its obsessively chronological writing style. By the time we return to hearth and cat (assuming that the cat has satisfactorily withstood her enforced holiday to the end), we will have been away only a bit over a week but we’ll have been to Foster, Katoomba, Burradoo, Sydney, the Barrington Tops and Armidale.
Rather we will dip, we will linger, and we will observe, all cunningly disguised as witless prejudicial snarking. Bear with us, there may be a morsel amongst the dross.
“Not particularly original Howard hating?” During our stay in Mrs VVB and I took a trip on a Sydney ferry (just around to Balmain and back, the holiday crowds prevented a Manly trip as the queue was about 300 metres long), and as we returned to Circular Quay I asked my long-suffering spouse whether she knew what was the best thing about visiting Sydney? She proferred no response (rolling eyes doesn’t count as a response) and so I pointed across to Kirribilli and said “because that lying little weasel doesn’t live there any more.” Although she hadn’t seen the response coming, she sighed as if she could have guessed. Know what I mean?
Anyway, hearing newsreaders on TV each night introduce a story with “Prime Minister Kevin Rudd” still doesn’t sound quite right and the fact that he went to the cricket, gave us his views on the game and has a suitable jersey to wear on his morning walks (monring walks ffs, I mean I ask you...) all point to the somewhat distressing conclusion that the country has changed rather less than we might have desired.
Back to the holiday, and I’ll warn again that descriptions will be embellished with the usual kind of thoughtless prejudice that has always informed stories from the Chateau.
The first concerns those who drive four wheel drives. These people are all maniacs. Why someone who presumably is reasonably level headed in all other aspects of life would want to endanger his whole family – 3 or 4 of them – by pulling his Landcruiser V8 out in the face of an oncoming semi just so he could arrive at the 80km limit on the edge of the next town about 20 second sooner just defeats me. It may have a big V8, but it’s shaped like a house and weighs three times as much as a whale, it’s not going to accelerate like a Lotus, mate, so just get used to it.
The second concerns the urban spread of Sydney, and particularly the small country-sized suburbs of McMansion land around Baulkham Hills, Kellyville and those other areas in Hillsong territory (ooh, it’s button pressing time folks).
I’d read about it of course, but nothing prepares you for the reality of mile upon mile of identikit two storey boxes, all built within mere centimetres of each other (please forgive mixed imperial and metric measurements, it’s about what resonates you see). But for me the most distressing thing was that, from birth (or house purchase), if you’re in this part of the world you’re in the grip of the oligopilists. The suburbs, the estates, the houses, they're are all the brainchildren of the big developers. The houses, as the ‘McMansion’ pejorative illuminates, are boxes made of ticky-tacky built by the same big builders. But they’re big – enormous – not little, as in the song.
You go to shop, the majors have got you. The names on the billboards are all the same – the Harvey Normans, McDonalds, Video Ezy, Fantastic Furniture, and so on. You’re trapped, no choice, no originality.
No wonder that the brand of religion offered supposedly to compensate for the consumption-based existence is simply more of the same.
I suppose when you build whole regions from scratch, this is what you have to do in these circumstances. The variety you get from organic growth is just a luxury that such rapid increases in population who have to be housed, fed, entertained and furnitured quickly cannot contemplate.
Another observation has to do with ‘luxury’ self-contained holiday accommodation, which is Mrs VVB’s and my preferred type of holiday, with the ‘luxury’ very much in inverted commas – it’s more just good quality and attention to detail that we appreciate. We’ve had really quite luxurious places, very well appointed and with the little touches that make it special such as four different kinds of breakfast cereal. Which is why when we pulled into tonight’s place, we were a little taken aback – it’s rather home-built and rather patchy.
However, the compensations are the wildlife – so far we’ve had a wallaby, some kangaroos including one with a joey in the pouch, a possum, various birdlife and who knows what else, all poking around the balcony. The noises outside are quite amazing, it’ll be an interesting night.
Update after the fact: no, they were just money-grubbing penny-pinchers and it wasn't a good look after people who showed it can be done really well for the same money.
However, the one thing that these two places had in common was some interesting reading. The luxury place had the New Yorker. Somehow – probably passed on to him by relatives – my father used to get the New Yorker when I was in my early teens. I was fascinated to dip into it again some 40 years later to discover that it retains the same ‘look and feel’. The writing is brisk, insightful, and with the same mannered, slightly ironic tone I recall from all those years ago. The cartoons are still very New York although if anything, their quality had dropped a bit I thought, compared to the writing.
When I mentioned my love of the magazine to the proprietor, his eyes lit up and we had a good chat about it.
Whereas here, I find Car magazine. I used to get Car back in the days when the late, the wonderful, the iconoclastic LJK Setright was its main correspondent. Unlike the New Yorker, Car had been updated several times and is now a bit too ‘try-hard’. But it still retains its great section at the back wherein all cars on the UK market are listed, not only by useful statistics but also a great summary under three headings, viz. ‘For’, ‘Against’ and ‘Verdict’. Which leads to some magic commentary.
“Maybach: For – Powertain, equipment. Against: Truly vulgar. Verdict: Shows the difference between taste and money.
Perodua Kenari: For – Plenty of headroom. Against – but people might see you in it. Verdict – upsetting.
And speaking of cars, we came out of Sydney today along the old Parramatta Road (the rule for the trip has been ‘no payments to bloodsucking monopolists who run privatised motorways’). And I was pleased to see that Parramatta Road is still mainly a car alley with lots of new and secondhand purveyors, much as they purveyed when my mates at I would trawl the road in the early 70s looking for our dream cars. Mind you, the massive concentration of ‘big box’ and other retailers around Auburn is new, and also generates a bit of traffic.
Apart from that, our trip out of Sydney was smooth and then we headed north through Windsor and up the old Putty Road. This was, I believe the motoring writers’ test track of choice back in the 60s when car manufacturers used to just give them a car to test and hang the consequences, rather than the more stage-managed efforts that seem to occur nowadays. The road is an appealing mix of very tight, twisty hilly bits with some open touring over the higher country and there was very little traffic, which was utterly different to last year when we got stuck in a 30km traffic jam outside Bulahdelah. As indeed the news reports said was happening again this year.
Although I’m still a car fan, I’ve slowed down a lot and with Mrs VVB observing that unlike me, she has no steering wheel to hang onto, I take it somewhat easier than I used to. So when the local yokels scream up behind in their 4WDs on narrow, bumpy roads, as they do, I’m looking for somewhere to pull over and let them past. No wonder that deaths of young blokes in the country are still disproportionately high as indeed they were when I was growing up in central NSW, and three classmates perished during years 11 and 12.
However I still find sharing the road with the terminally death-wished a little disconcerting. That said, on a suitable piece of back highway today, I still managed to sit on an easy 120 which Mrs VVB noticed but didn't take exception to, as the Saab is quite comfortable on smooth surfaces, but it hates choppy surfaces and suffers from terminal understeer on tighter roads, which mean you carry car speed into corners that then cannot be satisfactorily washed off or compensated (with great dollops of turbo assisted throttle) without undue distress to the passenger(s).
We’ve done a bit of bushwalking but regrettably as neither of us know much botany, we don’t range far as one piece of subtropical rainforest looks much like another I have to admit. But we enjoy the solitude and the restorative properties of nature.
Well that's it, will update (or possibly delete) later.
Update: if anyone really wants me to insert links to explain Doug Walters, Donald Bradman, the Putty Road, LJK Setright or anything else that doesn't immediately strike a chord, let me know. Otherwise, take it as read. I'll post some photos later - most of them are on film, not digital.
We have returned to hearth and cat, the cat is mightily pleased to be home again. And speaking of cat, the best memory of the whole trip was seeing a cat hanging out the window of a car when offpsring no 1 took us for a day trip to the Fitzroy Falls and Kangaroo Valley. It has its tongue hanging out and fur flowing in the breeze, just dogs usually do. It looked wonderful.
23 December 2007
eat to the beat
Well it's travelling VVB at the moment as Mrs VVB and I pursue (??? engage in? enjoy? whatever?) a short driving holiday we had already booked before I got the gig in Rockvegas. Last night in Forster was OK, a pretty ordinary motel but I was so shagged from driving that we woke up an hour later than the schedule dictated.
Dinner at the RSL, standard excellent RSL fare (plus 3 schooies).
I used to be able to do Brisbane to Canberra in one high speed hit, especially in the old Pug 405Mi16, and very especially over the great back from road from Molong to Cowra. But no more, the back and neck tense and stiffen up within hours. And the Saab, while far more powerful, is no match for the Pug's superlative roadholding. Not for nothing did the Peugeot have the accolade - in 1989 - as the best handling front wheel drive car in the world.
Anyway. Here we are in coolish - ie quite cold - Katoomba in a beautiful old house. So we go for dinner and the RSL is between us and another 15 minutes' walk to get to the main street, so in we go.
Words do not describe. The waiter got 50% of the entrees wrong and about 70% of the mains, I got a whole deep fried sole curling up on a serving platter, that looked like it had been a nuclear experiment. The two couples at an nearby table pointed and laughed, either at the fish or at my expression. I ate a few scraps. Mrs VVB's fish tasted like soap.
The staff didn't care, and Mrs VVB and I were reminded of our first marital trip - we had booked the Hydro Majestic for our honeymoon. There were 6 people staying there, when we the "maitre d'" ushered us into the dining room and took us to a table, the two old ladies sitting there refused us because it was "their table".
We ended up at a table with a couple of young gay blokes - whose lives couldn't have been too easy in the mid 70s - and it was a riot, thanks to them. All the portions were measured, you couldn't have even some extra milk for your tea or on your cereal, it was just appalling. The blokes tried everyhting, they chatted up the elderly waitresses, they snuck into the kitchen and stole some milk, they begged for an extra desert. They really made the event for us.
Although we had booked for a week, we couldn't stand it after 2 days of starvation and went north to Port Macquarie, ended up in a wonderful motel with orange shag pile carpet.
Anyway there we were tonight with two inedible dishes in front of us and Mrs VVB said, "we don't have much luck in Katoomba, do we?"
Seems like no, but by crikey we have some fun.
Dinner at the RSL, standard excellent RSL fare (plus 3 schooies).
I used to be able to do Brisbane to Canberra in one high speed hit, especially in the old Pug 405Mi16, and very especially over the great back from road from Molong to Cowra. But no more, the back and neck tense and stiffen up within hours. And the Saab, while far more powerful, is no match for the Pug's superlative roadholding. Not for nothing did the Peugeot have the accolade - in 1989 - as the best handling front wheel drive car in the world.
Anyway. Here we are in coolish - ie quite cold - Katoomba in a beautiful old house. So we go for dinner and the RSL is between us and another 15 minutes' walk to get to the main street, so in we go.
Words do not describe. The waiter got 50% of the entrees wrong and about 70% of the mains, I got a whole deep fried sole curling up on a serving platter, that looked like it had been a nuclear experiment. The two couples at an nearby table pointed and laughed, either at the fish or at my expression. I ate a few scraps. Mrs VVB's fish tasted like soap.
The staff didn't care, and Mrs VVB and I were reminded of our first marital trip - we had booked the Hydro Majestic for our honeymoon. There were 6 people staying there, when we the "maitre d'" ushered us into the dining room and took us to a table, the two old ladies sitting there refused us because it was "their table".
We ended up at a table with a couple of young gay blokes - whose lives couldn't have been too easy in the mid 70s - and it was a riot, thanks to them. All the portions were measured, you couldn't have even some extra milk for your tea or on your cereal, it was just appalling. The blokes tried everyhting, they chatted up the elderly waitresses, they snuck into the kitchen and stole some milk, they begged for an extra desert. They really made the event for us.
Although we had booked for a week, we couldn't stand it after 2 days of starvation and went north to Port Macquarie, ended up in a wonderful motel with orange shag pile carpet.
Anyway there we were tonight with two inedible dishes in front of us and Mrs VVB said, "we don't have much luck in Katoomba, do we?"
Seems like no, but by crikey we have some fun.
17 December 2007
military madness
I forgot to put in the short report of the CSN concert that Military Madness was introduced by a bit of Bush-bashing and the general sort of small-l (ie US) liberal commentary for which the band has always been known.
While Steven Stills wrestled with his guitar strap, David Crosby mused that the US should introduce a law which prevented it from possessing nuclear weapons while ever it had a President who couldn't pronounce the word properly. This then led into a bit of by-play between the band members about the need to get rid of the Bush administration, summarised by "throw the bums out." Graham Nash noted that this was what Australia had in fact done, Stills said "throw the bums out" again so Nash had to bring him up to date with our momentous political upheaval (well change of government, anyway).
And then, in introducing the song, David Crosby lamented that some 45 years after the song was written, the world still suffers from military madness.
While Steven Stills wrestled with his guitar strap, David Crosby mused that the US should introduce a law which prevented it from possessing nuclear weapons while ever it had a President who couldn't pronounce the word properly. This then led into a bit of by-play between the band members about the need to get rid of the Bush administration, summarised by "throw the bums out." Graham Nash noted that this was what Australia had in fact done, Stills said "throw the bums out" again so Nash had to bring him up to date with our momentous political upheaval (well change of government, anyway).
And then, in introducing the song, David Crosby lamented that some 45 years after the song was written, the world still suffers from military madness.
16 December 2007
long time coming
Ironic and all, that title also summed up the feeling of the crowd at last night's Crosby, Stills and Nash concert in Brisbane. Graham Nash joked with the crowd who had kept their tickets from the originally scheduled concert date of February.
The concert itself was an amalgam of powerhouse rock ("For what it's worth" in particular) to the acoustic harmonies that Nash and David Crosby do so well: that said, their voices weren't truly on song until the second half. As a singer, Stills makes a great guitarist and he doesn't look a well man.
But he is a great guitarist and put on a good show, theatrically flipping his hand away from the guitar on the harmonics (and boy were they sweet) and once or twice doing a galumphing hippo walk across the stage - the benefits of wireless guitars and drawbacks of age and size, as he is 62 and a big bloke. And one particularly memorable cross between a gorilla and cormorant - quite bizarre.
But it was a superb night, the sound was great: not too loud and wonderfully clear.
They played all the favourites (as Nash said to the audience at one stage in response to a request, "we'll play all the songs we can fucking remember - all four of them, or two in Crosby's case").
I can't pick out any highlights, it was all highlight.
Hero of the night goes to one of the two blokes next to us. They were fairly pickled by the start time, but each managed an additional four cans of bourbon and coke during the first half. One fellow disappeared, but the other bloke managed a couple more during the second act.
The band got a resounding encore and responded, not surprisingly, first with Teach Your Children and then with Woodstock. Nearly two and half hours - not bad going for a band who've been doing it for 40 years.
The concert itself was an amalgam of powerhouse rock ("For what it's worth" in particular) to the acoustic harmonies that Nash and David Crosby do so well: that said, their voices weren't truly on song until the second half. As a singer, Stills makes a great guitarist and he doesn't look a well man.
But he is a great guitarist and put on a good show, theatrically flipping his hand away from the guitar on the harmonics (and boy were they sweet) and once or twice doing a galumphing hippo walk across the stage - the benefits of wireless guitars and drawbacks of age and size, as he is 62 and a big bloke. And one particularly memorable cross between a gorilla and cormorant - quite bizarre.
But it was a superb night, the sound was great: not too loud and wonderfully clear.
They played all the favourites (as Nash said to the audience at one stage in response to a request, "we'll play all the songs we can fucking remember - all four of them, or two in Crosby's case").
I can't pick out any highlights, it was all highlight.
Hero of the night goes to one of the two blokes next to us. They were fairly pickled by the start time, but each managed an additional four cans of bourbon and coke during the first half. One fellow disappeared, but the other bloke managed a couple more during the second act.
The band got a resounding encore and responded, not surprisingly, first with Teach Your Children and then with Woodstock. Nearly two and half hours - not bad going for a band who've been doing it for 40 years.
14 December 2007
cash money cars clothes*
I've got a very good, long time friend who is intimately acquainted with the car, or motor veeeehicle, industry worldwide. Worldwide? Hell, I'm bad , I'm nationwide.
(No, he's not).
But he does know stuff about the industry and he does his analysis and recently, knowing that he has a current obsession with the price of cars in Australia, I drew his attention to this letter in the Sydney Morning Herald:
(*) No, I'd never heard of it either.
(No, he's not).
But he does know stuff about the industry and he does his analysis and recently, knowing that he has a current obsession with the price of cars in Australia, I drew his attention to this letter in the Sydney Morning Herald:
And in response, my friend wrote this to me:So Australia is "the most competitive car market in the world" ("Got a brand new
Cadillac", Drive, December 8-9)? Gee, really? Then why do we pay through the nose for cars, especially imports?The subject of the article, the Cadillac CTS V6, is to be priced from about $70,000 when it goes on sale next year in Australia. In the US its price starts at $US32,990 (before sales tax) - about $38,000. That's right, we'll be paying a whopping $32,000 more.Sure, there are additional costs due to freight, import duty, GST and minor equipment differences, but there is no way they add up to anywhere near an 84 per cent increase. Compare the local price of any imported car with what people are paying in the US or Britain and you will find such huge discrepancies.When the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission is done dealing with the airline industry's price fixing, maybe it can take a look at the local car market.Nathan Sneed
Darlington
So, any VVB car fans out there care to give a damn? After all, it's your money we're talking about.And did you see the pricing for the upcoming Jag XF: Spec: 4.2V8 Price: US - USD49750. Aus - AUD135000. Spec: 4.2 V8, Supercharged Price: US - USD62000. Aus - AUD170000
Do the sums. At AUD1=.USD0.8 and 10%duty, and 10% GST, and even with a little LCT, there is something like $60-80K difference in price, all of which goes straight to margin.
We really have to be the most uneducated car buying public in the 'developed' world. The up-line brands can't pull this sort of stunt any where else, excepting Uganda and Malaysia, maybe. And we keep buying the stuff. And boasting to our respective neighbours that we paid 400% of their Commodore price! We boast about it! We feel good about it. We're better humans!
It's interesting. In the US, the difference between a well-equipped, generally competent GM car and its natural up-line competitor (M-B, BMW etc) is around 100:140-160. In Australia, it is 100:300-400. How is that? Let's stick that on VVB and see what comes from it. I put a not dissimilar entry (regarding BMW 335i pricing) onto the Wheels blog, and while the editor (Chris Kable, a friend of mine), saw and commented favourably on it, as far as the general public goes, not a whisper.
(*) No, I'd never heard of it either.
09 December 2007
higher and higher
As a kind of antidote to the whingeing, snarky tone that crept into the last couple of posts, I should just relate that I caught the last couple of minutes of the NSW Education Department's Schools Spectacular. If anything gives you hope in the future, if not necessarily public schooling itself, it's the sight of 3000 enthusiastic kids giving their all to the closing number.
But moreso, a couple of the soloists were just outstanding. There was one girl, inexplicably clad in a large, ornge furry animal suit, who had a voice with the phrasing, intonation, range and projection that would put any Idol contestant to shame. She was doing a Queen song, I can't place the name but it has those multi-octave runs that Freddie Mercury lived on and she just nailed them all.
Now it's the Countdown Spectacular or something but I'll need to be off the bed soon as it's a 4.30 departure for all parts west. It seems to be very much a second XI effort after the successful first show.
But moreso, a couple of the soloists were just outstanding. There was one girl, inexplicably clad in a large, ornge furry animal suit, who had a voice with the phrasing, intonation, range and projection that would put any Idol contestant to shame. She was doing a Queen song, I can't place the name but it has those multi-octave runs that Freddie Mercury lived on and she just nailed them all.
Now it's the Countdown Spectacular or something but I'll need to be off the bed soon as it's a 4.30 departure for all parts west. It seems to be very much a second XI effort after the successful first show.
08 December 2007
speak to me
Another occasional observation from the wilds of CQ and believe it or not, folks, there is nothing to report that hasn't been reported already about CQ.
Anyway it woulnd't be a VVB post unless I had a quick snark at something obvious, so for tonight it would be the the bloke in the Woolies ad where they sing "I wish you a Merry Christmas" who sings "and a happy noo year." I think he's meant to be a butcher, that's what he's done to our accent.
Yes folks, when all else fails, a little reflexive anti-Americanism always fits the bill.
But seriously, it's an Australian-made ad, couldn't they have re-shot it with someone who hasn't had his brain turned to "awesome sides"? With mayo?
Nope, nothing more serious than that. Must all be OK.
Anyway it woulnd't be a VVB post unless I had a quick snark at something obvious, so for tonight it would be the the bloke in the Woolies ad where they sing "I wish you a Merry Christmas" who sings "and a happy noo year." I think he's meant to be a butcher, that's what he's done to our accent.
Yes folks, when all else fails, a little reflexive anti-Americanism always fits the bill.
But seriously, it's an Australian-made ad, couldn't they have re-shot it with someone who hasn't had his brain turned to "awesome sides"? With mayo?
Nope, nothing more serious than that. Must all be OK.
04 December 2007
all you need is love
This is pretty much what David Crosby said on 7.30 report. He's still a believer in the great wave of hope that rolled over the western world in the mid to late 60s. If you read Hunter S Thompson's Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, you'll read how he relates when the great wave rolled back. Altamont had something to do with it, so did did the rise of Nixon. Thompson says you need the right kind of eyes. When you listen to Crosby, and take him at face value, you realise you also need the right kind of heart and the right kind of brain.
So it's still philosophy for dumboes here in slightly airless, downtown Rockvegas. Maybe it's all the spare time I have, when I don't have to gather up and process the fallen leaves that characterise the leafy western suburbs and Chateau VVB is particular.
Gets to you though - Pied a Terre VVB has a pool and on Saturday it was all I could do to stop going down to scoop up the 5 or 6 leaves that had fallen in it. That and the fact that I had temporarily misplaced the key to the pool.
Anyway I'm looking forward mightily to seeing and hearing Crosby, Stills (well the guitar more than the voice in Steven's case) and Nash in a week or so's time. I will be disappointed if they are anything less than sublime but I am sure I will not be disappointed.
The Rocky management experience continues to yield daily doses of new experiences and situations with which to wrestle. It's all great experience and I need to make sure I don't forget the high and low spots.
On another tack entirely, it's mightily liberating not to rant about the recently deposed (except he hasn't conceded yet - how typical). It's like other things, addictions in fact, that I have given up. Yes, we're talking about coffee. I went out to Yeppoon at the weekend and can confirm that you can't get a proper flat white, at least at one shop. But I'll be going back to test some of the others as I can't imagine that a place where townhouses on the marina sell for over $2m that you can't get a decent espresso. Although such places undoubtedly have a built in coffee maker in the (European) kitchen.
Anyway that's about it. Hanging about the blogosphere and its neighbouring parts is another addiction that no longer has its scrawny fingers around me...half an hour and I'm done.
Is there anything going on? Drop me a line, c/- pied a terre VVB. I'll be counting leaves in the pool.
Actually, I see that the name of the movie The Golden Compass (tm) is trademarked. For no other reason than petty narrowmindedness on my part, I think this is legalised insanity. I was going to make a remark about parents trademarking a newborn's name, but as I recall reading a little while ago an article about 'branding' a child for future success, I actually wouldn't be surprised.
And I can't figure out how to select text on this machine so I can use my usual font. Bum.
So it's still philosophy for dumboes here in slightly airless, downtown Rockvegas. Maybe it's all the spare time I have, when I don't have to gather up and process the fallen leaves that characterise the leafy western suburbs and Chateau VVB is particular.
Gets to you though - Pied a Terre VVB has a pool and on Saturday it was all I could do to stop going down to scoop up the 5 or 6 leaves that had fallen in it. That and the fact that I had temporarily misplaced the key to the pool.
Anyway I'm looking forward mightily to seeing and hearing Crosby, Stills (well the guitar more than the voice in Steven's case) and Nash in a week or so's time. I will be disappointed if they are anything less than sublime but I am sure I will not be disappointed.
The Rocky management experience continues to yield daily doses of new experiences and situations with which to wrestle. It's all great experience and I need to make sure I don't forget the high and low spots.
On another tack entirely, it's mightily liberating not to rant about the recently deposed (except he hasn't conceded yet - how typical). It's like other things, addictions in fact, that I have given up. Yes, we're talking about coffee. I went out to Yeppoon at the weekend and can confirm that you can't get a proper flat white, at least at one shop. But I'll be going back to test some of the others as I can't imagine that a place where townhouses on the marina sell for over $2m that you can't get a decent espresso. Although such places undoubtedly have a built in coffee maker in the (European) kitchen.
Anyway that's about it. Hanging about the blogosphere and its neighbouring parts is another addiction that no longer has its scrawny fingers around me...half an hour and I'm done.
Is there anything going on? Drop me a line, c/- pied a terre VVB. I'll be counting leaves in the pool.
Actually, I see that the name of the movie The Golden Compass (tm) is trademarked. For no other reason than petty narrowmindedness on my part, I think this is legalised insanity. I was going to make a remark about parents trademarking a newborn's name, but as I recall reading a little while ago an article about 'branding' a child for future success, I actually wouldn't be surprised.
And I can't figure out how to select text on this machine so I can use my usual font. Bum.
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