This will hurt me...

Here is a picture of a calm Geilston Bay at about 4 pm today. There didn't seem to be many about, apart from Henry, myself, two geese, a bunch of ducks and a whole heap of seagulls. There are usually a few boats moored in the bay, and one day I'll get around to getting my hands on a kayak and working my way across the river. I was surprised to see that Wikipedia has an entry on Geilston Bay , and like to imagine that Henry's arrival in the suburb in 2006 heralded the 'bringing a bit of class' to the suburb!

Today's post is no doubt inspired by the challenge once put to Ernest Hemingway that he compose a story in only six words. (For the record Hemingway's response read: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”) This is a little different, as I am tasked with a "memette" that requires the composition a six-word bio with an accompanying illustration. The idea is not simply to choose six adjectives, but to write a memoir in miniature. The good folk down at Fabulon have broken all of the rules and have tagged everyone who has visited their blog. I quite like their effort (of course) and could easily accept that as my own, but that would be perhaps be poor form (although perhaps true to form!). So, in the spirit of avoiding to think too much about these things, when it comes to summing up our life in six words, the first things that comes to mind: "Honestly, I really just don't care." Why not try one for yourself. Consider it cathartic.

The day off work today, so naturally Henry and I decided to indulge in our favourite pastime, fetching rocks. It's an ingenious game with intricate and complicated rules. Indeed, the meticulousness and vigour with which Henry will collect two handfuls of rocks, shift them across to another part of the backyard, then sagely wait and consider his next move. The next move most likely involves gathering more rocks, but most likely of a different number . Now, the full game itself is beyond my comprehension, but in his intensity, thoughtfulness and attention to detail, Henry reminds me of a young Garry Kasparov, Joe Louis or Don Bradman.

Henry has never used a dummy, and isn't a thumb sucker. He does have a tendency to chew on rocks, bits of wood, arms and legs though, so we're not without trouble in that area. If we were, however, I fail to see us embracing today's product. I can imagine that a kid sucking on a thumb all day might get annoying. Really, they just look like dills, and that reflects badly on any parent. Yet I don't know if that is enough to force me down this route. Here is the ad from 1932: Intricate, sharp bits of metal wire wound around their hands? It locks their thumb in place? For thumb sucking ?!?

Chaos in Hobart overnight ! The city centre was a mess with branches and leaves everywhere. I was quite please by the lack of rubbish though! It was all very post-apocalyptic. Unfortunately I couldn't find the camera as I left for work today and missed some interesting photo opportunities. So instead I have dipped into my reservoir of pictures taken over the past couple of weeks and fished out a shot of a far more pleasant Hobart morning. I endeavoured to find out more about this building, but have come up blank. So if anyone does know something about it, please let me know.

Even though I like to project a certain rugged, manly exterior, I have a fondness for cute 'n cuddly animals that could rival most three year olds. To be honest though, I have an even greater fondness for ruggedly handsome animals. By this, I mean everything from the much maligned crocodile or great white shark, to the tough and sturdy penguin or humble chicken. Another fellow that I have taken a shine to is the marvellous Henry the sea lion. Henry is a popular visitor to Adelaide beaches, and he has been tracked by satellite for the past six weeks and the information converted into a nifty little website detailing where he goes and what he eats. So if like me, you like this sort of thing, visit Henry's website and have a good browse around. It's well worth the trip!

Today’s photo is a little different in that I am in front of the camera instead of behind it. This was taken by Jen at lunchtime yesterday, as Henry and I stalked some seagulls on the lawns opposite work. The visit from the home team was a mysterious one, as moves are afoot to dabble in a bit of guerrilla knitting. It may or may not have something to do with the upcoming World Wide Knit in Public Day . The end result was that I got a break from work to play with the footy, chase seagulls and spend some time with Henry while his mother and another furtive figure went off photographing and measuring things for some unknown reason. I shall let you know when I know what that’s all about. Tasmanian knitters can find out more at this website .

I have something to declare up front. I have never worn, and intend to never wear, a necktie. I did wear a bow tie for my Grade 10 school ball sixteen years ago, but it did have a clip, which I think renders it null and void. The history of the necktie can be traced back to the Thirty Year War when Croatian mercenaries in the employ of the French, roused the interest of Parisian high society with their traditional small, knotted neckerchiefs (which were more like cravats, to be honest). From here various kinds of dandies and posers have utilised neck ornamentation of various forms for various purposes, not one of which has any actual utility value. This is the first of two key reasons that I am so opposed to neckties. As a child of modernity, I have embraced the notion of "form following function" in the case of clothing. The necktie, to my mind, stands in the company of high heel shoes and facial piercing. It serves no practical purpose and merely hinders individual perfo

I was looking at this photo essay from Foreign Policy magazine this morning, and one photo struck me in particular. It essentially was someone packing a briefcase full of cash. As I mentioned yesterday , with inflation running at over 100,000 percent, Zimbabwe's rate of inflation is currently the highest in the world. Now, like most I suspect, I'm struggling to get my head around what that means, and its broader implications for people. Using a couple of different online currency convertors, ZWD$1 million fetches roughly: AUS $37 or US $34 or Euro €21. Now this is achieved using flat currency transaction on market rate. In the real world, Zimbabweans would have to take whatever the black marketers are offering. The scantest of research reveals that the best that they might hope for out of that same ZWD $1 million is somewhere between US $3 to US $5. To be totally honest with you, I still can't get my head around it. Surely wages cannot keep up with that sort of inflation.

Today I'm posting a counterpoint to an earlier shot . That picture was taken in the morning at Sullivans Cove , and today's photo is one taken in the afternoon (and from across the road!) As you can see, it's quite a bit bluer later in the day.

I posted a few days ago some thoughts that I'd had about the noticeable sexism that can be found in the US Presidential pre-selection process. Without wanted to rehash it, I've been equally parts bemused, angered and depressed by some of my experiences online. Indeed, I've had a number of 'unpleasant' interactions in attempting to flag some of the inappropriate (read: sexist) attacks and assumptions on Clinton, or at least in trying to get people to at least self-identify that maybe some things should be 'out of bounds' in campaigning (like the t-shirt identifying Clinton as a prostitute). Generally speaking though, endeavouring to raise this doesn't seem to be provoking useful and thoughtful debate. I'd like to think that I tread warily in these matters, and attempt to promote a good discourse rather than go in too heavy handed (at least on someone else’s blog!). But it appears to be to no avail, responses generally start at "Don't be so s

You may have heard that there has been an election going on in Zimbabwe. In what will be a test for democracy in southern Africa, the results may well decide the fate of liberal democracy in much of the under-developed world. The BBC has an interesting pictorial essay on the election, and it fits nicely with their streaming of 'on the ground' contributions and observations that have been solicited from all over the country. This is an excellent insight for those of us lucky enough to live in stable countries, and should remind us to be very thankful for our comparatively 'dull' electoral systems. The Times over the weekend featured an excellent article that spoke of the " the electricity of hope " that can be felt in the electoral processes of developing countries. In a result that has – to be frank – stunned me, independent monitoring groups have said that returns posted at about two-thirds of polling stations have given Tsvangirai 55% of the vote to Mugab

Another morning shot today. It was a very cold morning, and the shift away from daylight saving time can't come soon enough for those of use out the door at 7am! Suffice to say, not the best light for photography. This was taken on Davey Street heading towards Sandy Bay Road. I glimpsed a patch of blue between two building a took my chance! I would like to say that these are the two ugliest buildings in Hobart, but unfortunately I can think of at least five buildings who are ahead in that race. I am going to venture out in my lunch break and attempt to find a bright blue sky for tomorrow!

Alright, maybe Essendon won't be winning the flag this year ...

Another wildlife shot today. This one is of a group of Eastern Rosellas who were having a little meeting out near the airport. It’s not uncommon to see these guys around, and you generally know it because they’re a sociable (i.e. loud) bird.

The topic for today's first post came to me while preparing Henry’s breakfast this morning (and helping him eat it), I got to thinking about a topic that has crossed my mind on other accessions in the past, and has yet to be satisfactorily resolved. What do people feed their kiddies for breakfast in other cultures? Now, Henry probably has the stereotypical Australian breakfast: Two Weet-bix (albeit with rice milk); Toast liberally smeared with Vegemite; Water; A little bit of the raspberry cake that I made yesterday. This was a reward for being a good boy this morning, and not standard practice. I might be wrong, but I have in my mind convoluted ideas about French kiddies gnawing croissants and fancy pastries; Sami kiddies tearing at dried reindeer; Mexican kiddies scoffing breakfast burritos; German kiddies nibbling on cold meats and boiled eggs; Inuit kiddies gulping down seal; Indian kiddies eating daal and naan; Kenyan kiddies chowing down on some sort of maize porridge; Swed