L's World 1: The Edge of Reason

The rain has dried and the crops are dying. Then the snow fell. She wept as they took her horses to the next farm as she could no longer afford to keep them. She feels trapped in her winter wonderland, the servants and chauffers sent off to work elsewhere. The frost under her feet has stretched for more miles than her delicate feet could cope. The time has come for the Baroness to find another mode of transport.

I just spent $130 and a weekend with 15 year old pimply boys stuck in a run down smokey room in Woden having speed-kills-don't-drink-don't-this-don't-that drummed into my head. I know its not drummed in their heads cos most of them spent the weekend doodling pictures of Ren and Stimpy - or whatever they watch these days - on the course book.

Apparently we are the most priviledged state in the entire Australian federation to be chosen to go on a pilot program of compulsory road safety course before we can get our L's. Sure I can understand that you should know this stuff before you go on the roads, but a whole weekend?? and with that GIT with the handlebar mustache that is so patronising and so annoying to be have to listen to hour after hour, using ridiculous metaphors like driving is a lottery that is full of black tickets with names - like death, permanent brain damage, jail, etc etc, and we are about to fill in more names on those black tickets (fine, if you use it once, but for every subject??); if those tax payers dollars to fund the recouperation of Melanie's injuries would be transferred onto one dollar bank notes and pile up, you know how high? as high as Mount Everest, you know how high Mount Everest is? that's how many bank notes it takes to look after her for the rest of her life. You want that? Do you think your mum, your dad and brothers and sisters, your cousins and the dog next door would want that? No, no, no. Not an Everest worth of bank notes. What the fuck?

All I am glad for is that there are actually a few other people who have left their Ls as late or if not later than I have. There's a 30 year old from Melbourne that has taken trams her entire life till she joined the public service here, and a 45 yo star wars fan that's never had a problem taking buses for 20 years from Isabella Plains. I remember how annoying those adult students were during my undergrad years who would sit at the very front of the class and answer all the questions (and get them right) and ask all the questions (and get them right as well). Fuck I feel like one of them when the kiddies on my table glanced up from their doodling at me as if I was a WEIRDOOO when I questioned the gender analysis of road fatalities in Australia 2001 - 2005. Well at least I'm not starting a carpet-laying apprenticeship next week cos I DROPPED OUT OF YEAR 10!!!!

I politely let the younger ones through the knowledge test before me. The computer that I was going to use for my knowledge test breaks down, and so does the next one and the next one. The entire system shuts down and the GIT has a bit of a breakdown (does he do this when he drives too?). I repeat what I always knew in my head. To err is human; to fuck things up big time requires a computer. And bureaucracy is a mistake of a mutant produced by the struggle between humans yearning to become computers.

I start to write another letter to Jon Stanhope in my head (NB: international readers - he's the fearless leader of our magnificent Territory/minor kareoke celebrity who sports a crew cut), and find myself doodling a picture of a snow flake in the course book.

How rediculous, she thought. The Driving Baroness!?

Melbourne June 06

I am in Melbourne for a worktrip, and have scored perfect time with the long weekend to stay on for some shopping and catching up with mates.

This city is so murcky and bleak in the winter it really can be quite depressing if not for the smell of coffee and vietnamese noodles drifting into the streets. The view infront of me is a smudge of grey, and its chilled into my bones. The air particles feels like flakes of ice, condensing on the tip of my nose. My little cold is not appreciating this at all and I've been on strepsils and pseudoephredrine to keep me running.

Hopping inside a tram is like being surrounded by a bed of amber. These old classic style ones glow with the dim lights and the wooden seating. Young women in coats and boots texting away, old men in burets with their walking sticks, blokes in stubbles and hoodies talking about shakespearian deaths, and me, bewildered clutching a tram map, hands full with bits and pieces of shopping, food, a big bunch of flowers for my lovely hosts. This is so Melbourne, you can't feel like this any where else in the world.

You Will Go To The Hunter Valley

About a year ago at a dinner party I cracked open a fortune cookie that said

"You will go to the Hunter Valley".

Run Rabbit, Run Rabbit, Run! Run! Run!!

Day 1

Back on the bloody CAN=SYD express. Ignoring seat belt warning as usual. Funny tourist in over-sized jacket beside me overtakes arm rest and I'm too scared to push him off. He checks his "tour schedule"from the travel agent once every 20 minutes, and records town-passed/distance-travelled/distance-to-sydney every other 20 minutes with a neat pencil from his front pocket. Checks his airport hired mobile phone for messaged every other other 20 minutes. He is a spy.

Stumble into Sushi Train on George Street post-poning toilet break just to get my fix. Shocked to not find special plate with the raw salmon wrapped giant roe platter, panics a little. Asks one to be made and the chef looks up at me. Look, its been 6 months.

I pay $8 to get into the last week of Archibald Prize. I loved it you should go. Its sad that I go to the NSW Gallery more often than the NGA, but since visiting Australia for the first time in 2000 I have decided it was probably one of the best spaces there is.

Coffee with ex bosses.

Chai Latte at the Hilton with BF and his workmates on conference. Back to Templeton's grandfather's house for dinner. He is a fab cook and entertains us with crazy stories about people's fingers getting cut off, jumping into rivers, and a man who wears his wife's undies, and the Opera House. And muslims. Falls asleep after 1 champagne.

Day 2

The highway, symbolised by the big green line that wiggles through the coast, looks like it'll never end, but I have just realised that I can look at maps in a car and not omit all content of my stomach onto the driver's lap. And that Templeton and I share the ability to confuse left and right.

Car guy from New Castle is in deep shit, as its not ready for us to look at and "we drove 500Ks". But I've never been to this ancient port town and must endeavour to understand its historic, social, political, economic, cultural and environmental significance in 1.5 hours. But also must have fish'n chips when you're in NC!! while avoiding being attacked by gulls. T tells me about shipyard protesting in the early 90s. I see one Chinese person.

There's like only one way to get the Maitland, symbolised by the red line with the shield with a number in it, and we get there just before we thought we were lost. Side bar says it has the best preserved high street in Australia but neither of us could agree. Very quiet but I can see the appeal. Walked around the river and this place really reminds me of Wanganui.

The hills are incredibly huge above us. So we do feel some what far away from the valley. Its late autum and the hills are almost grey. Hazy, distant. Yearning.

Wineries... symbolised by 6 dots suggesting a vine of grapes on an empty space. T and I do a bit of strategising and decides that TranquilVale is the closest to Greta and we should get to it before 5pm so we have time to get pissed. The drive in down a narrow dust road felt like we were in the Anne of Green Gables TV show - the sides were clad with pink tails of tussock grass in the setting sun and passing the rows of aging fence wood on each side with the sound of wheels over pebbles beside you. The owner emerges with a full pink flushed smile. He used to be a finance broker in London but decided that the wine making life in rural New South Wales was for him. 156 dollars later we were back on the dust road racing the round red sinking sun into the hills.

Managed to get lost again and drive past signs. We arrive at our guesthouse in Greta just as darkness sweeps across the earth. No neon lights, just a green beam outside the local pub. It is soooooooo cute!! http://www.thetable.com.au/. Giant intimidating cat greets us and promptly makes his way into the car for a bit of a poke around. Obviously never seen a VW Beetle before. Malcolm the plump chef/owner is a lovely man but probably feels sorry for himself for having to work on a saturday night. Cat (introduced as "Pud") now sitting on top of the car, too scared to jump off. Templeton helps him off and scratches his chin. Sometimes I think Templeton is too patiently generous. Thats why I'm still around... After Templeton's compulsory daily nap, Malcome served us a fantastic dinner. 1) Olives and duck liver pate - matched with PUKKA ....... 2) Hearty Beechroot Soup - he obviously spent a lot of time on the stock, it really is the most creamiest thing I've had 3) Paella - which both of us have been trying to perfect so its great to taste some one else's - he has various topping like chicken drumsticks and cherry sausages, and the tip is probably not to cook the mussel right through so that it obtains a bit of rawness and has an oyster likeness to it. 4) bread and butter pudding with minced fig and hot custard - figs are so in fashion these days and I have no reason to doubt why it shouldn't be. The texture of the fig and the way which the pips break in your teeth just melts in with the soft bread and subtle sauce.

It makes sense to go to bed now but it was probably a better idea to go for a walk. Its cold, and its really dark. The moon is full and lights the path all by itself and we dance in our shadows. Run Rabbit Run Rabbit Run Run Run. It was through a bit of arm twisting that Templeton dragged me into the local pub. I had the pleasure last year, on the way down to Melbourne , to walk into a country pub to use the toilets at 7pm on a Friday night. You'd think they've never seen an Asian before and you are probably right. 30 pairs of eyes followed me from the light pushing of the bar door right around the pokey machines and the marlboro posters and into the ladies' toilets, then all the way back around the blue skatty carpet till I ran out screaming. We still got starred at. (DID YOU KNOW, that 14.5% of NSW opposes interracial marriages?) but they were a bit more occupied with the cover band. I steal a Rodeo poster on the way out, Templeton collects the coaster. heh heh. No that wasn't too bad, but still.

Day 3

I wake up in the hugest bed I've ever slept in and wonder why I am not sore today. Oh wait, I'm hung over. Templeton and I procrastinate too much and are 15 minutes late for breakfast. But Malcolm understands~~

Breakfast was 1) Freshly squeezed OJ & coffee 2) Porridge topped with toasted pine nuts drizzled in cream then topped with honey and brown sugar melt 3) Sweet potato frittata w zucchini and home made grilled tomato sauce. The one i'll be taking home is the T sauce. The flavours were literally dancing in my mouth and all the way up my nose. Winter in the Hunter is just that warm and enriching.

Clinkadee clonk goes the box of wine we carry down stairs and off we go to hunt out more. However Templeton still manages to score a few records at the garage sale at the old church hall down the road. Taiwanese Music from the 50s too. I feel like Dorothy. We head towards Polkobin and stop at Emma's Cottage first. We were going to stay there at one stage but The Table gave us a better deal. Some colourfully dressed but admittedly freaky scarecrows sit in the vineyard, and then more of them line the drive way. The couple that runs it were from Sydney's northern beaches. They too could not resist the rural romantic winery lifestyle. The lady is a painter/artist and she is the mother of the scarecrows. Her paintings were displayed in the cellar door with big price tags, they were interesting but perhaps a little bit too hauntingly bright for me. The wine was disappointing as well, the flavours were quite bland and just didn't quite do anything for me. Except the rose. To add to the queerness of the place there's a cemetery in the middle of the garden. We were told that the local Anglican Church owns that plot and they have right of access to it. Its mainly buried early settlers in the Hunter area, dating from about 1860s. We asked to go in and take a look. It was quite unique actually, the tomb stones tell a lot about lives of white settlers back then. Many died young, many of the dead were between 4 days old and 16. Quite a few women, I would assume, died at child birth as well. The most recent one was November 2005. Some of the bigger names such as the Terrys and the Campbells featured prominently and we later saw some of their vineyards along the road. Absolutely fascinating. We tip toed out as to not disturb the dead or the scarecrow.
We pass some bush camps with wide-eyed children waving out at us. Along ?? Road there's a smorgasboard of wineries and each has an inviting door. We eenie-meenied into Rothvale - Hunter Habit. Its a big barn in the middle of the field. High ceilings houses large barrels and large tables for big gatherings. A group of German-American-Canadian people are in there listening to this Aussie dude talk bull crap about drinking. The showman asks us what we do and gives us his perspective of everything-in-the-world, and a not very convincing argument FOR the AWB for giving bribes to the Iraqi government - "you gotta do what you gotta do in business you know, or else other people will do it anyway. Get in before you, you know. But hey, I don't know about politics." Bite your tongue. He then introduces the ideal matching meals to each of the wine as we swiggle away (Templeton spits and I swallow), weirdly all of the food he mentions is Japanese or Thai. Is it cos of me?? We sweep up the $5 bottles of seconds, making a list in our heads who out of our friends should be given a bottle. I can't stop laughing at the sight of Templeton loading up our little car with boxes full of bottles.

I think this is the road of no return to tourist trap. The cheese shop Malcolm recommended is in a resort type place where silver and red four wheel drives line the car park and the waiters are all punks. Cheese... cheese... cheese.... We drive into the pink and yellow part of the map, and we are gobsmacked. Before this we had largely been travelling on a bushy road littered with dead kangaroos, not particularly well sealed (which T calls it a road with acne), and we see a few hundred acres of developed suburb like space, with hundreds of well dressed weekend holiday makers walking around with their dogs in and out of small groups

I think the point is to pretend that you know what you are talking about, eased by the fact that you have chosen to swallow than to spit. The showroom people probably know nothing either. Its like the Emperor's clothes, what counts is how big your mouth or wallet or imagination is.

Luckily the day was saved by discovering Pepper Tree Wines in the late afternoon, a well groomed posh cellar in the grounds of a former convent. The garden is absolutely gorgeous and there are catering staff buzzing in and out for a function they are about to hold in the evening. This was by far the best place we've been to -- and I am a little embarrassed to say that we came out with almost two dozen bottles and a huge dent in both of our wallets... look, Christmas is only 7 months away after all.

Apart from the very very excruciating traffic hold up between Gosford and Sydney on the way home, I could pretty much say the weekend was one of the most enjoyable adventures I've had in NSW.

Anzac Day - Celebrate this Land

On Anzac Day on Ngunnawal land, the Aussie and the Kiwi went on a bit of a trek in the Namadgi National Park. A bit of kanga stalking, rock tripping, a picnic under the gum trees - and heaps of sunshine! Highly recommended.

Entered the track from Gudgenby, a few Ks from the Gelndale Crossing about 30ks from Tharwa. Bring a 4WD cos it can get a bit hilly and dusty. Don't forget hat and sunscreen cos 70% of the track is open air with very little trees overhead due to land clearing. At Yankee Hat rocks you can see Aboriginal rock painting. The indigenous people of this land resided here till 1860s till it was turned into farm land. Its only been protected and heritage listed in 1984 when Namadgi was made national park. The rock painting is done by a mixture of clays, red ochre and some blood. The rock and the rock painting is likely to be a meeting place, with the black markings most likely from an open fire. You can see that the different figures in the painting depicts different animals - ie. the big white one is a kangaroo (looking suspiciously like our Milly...) smaller white ones are dingos, and the birds depict emus. The figures with the longer limbs are humans, and you can also see figures of a turtle and an achidna. The above picture is of a type of eucalyptus tree - commonly called scribbly gum - a type of moth's (called scribbly moth- eh!) lavae lives just under the bark and makes those marks (apparently doesn't hurt the trees). And on the right is another gum tree waiting to bloom.

Chuckle chuckle...

Was wondering if I was the only one that noticed...

but, does the outfit which controversial model Michele Leslie - infamous inmate of the Bali police for possessing two ecstacy tablets on the way to a dance party with two male offsprings of Indonesian politicians- wore on her runway debut for Michael Azzollini since being released from jail totally resemble the classic prisoners' stripes to you or what? oooops.

photo courtesy of The Age website.

To Chris And Alice!!

hey gorgeous people (or, brave souls) - YOU DID IT YOUR WAYYYYYY!! (and not much more cos I have no voice left and I lost my glasses...) Have fun in Thailand!!

100!

You are the 1ooth person to hit my blog since 22nd February. Woohoo!

Uranium, China, Australia, Taiwan

Well why the bloody hell am I not surprised that the federal government is selling uranium to China? and why do I think its the most stupidest decison they have made (this week)?

First of all, second of all, and third of all: Money
Obviously domestic pressures would never see Australia have a nuclear power station (for all the right reasons ofcourse), so what are they going to do with all the stuff sitting in the ground (by the way, aboriginal land, where the traditional owners don't want a mine, and don't want a waste dump put back in there to pollute their land and their health either). Export it. Where? Anywhere where public information is limited and controlled, and political oppression is rife and demand for energy for a booming industrialising economy is high, and the government and the big businesses licking their arse can do whatever they want. The offshore businesses loves you, the onshore businesses loves you, you get a big chunk of GDP growth/foreign reserves, voters are happy cos the nuke waste isn't coming back here, wah lah, k'ching!

No empathy for the environment nor public health
The environmental impact of radio active activity and waste is obviously extremely severe. Areas near the Chinobyl disaster is still badly contaminated and highly radio active (researchers need to enter in high-level protection suits) after almost 20 years after the disaster, never mind the cancers and feotal deformities of the people exposed to the radio activity in that area. This is considered short term. So think about what the long term impacts will be of other nuclear accidents. Over 22 known nuclear accidents around the world from power stations and other experiments have happened since Chynobyl. Given the fact that the Australian Government wants to contrain Australia in an energy system from 2 centuries ago rather than investing more towards renewable energy research and development, its not really that surprising that the environment isn't given much consideration in this decision to sell uranium off to China. I refer you to "Blowing In The Wind", a documentary by David Bradbury about the environmental destruction and health affects to local indigenous ppl from uranium mining and nuclear waste storage in South Australia (and other places) for an Australia context of the issue.

And now comes China, the most accident prone country in the world. They are prone to easily avoidable disasters because of corruption and lack of stricter controls in their rapidly growing industries. over 5000 miners died in coal mine disasters in China last year alone. Imagine what's going to happen in a completely new field of nuclear fission with a much greater risk of destruction to human life compared to coal mining.

Bringing Cross-Strait Arms Race to a New High
Great - China and Taiwan hates each other, and have been building up their arms on both sides of the coast of the Taiwan Strait for over 50 years. US sells billions of dollars worth of (old/retiring) arms over to Taiwan to deter China's edging military buildup each year. China buys more from other sources so it could just top Taiwan. Next year Taiwan stocks up more. On it goes. I ask you, if you were Taiwanese, would you feel safer if you had MORE weapons or less? Not the point, but certainly a sad one I should point out.

So here Australia goes fuelling this whole thing. China "promises" that its not going to use the uranium for weapons (as a signatory of the nuclear non-proliferation treaty) but Taiwan, who is not a signatory to the NPT, (Only BY DEFAULT not cos they are a rougue state, but cos they got kicked out of the UN and China won't let them back in) does not have an obligation not to develop nuke weapons. How do you think this make China (who loves their bloody ugly face, on top of it all) feel? They could never be trusted at the first place not to develop nukes in secret anyway, and now Taiwan possessing more uranium is going to ENCOURAGE China to do so.

The Taiwan Strait is probably one of the biggest flashpoints for conflict in the Asia Pacific - neither side are quite desperate enough yet to start any war yet, but if you think about the human, environmental and economic casualties if these two countries go to war. And especially if both sides had nuclear war heads. (by the way I staunchly stand by my view that Taiwan is/always should be an independant country, and this mess with China could be easily sorted by peaceful means if they'd barge, rather by brutal force from either side).

Hypocricy - now that's new
Meanwhile Downer sits around counting his cash from his free trade agreement, not really particularly concerned about human rights, a country's sovereignty, environmental degredation, blah blah blah, not going to help Taiwan if China declares war on it, cos you know, its ok to go to a totally unjustified and illegal war in Iraq to promote so called Western Democracy, but its not particularly justifiable to stand on Taiwan's side cos its a fully fledged democracy that elects their own parliament and goes about their business without hurting anyone, and instead stand by China which is an autocratic, corrupt, human rights abusing freedom hating regime.

I love Australia, I love this government, and where the bloody hell are ya?

Should One Name Their Goldfish?

Wooooooo hoooooo! Templeton and I took an interesting leap in our relationship this week - firstly purchasing an incredibly funky giant wine glass this week as part of an accident while looking for something else 2 days ago - then secondly taking up co-stewardship over three little goldfish from the appropriately named Fyshwick Markets earlier today so they could go in our giant wine glass.

The last time I had goldfish was 8 years ago as a very irresponsible young adult and it all ended in tears. So this time I consider as a fresh start and a new commitment to lives other than my own. I have done very good research and got all the necessary gear and ready to give our new friends a good start in their new spunky home.

Though I do have one dilemma - should one name their goldfish?

Identity
Should a goldfish have an identity like another member of your house as more common and larger and longer living pets such as cats, dogs, rabbits? I understand that animals raised for the purpose of food are not usually named but animals kept as companions are. Goldfish is in that grey area (for me anyway) - I do not keep them for the purpose for food, but neither are they companions as such, as I don't actually interact with them. Sounds aweful but they are for me more like "live ornaments". Don't get me wrong I still consider them as living feeling things (particularly how prone to stress they are). But they are not really you know, companions like Sexton and Millicent. I mean, I wouldn't name a vase or a wall hanging yeah?

I am aware that some less significantly regarded animals only get names after a particular incident. For example the hen that surviveds two consequent dingo attacks or the duck that rides for 200km in the engine room of a train would be called "Lucky". My goldfish only got 4km over the hill in a VW Beetle. But I am open to the option that they will do marvellously adventurous things.

Also - Templeton's argument - they don't live very long (induced by us??) and it would be traumatic to be sentimentally attached to them, aggrevated further by giving them a name. By the way my last one was called Finglebunce. yeah it does hurt.

Identifying
Usually people and animals are given names or a number so they could be identified from their population for a variety of purposes from feeding, taxation, mating, and when they get lost. When there are quite a few goldfish it probably isn't useful to refer to one particular fish as "the fish". Although our friends are not likely to "get lost" unless the cats work out how to fish them out. But it would be particularly unuseful when you are trying to describe which one is sick, hasn't had enough to eat, or stressed out.

In our case there are only three and I particularly chose three quite different looking ones - not because it would be hard to identify but simply because I like variety. There's the black and red spotted on white one, the orange one with a white tummy, and the classically orange one from the TVNZ and tampon ads. I could just identify them as that but that's quite a bit of mouthful. And giving codes instead of names ie 1, 2, 3 or A, B, C in a small population of fish would be just rediculous.

MMM... I think I'll sit on it for a few days.

So this is Sunday...

Yum. BB bounce at 1.30pm on a Sunday afternoon. Shiner's been howling into the hallway since 5 o'clock in the morning ie an hour after I got to sleep, and Templeton is out of town, so I let him curl up with me in bed except he keeps on piercing his claws into me. My hair smells like a Chinese basketball stadium and I sound like Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother. I believe I also have two new blisters on my little darling toe, and I feel like what I had for dinner last night - a giant tortilla.

There is something remarkably unpleasant about cleaning up cat poo with a spliting head ache. But I am pleased at least that they urinated on John Howard's picture printed on the newspaper which I deliberately lined their poo box with.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Hen's Night Now

The Baroness Reporting Live from Alice's Hen's Night

5.59pm – Where are you in the Pecking Order?

Its amazing how quickly the restaurant is filled between 5.59 and 6.13. Everyone looks absolutely HOT particularly compared to the pimply wait-staff behind the bar. Alice has soon-to-be ruined nice hair and a red flashing sash with “Bride To Be” written on it. She can’t wait mate. Mel gives us bright shiny tiaras. Exchanges of formalities and confusion about ordering ensues. Spit flies in the air as girls gasp when Craig Mottram falls onto the track and get trampled over by other runners (El Rancho is also a family friendly sports bar). Alice is wisked away by her mum Trish so we could have a little briefing from Isabel about this evenings events. Heh heh heh!! My giant tortilla arrives and I temporarily forget about the fat content in my mash. The wine is awful. I believe the late person who did not check their email about change of dinner time is once again Truc. I excuse myself again for having to squeeze past Mel and Kath’s chairs. I enter the toilet to find that the toilet seat of one of the cubical has completely fallen on to the ground.

8.10 pm – The Rooster Is On Fire

We are sitting upstairs in another wholesome Manuka establishment. I've never seen this many giggling women in one room before, except for the last time my mother made dumplings. I believe I smell smoke but I down my red bull and vodka anyway, calmly sussing out how I could make it down the fire exit without being trampled over. Suddenly an officer from the ACT Fire Service arrives and... [The following section of the report has been removed to uphold the high level of broadcasting standards in this magnificent country]

8.40pm – Feathering Up

We are sooo pumped after the false fire alarm. Mel and Toni administers 20 questions with Alice – ie. A test on how well she knows Chris, on things like favourite colour, food, position, pets and children. Every question she gets wrong she has to wear a piece of embarrassing item. Turns out that Chris has deliberately or otherwise LIED in most of his answers and he will be getting a thrashing when the Mrs gets home. In record speed Alice is donned in a) an oversized bra with lollies sawn on it so she could offer it to men to eat it off her b) lots of head gear c) feather boa d) aviators e) balloons stuffed inside her bra. I believe this is when I downed another redbull and vodka.

9.02pm – The Birdcage is Broken

Upon hearing that the Moonlight Bus has arrived, the girls pour onto the street from the said wholesome establishment. We kiss Trish and those not continuing onto The Journey with us goodbye and patrons in Manuka are quite shocked by the noise and size of the entourage. The chaperon on the bus is a middle aged bloke called Glen. I have never seen anyone more like a blueberry than he does. Glen gives us very very cheap champagne in plastic cups and we all accept in delight. Although very comfortable, the Moonlight bus is a bit boring in its aesthetics, I would personally decorate it like Pricilla Queen of Desert. Alice is at the front leading the charge. We demand loud music and gets it. The rowdiness eases down the drink and I get a top up. We hoon down The State Circuit. First stop Third Degree – a cocktail bar right next to the inter-state bus depot where one goes for a drink when the bus is late or when you stupidly listens to the taxi company and checks in 1.5 hours prior to departure. A 21st is also happening. Some little rich girl has all her mates in cocktail dresses and is currently displaying her pony pictures and those of her and her rugby playing boyfriend on the projector. We get told off for being too noisy during the speeches. Matter of time really. No dancing but we are happy with two for one drinks and Alice has successfully rids a handful of lollies.

10.10pm- Migrating Southwards

Some blokes also “chartered” the bus – but they fit in quite well with us and just loving the attention they are getting. Alice tells them about true love. Lots of giggling is going on and my head is spinning. Carrie is speaking in an English accent. There is a big pack of policemen waiting for us at the end of Commonwealth Bridge and we are made to stop. The bus explodes into shrieks of excitement, most hoping that the officers are coming onboard to do a full monty. But no. It was still exciting though it would be more fun if we got into trouble. Yes and what about my spousal security clearance? We hoon past the tunnel. All I know is that we are currently in a suburb with lots of car yards, and the pub we are in is Irish and has“O'Shea” in its title some where. VERY COOL! It has a live cover band and lots of suburb folks and an empty dance floor. Some one trips over on the way to the dance floor and the rest floats in, again in giggles. It’s amazing how much one can giggle. Alice sells off more lollies and more of blokes buying her drinks and we shake a bit of our booties. I would walk 500 Miles. These chicks absolutely rock. I order four tequila shots, and the fantastic bar tender took these enduring images of my 8th ever Hens Night.

And I would walk 500 more. Iiiidddiiiyadda iiiddiiiyaaddaa iidddiiyaadaa yaaddaa lunddaa eyyy.

11.30 pm - Cockfight

We head back to town with more cheap and nasty champagne.
Blokes say they are going to do some research at another wholesome establishment called Sensations(?) and we get dropped off at Shooters. Urrggh this is quite nasty. More dancing ensues but the lack of space for my menouvers is a bit annoying. Alice knows the trick and heads onto the stage. Really annoying dude hits on me. Really annoying dude hits on Mirjiam. Really annoying dude doesn’t get the message so the other Alice and I tell him to FUCK OFF and he does. Such a shame that I didn’t have to resolve to wedging my heels into his toes. We rock. Young dude 1 plunges onto Young dude 2 and about 4 other young dudes wrestle into a big messy pile of limbs. Some one breaks their glass. And then a finger nail. Glen the chaperone ushers us out.

12.09pm – This Chick Is Too Young We arrive at ICBM the ultimate cowboy bar. Unfortunately I am the only person that could not get in due to incorrect ID (not fake, just not good enough) and I obviously don’t look like I’m going to turn 26 next week. Alice is pissed off about that a lot more than I am and boycotts ICBM and we do what looks like a strike outside. Glen is unable to get the bus here straight away so we dance on the pavement instead. Alice gives away more lollies. I loose most of my inhibitions and I pat Glen’s round tummy. Emma and Kath eats pizza.

1.05am – Back at the battery farm

What is left of us arrive back at the wholesome establishment in Manuka. Alice tells of various rabbit-like behaviour and we are all amused. We take advantage of our last lot of free cheap champagne and I scull about half a bottle. Nasty. Entourage flocks upstairs and its pretty amazing to think that this packed club was empty just five hours ago and the fireman was putting out fire just over there in the corner where now some kids are pashing away. This lot is a lot friendlier and Alice gets hugs from all over the place. We dance a bit more and I really don’t remember much from then. Toni and Jen challenges these chicks to a game of pool and they absolutely cane them. I don’t understand how I am still awake, but I am. We file out downstairs and line up for cabs. Last November I did it till 7. But hey, its not last November anymore.

3.00am – Nesting up and laying eggs

This is the stage of the night when beautiful people goes home to beautiful people and the not-so-beautiful people goes home with a kebab.

And WE ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL!
(only by default - the kebab place was closed.)

12 Days of My New Job

On the first day of my new job a nice young man come to wash the windows and I am also very impressed with the choice in plunger coffee.

On the second day of my new job I burn a really bad mark on the board room table

On the third day of my new job my computer kicks the bucket and I loose everything I anally saved

On the fourth day of my new job I move to another computer (and then another) along with all my files and mug (that was responsible for the burn mark) and highlighters and start life as a football. Although I wished I was a parallel bar instead - stick thin and groped all the time.

On the fifth day of my new job my new boss decides to buy me a new computer

On the sixth day of my new job I know my computer isn't suppose to arrive so I am ok with that
On the seventh day of my new job I watched the women's marathon and decided it was probably not a good idea that I do one myself

On the eighth day of my new job I go to another meeting and but I think of is orgasms and then I burn another mark on the board room table

On the ninth day of my new job my computer didn't arrive

On the tenth day of my new job my computer still hasn't arrived, but my new boss buys me (us) a custard tart to go with the kick-arse plunger coffee

On the eleventh day of my new job my computer finally finally finally arrives!

On the twelveth day of my new job my new computer is still working, and I think, I better stick around here eh.

Storm

Storm in Canberra today at 6.30pm. View from our backyard.

Since early February I had been engaged in a daily ritual of observing a decomposing pidgeon corpse on the top of the lane way between our house and the road (just behind the fence). First it was a lumpy dead bird with tussled greyed feathers, face up with its wings open. I almost tripped over it running out to the footpath. It was more of laziness in not having to clean it up rather than an obsession with death or forensics that I had started watching it. Then its eyes started hollowing out, and its muscles sinking into its chest. Ants and grubs moves in and infests. Dust blows over and dogs fondle it with their nose. Bones starts protruding and the feathers thins out. The pidgeon sinks into the ground, everything except its last feathers and a bulgy head you can hardly see. It stays that way for weeks and weeks and I wonder whether it could disintergrate further. Then today the rain came. The storm washes it all away.

Honey, I Blew Up The Rice Cooker

In the middle of cooking power-rice, it seems as though the 20 something rice cooker has given up on me. The bottom steel heat rim had been slightly dented and I had promptly ignored it and continued abusing my previledge of owning the rice cooker worth five dollars at the tzu-chi op-shop two years ago. The dented rim was not distributing heat properly and as time went by it was slowly burning through the bottom of the rice container. Today it managed to burn through the cooker metal, letting water seap through into the rim and the rest of the 'machine', causing a reaction between water and electricity, and eventually an explosion in the middle of my kitchen. As it died it sapped out some pussy black tears. In death, as it was in life, it was a machine with an unspeakable power I secretly feared but got such pleasure out of.

WaWa's Whirlwind Week

4 - 5 March : How To Chew Betel Nuts

The Jungle Party - it all started and ended with my ample consumption of betelnuts, courtesy of Eunice, our friend from PNG whom got it off mates from Cairns. There are a few ok photo from the small dinner before hand, and a memorable one of The Commodore and Gal dressed as Gollywogs. ur hm.

How To Chew Betel Nuts
1) Cut betelnuts into halves or quarters, especially if you have a small mouth
2) Cut mustard roots into shorter chunks, especially if you are sharing with friends
3) Pop beteluts into your mouth and chew hard
4) Coat mustard roots in lime powder (burnt shells mixture) by wetting it with your saliva first
5) Eat that, and combine well in mouth
6) Wait for some magic to happen

7 -9 March: Vietnamese Noodle Soup

With my week off before starting my new job, I went up to Sydney to visit my aunt Mei Shiang & uncle Lin. They were pretty cool, they are devout Buddhists and used to run the Sydney chapter of the Tzu-Chi Foundation for a couple of years. I love their Japanese inspired deco in their little apartment. They took me to the best Vietnamese noodle house in Sydney (The Tan Than in Flemington) freeeeek'n lick'n good.

Vietnamese Noodle Soup
1) Work up a nice stock. For the lazy, cubes from your local VN shop will do. For the not so lazy, you will need to cook up a pot of beef bones, fat, chinese five spice, celery, onions, etc. Keep this boiling the whole time.
2) Prepare ingredience. For vegos, pretty straight forward things like fried oily tofu, bok choy, bamboo shoots. For meat eaters, prepare thinly sliced raw beef, cooked ox tails and/or tendons, some cooked roast beef, and meat balls. Obviously substitute whatever you feel like, for sea food options its best to have firmer fish none of the canned variety please.
3) Prepare staples of the Vietnamese, all raw: Bean sprouts, Vietnamese Mint, sliced chillis, lime wedges
4) In a seperate pot cook rice sticks - preferrably fresh. If fresh it only just needs a quick warm up with boiling water. If dried remember not to over cook by leaving it hot.
5) Place rice sticks in serving bowl. Top with key ingredience then pour stock over top - raw beef should cook nicely in a few secs. Then put staples on, with a dash of fish sauce.
6) Wait for magic

10 March: Vege Soup

I stayed with my mate Thomasen who has moved back to Sydney from a few years stint in Canberra. She's finished uni pretty much and looking for a job. Her parents house in Mosman is a fantastic little heaven with retro deco and a wonderful Australian art collection. Thomasen, her 18yo sister Tilley and I had a sesh eating vege soup at the table after a morning of cooking interesting potato cakes for Thom's party - which was a nightmare we just managed to save with a bit of ingenuity. Shopping in Mosman was a blast! I could not believe the quality of the clothes here. I am actually very very sick of the Sydney CBD shopping - its either extremely expensive and unaffordable stuff in the QVB/Pitt St area, or the tackiest sweatshop stock from China Town and Broadway. Mosman is just the right mix and affordable prices and I honestly have not had such a good time shopping for a long time.

Vege Soup
1) Boil up a cup of kidney beans or a mixture of beans, barley and lentils, but not thoroughly cooked
2) throw in some onions, celery, carrots, and can of tomato
3) boil up. Use a hand held blender to roughly blend the pulses - but still leaving them slightly visible. YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!!
4) Add salt, peper and a dash of italian parsley
5) serve with crsty bread spread with dejong mustard

11-12 March: Gormet Baked Beans On Toast

Templeton and I went sailing in Pittwater after Thom's party. On Saturday, after a wonderful breakfast of baked beans on toast cooked on The Kalitsah's trusty cabin stove, we took the girls out for a nice calm sail and a good swim near Coasters Retreat Bay.

Gormet Baked Beans on Toast
1) Open a can of baked beans and cook on medium-low heat
2) Slice thickly full grain bread, toast both sides with butter if desired
3) Pour baked beans on toast, top with a few slices of camenbert cheese
4) Sprinkle with some cracked pepper
5) Wait for magic

The Jungle Party

Its our house warming today, woo hoo have been picking bananas and cracking coconuts all morning, very much looking forward to catching up with all my mates. Pictures from this evening to come when available.

Spider Man?

Views From a Farm House

Waikato, North Island, New Zealand. Beautifully lit sky, glowing grass, flickering river water. Every day I think, this is a bloody fantastic place.


My cousin Joey - I've only ever heard of him but never met him till last friday. Its his 7th month living in New Zealand with his mum (my mum's sister) at my parent's place. He's a pretty straigh forward city kid who's never really seen a cow before. Now he's caught a cricket. (Dad helped). But he let it go after about half an hour in the nest he built for it. He says he'll probably not have enough time to spend with it. It'll be too emotionally demanding, cost him too much, throw a tanty when he doesn't call or just feels like rolling over and sleep.

My sister - grower, pruner, carer, office manager, boss, tyrant, sweepest, quality controller, over qualified, little girl that likes to throw tanties. More capable than anyone could ever think. Former capsicum addict. Now she wants out. Mad at the first place. Still mad now.

Our cat Cupes - she is sweet sixteen, has the silkiest, flirtiest meow on the planet. Sleeps a lot, like all old cats, purring insanely as she goes. She kills a lot of plants by sleeping on them. Still takes down a bird or two and goes hobbit hunting when she can be bo-vv-ered. She looooooves sardines but salmon's a grade better. She tolerates rabbits that flaunts around the lawn as if they run the place. particularly that black fluffy one with the blinky eye. grrrr. But she's just too cool to care.

Mum's Moving On

Mum tells me she had just hit menopause. Hot flushes, uncontrollable tempers, emotional eating. Surprising to me really, she's just so controlled and lives in such routine, can't think of her like that. Dad and sis has been at the brunt of the hormones, and she does use menopause as an excuse. I think its funny. She doesn't like saying good bye to her old friend. It used to remind her of her body, puts her in a good frame of mind, that she is in sync with her seasons. More excuse to drink carrot juice. So shamelessly new age. But then again periods were easy for mum. Relatively painless and brief. Not like my aunty whom spends days on end in bed. During university I used to turn blue on the first day, stretching out under the library table, having to leave a lecture. Mum is also clinical about periods, getting it down to an art in her calendar. Like her shopping lists and her plants and the alarm clock on her bedside. She says she's going to go to the doctors toremove her IUD. She chuckles at our conversation. I can't believe a piece of wire has been in there for that many years, exactly the same place where I used to be. Where she grew me from two cells to a jelly bean to a pink furball and popped me out. She tells me that the holiday she and dad have been planning for ever is finally going to take place. Leaving her diary and phone behind. No more procrastinating.

A woman is born to bleed. She is to nurture the world and to feed it, but only does it well if she is nurtured in return. She renews and she recharges. She learns and she teaches. She's really born to give and receive like all people, but she always ends up giving too much. Mum's given so much all her life. I hope now her body will tell her that its time to stop just giving, but sit back and take a bit of love in and time off.

RU486 blah blah blah

Anything to do with abortion will always arouses emotions, moral high grounds, and a whole lot of political showdown.

It shows again that the personal is the political. First there was Tony Abbott milking his "reunited with my long lost son" story then having it bite him back on the arse story. And then Lyn Allyson and Nick Minchin also comes out and shares their abortion story. Which ever side they stand and what ever the starting point, I do think it is courageous to take on this taboo. Back say 40 years ago in the first wave of abortion debates it would have been political suicide. Its interesting that it can be turned straight around. And it demonstrates that its pretty obvious that unplanned and unwanted pregnancy happens through out any section of the society, and it can happen to any body. Its not a teenage problem, its not a lower socio-economic problem, it can happen to any body, and any body, particularly the pregnant woman herself MUST have the choice to decide on what is best for her, first and formost.

As far as I am concerned the debate is not about abortion. We had that debate 40 years ago – its pretty clear that people in this country wants to uphold that simple freedom of controlling the paths of their own lives. Its about introducing this drug into Australia and the Its about the administration and control of the drug – which is a fair enough debate.

But its also very interesting that the debate is only happening now. RU486 has been available in New Zealand since 2001. Why has it taken so long for the health system to finally get the paper work going? Red tape in a regime controlled by Christian Fundamentalists.

Its not even a debate about late term abortion. RU486 is a pill (or 2 pills) that can only be used to terminate pregnancy in the first NINE weeks of pregnancy. It reduces the trauma and complication and risks of a surgical abortion. see http://www.ru486facts.org/ or google it for more info.

And then Dana we-are-aborting-ourselves-out-of-exisitence Vaile comes out with that stupid comment about Australia being over populated by Muslims and white women (I'm pretty sure Asian women are having too many babies too) are obviously out-competed in the baby popping race. (cos you know, they have the freedom to work, walk down the street without having to veil themselves head to toe, own property rather than being owned as property, choose who they want to marry, enjoy sex, use contraceptives, and god oh god have abortions!!)

If people do not think abortions are part of their moral lifestyle, then its their CHOICE (as in, I'm not referring to the free market). Don't use your moral/religious values to govern other people’s moral values. We are a much more secular society than many others, its just that the religious few seem to still want to have their say for everyone else. So they loose the abortion debate and are still trying to make it harder for other people to have more safer choices incontrolling their own bodies.

There's only one line I've gotta say: "Get your rosaries off my ovaries Mr Abbott!"

Here Again...

at Sydney Bloody Airport.

I told you I like, live here. Its so much calmer compared to three weeks ago. Every one's worn out. They ask me if I am bringing anything for anyone. What? "You know, did anyone ask you to take anything for them?". What-ever.

Today was another fine cutting it fine days. Can't continue to do this really. I had to call Freedom to tell them that I'll be there about 1 hr before the departure instead of the 2.5 hrs recommended. Dashing in on the train from Central after my bus was delayed by hail storms. Blame it on the bloody misleading bus info cos i could have got an earlier one. Raising the hair on the back of my neck as scenes of missing the brisbane plane haunted my head.

But here I am. I dodged all bureaucracies and their what-evers and I am here. Just 'nuff time to say, "neh neh neh neh" on my blog at the samsung e-lounge I've had very little trouble loving since July '03.

God I miss my mother.

Under Construction

Hey guys I am really sorry about the recent deshevelled look of my blog. Due to a series of personal and professional committments I have not been able to think or blink properly.

I have however many interesting drafts saved. Look out in about a week's time for rants on the RU486 debate, a fantastic boat launch by Lake BG, pics for the tofu burger, Templeton's rant about brick removal, "Who Is Templeton", and posts from a whirlwind tour of a farm house in NZ - yep, I'm coming home!

Pink Heart Tofu Burger

WaWa & Templeton's Valentines Day Nibblies

You'll Need:
200 g firm tofu, mashed
50 g each of shredded carrots, cabbage, onions, cheese
1/2 cup raw or canned beechroot juice
2 eggs
3/4 - 1 cup bread crumbs
3/4 - 1 cup almond meal
2 tsp curry powder
1 Tsp shredded basil and/or mint leaves
1/2 cup extra breadcrumbs mixed with some flour
Oil for shallow frying

Hands on:
Mash tofu, carrot, cabbage, onions, cheese together. Pour in beechroot juice and mix. Let them dye for about 1/2 hr to 1 hr in the fridge. Throw in eggs, almond meal and first lot of bread crumbs, curry powder and herbs and mix well. Hand shape them into flat hearts on a plate, possibly with glad wrap, add more bread crumbs if not shaping well. Coat in breadcrumbs/flour. May refrigerate further if desired. Shallow fry in med-low heat till golden brown.

Served with:
Champaign, middle eastern eggplant salad (courtesy to Sydney Morning Herald), ciabatta, followed by dessert of black sticky rice with condenced milk and greentea ice cream.

GPT

Slice half of a peach into sizable chuncks, enough to fit into a garlic crusher. Crush the stuff into a tumbler. Place ice, gin and tonic into it. Try not to overwhelm it with gin as it over powers the peach. Let it sit for 5 mins or so for the flavour to seap. YUM!

Blinking #2

Since returning to Autralia, the Baroness has been drinking a lot of Vietnamese coffee. Unfortunately she had grined the beans too fine (again) so a lot of it ended up at the bottom of the cup. She almost choked to death at one point. She has made it a point to overfeed the magpies, whom perch on the roof harrassing her with their not-quite-broken voices. Being jet-lagged and not particularly inspired her bed mate has been Shiner , the elderly and temperamental alziemerist cat rather than a group of toned and bronzed surf-life-savers she more than once glimpsed upon magazines. There's lots and lots of gum trees outside, releasing an incredible gingery smell. It is very rare to have a day like this in the middle of summer where the grass is dressed in rain drops. She has absolutely no doubt that she is flying.

Reading: Namma: A Tibetan Love Story - Kate Karko.
Listening: Evolve - Ani DiFranco.

A Cheezy Post to say How Much I Love You All

I'll never remember where I put the keys; I'll never forget who found them for me
I'll never remember which cousin ate my chips; I'll never forget which one found some more for me
I'll never remember what we sang at Kareoke; I'll never forget the hangover
I'll never remember the pin to my bank account; I'll never forget who wrote it down for me
I'll never remember their birthdays; I'll never forget the first time I met them - in the baby room at the hospital; at that bloody birthday party
I'll never remember when my plane leaves; I'll never forget who came to wave me good bye
I'll never remember to call; I'll never forget to love - every single one of them

At It Again

at it again, but never would have done it without the unique heritage and the support of my devout fans. From left: Uncle Joh, Uncle Cory, Aunty Mei Fong, Aunty Lily, Aunty Vicky

A Bite of Taiwan

On Sunday we celebrated "Bwei Ye", which is one of the smaller lead up festivals to the Lunar New Year. Traditionally Taiwanese ppl make offerings (food and prayers) on the 2st and 16th of every month to the Earth God who protects things like your house, land, crops, businesses. Sunday was the last 16th of the year (ie. December) and the last offering of the year, therefore its a pretty huge feed. In pre 20th century poor agrarian Taiwanese society, people used to only eat meat and better food when they make offerings to the Earth God, so the 2nd and 16th are big days.

On Bwei Ye we eat Lun Bian - which is a version of spring rolls - the wrapping is a lot larger and bread like than the Cantonese spring rolls that we get in NZ. Its made by "pasting" or "throwing" a big lump of wet dough onto a hot hot-plate leaving a thin layer to cook for about 3 seconds before removing as quickly as possible. I had the pleasure of watching this done at the ShiLin Night Markets on saturday - it really is an art. You serve Lun Bian with peanut powder, coriander and sweet chilli sauce (smooth paste not lumpy like the Singaporean version) , and then roast pork or roast firm tofu for the vegos, any kind of veges that's handy, and off you go with your roll. Similar fillings is used for Gua Bao, another food you eat at Bwei Ye - its like a white chinese bun and its pretty much like a sandwich version of Lun Bian.

YUM!!