This will hurt me...

Here is a bloody great big clock that can be found at the top of the General Post Office building in Hobart's CBD. I've shown it twice before, although both were night shots , the second showcasing Hobart's crepuscular beauty (did you see what I did there?). It's a good looking building, only slightly marred by the constant presence of smokers all down the footpath directly out front, and steps leading in. I am not a fan of smokers. A particularly nasty sub group are the smoker-spitters. The smoker-spitter is the fellow that you imagine doesn't like the taste much, so alternatively sucks long and deep on his gasper, exhales, and then summons up all the crap that has built up in his lungs and beyond and spits it out, usually right in front of him. Nice, I know. Ezra just farted.

The more that I sit here, the more that I believe in the adage that there are some people in the world that remain living only for the reason that it is both illegal and morally suspect to kill them. These people should count themselves lucky.

I need to post this photo of the lovely Ezra to keep me going today. Back to work!

There is a word that I like very much, but have thus far found impossible to fit into a spoken sentence with a straight face. I have long wanted to slip it in casually, but my nerve hasn’t held. It is almost like I am scared of it. I’m not worried about misusing it, you understand, as its meaning is clear. It’s a word regularly see in literature. Over the years I’ve seen it in print, and even in the odd quasi-religious text, which may have contributed to keeping me away. The only person that I’ve personally seen slip it in to casual conversation is the formidable VINCE, whose personality really does demand Caps Lock, and is the sort of person happy to use such a word. Perhaps that’s it. Perhaps I need to work up a more imposing presence, and then whack it on the table. It is a difficult decision. I don’t seem to struggle with others, but I’ve built up a reverence for this one. All right then, the word: crepuscular It’s a doozy, isn’t it? So here are my questions for the world: Do you

Obviously back to my trend of photographs that suggest the alienation of modern human beings, and the disenchantment that for many accompanies modernity. It has always struck me as vaguely amusing that although life - for Westerners at least - is immeasurably better today than ever before in human history (less people go hungry, gender inequality is relatively narrow, people live longer, possess more, are safer amongst many other indicators), so very many people do nothing but complain all the time.

Ahhh, but yesterday wasn’t just about ducks. Once off the bus here on the Lindisfarne/Geilston Bay border, I couldn’t miss this crowd of cockatoos having a cheeky feed by the side of the road. So I took their photo. Anyone who might be interested in the kind of birds that we have here in Tasmania, I can’t recommend a blog more highly than noted Tasmanian twitcher (and keen photograpoher)Alan Fletcher's blog Birds in Tasmania . The little boy in me would love to say “click on the link and see the lovely pair of tits”, but I would be lying. They’re Pink Robins. Time for bed now.

After another unfulfilling day at work yesterday, I was feeling somewhat flat on the walk back to the bus. However, a lovely pair of ducks managed to brighten the mood somewhat by settling in for a bath on Parliament lawns. They were a good looking pair (Pacific Black’s I would wager), who didn’t seem to mind people passing by and photographing them in the makeshift tub. The dirty devils!

So has the world ended yet? I'm not sure, and no-one has called to tell me if it has. But if the world did end, I guess no-one would be there to call and tell me. So if the world does end, how will I know? And do I still have to come in to work? Man, I'm confused.

As you will be aware, those of us here in the Southern Hemisphere entered spring last week. I thought that I would allow you to revisit the dominate landmark of Hobart in order to illustrate what constitutes ‘early spring’ in Tasmania. This was taken this morning at about 7:50 am, yet again out on the fire escape of my workplace. I have featured this same viewpoint once or twice already (well, maybe three or four times), but it looked rather pretty this morning, so I figured that I’d show you again. And I must add my hearty congratulations to sometime commentator Tania upon the birth of what appears to be a colossal son, Will, who topped the scales at 4.7 kilos (10 pounds, six ounces). The Steenholt organic orchard empire will no doubt be short of many a pear and apple over the coming years once this fellow shifts to solids! No word yet on the state of his hair.

Are you sick of rude, opinionated people yelling at each other about politics? I know that I am. Thus I enjoyed this little instruction manual . Everyone cops a serve, just the way that I like it. You might like it too. Be warned though, there is a little fruity language.

I’ve banged on about immunisation in the past , so I will refrain from doing so at length again. But I want to post this link from the Stats Blog (also featured previously ), which is about identifying and correcting scientific misinformation in the media resulting from bad science, politics, or a simple lack of information or knowledge. It disturbs me that the sort of simplistic thinking of many anti-vaccination campaigners has such carriage with a lot of people, especially when it threatens the health and wellbeing of kids. So I’m always about promoting evidence that undermines their cause. So if you’re at all interested, have a look at this quick read (with citations) about a number of measles outbreaks in the US among unvaccinated kids. The numbers of deaths pre-vaccination alone are telling, and well worth reminding people of when they resort to anecdote instead of hard evidence. NOTE TO SELF: Remember to include the link ! LATE LATE NOTE TO SELF [and the world], this is post num

To combat the depressed atmosphere around this blog today, I though that I would share with you five things gleaned from the latest issue of the Australian Bureau of Statistics excellent little monthly for the statistically inclined, the Tasmanian Statistical News: In 2006, 36% of Tasmanians over the age of 18 had done some kind of volunteering in the previous 12 months. In 2005, Tasmania had the lowest level of household crime in Australia, with 4.5% of the population reporting being victims of actual or attempted break ins or motor vehicle theft. In 2006-07, first home buyers in Tasmania borrowed an average of $164,400, the lowest average compared to other states or territories. In 2004-05, Tasmania had the lowest proportion of people with diabetes (2.8%), and between 2004-2006, the lowest rate of death from stroke (45 per 100,000 population). In 2006, Tasmania also had a lower infant mortality rate (3.9 per 1,000 live births) than the national average (4.7 per 1,000 live births).

Another day, another building. For whatever reason, being back at work prompts me to post images of the conformity of cities; to reflect on the monotony and lack of individuality inherent in modern, bureaucratised times. I’m not a wholesale subscriber to Weber’s notion of an ‘iron cage’ of rationality (I prefer it to irrationality, at least), but when you’re looking from the inside, occasionally you do very much catch his drift. By golly I need some sleep.

You may well be familiar with the maxim “sex sells”. It is a feature of advertising as old as the craft itself, I would suspect. Indeed, I have featured a number of vintage advertisements on this here very blog over the past six months. You might remember Lolita on the comfy bed ; or, Girl next door likes to suck on the most disguising things (and enjoys it!). Who could forget Hot babe in bikini lounges on the beach slowly cooking, but becoming ever more beautiful ; a clean home = frisky husband ; or (a favourite of my Church of Latter Day Saints-splinter group friends) he has a nice tie and a couple of girls on the go . Of course, there is the good old “ treat her mean and keep her keen ” approach; the brusqueness of a beautiful, proud Soviet cock standing to attention ; and the sexy through the ages “ hot babes with even hotter lawnmowers ”. So, despite this technique being as common as the little minx that can be found in the first link, it still jars me ever so slightly to see i

Here is the photograph of Henry that I promised. I thought that I would give you Five Quick Henry Facts . He can now say "please" and "ta" ["thank you" is still some time away]. He likes donuts, although he calls them "donts". He knows what "doing a poo" is, but remains coy about telling people. He has ticklish thighs. He is a marvellous kisser.

I figure that today I got the most authentic Father's Day gift possible. Real life, of course, is not generally the stuff of toilet paper commercials or Hallmark cards; thus it is only appropriate that this Father's day has entailed being kept up for much of the night by an alternating yelling/snoring baby, who eventually wakes up the toddler at half past five in the morning. That means the great weight of lethargy on the shoulders (with concomitant short fuse), still screaming baby, and a grizzling, whiny toddler demanding to be picked up every five seconds. I did get a book, however, which was nice. I have a nice Henry photo lined up for later on.