This will hurt me...

Another day, another cold snap!

Luxury hotel. St George's Terrace, Battery Point. January 2012.

Tuesday Q and A and I continue to steal questions from Sunday Stealing. This week I am stealing The 99'er Meme: Part 1

1) Put your iTunes on shuffle. Give me the first 6 songs that pop up.
Wilco’s Outta Mind (Outta Sight), Allo Darlin's My Heart is a Drummer, Queen’s Fat Bottomed Girls, The Be Good Tanyas’ The Littlest Birds, Eric B. & Rakim’s Paid In Full, and The Hives’ Hate To Say I Told You So.

2) If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?
Someone with some answers!

3) Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17.
‘“Cornelia Ruiz cut up the black Mexican,” he said.’

4) What do you think about most?
My wife’s thighs.

5) What does your latest text message from someone else say?
“Excellent. See you soon.”

6) Do you sleep with or without clothes on?
I sleep as naked as the day I was born.

7) What's your strangest talent?
Bad impressions of white South Africans.

8) Women.... (finish the sentence); Men.... (finish the sentence)
“Women… can’t live with ‘em, can’t kill ‘em!”

“Men… Even worse than women!”

9) Ever had a poem or song written about you?
Not to my knowledge.

10) When is the last time you played the air guitar?
I’m unsure. I last played air drums to KISS’s I was made for loving you.

11) Do you have any strange phobias?
I don’t have any phobias.

12) Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?
Not that I recall. I probably have though.

13) What's your religion?
I have no religion. Never had…

14) If you are outside, what are you most likely doing?
Taking photos.

15) Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?
Behind. Firmly behind.

16) Simple but extremely complex. Favourite band?
Wilco.

17) What was the last lie you told?
I said that I liked the colour of someone’s outfit.

18) Do you believe in karma?
Unfortunately not.

19) What does your URL mean?
It is the title of my blog.

20) What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?
Stubbornness x two.

21) Who is your celebrity crush?
I generally avoid these things.

22) Have you ever gone skinny dipping?
Once or twice.

23) How do you vent your anger?
Ranting and raving.

24) Do you have a collection of anything?
Only animosity and resentment.

25) Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?
I really prefer neither. I like e-mail.

As always, Ezra comes prepared...

Hen, Ez and Jen take in the view south west of Lindisfarne. Derwent Avenue walkway, Lindisfarne. January 2012.

The Internet is a wonderful place filled with the rich and varied treasures of the world holds (as well as a LOT of crap.) The following are some things that I've had a look at in the last week. I call this: a Compendium of Click-throughs for Monday Morning...

People who fly Australia Day flags on their cars tend to express more racist attitudes than others without flags

100 years of the war on drugs

Hooked on chicken nuggets: Girl, 17, who has eaten nothing else since age TWO rushed to hospital after collapsing

the world’s last quiet places

On a clear day you can see foreverHenry...

The evidence... Calverts Beach. January 2011.

Sunday Top Five?

How about My Top Five Numbers?

One (1) [i]

Two (2) [ii]

Three (3) [iii]

Four (4) [iv]

Five (5) [v]

Ezra scoots in amongst the vegetation.

What's going on? Derwent Avenue, Lindisfarne. January 2012.

Happy birthday Jen!

You don't look a day over [please insert most appropriate age here]!

Implosions, Adrienne Rich

The world's
not wanton
only wild and wavering

I wanted to choose words that even you
would have to be changed by

Take the word
of my pulse, loving and ordinary
Send out your signals, hoist
your dark scribbled flags
but take
my hand

All wars are useless to the dead

My hands are knotted in the rope
and I cannot sound the bell

My hands are frozen to the switch
and I cannot throw it

The foot is in the wheel

When it's finished and we're lying
in a stubble of blistered flowers
eyes gaping, mouths staring
dusted with crushed arterial blues

I'll have done nothing
even for you?

Hot day.

Sunglasses.

Hat.

Calippo.

For that moment, nothing else matters.

Who (or what) is being protected? Ford Parade, Lindisfarne. January 2012.

Two books this week, with one departure of the norm and another collection of short stories from an unknown German.

The first is Tasmanian Tiger Ed Cowan’s In The Firing Line. Essentially the diary of the Australian domestic cricket season as seen through a player [then] on the periphery of the international game, Cowan struck lucky to decide on this endeavour the year that Tasmania won its second Shield title.

While these books are often dry affairs, Cowan is both brutally honest in his assessment of himself, his cricket and the impact of his chosen career path on his loved ones. Moreover, he offers great insight with some considered and oft-unspoken views on the state of State cricket in Australia and the future of the game. I was particularly drawn to his observation on the effect of Twenty20 on both the domestic and international game.

His frank and portrait of life as one of the invisible ‘not quite top-rung’ cricketers is a poignant one. Of course, the happy ending of a Shield victory and subsequent surprise call up to the Test team doesn’t hurt! The book was not ghost written and it’s refreshing to read an honest sporting account by someone in the moment that reads so well. There’s no doubt that Cowan is a thinker. If you’re a cricket fan (especially if you’re a fan with doubts about where the game is headed), you’ll find this a great read. Highly recommended.

Second up is a collection of short stories by German literary sensation Judith Herman, The Summer House, Later is subtitled A book about the moment before happiness. This collection of melancholy, quietly-spoken mediations is a varied lot. For the most part, not much happens.

Characters drink (tea, coffee, vodka), smoke (cigarettes, pot, hash), go out, stay in, get together, break up. If there is one discernible thread it is the almost intangible air of discontent.

There is great craft at work here, but I must admit that I think that Herman’s style might be better suited to a longer form. She has a great skill at capturing the ordinariness modern life (particularly its tedium and loneliness) and manages to hint that there is always something more is stirring beneath the surface. The problem with the short form is that for all of the set up and building of characters, nothing happens. There is no climax, no dénouement or hope of resolution.

Ultimately – for this reader at least – it makes for dissatisfying reading. Recommended only to the keen.

Ez has a new pet.

Unfortunately it is dead.

A rock set among the shells. Derwent foreshore, Bellerive Boardwalk. January 2012.

A very special Theme Thursday today, and all that I am seeking is a little BALANCE.

It's Australia Day you see, and I hate Australia Day. Now don't get me wrong, I don't hate Australia (some of my best friends are Australians!), I hate Australia Day.

I hate the dickheads who shout AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE all day. I hate the pissed dickeads. I hate the dickheads decked out in Australian flag thongs, Australian flag shorts, Australian flag singlets, Australian flag hats waving little Australian flags.

In the course of my lifetime Australians have gone from taking pride in their wry snub of ostentatious hubris and wrapping oneself in bits of cloth representing an empty symbolism to the kind of moronic culture that fuses heavy drinking, wrapping oneself in bits of cloth representing an empty symbolism and the kind of macho aggressive xenophobic posturing that has always been present but we once had the good sense to be ashamed of.

There's no BALANCE you see. You're either with Australia Day or against Australia Day. There's little scope for sombre reflection when the beer is flowing and the flags are being thrust in your face.

There's little awareness among the mobs of Southern Cross-bedecked dickheads of why the date itself might just be an ill-chosen one. They struggle with the idea that it is intrinsically offensive to Aboriginal Australians. They miss the fact that our 'National day' ultimately celebrates the founding of a single state. There's no head scratching at the celebration of an event that represents Britain's cruel dumping of her non-citizens in chains in a deeply foreign and hostile land on the other side of the world.

I could go into why I blame the bicentennial (I won't). I could blame John Howard (I do). The saddest thing is that you probably think you look like this, but all that I can see is this.

Just a couple of dudes sitting down, shooting the breeze and waiting for something to happen...

Hoe he'e nalu down south. Calverts Beach, January 2012.

I thought that this Watery Wednesday I'd share an image that demonstrates just how much Hoe he'e nalu has taken Tasmania by storm. If you're not familiar with Hoe he'e nalu - or stand up paddle surfing for those of you who don't speak Hawaiian - it is an ancient form of surfing, and for a time was the preserve of surfing instructors to keep an eye on large groups of students.

Now it seems that every bugger and his dog are in on it! Some claim that the Hoe he'e nalu craze can be explained by the ease with which beginners can master the art, and the excellent inner core workout that you get from all of that stand up paddling.

However, I remain unconvinced by these explanations. My own theory is that in standing up, one’s legs and arms are not dingling and dangling in the water, tasty little treats for any passing Great White. Moreover, if you do happen to spot a roaming monster of the deep – which is far easier in the standing position, by the way) – you’re armed with a useful paddle/ jousting stick to ward off the cunning Carcharodon carcharias off! Take this to its logical conclusion and install a Georgi Markov-inspired poisonous tip for added efficiency!