This will hurt me...

Jen considers heading south for the winter. Calverts Beach, February 2011. Now that I have a window seat at work: I estimate that I witness a minimum of three traffic accidents every week. I estimate that I witness a minimum of nine drug deals every week. I estimate that I witness a minimum of one act of physical violence every week. I estimate that I witness a minimum of eight acts of verbal abuse every week. I estimate that I witness a minimum of twenty three violations of the TASMANIAN TRAFFIC ACT 1925 every week. If I were a police officer, I’d have the best operational reports in the State!

Kayak on the Derwent. May, 2010. One day – I promise – I will kayak to work. What’s the point of living next to a river estuary if one does not kayak to work? We are the time. We are the famous , Jorge Luis Borges We are the time. We are the famous metaphor from Heraclitus the Obscure. We are the water, not the hard diamond, the one that is lost, not the one that stands still. We are the river and we are that greek that looks himself into the river. His reflection changes into the waters of the changing mirror, into the crystal that changes like the fire. We are the vain predetermined river, in his travel to his sea. The shadows have surrounded him. Everything said goodbye to us, everything goes away. Memory does not stamp his own coin. However, there is something that stays however, there is something that bemoans.

Carruthers at dawn. St Johns Park, New Town. August 2010. Here is the building where I now work. A slightly different architectural style than the previous one . The best thing about working in this building is in the fact that you don't have to look at this building. Last Friday a burst water main meant that we lost all water coming into the building. Not too serious for a bunch of pen-pushing keyboard-stroking bureaucrats on the top floor, but less pleasant for the renal ward downstairs...

The view from the cubicle. Level 4, Carruthers Building. St Johns Park. New Town. July 2010. Action stations! I figured that as I'd shown you my old desk , so I may as well show you the new one. Yes, this is where the magic happens. It's a long way from glass case by the sea...

Art! Turning over a new page. April 2010. It's art! Apparently.

Some weeks ago I mentioned the art outside my office window that was causing a rukus: the piano, the sandpit and the wailing sirens (of the heaving bosom variety, not the " WHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! " kind. Well I have finally got around to posting a pic! It had something to do with Brian Wilson, apparently.

I doubted her bold claims to being action oriented (given her [ahem] sturdy figure), but by golly, you should have seen her dive for that last piece of cake!

Self portrait in a car park, August 2009. As the only lady in the house packed to the gunwales of testosterone, poor Jen suffers intolerably . Even dear, sweet, lovely little Ezra™ has embraced with great vigour the masculine world of balls, drums, wild animals, mixed martial arts and random shouting. That said, Henry has his oven and has established a keen interest in the kitchen, even if his spiel is more Gordon Ramsey than Julia Child. He’s also shown an eagerness to learn the fine art of knitting (i.e. stabbing me with the needles and lynching his little people with the wool). He enjoys the supermarket (“What’s that daddy?” “What’s that daddy?” “What’s that daddy?” “What’s that daddy?” “What’s that daddy?” “What’s that?” “ What’s that? ” “ WHAT’S THAT? ”) We have Colin – the baby dolly introduced to Henry when we learned that Ez was on his way. Henry enjoys bathing Colin, wrapping Colin, changing Colin, dressing Colin, putting Colin to bed, feeding Colin, throwing Colin at me. Th...

It's off to work, and it seems like I might not be the only one take a detour by the waterfront this morning. Alas, this was last week. This morning we've got snow halfway down the mountain, unceasing drizzle, and a southerly so chilly that it would perplex a penguin. Here is a poem that I have written: A Poem That I Have Written we do that we took that we want that we need that we know that we hope that we wish that we knew that we wanted that we asked that we heard that we stopped that.

Lately I have been trying to look at things from different angles. Here is a fan on the roof of a building opposite my office. It reminds me of Boba Fett , and without the deadly laser. I have written a poem inspired by a meeting that I attended yesterday. Steering Committee They are the ones that know , or should at least. They are the ones that can , or could at least. They are the ones that don't , they don't you know?

Unfortunately this has been indicative of the kind of morning that I have been setting off into of late. Here is the up the highway towards my bus stop on Monday morning. The fog is okay, because it generally means that I won't get rained on... I thought that in the spirit of inclusiveness, I'd give you a list of Things I Don't Like : Vampires People who like vampires. Fairies. Adults who dress like fairies. Those hats that people buy at Salamanca Market with leopard print trim and fuzz at the top. People who wear those hats that people buy at Salamanca Market with leopard print trim and fuzz at the top. Overly sensitive television personalities. People who say "It shouldn't be a problem, I don't think" when they really mean "I think that it shouldn't be a problem". Men who carry umbrellas. People who are really friendly to you when you're taking photographs, then walk away in disgust when they find out that you're not foreign at all,...

So it is Theme Thursday again, and when this post appears I shall be sitting at the desk I have photographed above wishing that I was anywhere but here. The theme then, is apt: VACATION . The trouble - of course - is that what I really need is a permanent and everlasting and everlasting one! Two weeks is not enough. Hell, two YEARS is not enough. I want to retire right now! You see, my problem is a familiar tale: I've become alienated from my Gattungswesen . It turns out that Marx was right! I can never truly become an autonomous, self-realised human being, except the way that the bourgeois want me - the worker bee - to be realised. Moreover, I don't blame the capitalist, not at all. My J'accuse! is firmly pointed in the direction of the sort of do nothing do gooders who not only tolerate, but perpetuate mediocrity in their monotonous, wretched and insipid insistence that ‘merit’ equals ‘time served’. I'm jammed stuck inside this stahlhartes Gehäuse - which, inci...

So yesterday it was snowing up on Mount Wellington. I took a few snaps in the morning, but didn't have the necessary equipment to transfer the images across from the camera on hand. Above is a bit of a zoom in on the Organ Pipes , and below is a broader view from the fire escape at work. These were taken at around 8 am, I've not been able to get any more because the damn thing has been shrouded in cloud ever since!

Here you can see the view up from Salamanca place to Davey Street. This is where the nobs can be found hob nobbing with other nobs day in day out. The past week I have been snatching moments here and there to revise the old Curriculum Vitae . Revisiting one’s CV and the all important “skills set” is always an experience that I loathe. I’m not sure whether it is the usual cringe that accompanies blowing one’s own trumpet [fnarr fnarr], or whether it is reflective of a deeper cold hard reality. However impressive the list of positions, tasks, roles, responsibilities, actions, functions, actions or achievements looks on paper, the fact of the matter is that I am unable to reconcile the present situation with the unanswerable question as to how I have managed to drift so far away from something that I would much rather be doing? Moreover, after drifting this far with the current, how on Earth does one manage to swim back upstream to get to where one might rather be when the weather looks ...

Two photos featuring moi in less than a week, what a lucky lot you are! This here is a self portrait taken a couple of days ago as I traipsed into work, reflecting upon the dreary world of the wage slave and went about imagining a far more interesting existence, as is my wont these days. This is notion of self reflection and imagination leads me to today’s Theme Thursday theme, one close to my heart: the blessed Library . Now come on, give me a chance, the segue is not as tenuous as you might think. As I have noted time and time again of this very blog, my entire family – even dear little Ezra – is equipped with a well worn library card. Not a week goes by when we’re not returning back twenty or so books to our local branch, only to ferry twenty or so more home. It’s a pleasure you see. As you can see in my sidebar, I’ve just about finished Towards the End of the Morning by Michael Frayn. It’s a clever little satire detailing the struggle against encroaching entropy of a few i...

Here is Henry zealously approaching the slide down at Bicentennial Park for the umpteenth time. Oh how I long for those blissful, carefree and innocent days of youth. A time when one's greatest concern tended towards whether one would be able to squeeze in one more go of the slide before dusk set in. [Such a memory must have been before the public housing estate really kicked off, and one's concern tended towards "is that a human poo/broken glass/a used condom/syringe on the slide?"] Where was I? Ah,the heady days of youth! A time far away from the realisation of the crushing reality of bills, mortgages and the soul destroying banality of a job you now struggle to remember even getting. Alienated from the ends of my production? Check. Uh oh. Somehow I've been denied my capacity to transform the world and it turns out that Marx was right! In having to work , rather than slide , I've become alienated from my very own nature. It is a spiritual, rather than mate...

Back at work. AND I'm all alone in the office. AND politicians' lackies and journalists on the blower every other second. AND I have a blinding headache. AND I am all out of mother's little helpers. AND Ezra didn't want anybody to get sleep last night. AND I have a big pile of 'to dos' on my desk. AND I need a haircut. At least it is starting to feel like summer.

Meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings [repeat to fade]. Christmas time is here again and it seems that everybody (and their dog) wants to avoid any actual work and cram in as many meetings as possible. Like lemmings to a flame, they seem secure in the knowledge the holiday period will not satisfy their craving for inspiring [tedious] , engaging [pointless] , high-quality [ghastly] MEETINGS . Being an innovative and resourceful chap, I have already reflected upon this quandary. Out of this contemplation, I have set up a number of structures to meet the gaps that are evident in the upcoming few weeks. Accordingly, I have tabled a number of agendas as follows: Ezra will chair the Quality and Safety Committee. Henry will chair the Children’...

I am deadly serious when I tell you that today's comic is an accurate representation of the final presentation I witnessed at the recent international conference in Sydney a couple of weeks ago. Moreover, it reflects a number of presentations I have seen over the years, but hopefully none that I have delivered myself.

I am still winging my way to Canberra here, this time from Melbourne airport. As you can see, there was a bit of cloud. Yes, in response to a question asked by Willits’ finest blogger, USelaine, Canberra is one of those artificially constructed artefacts of the decision-less decision made (not made?) years ago. The title today is a comment on Canberra from Malcolm Muggeridge, a noted political commentator here from last century here in Australia. The story of Canberra is far from interesting, fitting to the town. When the Australian colonies decided to federate, you can imagine the keen debate around which of our fair cities would be chosen as the national capital. As the city of Burnie (declared by the Queen herself , no less) was still in its formative years, the decision was made to bypass Tasmania altogether. That left two candidates for the new national capital. At the time, bloated a gold rush and a superior code of football, Melbourne was Australia's largest – and wealthie...