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Jul. 11th, 2009

  • 7:46 PM
So that knee injury I mentioned during prior elation was indeed something to be taken seriously.

skip to tonight. Yesterday I spent an hour with the physio, my fifth such appointment. and, once again was elated when i managed to run 5minutes and 52 seconds, having built up from a walk, to a jog (2 minutes), to a reasonable running pace (1 minute), to a fast run (12 difficulty) 48 seconds.

they also had to shave part of my leg hair in two places (above and below the knee), zebra style. What ever happened to zebra's? they used to be on most televisions, the star prey in a predator based documentary.

artists rendition of a zebra:



in other people's news previously posted by other people:
  • Are lab-grown human sperm the real thing? http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn17428-are-la
  • Teenage 'baby' may lack master ageing gene http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn17379-teenag
asked back to teach in semester 2 at qut. teaching another two classes. the format of content is quite odd. lectures an hour, two hour tutorials consisting of a lecture, worksheet of major activities and assignment deliverables, and all assessment (i.e. no exam).

And then I felt validated...

  • Jun. 10th, 2009 at 3:17 PM
And so it is that I take a seat ever so gingerly in my office today - my knee you know, it's not well - and am none too hungry when I read a certain email regarding survey results for teaching at QUT this semester.

I was going to sling up a nice PNG of the results and label it in some gloat worth font, however ethics got the best of me and I read over the confidentiality agreement once again.

Suffice to say, I came out with - on a five point scale - 4.7, 4.6, 4.6, 4.6. The mean was 4.5, 4.1, 4.3, 4.2.

Questions posed were roughly, or exactly
  • T01 - This teacher demonstrated expertise in the unit topics.
  • T02 - This teacher taught in a clear and helpful way.
  • T03 - This teacher showed a positive attitude to helping me learn.
  • T04 - I have been satisfied with the overall teaching of this staff member.


  • Basically this means that I'm awesome. And am hereby to be referred to using my proper title, Richimus Awesimus. Dissenters will be staked out and pecked upon.

    Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way?

    ELSEWHERE

    I've been dossing about after submission of my Stage 2 document, good old PhD. Ran into the CEO of CitySmart (Newman's latest idea to make Brisbane Australia's greenest city by 2026) at Greenfest, nabbed her card, and looks like I can hook into some of the goodies they've got scheduled throughout the year to trick people into participating in my experiment.

    Step1: I brought six cases of cider - 12 bottles a case - for $20 each. Each bottle is 568ml and usually cost $6 each.
    Step 2: ???
    Step 4; Somebody really screwed up.
    step 3: Profit!

    We drank it all at Saturdays BBQ, some people drew on Chris.

    This is coming to you from technology

    • May. 18th, 2009 at 12:58 AM
    So hey,

    this is me typing on an itelephone thing. They've given us some to play with, so I'm at my folks place in mackay just now on ma bed doing the touch screen bit.

    First time I used this gizmo I tried to call somebody and opened a webpage then I deleted all my phone contacts and it cost me 30 dollars. They've given us unlimited everything now so that's cool of them but I have to say I'm not so much sold as entertained. In otherwords this is unlikely to take over Phonetik duties anytime Sion but i can Internet on it... Even at my Folks Place and thats pretty umm solid Even if its Slow As à wet weak

    this Touch typing stuff is still fair Shit Not that ive tried this on à Smart Phonetik oh God my Keyboard is in german now Duck

    What do you like to do?

    • Apr. 17th, 2009 at 2:58 PM
    I like thinking with my eyes closed when I go to bed at night.

    I like reading literary novels in armchairs.

    I like conversations with clever people I don't bore.

    I like making love and real kisses.

    I like documenting countries with my photography.

    I like to look at healthy bodies, female or male.

    I've had a rather entertaining morning

    • Mar. 17th, 2009 at 2:28 PM
    I just had what I would qualify as a rather cool experience. I feel I might just want to write about it, and write here, what's more, to you. I thought of calling Cat, as I really wanted to tell somebody – and that'd work well if only the office kitchen was a tad more sound proof. Cat is also busy, I'd say, as she's an important woman, and she doesn't even have arms! 

    My story begins as I hurriedly stomp towards the underground level of the train station. The station is Roma St, and I am running late, early, or both. I have around two hours to get to Kelvin Grove for a meeting: this is not my drama. I require a document; a document I consider to be unwritten. 

    I trundle from train platform nine, through the electronic turnstiles and escalate upward towards bus platform two. As I complete my escalation, I note something. Something out of the ordinary; something out of place. It's about the size of a business card but with a girth equal to something weightier. It looks used. Why does it look used? It's got a picture of John F. Kennedy on the front of it. John is safely stowed under a repeated layer of sticky tape running in strips of the standard size across the width of the cover. 

    I pick it up. It's a persons diary, a tiny book of maybe 100 pages, some of them used. On the inside cover are the tell-tale marks of ownership: 
    A Name: Joseph H Alexander (all in caps)
    An Address: Ashgrove (and more)
    A Telephone number: 0401 ... ... 

    And so, as I flick towards the 17th of March, I get to thinking about how I'd like something of this nature returned. I'd probably want it back today, if I used this wee bound ledger as much as Joseph H Alexander has. There's nothing on today for Joseph, I know this because the space for the 17th of March is empty. The day before though, that's Monday the 16th of March, Joseph did have a Futurism assignment due. Futurism doesn't look too serious as it's written in a legible hand, whereas WORK, on Thursday from 2:30pm until 6:00pm, is in a rather larger, more capitalised, black hand. Joseph H Alexander is a university student on his way to Kelvin Grove. He's studying without his precious time and date keeper; I wonder if he even realises he's lost his memory. I wonder if he's at this bus stop, waiting impatiently, thinking about Futurism and WORK, but I don't think so. 

    I write Joseph a message I might like to receive had I a Futurism assignment due on a Monday; an assignment that probably wasn't so tough. Joseph H Alexander is a working man too, so I am sure to state my case clearly as he will probably not accept any nonsense. He is likely a very serious young man indeed. It takes me three messages’ worth of letters, but that's OK as I am on a mission of the highest karma. I send my letters all at once and my phone beeps. 

    I write: "Hi there you don't know me but i know you joseph h alexander. I know you though the little diary you dropped this morning, the one you dropped while catching a bus, the one you dropped with kennedy taped to the cover. I'd like to meet you joseph h alexander, i'd like to meet you and give you back your tiny book. my name is richard and i am at qut kg until 2:30pm" 

    And I don't put a full stop because I am out of letters. I also spell the word 'through' wrong in the second sentence by leaving out the ‘r’, and I feel silly. I hope Joseph isn't perturbed. 

    I reach my office and sit down at my desk. I switch on my computer and the fan whizzes up to full noise level. I open my window as it's freezing inside (this is normal though, so I just go through the motions). I open up my laptop and switch it on too, it has no detectable fans or whizzing. My phone beeps, and I know Joseph H Alexander has responded to my note. 

    He writes: "Hello richard sender of mysterious messages. I did indeed drop my diary this morning. I start work at 2 30 close to kg do you have a chance to meet me before then my dear friend. Signed joseph h for hilton alexander." 

    He puts a full stop because he is a professional and not out of letters. I am pleased: we have a game now, my dear friend Joseph has thought to respond in the vein, and even supplies me with Hilton! 

    I am confused though; Joseph has to work at 2:30pm. It is not in his diary and I think that an oversight so I write it there for him, but then I rub it out because that is intrusive and he probably has a good reason for working covertly. 

    I respond: "In fact I do! I have a meeting until 1pm and am free thereafter. I am new to this campus and maps confuse me, fortunately. Are you happy to meet at the refec?" 

    I think I should call him ‘friend’, but I am perhaps timid in this case and so I do not. 

    Joseph Hilton Alexander replies that he is not sure what block that is, and does not think he has visited it before. Before I can reply he sends an addendum: he knows it is the food court now, and asks for confirmation. 

    I confirm, and we have a meet set up: "Yes Indeedy! Now i brought a t-shirt recently because it was seriously discounted, i'm wearing it today, it's a weak red and is over branded with an atari logo." 

    Joseph lets me know he is wearing a green shirt with ‘Illinois’ written on the front of it, which he tells me will be explained later. I am not sure if the state of Illinois requires explanation, but perhaps he is an American. I know some very clever Americans so I think this is OK. 

    I have my meeting with my unwritten document and, eventually, Marcus (that's my principle PhD supervisor). He leaves; he needs to have a shot in his arm to protect his body from the flu. I think this is sensible, as does Marcus, though he admits that he hates (or as Joseph might say, 'HATES') needles.

    Joseph Hilton Alexander is early. I should have foreseen this and am running five minutes late! I dash up a very tall hill that is in my way and then, having surmounted the division, I stroll casually into the refec with a can of warming Sprite that I am half the way through. 

    I spot Joseph after a moment or two of gormlessly searching about, though I expect he saw me first. 

    Joseph is not tall but we are nearly of even height. He has calm blonde hair, slightly darker than your average blonde, and he's wearing it in the style of his age, which, as it turns out, is 17. He has strong blue eyes and not a gram of fat on him, I notice this because when he smiles too much I can see the outline of a vein in his forehead. His skin is clear and his complexion shows he's seen sun recently. I suspect he lives at home still, as his clothes are very clean and not at all like the usual first year out of home. 

    Joseph is quite pleased to have his diary back, and enquires as to whether I appreciate John F. Kennedy. I let him know I do, and in return query him on his choice: apparently John was lying around after having been photocopied. It all makes sense, and Joseph is not American – though he did live in Malaysia for four years. 

    Joseph is very eager to talk after such a prelude. Admittedly I am too and, after some time, he explains ‘Illinois’, which is actually merchandise from a band named "Sufjan Stevens". Joseph writes that down for me. 

    We talk some more and end up walking towards the bus together. I like Joseph and he liked my messages and is quite keen for us to meet again. I appreciate this and feel humbled by his honesty. We agree to talk more in the coming week, and decide to take advantage of the free pool on Mondays at the Guild Bar. 

    We say our goodbyes and Joseph Hilton Alexander is dragged away by a friend towards the bus. 

    I made a friend today and all I did was write a silly text message... Maybe I should start dropping diaries.

    I rode the Giant Drop at Dreamworld yesterday

    • Mar. 16th, 2009 at 11:56 PM
    I nice lady named Andreana gave me her telephone number on Friday, Friday two weeks ago. She told me to call her, I haven't and had in fact completely forgotten about the whole engagement until today when I opened my 96 page A4 Binder Book I am using for various notes. I wonder what on earth goes on in my mind some days, I can't even remember if she was pretty. I'll imagine she was.

    I have a fairly food stained form from the Library Services Manager from QUT asking the manager of UQ Libraries to waive the $50 annual fee I would need to use their facilities. I should submit it, I should visit UQ.

    The change in exchange rates for the AUD to USD, which might I add is completely abominable, has caused QUT to dump over AUD$200000 in database subscriptions. Additionally PhD people have access to a rather secretive database where the library pays per query. I think that's just a bit mental so I made the same query five times and then logged out really fast.

    There's a movie out titled "The Obama Deception", it's apparently non-fiction and somewhat documentary in nature. It's by this guy named Alex Jones. Here's the blurb:
    The Obama Deception is a hard-hitting film that completely destroys the myth that Barack Obama is working for the best interests of the American people. The Obama phenomenon is a hoax carefully crafted by the captains of the New World Order. He is being pushed as savior in an attempt to con the American people into accepting global slavery. We have reached a critical juncture in the New World Order’s plans. It’s not about Left or Right: it’s about a One World Government. The international banks plan to loot the people of the United States and turn them into slaves on a Global Plantation. Covered in this film: who Obama works for, what lies he has told, and his real agenda. If you want to know the facts and cut through all the hype, this is the film for you.

    Realistically though you need only youtube the title of this film or Alex Jones and you'll be assaulted by the usual appalling litany of clips of or relating to everything, nothing and fractions of remotely connected ideas, some of which have relevance. Not entirely sure the guy is a cook but he's for sure embittered by some fairly sour lemons. My interest is piqued though so I may chase this rabbit a wee bit further so I can say I told you so at social outing in the years to come, and as one appear informed and superior.

    I was browsing this site, it's called treehugger.com it bares some germaneness to my research. Realistically though it's akin to a pop quiz on global warming how-to's and stories on the latest things we've slated for our robustly bias piece writers. Anyway, that aside I'd like to draw you to the marvelous advert I had flashing away below me whist reading about a man who saved a black bear, yes a bear, from drowning... After he shot it, sneakily though they left that out of the story headline.


    This is not even a joke I'd make

    This from Wikipedia on the infamous fundamental attribution error:
    In attribution theory, the fundamental attribution error (also known as correspondence bias or overattribution effect) reflects our erroneous cognitive tendency to predominantly over-value dispositional, or personality-based, explanations (i.e., attributions or interpretations) for the observed behaviors of others, thus under-valuing or unacknowledging the potentiality of situational attributions or situational explanations for the behavioral motives of others. In other words, people predominantly presume that the actions of others are indicative of the "kind" of person they are, rather than the kind of situations that compels their behaviour. However, the overattribution effect generally does not account for our own ability to self-justify our behaviours; we tend to prefer interpreting our own actions in terms of the situational variables accessible to our awareness. This discrepancy is called the actor-observer bias and stands in direct opposition of the Fundamental Attribution Error.

    I should have gone to the gym this evening, instead I ate grapes, drank milk and made pasta sauce and had some of those little pasta things with food folded inside of them. Tomorrow I am busy, I have a meeting with my supervisor, it's at midday, I expect we'll have lunch. I'm ferreting out references as I write this, I just nabbed "The Effect of Goal-Setting and Daily Electronic Feedback on In-Home Energy Use" from the Journal of Consumer Research. My article comes from 1989. I am trying to understand the psychology behind why people behave the ways they do in groups when asked to make environmental concessions and compete, or not.

    In other news:
    The Day the Clown Cried is an unfinished and unreleased 1972 film directed by and starring Jerry Lewis. It is based on a scriptment of the same name by Joan O'Brien, who had co-written the original script with Charles Denton 10 years prior. The film was met with controversy regarding its premise and content, which features a circus clown who is imprisoned in a Nazi camp. The Day the Clown Cried has become somewhat infamous among film historians and movie buffs for a film that has never officially been released.

    I now want to share with you two other new and interesting things.

    The first is a video presentation of a fairly revolutionary piece of technology being developed by the MIT liquids research lab, and can be found on the TED Talks website here, watch it, watch it now: http://www.ted.com/talks/pattie_maes_demos_the_sixth_sense.html

    Next is an article from a recent issue of Nature, one of the worlds pre-eminent journals for all things of or relating to it's title: http://www.nature.com/nature/journal/v458/n7235/abs/nature07853.html

    The long and the short of the article is that within a few short years we may well have rechargeable batteries which take mere minutes to fully charge from empty. Consider what this means for the automotive industry, heck consider what it means for lightning rods on the tops of buildings for that matter - if you could fashion a battery to suck up all that free juice, why we'd be laughing.

    I've also found my way back to OWL and this wonderful page on active and passive verb use (voice): http://owl.english.purdue.edu/handouts/grammar/g_actpass.html

    I used to have this gee wizz addon for Firefox that used to flag out all the passive verb use in a webpage. I miss it dearly.

    That'll do for now, though if anybody has it, I'm chasing the soundtrack from "The Big White". A movie so good Robbin Williams the protagonist is quoted saying: "There is a picture of my movie on a milk carton. Have you seen this movie? It's missing… I don't know what happened to it… it's a funny movie... a strange movie. But it's literally one of those productions where you go... phht, gone. Not even straight to DVD, just gone."

    I'm posting from a Macintosh computer

    • Mar. 13th, 2009 at 1:47 PM
    this is a test post

    test

    123
    30Hz sound waves are more than 11 metres long; if your listening room is considerably smaller than that in all dimensions (which it probably is) then you're pushing fertiliser uphill if you want high output at that frequency.

    Now I want to build my own speakers, big mean looking ones that put out a heck of a lot more noise than those tin filled boxes that abut your laptop LCD. Well maybe they don't have to be mean but at least somewhat intimidating if you stand next to them, I might put spikes on them or dress them in flames, flames are tough.

    DIY speakers have been a fixation of mine for a while, they've been a rather shambolic symbol I've been wanting to afford for enough time for me to believe I won't change my mind till I have enough money for a yacht, two yachts, and a polar bear, a polar bear that wears KISS paraphernalia.

    So I head over to http://www.theloudspeakerkit.com/ and low an behold there's the speaker kit I want for $999



    spelt fuck, you.


    Work gave me a computer today, one of those mac book things you see on the telly just now. I can confirm it's made from garbage bags, tennis racquet strings and old cough medicine bottles. Realistically, I have just about no idea what's under the hood, but it sure does know how to read my emails and the LCD is 15.4inches which makes it larger, and far thinner, than the monitor of my families first home computer.

    The whole thing reminds me of a spaceship... An overbraned brushed aluminium spaceship capable of flying slowly for three hours before it needs to be refuelled. The catch here is that refuelling is about as environmentally friendly as is the refining process for achieving computer wafer grade silicone. Aluminium on the other hand is a clean metal, if say you compare it to the dams China has chucked into the Mekong river.

    Why do chip packets say "Nutritional Information"? From what I can see there's nothing of nutritional value to be had.

    The first four ingredients of the unsuspecting Moon Pie are as follows: enriched wheat flour, corn syrup, high fructose corn syrup, sugar. The fifth is vegetable shortening. I'm going to break this down just slightly for you, as for me the branded low-fat nature of this marshmallow snack, really does smack of Agent Orange style responsibility.


    1. When a wheat flour is labelled "enriched" what's actually being eluded to is that our flour is no longer intact, no longer whole grain. Moreover to achieve such an auspiciousness title our grain has had to remove the majority and probably the whole wheat Germ - the nourishing part - leaving the ground Endosperm (largely carbohydrates and protein). The ground remnants of our wheat probably have the same glycaemic index as white bread.

    2. Corn syrup is composed mainly of glucose, that's sugar, for the sake of ease let's say our corn syrup is is good quality and thus 100% glucose. Corn syrup generally used as a lower production cost sugar, or in my tin-foil hat - for disguising the connotations sugar as an ingredient brings on.

    3. Now, high fructose corn syrup on the other hand, has gone through a rather tricky piece of chemistry that they - those in the know - label an 'enzymatic processing'. Meaning simply that it's corn syrup that's had some of it's glucose turned into fructose.

      Now fructose you may query is indeed the same goodness found in the common apple, or any fruit you might like to cuddle with your teeth; it's sweet sugar. Fructose is in fact glucose, expect for one important difference: it's an 'isomer'. And that kids, means that our sugary deceiver fructose has changed the way it looks, it's shirt buttons up differently but it's still the same shirt; the molecular formula for glucose and fructose is exactly the same (!), except the molecules are connected; bonded; configured; differently.

      ENTER THE EXPLANATORY WIKIPEDIA PICTURES: Glucose on the left, Fructose on the right



      At the end of the day it takes a wee bit longer for your stomach to get at the sugar as it needs to convert the fructose into glucose - or so I'm led to believe.

    4. I think it's safe if I skip number four on the ingredients: sugar

    5. And vegetable shortening is a dead horse that has been beaten, or 100% fat, fat which is solid at room temperature.


    To sum up I want you to go out tomorrow and buy a Moon Pie, or as we call them, Wagon Wheels, enjoy that first bite, and understand that what you always thought of as the healthy equivalent to a Mars bar is in fact the same shit with a different smell. I like Wagon Wheels. And a quick message to the executives who think this shit up: YOU ARE CHOKING CANCER, THE TAR HEART OF MY BODIES BLOOM. I BUTCHER YOUR SCAR FILLED TUMOURS FROM ME WITH THE DULL EDGED SLIVERS OF MY BLUDGEONED WILL SEIZING UPON MIASMIC STINK. I LEAVE YOU SPILT, EXPUNGED, NEGATED AND WEEPING.

    Bit carried away there @_@

    Elsewhere...

    We can sleep easy tonight thanks to the brilliance of these German academics.



    I had something more to say but it boils down to tits on a bull after that Bill Hicks-esque capitalised rant. So as old boy on Gardening Australia would say, and there you have it, that's your lot for the week.

    Why I Never Hire Brilliant Men

    • Feb. 20th, 2009 at 3:05 AM
    i have a plate; we all do; it fills up with whatever we're doing; and we talk about it and everything around it; it makes up a good portion of the conversations throughout your lifetime; and i'm fine with that. really i am. i just wish there was a bit of a literal translation to all that talk of plates and filling. literal in the sense that you could actually bend a bit, maybe crane your neck about to take in the portions upon your plate and see how much space you're going to need for additions.

    yes, that's right, i've got a feeling that i may have overfilled the proverbial plate. Lets see.

    dad sent me a package, and i'll be brief as perhaps this is a bit forced, and perhaps it's almost 3am; but dad sent me a package, and in it were two glad seal bags, one with pegs in it; around 20; and one with three one gigabyte usb memory sticks.

    yes, i did just find out something new to do with semi-colons, and yes i realise it's annoying.

    now i can explain away the pegs as previously dad sent me a sock in a package to india, and six months later sent to portugal the other sock and a single gumboot, by 2015 i should be able to do some gardening. but the usb sticks had me stumped, three of them, not one, and weirder still there was a four gigabyte sd memory card and reader, none of which i have any use for. dad calls me days later and asks fervently, "did you get the usb keys, rich, did ya get 'em". to which i naturally reply, "yes dad, i did get them alright". "good now look, what ya do is you copy on all your photos, and then you mail those usb keys up to me, that's what ya do". "alright mate, why's that". "did you get the pineapples i sent down as well". "yes, yes dad, i got the entire package, at once". "good, you need to eat them before the go off". "i know dad, i'm chopping up a pineapple right now". "right, well you've gotta eat them, and use the pegs, i put them in a plastic bag next to the rudyard kipling poem". the poem called 'if' for the record. "too easy dad, pegs i can use".

    things i'm yet to find out the reason for: one extension cord (used), staples (no stapler), ear muffs class 5 (one pair), chop sticks japanese (five pairs). and yeah, it's not as ridiculous as i paint it, but brush strokes matter.


    in other news:

    SITTING in my office last week, facing the man whom I had just fired, I thought of the contrast between that interview and our first one, nearly two years ago! Then he did almost all the talking, while I listened with eager interest. Last week it was I who talked, while he sulked like a petulant child.

    "Your contract has sixteen months to run," I said. "My proposition is that we cancel it at once, and that I hand you this check for ten thousand dollars."

    With a show of bravado he waved the check aside. He would hold me to the letter of the contract if it were the last thing he ever did.

    I told him he had that privilege, but I was sure he would see the futility of exercising it.

    "Let me review the situation for a moment," I continued: "You came to us as general sales manager on January 1st, 1922, at a salary of twenty-five thousand dollars. It was by far the largest salary we had ever paid in any executive position; but your record seemed to justify it.

    "The letters you brought spoke in the highest terms of your sales genius. The only question which they did not answer to my satisfaction was why companies which had valued you so highly should ever have allowed you to get away! When I voiced this, you stated that they merely had been outbid by their competitors -- and I accepted your statement. It wasn't until you had been here a year that I learned the truth. You are a quick starter, but a poor finisher -- no finisher at all, in fact."

    "Who told you that?" he demanded.

    "Nobody needed to tell me. I found it out from your effect on our own organization."

    "Organization!" he sneered. "You haven't got an organization."

    "So you have remarked to me frequently," I answered; "and you may be right. Our folks have mostly grown up in our own business; they know comparatively little of the way in which things are done in other lines. That's what we wanted you to teach us, and you were very sure that you could . . . We were all receptive."

    "Yes, you were!" he exclaimed scornfully. "Your folks were jealous from the day I arrived. They sat back and dared me to show results. I told you that six months ago."

    "I remember you did," I replied, "and my answer is just what it was then. You claim to be a brilliant salesman, and yey you failed in the first essential. You never sold yourself to the people with whom and through whom you had to work. You say they were jealous, but a man of your intelligence ought to know that the answer to jealousy is modesty, hard work -- and results. The would have jumped on your band wagon fast enough if you had made them see the advantage of it. But after waiting around for the band wagon to start, they concluded that it wasn't going to start, and it never has.

    "You brought your own assistants, and we paid them high salaries," I went on. "You moved our offices away from the plant and took these expensive quarters in the center of town. You were given a sales and advertising budget more than twice as large as any we have ever had before. Every request you made I granted as whole-heartedly as I knew how, because I believed that your fresh ideas were what this business needed. But twenty months have passed, and the sales simply have not grown.

    "That's the stubborn fact which can't be blinked; and now it's come to a point where I must choose between you and my good old wheel horses who, in spite of their mediocrity, have somehow managed to build a very profitable business.

    "You can stay here until your contract expires, but you will have no further responsibilites. The news will get around that you are merely hanging on; and when the end comes you will step out, discredited, to look for another job. Or you can leave now with ten thousand dollars, which is the additional penalty I am willing to pay for my mistake in judgment. If you go in the proper spirit, you are still young enough to profit by your failure."

    Feb. 9th, 2009

    • 3:30 PM
    so i'm about to get my hair cut, now that's not an especially pronounced speck in ones life. it's just that i've not had a haircut since i was in india. meaning the ends of my hair may very well be from india, similarly the mid length is more than likely from europe. the rest is from mars.

    i'm shelling out cold hard cash, and plenty of it, i figure when hair's short, it's short. just cuts is as up market as you need, there's just not as much range, not as many options. when you've got a mass of follicles like me though, there's probably something somebody with a bit of grey matter and some trained hands can do for you.

    i went though this process once before, hair of similar length, that sort of thing. callum took me to a friend stylist and she worked a wonder which lasted for months. lets see.
    It's just after one in the morning, we've been hold up simmering around a camp fire for hours, a man handy with a tray drives around cups of Chai listing badly against the natural slope of our makeshift amphitheatre. Cross-legged eyes slits our resident Tabla player sits, thrumming away to an internal rhythm spurring on the two guitars and Spanish vocalist who've joined in to fill out the makeshift quartet.

    There's reefer going round, a herbal wood fire spell passes over the entire area cocooning us against the impending storm and we listen out the hours camped in seats clapping intermittently and jabbering about the day we've had. It's dark here, there's no street lights because there's only one street and it's made of stones and wet. The rivers down the way plodding down the hillside like so many damp gumboots.

    The rain is heaviest when escape is closest. We bundle into our transport five to a seat designed for two. We seed some smiles putting away our frowns. Wet is wet is wet and we didn't bring drench proofs, the steep mountain sides and snow caps probably colluded to put away the sunshine early.

    We've been robbed in broad downpour, not literally, I'm quite careful with my accompanying objects, figuratively though our taxi driver took us for a small fortune. We've made it down the slope but we're not home that's across the bridge up the stony cut road swishing back and forth around the hillside cutting our way up to the alpine settlement we long for. Our drop off is the round about dubiously doubling as the town centre and things are torrential, and all the surrounding pines seem surprisingly aggressive and aflutter, at least there's a paver or two and a building doubling as a street light.

    A car pulls up and pulls away, we've failed, we wait, it's cold now and there's a shiver or two going round. We've an hour into this fiasco but she's a creature of athletic beauty and a hipistic mystery so I'm wilful still and try to talk her through the worst of it lithe as she is. Shoulders borne up shedding litres we manage to hail a ride. Two by two we inject ourselves into the rear cab of a four-wheel drive made for torque and toughness. Comfort is a metal sheet as a shared seat with the bangra beats blasting.

    There's a twist here, and this one very literal, the driver smiles as a friend approaches, he's running, or trundling or dawdling, or dancing, and finally sitting, then the revelation: we've stopped for a new bottle of rum for our driver. A swig into the bottle he pauses turning to us as he accelerate off the mark offering his guardian elixir. I shrug and take a fiery draw, I am sitting more like floating, falling and banging up the side of a raw stone cut mountain road at a rate of knots, unsecured in the back of a toy truck with a driver so rosy he's nearing nirvana in the middle of a pitch black mountain water hurricane, and there's no guard rail, so I drink.

    We practically burst out of the car as it skids over the bridge, bidding goodbye our death carriage and diabolically innocent hosts with a minstrels smirk and a shuddering run in doors to a lack of any hot water.

    I pass out layered in everything I own, waking to a blearing horn and a ride up to the peaks where I dive off the side off the top of a mountain with a small North Korean man in a bright too used moulding pink jump suit strapped to my back. He's got the parachute. Later I roll down a steep hill for about forty five seconds strapped into a giant rubber ball with a Quebecian man strapped to the other side filming me for a documentary. I feel sick for a while after that. We take our cab home though he just takes off the park break and we roll downwards picking up speed for thirty minutes through tiny villages filled with hamlets and livestock smells, clean air and open space.

    Eighteen hours the bus finally, finally stops and we breath in air so thick with pollutants it sticks to the back of your elbows, your elbows for gods sake. I can't even make out the sun through the white that is the sky, and no, they aren't clouds, they're not even related to weather, it's just pure human stink blocking out our view of space. I have seventeen million people pressing in against me as I walk down the street returning to where I live, they're sweaty and smell worse.

    Welcome to India.
    While sitting at your desk, lift your right foot off the floor and make clockwise circles. Now, while doing this draw the number "6" in the air with your right hand. Your foot will change direction and there's nothing you can do about it.

    Taken from the first chapter of the readily available and free to download "Boldrin & Levine: Against Intellectual Monopoly"
    In late 1764, while repairing a small Newcomen steam engine, the idea of allowing steam to expand and condense in separate containers sprang into the mind of James Watt. He spent the next few months in unceasing labor building a model of the new engine. In 1768, after a series of improvements and substantial borrowing, he applied for a patent on the idea. August found Watt in London about the patent and he spent another six months working hard to obtain it. The patent was finally awarded in January of the following year. Nothing much happened by way of production until 1775. Then, with a major effort supported by his business partner, the rich industrialist Matthew Boulton, Watt secured an Act of Parliament extending his patent until the year 1800. The great statesman Edmund Burke spoke eloquently in Parliament in the name of economic freedom and against the creation of unnecessary monopoly – but to no avail. The connections of Watt’s partner Boulton were too solid to be defeated by simple principle.

    ...

    In most histories, James Watt is a heroic inventor, responsible for the beginning of the industrial revolution. The facts above suggest an alternative interpretation. Watt is one of many clever inventors working to improve steam power in the second
    half of the eighteenth century. After getting one step ahead of the pack, he remained ahead not by superior innovation, but by superior exploitation of the legal system.


    Ginsberg is ridiculous
    who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on
    the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the
    East River to open to a room full of steamheat
    and opium,

    ...

    who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism
    and subsequently presented themselves on the
    granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads
    and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding in-
    stantaneous lobotomy,

    and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin
    Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psycho-
    therapy occupational therapy pingpong &
    amnesia,

    ...

    with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered
    out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand
    years.


    And this verse, with - in my version - an omission? Anybody know why:
    with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book
    flung out of the tenement window, and the last
    door closed at 4. A.M. and the last telephone
    slammed at the wall in reply and the last fur-
    nished room emptied down to the last piece of
    mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted
    on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that
    imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of
    hallucination
    I've had a week which bears telling, from where I sit, in my corner of the world thoroughly enjoying myself and appreciating what I have.

    Things ended rather swimmingly, it's Australia day now, it has been for two hours and twenty three minutes as of writing this. That in and of itself is nothing to snuff at, but consider what's brought me to this point and perhaps the illumination clears up confusion. I decided to hold a barbecue, a day early, the day before the day we celebrate. I really didn't mean to get things jumbled I just didn't take into account that Sunday came day before Australia day.

    It went off wonderfully, Julian pitched in providing a cooker - our house is yet to settle on a barbecue - rolling around a gas bottle to boot. Marvel that he is that Julian. Shortly thereafter the rest of the troops came pouring in and we took off to Coles filling our shopping trolley with a random assortment of Sunday eats and drinks, piled high by the many hands we drew on the bill was sizeable. We'd left Ziggy at our place, he's our new French house mate, he's here teaching balance to little kids for a year to pay for his surfing holiday along our coast. Ziggy was making two types of salad, one warm one cold and cooked with citrus. Add to that a pile of sausages, a mountain of cheese, caramelised onions, and plenty of sauce. Kebabs were also on offer as was chicken, olives and all the usuals. Daniel the Brazilian Japanese man we interviewed as a flatmate also came over, he was a nice guy, he didn't get our spare room but we said we'd call him up for a barbecue if we had one, so we did.

    We ate and drank and laughed and jibed. Eventually we sat down to some good old fashioned poker and duked it out for a couple of hours till the stakes took their toll and Jon walked away with the pot. I came out just behind him and got back what I put in so all was well. We sauntered about in comfort playing this and having a go at that, the sun went down and we were still going strong so Matt put together some Teriyaki chicken and combined with what we had left over we dinned well a second time. It got late and more people arrived, we went searching for pepper corns and I made Chai. A man named Jack came back with us from the 7/11, he studies philosophy and was good to talk to. I'm tired now and the day is cleaned away, I am glad things went so well.

    Vivian and Stephanie are moving away, they're going to live in Melbourne, Step will study and Viv will work, they chose Saturday to say good bye. We dressed as monsters, I made a box monster. We listened to Viv's decks all night long as they spun records and people intermittently twisted knobs. I talked to people I have not seen in years and met a woman who prior to serious injury had been a serious Army Career Officer. I learned a lot from her as I have been bubbling with questions, I am so curious about the life they lead, curious beyond all reason. I am now more than ever convinced that far from barbarism it could be a lifestyle I live. Robin has been studying Mad Cow Disease in a lab for the last year, prodding it poking it and gene sequencing it. Did you know that the incubation time can be as much as 40 years and that is why there is that tick box on blood donation forms that asks if you were in the UK during 1986. Also that the disease is so resistant to regular decontamination and sterilisation techniques because of it's bonding properties to metals, that regular techniques do not work for cleaning and all instruments must be thrown away. We keep a very strict log of all these instruments, even dentists, if they touch your tonsils with tools must throw them away. There was ritual cannibalism in the Pacific Islands until the fifties.

    Kat turned 27 a few weeks ago and chose The German Club as the venue for the celebration of her birth, on a Friday night. We sat around long tables in a decorated hall, there were many faces I did not know, none of who I made an effort to know. I was saturated in interesting people already and I talked a fine rot with them as we descended into the alkaloid sustained abyss. I met a man named Dave, who Rosie lives with he seems like an intelligent and involved person to talk to, lets see. Our meals arrived hours after we ordered them, my Ploughman's platter tasted great.

    I planted a garden, though every other step was very much a team effort, the actual laying of the plants in the earth was all me. Tam valiantly soldiered through the day and even took Sanjay and I to a wonderful Hare Krishna place for lunch. Tam provided knowledge and locations and drove us all around to places to buy what we needed, and we had nothing so think about that. She gave us special fertiliser and Tomato plants she's been growing and made our day our week - I've been showing the garden off to everyone. I need to give Tam's tools back.

    I went to a movie with Sanjay, Slumdog Millionaire, I realised once we got there it was about India and filmed there. I say here and now that the depiction of India is accurate, albeit tidier and cleared of people in some scenes. You cannot depict India in the 70's and 80's accurately as it just doesn't exist as it did. The trains they show in the movie are exclusively modern. They did not exist in India 10 years ago. The dirt and grim and human shit everywhere made me feel such nestalga, knowing the locations, it was kismet as it made me think on how lucky I was to live where I lived at the time I lived with as long as I did. A simple story told so well, had me riding on a wave through the first half of the movie, the last half just seemed to slide by as it should, I recommend this film.

    My Phd Supervisor agreed with me and I begin research with desk space on February 16th.

    On Thursday I enjoyed Jennifer's company for an entire day, no small feat considering the lady is days away from handing in a thesis which has journeyed through numerous nations. I met her an hour late at the Gallery of Modern Art to view the Australian Optimism exhibit. Brilliant, quite a lot of the art, gathered from new, existing and long time Australian artists, was simply brilliant. The well of talent we draw from is not nearly at a low. I wonder at how much more there would be had they the space to contain multiple exhibits from some of the artists who deal with large, large scale art. An entire house was on display, in part.

    We wandered and were rained on, we nearly lost our steam until we sat and drank and talked of all things and softly too. We ate later when we realised we should, Turkish, we ordered too much and ate what we could and were picked up for a night of Theatre. Good theatre, vivid and confronting theatre, nude theatre, theatre spoken in Belarusian and telling a story based around Harold Pinter. It was damn outside and not that late, a movie was showing on the wall of a building, it looked free, isn't that good?

    And two hours, forty four minutes and forty one seconds is all it takes.

    GOOD BYE CRUEL CARRIAGEWAY

    • Jan. 18th, 2009 at 11:40 PM
    My friends, I write here today with a message to share with you. A message of hope, a message of glory and freedom.

    Yes, friends, I speak of the new bicycle I own. I too am mystified by the wonderment endowed upon such a simple soul as I to be lucky enough to enjoy such a luxuriant style of transportation.

    I have spent long hours toiling on this topic and finally decided, or rather was decided upon by a pair of friends, who happen to be married and in every way exceptional.

    The months and months I pined for a decent set of wheels after my introduction to riding to work and UNI before my departure for India. Only to have it snatched away by the crazed Delhi streets and acrid smog filled morning air; I could scrub the layers from my face and inner elbow but not my lungs. Breathing fast is hazardous!

    I rode my bike home and was knackered. It was glory. Public transport is a thing of the past, yet again :p

    FREEDOM FRIENDS IS FOUND IN THE SPOKES OF YOUR CYCLING COMPANION
    Well friends, me again. What'd ya know.

    It's currently 2:10am and I'm sitting at my desk, well not my desk, but A desk. It's a white rectangle on legs really, slightly wobbly legs at that. Being used to such gyrations from our mutual friend the white desk my response is nothing if not phlegmatic; I soldier on though the rickets. I hope I can say rickets, I'm looking to say rickety, and I believe rickets is a disease, not a nice one I'm pretty sure. That said, the hope is that by being so-called the disease will resemble something towards the effect I've sought in that previous sentence. If not though, it's clear enough now and the rest can be written off onto some kind of poetic licence. Though, if I'm honest, my high school English teacher always insisted you only got one of those licences after you published a novel, so maybe I'll just have to enjoy a pseudo-poetic licence, we're friends anyhow. Friends speak in syllogistic tongues often enough. Oh no, there I go again.

    The scene established, I'm listening to this Skeewiff kid, I assume it's a kid of some sort, only young folk are this inventive. Like that Aussie artist, who's dead now, maybe his name was Sidney Nolan, maybe that's some other guy, he said once that he only wished he could paint like a five year old. Guy must have had something there people brought a lot of his brush strokes. I wonder if he had a poetic licence, definitely a pseudo-licence, there'll be a licence for impressionistic artistry somewhere in the annuls of a book I've never referenced. Doubtless Matt knows it, and Chris can probably tell you the etymology of it.

    This Skeewiff - and no, I haven't worked out how to pronounce it - has samples from Cheech & Chong, dirty guitar riffs that blow my nut and plenty of deck scratching. And we all know that you can't just walk up and scratch a record, well you can, I did in fact. Vivian had me over for dinner, he was cooking curry, two curries actually, lamb and chicken. His two new, and I assume initial decks we sitting in the computer room tabled with resources close to hand. They're very shiny and have a psychedelic light effect cast against the turn table edging. I like them enough to trust my instincts and not buy any, they are of course really expensive in my student monetary sphere. But lets not move from pure to convoluted.

    I understood what I thought in the context of a character, a character in a book, a book I was reading. I understood what I was reading because i knew the character well and was detached from my own emotional overlay, I'd read some 3000 pages in the past fortnight from the story books, it would be fair to say I was heavily invested over my Christmas, New year break.

    A week of solace leaves a lot of time to learn, learn how to think. i had not taken such time since my return to Australia. DEEP.

    I feel I have written enough words and will now shower and rest. I have Weetbix for breakfast, two in a bowl topped up with milk and perhaps a banana. Lets see.

    If you've gotten this far you should know my birthday was the 9th of January. That's yesterday, well, yesterday, yesterday, but it isn't the next day till you wake up. I'd have done something about it, I mean I had plenty of notice the date approached, I just wasn't in a locale where peers were accessible or even remote. I love my folks, and that settles that. I am brown as a lizard and will organise a suitably silly shindig celebrating my age. Dinner somewhere spiffy, sitting around a table.

    I like getting older, I always find I know more than I did the previous year, more about myself, my glory, faults and pressure points. Self development couldn't be closer to my delicate ego. I read a letter mum wrote when she was pregnant with Sarah, she said it was OK. My mum wrote a beautiful letter, casting out lines of feeling you can't help but nip at. I can identify with the sentiments, but a lot of it doesn't apply to the wise person she is today, why is that?

    That's not to say I don't feel the creeping expectations of time. I should buy a house, work 30 years to pay it off, invest in shares and travel on the dividends when I retire. I should be married and have kids by the time my wife is thirty and plenty of social hobbies. I should be faithful and successful and a forthright father of two. Honestly though, I've watched enough Hollywood movies to know that's a path like that is folly. I'll end up a wizened old man filled with dreams and a gut if I do that.

    I'm starting a PhD at the end of February, that gives me three years to stuff around working bloody hard. I figure when I get done with it I should see where my hobbies have traced and live off them somewhere far away from Australia till I speak differently.

    @_@ Jesus this is getting out of hand. I'll leave it here.

    i made this wallet

    • Jan. 10th, 2009 at 10:31 PM

    MB265188
    Originally uploaded by knib

    kangaroo leather what what

    have ya tried jiggling the cable?

    • Dec. 4th, 2008 at 9:19 AM
    i don't wanna jump the gun or anything here... but like, you know, if i get an email like this, i gather it means i've probably netted a win...

    from the apa people...

    Dear Scholarship Applicant,

     

    Congratulations!  I am pleased to advise you that you have been made a scholarship offer in Queensland University of Technology's 2009 Postgraduate Research Scholarship Round.

     

    The offer pack has been sent in an Express Post envelope to your nominated mailing address, so you should receive it within the next couple of days.



    we'll see what comes in the post, not sure whether they offer partial scholarships either. shrug.

    Quoted for relevance

    • Nov. 16th, 2008 at 4:12 PM
    From Mr Farrell at 13:42pm, in response to a dinner and drinks invitation:
    It’s silly to think responsible types would or wouldn't want to go out drinking. Surely the decision comes down to whether or not your already drunk. Obviously someone who was already drunk wouldn’t want to go out and drink because they are already out drinking... just think, if you kept going out and drinking while out drinking, you’d run into the double mirror effect and end up drinking yourself into a singularity.


    In other news... I may have just woken up, in the afternoon. I am adjusting to life in Australia well.

    Job interview on the 21st. Massive electrical storm imminent.

    More on Internet Censorship in AUS

    • Nov. 11th, 2008 at 2:28 PM
    http://whirlpool.net.au/news/?id=1816

    It is the first time that detail is being provided about the plan, with confirmation of a "two-tiered" approach. The first tier will use a compulsory URL blacklist (currently containing around 1300 URLs), of sites said to contain "child sex abuse material". Importantly, this does not involve rules based algorithms, and the pilot is expected to test both URL blocking and IP based blocking of sites on this list.


    Sounds good, so far... And moreover...

    The list currently operates on a complaints based mechanism, meaning that it only contains sites that have been submitted as prohibited content under the Broadcasting Services Act. However, ACMA intends to augment the list with sites collected by UK and US based organisations.


    That last bolded text is the scary stuff. As is Tier two.


    The DPCDE article: http://www.dbcde.gov.au/communications_for_business/funding_programs__and__support/isp_filtering_live_pilot

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