This will hurt me...

An Olympic (kind of) themed post today. I took this photograph just a couple of hours ago. Behind the play group building that Henry and I frequent, there sits a few of the illustrious Geilston Bay Tennis Club's outer courts. We can often see the future Rod Lavers, John Newcombes and Richard Frombergs honing their skills pop pop popping away back and forth in the blazing Tasmanian sun. Given the magnificent physical specimens that the boys are, Henry, Ezra, Jennifer and I have discussed whether or not we should invest in racquets and balls as an investment to pumping out our very own version of the Williams sisters. The lads' maternal grandfather is a keen grass court ace, who (if fortunes went another way), could have been a contender to Laver's crown. Unfortunately, fate would see him choose mechanics over the world tour and Wimbledon would have to wait. Tennis is a hard slog, and although the rewards are great, the attrition rate is greater. Broadly, I am not so sure as...

Three for the price of one today। The theme is simple: you have a pretty generic product, and need a hook for the consumer. Short of ideas? Pick a dog, any dog, voilà , problem solved! Some call it lazy, I call it genius. I'm just bummed that I couldn't find good enough jpgs of Bloodhound Brand Hemorrhoid Balm , Pekingese Brand Organic Prophylactics and the world famous Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever Brand Panty Liners .

Not altogether unrelated to the photo posted yesterday, early this morning young Ezra peed all over me (and the bed) for the first time ever. Anyone who has experienced the joy of young boys will no doubt be aware of the magnitude of such an event. Indeed, I have been surprised, shocked and somewhat saddened that it has taken nineteen days for this to happen. Henry weed on me on his very first day outside the womb (and very often afterward, I think he took it on as a personal crusade). Given the frequency of Ezra’s feeding, and the seemingly endless supply of milk, I would have expected this to have happened far sooner. The hard evidence of a mountain of full nappies clearly demonstrates that everything down stairs is going along great guns. Like the hose of a fire truck, he demonstrated good technique with an excellent, lasting flow (which in all honesty I didn’t think was going to end). I shall keep everybody updated as to whether the lad can break Henry’s sterling effort of urin...

I did promise to reveal the meaning to "Akili ni nywele, kila mtu ana zake", but forgot. As figured out by Priyanka Khot in the comments, it indeed talks about hair and intelligence. Literally, the quote is "intelligence is like hair, everyone has their own type". I choose to interpret it as, "just as there are lots of types of haircuts, there are lots of types of intelligence". Thus, if someone thinks that they are better than others simply because they think that their particular set of opportunities, beliefs or knowledge is the be-all and end-all, get over yourself, there are all sorts of 'smarts'. I think that there is something in that for all of us.

By golly, you know there must be a degree of emotional termult when you delve in Johann Gottfried Herder for your title! I have previously expressed an interest in the whole Sturm und Drang movement. But enough inner turmoil, I have a photograph to explain! And isn't it action packed? But why was I outside of a wine bar when I was supposed to be at work? Well, you would be forgiven for thinking that. After work yesterday, I had to nip back into the maternity ward of the hospital to get a stamp on a form. This stamp would once and for all establish Ezra's existence in the eyes of the omnipotent bureaucratic apparatus that sits over all of us here in Australia. I am relived to now know that the little bloke is now real because I was starting to think that the shrieking little thing keeping me up all night was some sort of malevolent apparition. But he has been just a dear little baby boy all along! If that wasn't overwhelming enough, my journey to the hospital was made...

Who knew? I would never in a million years have guessed that a side effect of the shadowy US government conspiracy to rid the world of Africans/gays/drug addicts/ghettos would be a better chance of hitting the fairway. [A cheap laugh, don't act surprised that I am not above it!]

It's the terrible guilt you see, that's the first thing. But then there is this other feeling that is even worse, well, I can't express it as anything other than grief . It really isn't nice way to feel at all.