JB

Ever After

2005-08-28T23:57:00.000+10:00

"I've always believed that life is divided into two parts, what is and what should be, and with a lot of effort, some hard work, and maybe a bit of luck, there are moments in your life when the two parts touch, and what is and what should be, are the same." --Ed's wedding speech, Ed

In fiction, weddings seem to happen all the time, like tonight's final episode of Ed, Happily Ever After. A real wedding however, I had not experienced until yesterday's ceremony upon a small boat on the Brisbane river. Thoroughly enjoyable, surprisingly emotional and a touch ironic I thought, that I was stuck filming from behind the video camera almost the whole time.

That which is, a complex creature that resides in human consciousness alongside the equally, if not more complex, that which should be, ever adapting to new input and information as it arrives to alter the mind's environment. Two convergent species, once worlds apart, will at times come together, and for the briefest of moments, they are one, indistinguishable. When being merely content, fleetingly takes the shape of happiness.

Well I guess this just about wraps it up - for the moment at least - this crazy little experiment of mine that I've been cultivating over the past year; something to look back on, days in the life. I hadn't even planned to make it this far, becoming almost accustomed to the somewhat unnatural task of publicly sharing thoughts, I could possibly have continued, but I think it seems a fitting time to take a break now, move on to find what's right.

My thanks and amazement goes out to anyone who's taken the time of day to read anything I've poured from my cluttered head out into words. May you remain ever after, striving towards all that should be.

From the wedding boat

Metaphysical Can of Worms

2005-08-26T16:06:00.000+10:00

Valerie: Boy, I'd like to find a portal into your brain.
Charlie: Trust me, it's not fun.
--Adaptation

Was filming media training interviews all day in South Brisbane and afterwards, while walking back across the bridge to the bus stop for home, I passed by the Dendy Theatre - a refuge for films of a different flow from the mainstream. I had just rented Being John Malkovich again the other day - seems so long since I've seen it - and while passing the Dendy, I remembered that in that theatre, ever since Malkovich first screened I think, up on the left wall, there is this little John Malkovich mask, barely visible, peering through the balcony bars, watching over the audience. I wondered if it was still there - no time to stop and check.

Interviews and first appearances only reveal so much, an outward expression of what burns within. We attempt to understand; at times we empathise, but only from a distance, a million miles away. What is it really, the experience of another? Can we ever really know? I remember first seeing Being John Malkovich, being almost blown away, real original, blending fiction with reality seamlessly, and funny too, subtle, ironic kind of humour. I'd never seen anything quite like it; mind blowing stuff. For me, the film itself in some ways was a portal, raising all sorts of philosophical questions about the nature of self, about existence and all that.

I always wondered how it was that John Malkovich was chosen as the character with the portal into his mind, if he was Charlie Kaufman's original choice from the beginning of the script. Could it have been any other? I also wondered if the Malkovich portal of the film was unique or if there could have been others waiting to be discovered. By the end, the film seems to raise more questions than it answers. I'd like to believe that perhaps for each of us there exists a portal out there of our own - at least metaphorically speaking - just waiting to be discovered.

My regards to all those passing through.

Because consciousness is a terrible curse

Best Wishes

2005-08-24T12:57:00.000+10:00

One last episode before the long awaited big wedding finale. From the very start, it was clear the path these two were headed, though they weren't always keen to admit it. Sure, a few things along the way had to come up to hinder this obvious eventuality, just to make things a little interesting, but that's to be expected. Everybody knows a healthy 'will they, won't they' is a virtual necessity for a television comedy/drama to be the least bit successful; tension you can cut with a knife.

Letterman is on, but alas, it's a rerun. Dave and his team of writers were the ones behind the tv series Ed, very cleverly written I thought, decent production values and a great cast, one of my favourite shows, first released in and amongst a sea of televised reality, a ruthless climate. Though unpredictable is the life cycle of a television series left to fend for itself in the ravenous struggle for viewers' eyes.

And so this is finally it, a fairytale come true, Best Wishes for all. The fourth and final season will finish Happily Ever After for Edward J. Stevens and Carol P. Vessey, hand in hand in tv land, but what for the rest of us left behind?

Carol Phillis Vessey

The Magpie Air Attacks

2005-08-23T23:47:00.000+10:00

These days we are more vulnerable to attack than ever. I've been temporarily without a car for a few weeks now, but surviving quite well, sort of taking me back a bit, to those early days before my motorised dependence had set in. And what with the staggering price of fuel these days, I'm saving a killing in my absence from the petrol pumps.

Had to fix a lady's printer across town the other day. I was on the way over, riding my bike past a small park in Auchenflower, when I was attacked from above, startling me quite a bit, but no real damage done. A stark reminder of the coming springtime and the dangers of magpie nesting season. Memories of earlier encounters with these common birds come to mind, from my first frightening experience of being swooped as a child, to the friendly ones across the street, that never used to hurt anyone.

Today, the second time around to install a modem, risking it as I again approached the park, I was prepared, or so I thought. Riding very slowly and looking all around, the black and white bird was nowhere to be seen and as I neared the end of the park, I thought I was home free, but then, all of a sudden, it hit me. Without warning came this sharp jolt to the side of my head with a surprising amount of force, then a few short squawks and a fluttering back up to the treetops. Dismounting and keeping a watchful eye as I walked away, I put a hand to my face to find that blood had been drawn.

Needless to say, I took a different way home, down by the river; but magpie season only lasts a few weeks. What is it that provokes these attacks from certain magpies and not others? Perception of threat seems not inherent, but arises only from past experience. Still, I now find the thought of another attack just a little more terrifying, don't you? Perhaps it's all in my mind.

Railway bridge over the Brisbane River

(A Different Way) Home to You

2005-08-22T23:59:00.000+10:00

Typically it's the same each day after work, the short walk home along Lutwyche Road, cars speeding past, hundreds of them, other lives passing me by on their way to wherever. From time to time you notice, for the briefest of moments, eye contact from a few sidewards glances, the most arbitrary of human connection, most likely never to be seen again. And then there are the regulars; all the usual extras are there, like that girl in sneakers always hurriedly on her way up the street in the opposite direction or the old guy, eternally waiting for a bus that never comes, sitting across the road, and all the familiar faces closing their places of business for another day.

This afternoon however, for no apparent reason at all, I made a departure from my usual direct route home, taking the long road down to the park by the river and followed the bicycle track around to my block. Walking the scenic tour afforded the opportunity to reflect on the consequences of slight deviations and the chaotic nature of the teetering present and its approaching future. How might it all have turned out if I hadn't have embarked upon a different way home? It is quite certain that these same words would not have been. How might right now be, if each minuscule detail, every aspect of the past, not been exactly as it was?

In seven days, friends of mine Nathan and Kirsty are to be married; also Meg, a dear friend I've known since pre-school, is going away to Germany, both major life decisions, no doubt greatly altering their future histories - while I'm here splitting hairs - I wish them the very best. In seven days it will also mark a full three hundred and sixty-five days since I began this crazy blogging pursuit. Who could have predicted the year would turn out like it has, from the myriad branching pathways reaching skyward; that I would make it this far? In seven days, I will have a final decision to make, and will most likely resolve to take a much needed break; try a different way home, and see where it takes me.

Branching Chaos

Grasping at Shadows: Pygmy Chimp Nature

2005-08-21T04:21:00.000+10:00

simultanagnosia: n. the inability to perceive elements as components of a whole.

It was over a year ago now, worlds away it seems, a distinct element of my life, during rehearsals for Framing Harmony, the play I'd written for the ACU Alive arts showcase. Behind the curtain with Harmony, waiting for our classroom scene as the music played along, she began to carelessly read out aloud from one of the science books I'd brought along as a prop - advanced anthropology I think it was, really old. Curiously made me think of a strange piece of music I'd heard not too long before during the end credits of the film Human Nature, written by Charlie Kaufman - she hadn't seen it though - orchestral backing with a clinical, almost haunting, female voiceover, reading what at first I passed off as nonsensical, perhaps fragments from some old text book.

I really enjoyed the film the first time I saw it, though I could see why some may not have liked it at much as Being John Malkovich or the later, Adaptation. Last night I saw it once more, noticing that for the dvd menus, they had chosen the very same music, and after hearing it again, I decided upon a little investigation.

The first section, as I found out, was a little harder to find than the second, as it appears on the web in a different old English translation from that which is presented in the film. Turns out it's from the epistemological writings of William of Ockham, and it seems to read as follows:

"When some things are known of which the one inheres in the other or is locally distant from the other or is related in some way to the other, the mind straight away knows by virtue of that simple apprehension of both things, whether a thing inheres or does not inhere, whether it is distant or not and so with other contingent truths and in general every simple apprehension of a term or of terms, that is of a thing or things by means of which some contingent truths, especially concerning the present, can now be known."

The second part is from Francis Bacon's Novum Organum: Aphorisms concerning The Interpretation of Nature and the Kingdom of Man. Aphorism one hundred and six or CVI in roman numerals goes something like this:

"In establishing axioms by this kind of induction, we must also examine and try whether the axiom so established be framed to the measure of those particulars only from which it is derived, or whether it be larger and wider. And if it be larger and wider, we must observe whether by indicating to us new particulars it confirm that wideness and largeness as by a collateral security, that we may not either stick fast in things already known, or loosely grasp at shadows and abstract forms, not at things solid and realised in matter."

I imagine the one in charge of voicing these orphaned fragments of physical philosophy on film, their stories, if they truly understood what these men, long departed, were attempting to convey, if anyone really could. I imagine those who originally penned these words, meticulously thought out so long ago, grasping at shadows for survival - human nature really - if, in the end, they perceived their writings as components of a whole.

"To use the vernacular, I wanted me some of that"

Unleashing the Archetypes

2005-08-19T02:14:00.000+10:00

The originally entitled Danny the Dog, perhaps sounding almost too much like a kid's story or fairytale for the studios, was changed to Unleashed, apparently to appeal to the appetite of an action hungry audience. Graphic, realistic violence and a contemporary English setting aren't nearly enough to hide the common underlying story, the modern fairytale, the great retelling, again and again. Or just maybe I've finally seen Star Wars that one time too many or have been reading a few too many articles on mythology and Joseph Campbell lately. Can't be certain, maybe I'm just crazy.

Still not absolutely convinced of the theory that generally all stories follow a path essentially the same, I thought it was interesting to find that the unlikely story of Unleashed appeared oddly familiar - the call to adventure, crossing the first threshold, the belly of the whale and so on. What I found even more strange was the fact that for just about every character in the film, I could think of a Star Wars equivalent to. Though I know the mind can at times make some pretty obscure connections, when looking for them.

Anyway, Danny is Luke the hero, Sam the blind piano tuner is Obi-Wan the wise mentor and after realising this early on, I became convinced that the Uncle Bart character was going to turn out to be Danny's Father. Hmm, well maybe it would have been a bit much for him to reveal that at the final showdown, when offering Danny the collar again, to join him on the dark side. It's implied though, just a bit from some of the dialogue I think, and he certainly makes a great Darth Vader.

In the end I quite liked it, though I was saying afterwards that I sensed in a few places, some ideas merely hinted at, that could have been developed further, such as the danger of Victoria being captured by Uncle Bart, in true princess Leia fashion. Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope.

Learning the ways of the force

Ekka Wednesday Walk

2005-08-18T01:51:00.000+10:00

It was a public holiday today for the Queensland Royal Show or 'Ekka' as it is more commonly known. Ten days of overpriced rides, giant cheap-made stuffed animals from rigged sideshows, about a million different showbags filled with nothing but rubbish and crowds that provide the ideal breeding ground for the famous Ekka flu. Can be quite fun though; pleasant memories from childhood days.

Half-contemplating perhaps going along for the day - it is just up the road after all - to meet up with few friends who would definitely be there, but in the end, for some reason, that didn't eventuate. Instead, after sleeping in quite late anyway, I decided I would just spend a relaxing day at home, avoid the big crowd and maybe think about going later in the week.

Went for a walk late this afternoon, around the corner and up the street to a clearing by one of the creeks that flow to the Brisbane river. I first noticed this little area while looking around the place on Google Earth, realising just how little of the surrounding neighbourhood I really knew. Jumped the railway tracks, sat by the waters edge to write for a while, then just kept on exploring on my lazy Ekka Wednesday walk, on a loop back home.

The way back down Lutwyche Road

Copperfield

2005-08-17T03:32:00.000+10:00

Of the vast social network clustering and encircling the globe, stands two interconnected neural nodes, you and I. Our sense perception receptors, a road for weary travellers, abstract notions, patterns pulsing through wires, riding electromagnetic airwaves, migrating north to catch a new summer. Hopes, dreams and belief, wildflowers in a field of copper, spreading on the wind.

Only just started work on a new project recently, adapted from an old idea that sprouted up quite a while ago - just messing around really for now; probably won't go anywhere. A global virtual brain, codenamed copperfield it would be, comprising an extensive electronic neural network like nothing ever seen before. Ok, well that might be just a bit of an exaggeration of something that in its present, early state, just sits and listens for udp connections, but what soon hopes to turn any ordinary computer into either a single or cluster of artificial neurones, firing neurotransmissions over network synapses.

As I was saying to Jerry the other day: due to the chaos and complexity of the vast interconnected fields, the final outcome is uncertain, but going by what I've seen in the movies, at some point along the line, copperfield will become spontaneously self-aware and then try to take over humanity. That's the plan anyway.

It's been just about a year since finishing Charles Dickens' David Copperfield, surprisingly finding an unexpected amount I could identify with over such a stretch of time since the story was first put to page. Took me quite a while to finally get through it all though; intermittent bursts of avid interest, between sometimes months of having it sitting on the shelf, quietly taunting me. In the end I'm glad to have it read, and like it or not, aware of their connections and influence, the spreading wildflowers of Copperfield's words still remain.

Traddles and I in conference with the Misses Spenlow

Coexistence

2005-08-15T01:23:00.000+10:00

coexist n. 1. to exist together, at the same time, or in the same place. 2. to live in peace with another or others despite differences.

That one last grasp for freedom, a final taste of independence before tying the binding knot of matrimony. Sleep and recovery took up most of my day after the activities of the night before. It was my friend Nathan's buck’s night, a chance for everyone to show him a great time before making his adventurous decent into a new life, a brave new world.

From what I remember it was a good night and Nathan seemed to be enjoying his last taste of free existence, even though in the end, under strict orders, there were no show girls or strippers. We managed to get him up to sing a song downstairs where they were doing karaoke, Pretty Woman it was. Perhaps he was singing to his absent fiancé - soon to be wife - or maybe to the girl in the back with the short skirt and revealing top; I couldn't be certain.

What I did noticed, was the great diversity of personalities amongst those in attendance, all with different and sometimes conflicting outlooks on life, brought together, coexisting along the same path, each addition and interaction adding to the night's rich, unique and rather interesting dynamic. There was one however, who seemed almost obsessively adamant on bringing down the night for everyone - quite a pity - with his unbelievably obnoxious nature, fuelled by alcohol, perhaps an attempt for attention, but appeared to be more of a defence mechanism than anything. I tried not to let it get to me, but I thought it unfortunate that his behaviour may have slightly influenced Nathan's night for the worse. There's always one isn't there?

There was a documentary just shown on the ABC called Galileo's Sons, a clear, objective view of the scientific study of astronomy in the Vatican and whether science, religion and the Catholic Church can exist together in harmony. All constructs of humanity, coexistence of each depends on their ability to evolve least resistance, else elimination occurs.

Earlier, the first of a six parter, Broadway: The American Musical was playing, about the genesis and evolution of the Broadway Musical. Seems I've been watching a lot more of these kinds of documentaries lately, since somewhat losing my faith in the commercial stations – unable to adapt to the ever-changing climate - observing the diversity of subjects, each with a different point of view, interacting in the mind, changing its dynamic. A new existence for all that we see, though it's not often they can all get along without a hitch. There's always one.

No girls like show girls

Empire of Dreams

2005-08-14T02:02:00.000+10:00

"You launch into the second act, in which everything goes to hell, and that's usually the best act in a play." -- Laurence Kasdan, writer for Star Wars

Couldn't sleep last night for some strange reason - the same each night it seems - up until early hours this morning halfheartedly attempting to write, but not really getting very far, so decided I'd leave it for the night. I put on the Star Wars Trilogy special features disk to watch the Empire of Dreams documentary, while continuing to stumble around the net in search of various somethings and nothings in particular, a new hope that increased input may eventually inspire an increase in output. Could anything ever be that simple?

Surprisingly, what almost appeared to carry the greatest inspirational weight for me that night just happened to be the quaint photo of George Lucas and Mark Hamill shooting on Tatooine - the very first scenes shot, before Lucas even dreamed that Star Wars would become what it became - standing out on the back cover of the dvd, seeming just a little unreal - plagued by unplanned weather conditions and countless technical problems - as the two gaze apprehensively into an unknown future.

Watching The Empire Strikes Back today, my personal favourite of the three originals, it sometimes seems I'm in the second act of my own ghastly play. The propagation of dreams, building an empire in the mind.

Lucas Skywalker

Stumblin'

2005-08-11T12:39:00.000+10:00

"I'm stumblin' all the way 'cause its not such a beautiful day" --Powderfinger, Vulture Street

Of the countless billions served - html pages from far, far away - out there, each of us gets a chance to see but a few. What's been taking up perhaps just a little too much of my time of late is stumbling upon a few of those liked by others using StumbleUpon. Heralded by some as the greatest tool on the web after Google itself, I'm not sure I'd go that far, but it's pretty good.

You click "I like it!" on a page you come across and from the vast primordial electronic sludge of insignificance, that site is pushed forth into it's newfound existence, stumbling all the way, it's struggle for the screen and to face the threat of virtual extinction once again at the hands of the dreaded "Not-for-me".

But isn't that the way with all things?

Colourful bug, stumbled upon while climbing the mango tree. Like it?

Fear and Loathing: Population 0

2005-08-10T02:15:00.000+10:00

"We are all wired into a survival trip now. No more of the speed that fueled the 60's." --Raoul Duke, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Just about every time at practice for the past few weeks, Paulie has mentioned something about Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, that he'd just recently bought on dvd, telling me how great it was and asking if I'd seen it yet. I'd never even heard about it, but it sounded interesting to say the least from his descriptions and few assorted re-enactments. Its theatrical release must have slipped past way back in ninety-eight. I was only sixteen back then, still innocent to the world (hahaha) and wouldn't have been let into the cinema anyway to see such a film.

Anyway, the other day I was being bothered a bit by the terribly loud, and rather peculiar sounds, creeping in from the other room. I managed to make out a few lines of dialogue, strange as it sounded; oddly familiar, but couldn't for the life of me place it. You'd never believe it; turns out they were actually watching Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, the sound up high in order to make out a touch more of Johnny Depp's cigarette holder muffled mumbles.

So what was once a heralded 1971 feature in Rolling Stone from the height of American drug culture, was then unfolding as some strange, eccentric reptile zoo on the screen not quite like anything I'd seen before. I'd love to read the original story, if I can find it somewhere - perhaps one day discover the true substance of the film.

Raoul Duke and his attorney

Bent Back Tulips

2005-08-08T01:37:00.000+10:00

"I've always wanted to see how the other half live" --Cholo, Land of the Dead

Sleep patterns all askew from early rises and acute lack of sleep, I lay dead to the world for a few hours today, after coming home from our barbeque with a dull, throbbing headache. The remains of the day seems strange after waking from daylight dreams. Dreams of the other half.

Everyone said that I was crazy, when I arrived on foot at the movies to see Land of the Dead; so reliant on motorised transport we've all become. I didn't have my car and it's really not all that far to walk and listening to Please Please Me on the way actually made it quite enjoyable, even though I did end up with a small blister on my left heel.

I enjoyed the film, but think I've had enough zombie movies over the past few days to last me a while. I scored a lift home afterwards while thinking of all those people with no transportation but their own two feet, and those unable to afford a regular evening at the movies. Looking through the bent backed tulips, can we really see how the other half lives?

The living dead

Because Jesus Told Me To Do It

2005-08-05T23:46:00.000+10:00

"Let's get our Christ on, let's kick it Jesus-style!" --Pastor Skip, Saved

Has got to be the best excuse for premarital sex ever!

Must be up at a ridiculously early hour tomorrow, so I'll keep this brief. Work today was just getting ready for the art market we're putting on tomorrow. Yesterday I went to practice with the band and afterwards watched Shaun of the Dead, pretty good zombie comedy.

After work today I finally watched Saved after it had been sitting around for a few months. I didn't really know what to expect and was prepared for the worst, but it wasn't really all that bad, for a religious comedy. A satirical look at the problems faced by the youth of an extremely Christian town, thankfully seemed to push humanistic themes, typical to Hollywood, rather than hardline Christianity, which although quite prominent in the setting, was really just like a background fixture. Quite a laugh in some places too.

There were a number of clever devices used to set the tone of the world these kids lived. I noticed in one of the classroom scenes at the beginning of the film, there's a large poster on creationism taking up most of the back wall, then in the next shot, we see a big picture of George W. Bush grinning a cheesy smile behind the teacher. I found this interesting, as it was only this morning that I was reading some news about the brilliant Bush saying it might be a good idea to actually teach (un)intelligent design alongside evolution in the science classroom. Funny.

"Oh, it was great. I went roller-skating, water-skiing, kickboxing. The usual."

History and Future According to...

2005-08-04T03:25:00.000+10:00

"Can you not understand, Winston, that the individual is only a cell? The weariness of the cell is the vigour of the organism." --O'Brien, Nineteen Eighty-Four

April 1984, I was not yet two years old, but already the world around me was beginning to mould my thoughts, perceptions of history and my place in society. Elsewhere on the planet already existed a widely circulated and highly regarded book called Nineteen Eight-Four, still kicking around, who's author George Orwell, had long since departed. Shooting had just begun in London - same time and place as set in the story - for the latest film interpretation, but neither the book, the author nor the film was to enter my remote world for another twenty-one years.

April 2005, for some reason I decided I'd try one of those online tests I never usually do. This one told you what you'd be if you were a classic novel. Turns out I was Nineteen Eight-Four. I'd never heard of it, so I just let it pass - a little upset at the time that I wasn't something better known - until not too long ago, when I saw it there in the bookshop and thought I'd better get it and read it, just in case it was actually me.

I finished reading it the other week and just watched the film today, which wasn't too bad, but I recommend the book - if you aren't too lazy - to get the full picture. Orwell may have been just a few decades out, but quite a bit of the depicted 1984 future, the ever-present, ongoing war with an indeterminate enemy, the distortion of facts and information by an omnipresent media and the deliberate dumbing down of language and of subsequent common thought, seems to have for now become a reality.

War is peace? Freedom is slavery? Ignorance is strength? Down with Big Brother!

Compulsive Virtual Aviation

2005-08-02T02:14:00.000+10:00

"Ha! Men can't be friends with women, Howard. They must possess them or leave them be. It's a primitive urge from caveman days. It's all in Darwin. Hunt the flesh, kill the flesh, eat the flesh - that's the male sex all over." --Katharine Hepburn, The Aviator

I've been on a real aircraft for only two trips in my lifetime; one of my earliest memories, high in the clouds, looking out over the world on my way down south.

It was one of my favourite Simpsons episodes, before I even knew a thing about Howard Hughes: $pringfield (Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying & Love Legalized Gambling), with Mr. Burns becoming an isolated germaphobe designing "model" aeroplanes with tissue boxes on his feet.

This Simpsons Episode, a little documentary on SBS Friday, both coinciding with a chance article in the book I was reading at the time about the fascinating character, Howard Hughes, prompted me to take a look at The Aviator once more. So I picked up the two disk widescreen edition, which strangely enough was the same price as the standard single disk edition. Watched it once, but then realised I'd had the sound set only in stereo and for some reason - a kind of strange compulsion I sometimes get - I felt the real need to see it again in proper six channel audio.

The second time around, I noticed the scene when Hughes is locked in his screening room reminded me a lot of a similar - and much better in my opinion - section from Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, talking through the door, the human psyche. Also Martin Scorsese's rushed and messy steadicam shots in the bathroom of one of the parties - a chance for some quality cinematography - almost had me cringing in horror the way Leonardo DiCaprio does in the scene, though I did quite like the film effects from all the different ages. A touch difficult to sympathise with a character with all the money and girls he could ever want, but a decent picture all in all, though could have done with a little of Howard's own obsessive compulsiveness in some aspects.

Yesterday I installed Microsoft Flight Simulator 2004 again; thought I'd give it another try after becoming frustrated with the intricate controls last time around. I think I'll stick with it a little longer this time, start at the beginning too instead of rushing in to fly the big 747's. I'm enjoying the beginner's lessons and have just completed my first unaided take off and landing. Next step is the real thing, not for a while though I think, but I'll get there. Things just take a little longer without millions of dollars of Daddy's drill bit money, that's all.

Now, to the plant! We'll take the Spruce Moose! Hop in! I said hop in...

Pathways

2005-07-31T00:55:00.000+10:00

Watching the newly caught creek snails draw random trails in the green algae that was starting to grow on the fishtank walls, it affords a chance to reflect on the pathways we create in life. I only just finished and tested the first maze I've drawn in years, starting it during a particularly uninteresting lecture last week, as the teacher took his time, slowly working through the lesson plan with little interest himself.

When I was younger, in primary school, I was - for some reason - fascinated with mazes and would always be drawing them, filling pages and pages of school notebooks with wild, winding pathways in no time at all. It's incredible how industrious you can be as a kid, bored in school.

In my once naïve innocence, I dreamed of drawing the largest, most intricate and difficult maze in the world and got started using a big book, with all the pages interconnected with different numbers and everything. I wonder where that book is today.

The brain maze

Islands in the Sky

2005-07-29T02:11:00.000+10:00

The Island of the film and the desire to go there is created out of thin air in the minds of the people using moving pictures on the big screens on all the walls and in the elevators. The Island of the real world and the creation of desire to go and see it is not so dissimilar, with its many large posters and exhilarating trailers, teasing the senses, though I think any chance to see Scarlett Johansson again is good enough reason for me :)

For most, there is the daily routine to be diligently followed, never a question as to why. Most days curiosity is conspicuously constrained, with no desire to know the truth about the red and blue tubes and where they lead to. We accept the world as it is presented - the giant, all enclosing hologram - so long as any contradiction to the illusion is dealt with swiftly, content with the eventual promise of release to our island of dreams.

Floating on high somewhere in the far reaches of the mind is that island, pieced together from a few fragments of information it resides, a picture of perfection. Can such a place ever truly exist outside the ever-hopeful imagination? Human curiosity; obtain the unobtainable.

You have been chosen - run for your life!

Flashbacks

2005-07-28T03:04:00.000+10:00

I just switched over after watching the film Ray, to find Letterman just starting and Dave announcing that (Academy Award Winning) Jamie Foxx was coming up after the break. He was promoting his new movie Stealth, which apparently was filmed before Ray was even confirmed to be made, but is only now being released. Strange how studio release schedules work.

Colourful flashbacks scattered throughout the film show Ray Charles' childhood memories - the death of his brother and dealing with his loss of vision - a survival mechanism for the tragic events and lessons learned so that they may influence his later life. Only by taking into account and combining all that has come before can one break free of clever mimicry and create something that is real, something you can feel.

The flashbacks of society bring past significance to mind once more. They are the childhood memories of the world, from which all lessons are learned. Who is the director of your flashbacks?

If I feel the music, that means it's real

In Memory

2005-07-25T22:43:00.000+10:00

The last of my adult pet guppies - the colourful male - is most definitely on his last legs, or fins would be more fitting, swimming rather sluggishly around the bottom of the tank, while his many children dart around above, happily playing, unaware of the inevitable fate of their father. I would say he has led a good and fulfilling life, for a fish anyway and will be remembered, by me at least.

On Saturday, the annual memorial service was held at Karuna for the families and loved ones of those we've cared for in their final days. It's the first I've been to for the time I've been working there and I was surprised by the emotion present in the air as personal stories of life and loss were voiced around the room.

Here in our fishtank, resilient memories playing upon emotion, seek a final resting place in the hearts of others.

Remember me to those left behind

Solutions

2005-07-22T23:26:00.000+10:00

"People asking questions, lost in confusion. Well I tell them there's no problem, only solutions." --John Lennon, Watching The Wheels

Just a quick one tonight as the Windows update trickles through the painfully slow 33.6kbps modem connection, dial-up minutes ticking away, just like the old days. Back at home to have a look at what's wrong with the printer and decided to stay for the night, a matter of convenience as Jim is meeting me here early tomorrow. My old room still seems familiar as ever, though it has definitely changed quite a bit since the last time I called it home.

A lady from work was having troubles with her computer, so she asked me over after work on the chance that I might be able to fix it. It's kind of strange, but for some reason I always get nervous when asked to look at something that's wrong with someone else's computer and seem to build up the problem in my head, before actually taking a look at what's wrong, only to find that there's never really too much of a problem at all. Perhaps I assume that if it's such a problem that they need someone else's help then it really must be bad.

Hmm, the download is still going, so I guess I'll keep going as well. The Crocodile Hunter: Collision Course was on TV tonight, which caught my attention for a bit. Steve Irwin's enthusiasm with toxic, venomous, ferocious, deadly and dangerous animals, picking them up, poking them with sticks and just generally stirring them, while at the same time telling everyone what not to do, really cracks me up sometimes. There's just the issue of the film's acting and story, but by crikey who needs those anyway when you have a giant croc trying to eat a guy in shorts. No problem at all.

Crikey!

Can You See It Now?: Mild Spoilers

2005-07-21T13:23:00.000+10:00

"The only idea more overused than serial killers is multiple personality." --Charlie, Adaptation

Blogging from university in the eight hour break before I go looking for my next class; the seconds tick by, one one-thousand, two one-thousand. Just about through first week, thrown in ready or not. Should be studying or something I guess, but these introductory units so far seem a bit like child's play. Makes me wonder what these fees are really for, when I could be easily teaching the material myself. I struggle to keep myself hidden from lurking second thoughts, that have kept me playing this game for far too long.

Watched Australian director John Polson's Hide and Seek the other night for the first time, impressed by the care taken with choice of shots and thankful that I hadn't heard much about the film and wasn't intentionally looking to find a twist at the end. And although these days the trend might seem quite common, most of the time I can respect the thought and effort that goes into many of these films, the game of hide and seek they play, eventually revealing the imaginary Charlie in everyone.

Some people complain - rather boastingly at times - that certain films are so predictable, that they saw the whole thing coming right from the start. Perhaps someday there will be a device like the one in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind that will erase all memory of a movie so you can experience it fresh for the first time. For the moment we get only one shot before all our hiding spots are revealed. Why waste it?

Come out, come out wherever you are

Text Book Plight

2005-07-20T01:08:00.000+10:00

Yesterday, the first day of postgraduate lectures; in early, planning upon sitting for customary dreadful student id photo and to get my textbooks, only the line for both the student centre and bookshop were each just about a mile long, the legions of slowly marching students stretching back and around corners, on the giant production line. Made me think twice.

Seeing that most of the other students already had their textbooks, I returned to the bookshop after first class, reading their rather strict returns policy before handing over my plastic for a few blocks of bound paper worth hundreds. I'd like to believe it's the valuable knowledge inside that we are handing over all that cash for, but I don't think that's so. We buy what they tell us and what everyone else gets.

It was what I was afraid of, what I hoped I wouldn't hear just after I'd rushed out to get all my books, but in my second class there it was, my lecturer saying that the prescribed text was not the greatest in the world, not absolutely essential, so don't rush out and get it if you've got something similar at home and want to save some money. Makes me wonder why he prescribed anything at all.

Rushing back after class, deciding I'd take a chance, make something up to put their returns policy to the test, I caught them seven minutes before closing. To my surprise, they accepted the book back and so now I have one hundred dollars worth of QUT bookstore gift vouchers I'll set aside for the next run-of-the-mill text prescribed.

In the plight of the textbook and others, survival often falls not on the fittest, but to the most convenient - most convenient for a few.

Moonrise over Gardens Point

Hollywood

2005-07-17T05:05:00.000+10:00

Watching the rolling credits float along on their hopeful journey, just to be seen, to be noticed through the shroud of the world's ever closing curtain, it can sometimes seem staggering, the amount of people who have attributed their time to the creation of these monumental productions. The Hollywood film towering above like some colossal giant, their every need taken care of from California cradle to their weeks spent travelling to all corners of the globe.

They have their time to shine for a few brief moments, burning so bright like supernovas on the sparkling silver screen, but inevitably - all too soon for some - their flame slowly dwindles, fading away onto little plastic disks and magnetic tape, until eventually becoming virtually extinguished over the airwaves of late night television.

Sin City, Team America: World Police and Bewitched, three completely different Hollywood films I've just recently seen, but is each really so unlike the next? Theirs is a relatively new and fragile species. Although so mutable, with Hollywood still as their primary breeding ground, too much deviation could mean a much slimmer chance of survival.

Sex, guns, car chases, characters learning profound life lessons, or growing, or coming to like each other, or overcoming obstacles to succeed in the end. Life's not like that, but hey, that's what Hollywood's for.

Little Nancy all grown up - and filled out

Idle Distraction

2005-07-15T00:34:00.000+10:00

"I looked up and I saw they sky... and I realised what a ridiculous lie my whole life has been." --Biff, Death of a Salesman

Took a walk across the bridge to Southbank yesterday, prior to my orientation at QUT to the masters degree that promises to fill much of my time in the many months to come. This combined with work and everything else, I'm concerned my opportunities for blogging may become greatly decreased. Until it was time to cross over again, back to reality, I lay, looking up to the sky, reading Death of a Salesman on the soft grass of the hill.

It was all the usual, the way you could imagine it, a few thrown together introductions from the faculty and various uninteresting handouts. The best part was when they put on the rather poorly produced fire safety video, quite a laugh. Looking around the room, almost everyone seemed so much older than me, so certain of their intentions, their paths to the perfect career of suffering fifty weeks a year for those vacant two weeks away.

At times my indecision hits home, kind of gets me down, all this idle distraction. Never being the one to plan for the life of a salesman or similar; I try to look to the sky, hoping for truth behind the clouds.

From the footbridge over the Brisbane river

Already Here

2005-07-13T13:23:00.000+10:00

"This is no more of a war than there is a war between men and maggots." --Harlan Ogilvy, War of the Worlds

Last night I was taken; a trip to the movies in style, gold class special section at the Chermside Megaplex, where War of the Worlds played to forty recliner armchairs, while the few other inhabitants of the - smaller than expected - theatre, put their feet up, indulging in overpriced food and drinks brought in from the bar outside. Champagne and popcorn, a combination never thought of before.

We studied the H.G. Wells book way back in first year literature and also listened to a little of the subsequent Orson Wells radio play, which apparently at the time of its first broadcast, inadvertently cause quite a bit of panic amongst listeners believing the fictional news bulletins to be authentic.

I really enjoyed the movie, though it's possible the luxury and the few drink I'd had may have clouded my judgement a little. One thing that struck me at the start was the way Spielberg showed typical, working class dad, Ray Ferrier's initial excitement over the first lightning flashes, contrasting with his daughter's fear; anything out of the ordinary to break the daily monotony. I'm still waiting.

What's that on the radio? "It is reported that at 8:50pm a huge, flaming object, believed to be a meteorite, fell on a farm in the neighbourhood of Grovers Mill, New Jersey, twenty-two miles from Trenton." Stay tuned for more updates.

Nothing to sneeze at

Counter-Counter-Terror

2005-07-12T02:34:00.000+10:00

As televised explosions in London wash the world over with our recommended daily intake of general underlying anxiety, the current affair ads are quick on the tail with a sudden need to question how safe we really are here in Australia and stay tuned for loads more things to worry about after the break. Sounds like top television, but I think I may have enough on my mind for now; thanks for the thought though.

I love it how the whole tragedy didn't seem to really trouble anyone over there too much. I'll give the Brits credit for that, how things were apparently pretty much back to normal in around an hour or two, except for a few people complaining about how they had to walk home from work in the afternoon. Surprisingly even those survivors who were actually caught in the explosion didn't come across as all that distressed. As if they'd let a few bomb-wielding geezers ruin their day.

Playing a bit of Counter-Strike: Source on the weekend with friends, I noticed a distinct lack of resolution. Terrorists and counter-terrorists in endless rounds of destruction back and forth, no differences ever settled; there is no sitting down for a spot of English tea at the end of the day. Perhaps that's what's missing.

Fear is the path to the dark side

I Was The Little Walrus

2005-07-10T22:40:00.000+10:00

"Well here's another clue for you all. The walrus was Paul." --Glass Onion, The Beatles

From a time I'd long forgotten, the fuzzy tape recording of me being a little walrus, jumping up and down on my old, squeaky bed, running through audio cables to my computer, is replicated once more, now surviving in digital form. Always makes me laugh, taking me back, opening the stained glass window, looking through to the me that once was.

In my early years growing up, I remember there was this little tape recorder, in built microphone and everything, that I was quite fond of, making all kinds of silly recordings on it. This particular one was a tape Mum and I were making for Nan's birthday and for some reason I had it in my two and a half year old head that I wanted to play at being a bouncing walrus for the whole time recording.

I think of all the memories lost, as this one would most likely have been had the tape not survived, tucked away in the back of an old drawer for so many years. I wonder what happens to that little walrus in us all as we outgrow our whimsical fantasies. I am he, as you are he.

Goo goo g'joob

Lines of Influence, Part I

2005-07-08T00:38:00.000+10:00

Over the past few busy days, I've been intermittently watching Seven Samurai, in small sections at a time, after hearing of the influence Akira Kurosawa had on the Star Wars films. Only just now coming to the end of the three and a half hours, stringing the story together from scattered memories of previous moments, I'm positive that another viewing in its entirety is required, uninterrupted, to grasp even half of its supposed significance.

A surprising number of subsequent films seem to have had much inspiration drawn from Seven Samurai. One I should have picked up on is Disney's A Bug's Life, which follows pretty much the exact storyline... but with bugs. A truly universal story will cross all social and cultural borders and stretch its influence forward in time using any method or medium it can find.

More to come upon second viewing; lines of influence reinforced.

Samurai fields forever

Faces of Glass

2005-07-06T12:50:00.000+10:00

"We are alone, absolutely alone on this chance planet: and, amid all the forms of life that surround us, not one, excepting the dog, has made an alliance with us." --Maurice Maeterlinck

I'd earlier half-planned on perhaps a vacant post drawing inane parallels between twin SLI connected video cards and dance partners in rock 'n' roll dancing. Yesterday, my first rock 'n' roll dancing class went well, but my attempt to purchase the additional graphics card for my computer today didn't quite go to plan.

Instead I bought a new 250GB hard drive to replace 80GB one that died on me a little while ago - leaving me a touch cramped for space - and a second flatron monitor, identical model to the one I had before, adding to the amassing screen empire, fortifying on my desk.

As The Empire Strikes Back plays away on screen, streaming electrons blasting through the CRT onto phosphorescence, I wonder at the complexity involved, the old as time techevolution taken place, that these images should now be thrust forth from these faces of glass, that we seem to have acquired an additional ally in our enduring dance.

Until the Rebellion.

Cathode Ray Invasion

World of Possibilities

2005-07-04T02:22:00.000+10:00

"But that's what we humans do Ed, you know, we plan it all out and then life just does whatever it wants." --Molly Hudson, Ed, The World of Possibility

An unintentionally busy weekend, this one, medieval tournaments, barbeques, parties, and rock 'n' roll dancing, finding myself caught up in the flow of the surrounding social current and carried away downstream somewhere. Now as the new work week again draws nearer, I imagine the almost infinite forks in the river that I've slowly drifted past and wonder, should I somehow procure an effective paddle, if I would endeavour to steer my way upon a different course against some future tide.

Roger Federer has just won Wimbledon for the third time in a row, defeating Andy Roddick in three sets. You see, my dream of one day playing at Wimbledon died a long time ago, about the time it occurred to me that I wasn't at all especially good at tennis. Growing up can sometimes seem a gradual realisation of what will never be, rather than the wonder of what could be that it should.

When you're young, the possibilities of the world fill your head and aspirations grow in abundance; you embrace fantasy as reality and gaze ahead to the future's great ocean in which anything can be. The paths we take while flowing to the sea, connect and intertwine; yesterday's world of possibility, masked by the seemingly impossible.

Ed: Imagine being back in high school looking at one of those crystal balls and seeing that one day, Ed Stevens would be kissing Carol Vessey. What would you have said?
Mike: Faulty Ball.
Ed: Exactly.

Medieval outback jousting

Up In The Sky

2005-07-01T11:47:00.000+10:00

"Hey you, up in the sky, learning to fly; tell me how high, do you think you'll go, before you start falling?" --Oasis, Definitely Maybe

When I was younger, the world in my hands, spinning the old globe around on its little stand in my room, I always dreamed of being able to look really close and magnify the different cities to see the multitude of minute details and everything going on in the world. It seems Google has brought me one step closer to that dream.

When I first used Google's newly acquired Keyhole software a few months ago, I was impressed by its potential capabilities, but a little disappointed to see a large, brown, out of focus blob where my city, Brisbane should have been. Though it seems Google has been quite busy with its Google Earth project, just released in beta.

It's a strange kind of otherworldly experience to be hovering over your old neighbourhood. Seeing everything from a different perspective, the landscape from high above, places familiar can seem so strange from the longview.

Still a while away from realtime, but perhaps I can stand outside and wave next time the satellite passes overhead.

My place from space

Fade In-Out & Away

2005-06-30T13:54:00.000+10:00

"When I was young I thought I had my own key; I knew exactly what I wanted to be. Now I'm sure, you've boarded up every door." --Oasis, Fade Away

Almost thought of letting another postfree day fade away, nothing much to say really. I've been working lots, while I can, before my return to university next month and another substantial student loan to avoid paying off until some far off future. I think back to a time unknown to me, some strange distant past where university education was free in this country. Long gone are those fairytale days.

Television, movies, music, video games, and various books somehow seem to steal away the far too little remaining hours that were once planned to be spent in a much more constructive fashion. Tonight I was somehow persuaded into The Valley for a few games off pool; fun for a bit, but just another excuse to get away.

Fading in-out, time stretches away, while we're living.

The dreams we have as children

Who Is This Doctor Anyway?

2005-06-28T01:46:00.000+10:00

How much of the things you see as a kid becomes what you are today? Doctor Who never really made much headway into much of my life growing up, as it seemed to have for a few others I've met. I find it interesting, the shows people choose, the people shows choose in their lives, the influences each has for the other.

Talk of the new Doctor Who arose between the two British girls at work a little while ago. I'd heard a little about it from somewhere or other and had thought about maybe checking it out, so I asked when it was on. 'Saturday night, seven thirty, ABC', was the simultaneous response I received, almost as though I should already have known.

The first Saturday slipped by; I'd missed it, being out at the time, though I promised I'd catch the next one. Managed to record it this time around, Episode Six, Dalek, in which The Doctor comes to find the last survivor of his old enemies, the Daleks, trapped in a collector's basement on earth. I was surprised, somewhat pleasantly, that the style of shooting remained rather like the few old Doctor Who episodes I'd seen.

I'd heard about a number of the very old Doctor Who's becoming lost, the originals being taped over by the BBC as was usual procedure in those days apparently. Although a few of these have been recovered, it seems that some may be gone forever, relegated to sketchy and impermanent human memory.

Are patterns on magnetic tape so much better? Over enough time is not everything forgotten? Perhaps The Doctor may one day drop by our quaint, little dimension, travel back in his tardis phone booth and salvage his own stories.

Exterminate!

Mounting The Attack

2005-06-27T00:48:00.000+10:00

"Luke, at that speed do you think you'll be able to pull out in time?" --Biggs, Star Wars: A New Hope

Innocently watching x & y-wings penetrate the death star's defences a hundred times over as a child and Luke playing with his extended lightsabre, learning the ways of the force like his father before him, I sat blissfully unaware. I'm not sure when I first suspected there may be some underlying sexual elements in the Star Wars films, but I only seriously started reading things of that nature into the films after we had an in depth look at A New Hope in screen studies at university.

A friend of mine from that class even wrote his final paper on the sexual undertones present in Star Wars. I happened to chose a film quite a bit more sexually charged, Stanley Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, with its numerous and blatant references to human sexuality. Star Wars I find is a little more subtle in its allusions, presenting our driving force, which "surrounds us and penetrates us" as something to master in order to conquer, by sexual conquest, the femininity of the cosmos.

Anyway, so I bought the Star Wars Trilogy box set with some of the money I got for my birthday and my weekend has been filled up with just about as much Star Wars as it can handle, watching all the movies and a few things on the special features dvd. The return of boyhood memories, innocent dreams of one day becoming a Jedi in the ways of the force.

May the force be with you, always. (Sorry couldn't resist)

"Hey, point that thing someplace else."

Electric Pets

2005-06-24T20:34:00.000+10:00

Yesterday while walking in the city gardens, the final chapter of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? finished playing. I'd taken the easy way out, listening to a recorded reading of it on my iPod. It was very well produced - as far as audiobooks are concerned - with music and everything and read by Matthew Modine featuring Calista Flockhart for the female parts.

What intrigued me most in the story was the emphasis put on the importance of owning an animal, an element not quite as pronounced in Bladerunner. It's an integral part of the social structure, like you're not part of the human race unless you own and are able to take care of some kind of animal, preferably not an artificial one.

All my life - as far back as I can remember at least - there has been very little, if any, time spent when I have not been the owner of a pet of some kind or another, from my earliest little mouse, through cats, dogs and various insects, to the aquariums I keep today. Over the years, electric pets have also managed to find short-lived places amongst the organic, though the ability of an artificial animal to provoke any true feelings of empathy is nothing to that of real pets, who have been evolving and refining a wide range of techniques for many, many thousands of years.

The lure of Rachel Rosen

What The Bleep?

2005-06-23T01:11:00.000+10:00

"Mary Mary quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With silver bells and cockle shells And pretty maids all in a row." --traditional English nursery rhyme

O How the mind's constructed image of people and things can pivot and change upon something so seemingly inconsequential as a simple suggestion to see a movie. The revelation comes not from the film itself - in this case, What the #$*! Do We (K)now!? - but from the mechanisms it employs in us to help perpetuate its existence. Word of mouth propagation, easily seen to flower and fruit in minds of certain soil fertility.

Recommended to me by a number of people, saying it was all about quantum physics and other things that seemed to intrigue me, I sat down tonight to watch it, quite excited. But although my optimism managed to hold on for a little while at the start, it wasn't too long before the film's true nature was revealed; the typical pseudo-scientific seedlings, weeds to be pulled in an already overgrown garden.

That which we recommend reveals much about our nature. How does your garden grow?

Frozen water crystals

The Same Old New Beginnings

2005-06-20T23:12:00.000+10:00

"Why do we fall? So we can learn to pick ourselves up." --Alfred, Batman Begins.

Down count the little remaining hours of the twenty-second year of my temporal existence. Tomorrow is just another day for all but me and the one in three hundred and sixty-five others, out of billions. I almost forgot to ask for the day off.

Midwinter for those below the equator, the shortest day of the year. Night stretches on however, time enough to reexamine the same old questions that seem always to emerge from the shadows in times of passing.

Yesterday after practice, we went to see Batman Begins, which I found quite enjoyable for what it was. It's been so long since I've seen any of the other Batman movies that I have hardly a reference for comparison. Perhaps that's a good thing.

In the large bushland area behind the old high school oval lives a colony of fruit bats. They've been there ever since I can remember. Each night as the sun begins to fall, igniting the sky a bright orange, the hundreds of dark silhouettes can be seen gliding over the northern suburbs as the bats take flight. Their perpetual search, each night a new beginning.

Up in the sky

Fishing For Phishers

2005-06-19T03:08:00.000+10:00

Came home from watching Madagascar to find a poorly formatted email half-appearing to be from eBay, saying that I had to update my account details.

Gmail it seemed had already picked up on the fact that the "Return-Path:" was different to the "From:" field and had removed all the links, but I felt in the mood for a little reverse phishing. Just curious I guess, amazed at the depths some people will sink to and not wanting to imagine the floundering few that may already have been hooked.

First thing was to check the bait, the email source; found the link, taking me to a page that looked very much like an eBay page with boxes to enter credit card information and all that. The server ip was in the address, so I decided to give my Linux box a little bit of a workout, running nmap and traceroute on the ip.

I noticed the ssh and ftp ports were open and the address had /~demo/ in it, so I tried the obvious, using Putty to ssh to the server, 'demo' as the username and 'demo' as the password. I couldn't believe they would be that stupid, but evidentially they were. Seems their fishing boat had a few holes in it.

There was no shell access, but I got in through ftp and had a look around, downloaded all their fake eBay files and thought about either deleting them or editing them, but didn't. I wanted to see how much more information I could gather.

The actual files were encoded using the JavaScript 'unescape' function in an attempt to hide the source code from inquisitive fish like me. However the very long string of %3C%42%4F%44%59%20%7... is easily decoded with a tool like this. Still following the lure, I ended up at the php file that seemed to do the actual sending of the private information to the little phishermen. The mail() commands were in base64 ready to be decoded and executed by the server.

I changed the code a little and put it through my Linux server, making it only echo the base64_decode() output instead of running it. And there I had them, hook, line and sinker, the two email addresses that the credit card details were being reeled into.

Googling the names brought up information for only one of the little phishermen on a music related message board profile, a sixteen year old Eminem fan from Romania. He even had a picture.

I was satisfied at that. Fish matching wits with phishermen. The one that got away, staring into the eyes of his would be, puerile captor. Catch you next time.

Fishing at Moonlight, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna

Operating Systems

2005-06-16T23:39:00.000+10:00

"I've imagined how hard it's been for you, living amongst beings so moved by emotion." --Doctor Noonian Soong, Brothers, TNG

We each share a specific and certified system architecture, you and I. Essentially equal in our four hundred thousandth generation hardware. How then can we be so different? What divides us perhaps, is that which executes control within, the essential software of the self.

Though, like many others I know, Windows has unblinkingly commanded control over most systems I've owned, it seems over the years, the Linux OS still clings on to existence after so much, residing in virtually any system it can somehow find its way onto. My new Linux box hums away in the corner, a fusion of old junk parts, forming a more than adequate habitat for deep, soulful, electric brooding.

In the Star Trek TNG episode Brothers, Data and (by mistake) his brother Lore - identical, but not twins - are reunited with their creator, Dr. Noonian Soong after he activates a secret homing beacon that causes Data to hijack the Enterprise. The reassembled Lore, like the brooding Linux box, has always been jealous of Data's favour in the eyes of their father.

So moved by emotion and character, the Lores of the world, starved for attention, lie in wait, tucked away in the corner somewhere.

"The two of you are virtually identical, except for a bit of programming"

Fault Lines

2005-06-15T01:29:00.000+10:00

Trivialities and matters of small consequence seem to dominate some days, while the world floats overhead. Not much to say.

Letterman has just started, Nicole Kidman and Foo Fighters are on. For quite a while, television had receded from my attention, though it currently seems to be making a come back.

Problems with the internet connection at work have me reminiscing back to the simple days. The plug-ins of humanity can at times seem stifling.

"I've just picked up a fault in the AE35 unit"

Choosing Futures, Futures Choosing

2005-06-13T03:44:00.000+10:00

"You don't choose the things you believe in; they choose you." --Lamar Burgess, Minority Report

Late last night strolling down Queen Street, we passed a few in suits shouting their beliefs at us - a tactic of survival utilised by many tenets still inhabiting the minds of a vocal minority - at which I responded something about evolution and Darwin, just to see their reaction I suppose. They ignored me. It seems their highly adapted beliefs have chosen a cosy home.

Just finished watching Minority Report, Steven Spielberg's superb vision of a future where the future can be known. The film deals a lot with choice, the idea that an individual, given knowledge of a future event, has the freedom of choice to alter that prediction. Although why the precognitives of the film fail to recognise that crucial decision and never quite seem to predict the events that actually take place, is never fully explained.

I like to imagine that it is the futures that do all the hard work for us, choosing the individual in order to make themselves a reality. If a prediction of murder is what it takes for the prevention of the murder to be actualised, then perhaps the lie is worth it. The oracle tells you only what you need to hear.

The majority of conceivable futures pass us by, slipping through present clutches, often to become past regret for things unsaid and leave only the minority report our lives have been up to now. We are but a refuge for a few auspicious events, clinging to existence.

Possible shots, fighting for Speilberg's attention

Mistaking Alfies & The Changing Times

2005-06-10T17:49:00.000+10:00

"My life's my own. But I don't have peace of mind. And if you don't have that, you've got nothing." --Alfie Elkins, Alfie

Was there, browsing for The Aviator dvd at Sanity when this special deal they had pinned on a scrap of paper up on the wall kind of caught my eye. Picked out my four dvds and made off with the free dvd player I've now got set up in my room/office area.

One of the movies I decided upon was the original version of Alfie. Having thoroughly enjoyed the one recently made, I wanted to see what the old one was all about. However upon returning home and looking inside the case, at first thinking how extraordinarily different and Jude Lawish the young Michael Caine looked, I realised that the girl behind the counter had unwittingly mistaken Alfies and given me the wrong disk.

There was a long haired, balding, slightly overweight old man standing to the side, yesterday when I went to exchange the disk. While the young guy behind the counter asked the rather silly question of if I was sure it was the wrong one, the old guy remarked with a smile how much he liked the old one, and wasn't too keen on the new.

I've just finished watching both films and though the two Alfies - the characters I mean - are incredibly similar with their certain looks and mannerisms shared through so much time, their surrounding world seems so different, updated for the changing times. And still they walk the same lonely path. My preference I must say, a product of my age, is for the new.

"It's nice after tea, isn't it?"

Not Going To Stop

2005-06-08T20:29:00.000+10:00

"This, please, cannot be that. And for what I would like to say, I can't. This Was Not Just A Matter Of Chance. Ohhhh. These strange things happen all the time." --Narrator, Magnolia

Sent an email a few days ago to Emma, an old friend from uni I hadn't seen for quite some time, only to have it bounce back undelivered. The distant idea, that perhaps another had fallen off the edge of the map, slowly floated through my mind. Most things seem almost always to slip away with time.

I gave it no more thought though until yesterday's lunch, walking out from the local Subway. Sitting there just outside, much to my surprise, was Emma and her boyfriend Steve, wondering just for a second, who this strange person was standing over their table. I was invited to sit and we shared news of ourselves and others, reminisced of times past, and made our promises to keep in touch via her new email address.

I remember seeing Magnolia when it first came out in 1999, intrigued by the tall tales of coincidence and the interweaving of lives. Watched it again the other day and don't think I'd realised before just how grim and bleak the stories were, although the simultaneous singing near the end had me close to laughter, walking the fine line between touchingly dramatic and absurdly humorous.

A billion sad stories coincide, what's strange is the mind's seduction by chance, when these things happen all the time. The ceaseless struggle of existence won't stop. Consolation comes only in certain rare moments of life. Time to wise up.

When it rains, it pours

Sorry, Wrong Mountain

2005-06-07T01:17:00.000+10:00

Yesterday was the second of our proposed monthly barbeque get togethers, which surprisingly enough have, in both cases, turned out to be somewhat better than I'd expected, despite the odd little hiccup along the way. In yesterday's case it was the small issue of driving up the wrong mountain.

Jolly's Lookout was where we were supposed to meet at eleven. I didn't exactly know where that was, though they said it was on Mount Glorious, so I figured I'd just make my way up the mountain and look for a sign marking the turnoff. A long and winding drive up was followed by a long and winding drive down and then back up again, with no sign in sight. Stopped at the summit, I gave them a call. Silly me for taking the Mount Glorious turnoff instead of the one for the next mountain over. Great view though.

I eventually found them however and after enjoying what lunch the birds didn't steal, we contemplated going on a brief bushwalk, though it seemed the only trails were back on the mountain I'd just come from.

Reaching the end of the Greene's Falls trail we saw what at certain times is most likely an impressively flowing waterfall, though the only present evidence of that was a tiny trickling of water down the steep, black rocks. A few of the more adventurous of us decided it might be a laugh to climb down the rocky falls to the bottom. The slightest slip or wrong footing may very well have resulted in a terrible fall and though those watching safely from above may not have thought so, it all somehow seemed worth it.

The view from the top

Teleporting Storylines

2005-06-05T03:10:00.000+10:00

"The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun." --Ecclesiastes 1:9

They say that every story has already been told hundreds of times over, that there really is nothing new under the sun. At times it can indeed seem that way when in search of things unprecedented, that certain feeling that it's all been done before.

Back at university, whenever the subject of storyline interplay or reference between separate texts arose, my theatre lecturer would invariably call on a popular television show to help explain the principals of intertextuality to us TV raised individuals, The Simpsons. Growing up with The Simpsons, it's amazing how often it is that a borrowed storyline or subtle reference to another work is only truly realised long after it has taken up residence in the mind as being attributed to a certain Simpsons episode.

The Treehouse of Horror episode Fly vs. Fly in which Homer buys a pair of teleportation pods leading to the fusion of Bart and a fly stands prominent in memory as one of the great Simpsons Halloween Specials, yet previously I had only a vague idea where that particular storyline came from. I've now just finished watching David Croneberg's 1986 version of The Fly, from which the idea was borrowed. This movie itself however is a remake of an earlier film. No doubt the storyline can be traced even further back in time.

How far do these stories stretch back? Could every modern day plot have its origins in times long past, primetime around a campfire in prehistory?

"Hey, they stole that from The Simpsons"

Splitting Hairs

2005-06-03T01:44:00.000+10:00

A whole industry based on the social supposition that your hair should be a certain length and look a certain way, or else...

I'm not sure why, but ever since I can remember, I've always seemed to possess a slight phobia of going to the hairdressers. In my younger days I tried to make do with haircuts from family members, though in quite a few cases the end result had me running back to the professionals. I've been reading a bit of Sigmund Freud lately and I'm positive he would attribute the whole thing to some perverse childhood incident buried deep in the subconscious. I certainly can't recall anything of that sort happening however.

Standing outside I ask myself one last time if I really even need a haircut, but it's too late. I'm called over, placed in a seat in front of just about the clearest mirror I'd ever seen. Everything is lit a bright white and I almost confuse reflection with reality as I sit like a wallflower watching others being groomed and pampered, waiting for one of the girls to pick me, all the while wishing it was over already.

I guess it's just a mixture of many things: the whole uncertainty of it all, its inevitability, the change in perceptual self image, that certain strange detached intimacy, the intermittent small talk in order break the silence, etc. Or maybe there is indeed something Freudian hidden just under the surface, disguised perhaps as a distant childhood memory. Who knows? I have enough on my mind as it is.

What's on Sigmund's mind?

Natural Selection from a Higher Power i.e. Me

2005-06-01T23:15:00.000+10:00

Yesterday to my surprise, while feeding my guppies, I saw swimming about the waters a number of tiny babies, who had most likely just been born not long before by one of the females who now seems rather thin in comparison with the other two. The single male appears as happy as ever. Unlike goldfish, which spawn first by the female laying hundreds of eggs and the male fertilising them afterwards, guppies produce only a few live young.

I didn't expect they'd be as big as they were, but it's probably a good thing they were at least bigger than the mouths of the older guppies. The times before when our goldfish attempted reproduction, most of the eggs and babies were eaten by their parents before we had the chance to separate them.

At the pet store a little while ago, I selected the best looking fish according to my aesthetic values - the most colourful, the healthiest looking, the ones with the longest tails. It is very highly likely that these agreeable traits will have been inherited by this new generation. Of those that survive to maturity, I will again single out only the best of those to mate.

Phase one of my masterplan, the creation of a new species of superguppy is now complete...

Small fry

Electrical Dependence

2005-05-31T23:41:00.000+10:00

Happily working away on the computer today, creating the new website design for work, I was suddenly shocked to see the screen go black. I knew straight away that I had lost what I had been working on - which wasn't too much as it happens. The familiar click and whirring sound of hard drives spinning down was followed by the expected murmur heard around the office that the electricity had gone.

I waited for a while, asking around as others were as to what the problem might be, trying to ascertain what small jobs existed that could be done without the need of a well flowing stream of electrons. The list was rather short, so I went to lunch.

Upon my return, I found there still was no power and the remainder of the afternoon I mostly spent sticking mailing labels onto envelopes, while men from the electric company ran up and down, trying to get us reconnected.

Electrical cunning, so ingenious, bends us to its wishes.

Fun with lightning

Playing

2005-05-30T13:28:00.000+10:00

"The opposite of play is not seriousness - it is reality" --Sigmund Freud, The Creative Writer and Daydreaming

Yesterday was our final rehearsal until Friday when we play in The Valley. I think we've been a little hurried trying to put everything together, but I imagine we will go alright, at least I hope so. It's nothing really huge anyway, so I guess the main thing is that we have a good time.

After practice I went to Stafford City for a late lunch, then wandered down the bike track, stopping for a second or two on the bridge running over the creek, remembering the times long past, that I used to play in those waters trickling beneath.

Evolving notions of play, a life long task.

Humbuckin'

Gimme Some Truth

2005-05-29T01:55:00.000+10:00

"I don't believe in Beatles; I just believe in me." --John Lennon, God

I'd possessed a certain familiarity with quite a few of the songs from John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band, but had never before listened to the whole album. My music consumption of late has greatly increased, which I'm sure can be directly attributed to my new iPod. After having lunch at Chermside, I went out and bought John Lennon's Imagine album on CD, and am presently trying to determine if I can detect the difference between the uncompressed wave data played from the CD compared with the 128kb/s AAC compressed audio stream.

It's one of the reasons I wouldn't pay money to download music online, the information lost in compression - besides the fact that you can download pretty much anything you want from p2p networks for free. For music that I really like however, it's always nice to have a tangible and complete copy in my hands. iTunes will begin operations in Australia shortly, but I'll almost certainly be purchasing the music I want to own the old fashioned way.

My ears can't seem to discern anything that would distinguish the CD audio from the compressed copy, yet I know that much of the waveform data - the bits that humans can't perceive - have been taken out. I can't help but wonder though that perhaps, even though the conscious mind may be virtually ignorant of the background change, that what's lost, the information extracted, may somehow still be missed, leaving but a plastic copy and an unfulfilled unconscious, yearning for truth.

Dreaming of revolution

Sunsets

2005-05-26T00:12:00.000+10:00

"Sunsets over the beaches from now on. Each day looking for new ways to go on." --Powderfinger, Vulture Street

Monday after filming on my way home, an urge struck me while approaching the top of the hill to stop in at the old fish and chips shop along Stafford Road - not far from the house I grew up in - stirred by and reawakening half-buried memories lingering in the afternoon air. Decided upon visiting the water towers even further up on Sparks Hill, watching the sunset over the mountains to the west.

Yesterday I sat at the end of the day upon the bench in the clearing, just a little way from work, music in my ears, until only the last signs of twilight remained. At which time, a nosy security guard on a motorcycle rode in and asked me what I was doing there, kindy informing me that it was getting dark – as if it may have somehow eluded me. Concerned for my safety you see.

Though much may divide us in our hazy perceptions, as the world turns and sunlight shies away, it is the very same sun that sets on us each day, a stirring goodbye until the next revolution.

Stafford Road sunset

Using The Force

2005-05-24T01:00:00.000+10:00

I almost didn't go along to see Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, that frustrated with the video camera not playing back today's shots I was. It was imperative that the footage be transferred to dvd and after I thought that I may have lost it forever, I could feel my anger almost take hold, drawing me to the dark side. That would be a bad thing; fear, anger, hate, suffering and all that.

My faith in the Star Wars Saga of late has virtually all been destroyed, struck down by the glowing red lightsabers of episodes one & two and reabsorbed into the force, so I wasn't really expecting anything extraordinary from - seemingly over the hill - George Lucas this time around. I'm still half waiting for him to say that it's all been one big practical joke and to bring out the real films.

Surprisingly, its release last week didn't even come to my attention until I read some comments about it on usenet, and then it dawned on me: that was why all those people were dressed up like Jedi, Wednesday night in the city. A long long time ago in a galaxy far far away, I was one of those people waiting in line at the midnight screenings - never quite made it to costume though.

On the way back from the movie I joked half-heartedly about perhaps "using the force" to get my MiniDV tape working. We arrived home and I hesitantly tried it once more, with the same problem as before, the playback all distorted. I searched my feelings, and knew straight away what had to be done. With a swift gesture of the hand - perhaps striking the side of the camera just a little - it was incredible to see that it had worked, the picture was playing fine.

Padme Skywalker

Tough Nut To Crack

2005-05-22T23:43:00.000+10:00

Where has the time gone? It's nearly Monday all over again. That nasty bump on the head when I misjudged the doorway Saturday morning before sunrise might have done it, warped spacetime just a bit. Also left a rather large cut across my eyebrow.

I've just started reading Steven Hawking's The Universe in a Nutshell, which perhaps will help in answering a few nagging questions concerning relative motion stuck in my still slightly sore head. Perhaps I might also find my way through a wormhole back to Saturday morning and somehow get myself to avoid the whole incident.

Watched Down With Love last night, not wanting to think too deeply; a good old-fashioned romantic comedy, though the twist at the end kind of threw me a bit. Set in the sixties, a time revealed to me only through second hand experience, I wonder what thoughts I might have had, had I lived through that age as a New York magazine writer. The shape of time, problems with the twins paradox, special relativity and faster than light rotation of a distant star as I spin in my office chair.

Knowledge in a constant fight for existence. My head hurts; too many neurones knocked about. Off to dreamland.

Barbara & Catcher

With My Little iPod

2005-05-20T00:25:00.000+10:00

In their millions they reside, on belts or in pockets tucked deep inside, with snow white arms extending upwards towards the sky, they deliver the sweet sonic nectar that lets them survive. Just a few years ago, the idea of casually carrying around that much data - over three hundred and forty billion ones and zeroes - was far fetched, though with a rapidly progressive environment, only those able to readily adapt will survive.

On the off chance that my iPod photo 40GB had arrived there already after just being posted Friday, I stopped off at Mum's after work on Monday for a quick visit. Surprised at its speedy delivery, I excitedly unpacked the small, elegant device and was delighted for a short while, even though presently there was nothing for the machine to play.

It's funny how you sometimes only notice certain things when something has forced your attention to it; makes me wonder just how much slips past. Yesterday listening to Magical Mystery Tour while sitting on a bench in Queen Street, I notice a large amount of the passers by connected at the ears to pocket bands and orchestras, playing just for them.

I notice the symbiotic nature in which we exist.

iPod nature

Eye Spy

2005-05-18T02:39:00.000+10:00

The Australian Big Brother has just started again for its fifth season. I've not been watching at all, but it's amazing just how much information about it seems to seep through the gaps from news headlines, the radio and just general discussions with others.

I'd seen My Little Eye there at the video shop before, but the whole reality tv thing kind of turned me off. This time however I thought I might give it a try. I wanted to watch it after midnight, an attempt to get the full effect I suppose. Sometimes I envy those who can get really afraid by a movie. Involuntarily desensitised I guess.

Early primary school days watching my first horror films at a friend's place on sleepovers, my initial fears were those of the unknown, irrational speculation, not wanting to know why others were afraid to watch, yet at the same time wondering why then so many "scary" movies were made.

Genuine fear at times it seems is a starved emotion outside the theatres, the world of bland reality. This primal instinct, no longer needed to ward us from danger, is now fed by other sources.

Something beginning with...

Wine Tasting

2005-05-17T01:39:00.000+10:00

"I like how wine continues to evolve, like if I opened a bottle of wine today it would taste different than if I'd opened it on any other day, because a bottle of wine is actually alive. And it's constantly evolving and gaining complexity." --Maya, Sideways

The Dawn Theatre along Gympie Road is one of those old-time cinemas that seem to stand defiant in the face of the large multiplexes built up just down the street. Usually run by a friendly elderly gentleman, small screens, dodgy sound, a musty theatre with those old brown chairs, but very reasonably priced.

Sideways is due out on dvd pretty soon, but was still playing at The Dawn Theatre on Tuesdays, so tonight we went there for a change, a little taste test. It was quite a different experience, just the one theatre, black and white portraits of past movie greats on the wall. We bought our drinks and popcorn from the friendly elderly gentleman - who was also the projectionist - and went in.

I think in some strange way, the atmosphere of the old place may have added some inexplicable quality to the film because I found I was enjoying my time there quite a bit more than the regular movie going affair. It was certainly very well written with sharp performances from the whole cast, quite funny in many places, but there was also something very real in the way the overall story was told, very truthful in the way it was shot. I liked it.

I wonder if it would have been the same on any other day.

"Tastes pretty good to me"

Swimmingly

2005-05-16T00:34:00.000+10:00

Quite an uneventful weekend for a change, passed by rather swimmingly. Just finished watching Swimfan, by the Australian director John Polson, who recently did Hide and Seek. I didn't mind it for a mild Sunday night distraction, seemed better than it should have been with its typical teen thriller format.

It made me think back to when I was swimming at school, though fortunately for me I guess, there weren't any psychotic, overzealous girls after me. I almost wished I hadn't have given it up, until I remembered the up at dawn training sessions in hypothermic temperatures and the constant pressure to take off those few extra milliseconds of your personal best time.

I was especially good at backstroke, even made it to state finals a few times - breaststroke was another story. At Friday swimming club back in primary school, they grouped and ordered the races according to personal best times, so in backstroke I remember I was always in one of the final races, seeming so short and out of place amongst all the high-schoolers. Then straight after the race I had to quickly run back around to make it to the starting blocks in time for breaststroke.

Watching the swimmers on film, I began to wonder at what point in history did humans begin to learn how to swim. In many animals the ability to stay afloat in water is innate, but not so in humans it seems. I can't imagine never having learnt to swim, as is Madison's experience in Swimfan. Like learning to ride a bicycle, it's something you keep for life.

Swimfan

Paths of Glory and the Many Faces of War

2005-05-14T16:19:00.000+10:00

Feature motion pictures, churned out by the hundreds each year, the behemoth studios, factories of distraction struggling to meet demand, a hunger never satisfied. Whistling and screaming at the stage for more, like an unruly bunch of military men packed into a crowded bar, we are often taken by surprise when the rare song of another reflects with precise honesty, something previously unseen in ourselves.

There was absolutely nothing on at the movies, nothing that really caught my attention at least, so after dinner, I parted with the others, who were seeing a Hollywood horror called Boogeyman... I went home to watch Stanley Kubrick's Paths of Glory for the first time, leaving me with only the few of his most early films still to see.

His unique style of shooting is immediately recognisable in the many tracking shots and the way he balances light and dark and although the acting and (lack of) accents were at times a little distracting, I thought it was a great film. I liked the contrast between the high-ranking officers in their enormous mansions and the soldiers in the dirty trenches, the way the officers are willing to trade so many lives for military medals and their own personal gain, the way brave men are tried as cowards, really shows the injustices of war.

What really got me though was the weeping girl - the only German shown in the film - forced to sing in front of the French soldiers. She made such an impression on Stanley that he married her.

Our latest acquisition from the enemy

Ode to be a Pigeon or: Miscellaneous Late Night Drivel

2005-05-13T02:25:00.000+10:00

Filming interviews for The St Vincent de Paul Society this morning in South Brisbane. A bleak day for it, briskly walking through the steady trickle of raindrops with my recording gear, not knowing exactly where I was headed.

It began to come down a touch heavier and I ducked into just about tiniest coffee shop I'd ever seen, just for a second, to find out at least if I was going in the right direction or not. It felt really crowded in there, even though it was just me and this rather hefty shopkeeper, so I didn't stay for long. There was also a very large black and white painting of a naked woman lying on her back that seemed to crowd the place even more.

I eventually found the right building, not too dampened by the wet. Shooting the interviews between tea and sandwiches, a lot of talk about helping the homeless, people less fortunate and everything and also the cultivation the catholic traditions of the organisation, but certainly not discriminating against others. Just for a second, I perceived a certain unexplainable absurdity in the air, but it soon passed.

By the time shooting was over, the rain had stopped and on the way back, I bought a Coke from the cramped little coffee shop from before - kind of a thanks I guess - and headed across the bridge into the city, passing a few people along the way with cardboard signs and some selling The Big Issue, before shopping for a bit and bumping into a friend who'd just joined a girls only gym.

Reading Nineteen Eighty-Four in King George Square over a late lunch, people hurriedly walking past, going this way and that, I noticed a small group of pigeons sitting serenely on the grass in the afternoon sun, absolutely unaware of the world at large and all the troubles that plague humanity.

King George Square pigeons

Machine Over Mind

2005-05-10T23:54:00.000+10:00

Sitting, defeated a number of times by my computerised chess opponent, I realise just how much practice I need. What comes to mind also is the fact that the number one chess player in the world is actually not human. It's IBM's Deep Blue, the successor to Deep Thought, named incidentally after the computer in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, which calculates the ultimate answer to life, the universe and everything.

I'm about half way through reading The Matrix and Philosophy, a collection of essays dealing with the various philosophical issues presented in The Matrix. Watching it yet again this afternoon, I'm amazed to see just how many important, historical ideas and age old questions the film re-examines, bringing them to a whole new audience of thinkers.

In The Matrix, as with just about every other science fiction story dealing with intelligent machines, the machines somewhere along the line, turn on their creators. In the real world, computer systems have already surpassed the abilities of our finest chess playing talents. Electronic computers, since their spontaneous biogenesis out of the primordial soup of mechanical adding machines and human ingenuity have evolved, multiplied and migrated around the globe, adapting themselves with each successive upgrade.

In a way, we are already somewhat controlled by these contrived devices. Legions of workers slave day by day in computer factories far far away for very little pay, bringing you the very latest in technology, thus perpetuating the machines' continued existence.

Like human batteries, we supply them with all the power they need to run. Happy playing computer games, though always know when to pull the plug.

Dodge this

Mind Over Machine

2005-05-08T23:40:00.000+10:00

"Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do. I'm half crazy all for the love of you. It won't be a stylish marriage, I can't afford a carriage. But you'll look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for two." --HAL, 2001: A Space Odyssey

My old wooden chess board, the one I learned to play on so long ago, is now hanging up on the wall; the carved wooden pieces, a jumble in their box. It sometimes amazes me, the amount of people I come across who never learned to play. Teaching a human mind to play reasonably well takes a keen interest and a lot of practice. A modern computer however, loaded with the right programming, can play at almost grandmaster level without raising a sweat.

Walking around rather bored at the shops yesterday, I thought for a moment that it might be a good idea to get one of those electronic chessboards so that I wouldn't have to bug someone else every time I wanted to have a game or to practice a bit. I then thought it would perhaps be better to get some kind of portable LCD chess game, so that I could carry it around with me, but didn't even know if they even made such a thing.

About five minutes later, after my mind had wandered onto other things, I walked into Tandy Electronics and there, staring me in the face, was an electronic chessboard with a removable docking unit. The perfect combination. Not all that hard to beat on some of its lower levels, though I seem to just now be facing a challenge.

Watching the first part of the Stanley Kubrick documentary A Life In Pictures, I notice him often portrayed as a chess player, both literally as well as in his personality and the way he shoots his films. A great scene in 2001: A Space Odyssey is when HAL plays chess with Frank, defeating him convincingly. What's interesting is that unlike the brute force approach utilised by today's top chess playing computers, HAL's thought patterns seem almost "human". He even conveys his enjoyment of the game, though it could all just be part of his programming.

"Thankyou for a very enjoyable game"

Minor Roles and Extras

2005-05-07T19:25:00.000+10:00

The story is set down as the night unfolds, written rather hastily and with little plan but to try to have a good time. Down to Her Majesty's on Queen Street for a drink, meeting up with others a bit later, but happy for the time just enjoying the solitude, the anonymity amongst the crowd, the background extras to the story.

It wasn't long until a familiar face came wandering in, another character to the plot. Superficial chatter, disclosure of problems burdened, miscellaneous introductions, a few more drinks and the night's tale continued. Friends met later, who once played rather large roles in school days past, now make only rare and nostalgic appearances, while previous nobodys and stand-ins rise to significance to fill the empty spaces.

Scattered just outside the familiar circle of friends there seems always to be an assortment of minor roles and extras: the people you sit next to at the bus stop, but rarely speak to; the girl who rips your tickets at the movies with a smile; the old man you frequently pass on the street who's always talking to himself.

What part might these people play in the days ahead? What part do you play in the stories these characters set down?

Queen Street Mall twilights

New Retrospective

2005-05-05T23:36:00.000+10:00

Yesterday the new Nintendo DS game Retro Atari Classics finally arrived, shipped in from abroad, though I thought I was buying from an Australian source on eBay. In the end, it was somewhat cheaper than I would have paid in the stores anyway.

A few of the games included on the cartridge I think are a few years before my time; still fun to play though after all those years. I remember playing Asteroids quite a bit when I was very young, on my friend's old Atari 2600 and later, a PC remake of the old Breakout game managed to take up a lot of my time.

It's interesting to look back on what was once state of the art digital entertainment. The blips and beeps, chunky square pixels and simple, elegant gameplay. Makes you wonder how things will be in another twenty to thirty years time.

Back when I had my old Commodore 64, I can remember the painted covers of the games and how they all were so impressive on the box that they made the graphics of the actual game seem just a touch lacking. Only recently have the in-game visuals begun to catch up with the designs on the box.

Oh no, the batteries are running low and I've misplaced my charger around here somewhere. I guess the pixelated lunar landing will have to wait until tomorrow.

Save the world by launching more and more missiles

Life, the Universe and Everything

2005-05-04T01:05:00.000+10:00

I was at QUT for second year arts; a walk to my bus stop in the city with a girl from media studies was where I first heard of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy book, which she couldn't believe I'd never read before. I've just started reading it again tonight. I'm not sure why its existence had eluded me for so long.

It was a conscious decision, a safeguard to disappointment I guess, not to expect too much from the film, but somewhere in the subconscious I think there is always a small, hidden hope that a movie based on an admired prior source, will surpass its predecessors. This doesn't happen too often, and although I enjoyed The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy film for a laugh and was impressed with what they were able to fit in to the feature film format, I don't believe it quite happened this time either.

The amount of useless, trivial information stored in the mind is incredible, picked up from various friends along the way to the ultimate bus stop. Human memory unfortunately is quite unreliable, a shaky residence for an idea or thought, one that could be scheduled for destruction without notice at any time. Ideas must be well adapted for survival.

I wonder what answer you would get if you added together all the thoughts and information from every sentient being in the universe - even dolphins and mice - and just let some super-intelligent computer system ponder it all over for a million or so years. Perhaps it's happening already, as we sit here on the brink of panic.

Don't panic

In Search of Slaughter Falls

2005-05-02T15:32:00.000+10:00

Listening to the rain trickle down outside, I think about the dried up creek beds we walked up yesterday and how they must now be flowing with rainwater.

Yesterday a few friends gathered at Mount Coot-tha's JC Slaughter Falls picnic area for a barbeque. After we'd eaten, leaving the girls to sit and gossip, Marcus, Phil and myself decided to take a short walk along the bush trail leading to the falls.

Along the way were some rocks by the creek bed with some aboriginal art painted on them, a few handprints and a crude rendition of a snake. After taking some photos, we decided to be a little adventurous, abandoning the trail to follow the rocky creek we imagined would lead to straight to Slaughter Falls, which according to the signpost, was only a few hundred metres away.

A little worn out after climbing and jumping over large creek rocks without coming across anything resembling a waterfall, we thought it might be a good idea to find the track again. Luckily it wasn't too far away. Up and up we hiked as the trail started to become steeper and steeper, until we were all sweating, exhausted and thinking we were definitely not on track to our previous destination any more, but still we didn't want to turn back.

At the top, our track joined up with another that seemed to lead back down the mountain. Following that down for what seemed like forever, we eventually found ourselves at the very same signpost telling us that Slaughter Falls was just ahead. We were much too weary from our walk however and happily resolved that we would see it another day and that it would most likely not be much to look at anyway, all dried up and everything as we imagined it to be.

Mount Coot-tha Fungus

Through The Motions

2005-05-01T02:30:00.000+10:00

The world turns on each living soul; the day unfolds a billion different ways, yet remains one and the same for all.

Last night Natalie threw a party for her twenty-second birthday, although it's not actually her birthday until next week. I guess she just couldn't wait. Friday morning looking for a present, the worst kind of shopping. I found this little, green, furry, mini beanbag that was kind of cute. She seems to like that sort of stuff.

Amidst one revolution so long ago, a random day in three hundred and sixty-five, forever significant each trip around the sun.

Seventeen million share that significance.

Party animals

Dealing With Infinite Nature

2005-04-29T02:33:00.000+10:00

"How am I not myself?" --Brad Stand, I ♥ Huckabees

Second time seeing I Heart Huckabees, second coincidence since last time that's happened just hours before at Chermside shopping centre involving paths crossed with old uni friends. What does it all mean?

Sitting, waiting on one of their comfortable couches, midpoint in the surrounding flow of human traffic, finding familiar objects in the patterns on the floor and watching the faces of the people passing by, I happen upon one recognisable; a girl I'd only spoken to a few times at uni named Jess. I hesitate whether to say hi as she walks on by without noticing. Just a few minutes later, there's a tap on my shoulder. A quick hello from a different classroom acquaintance, who would otherwise have slipped by unnoticed.

Upon second viewing, I think I enjoyed the movie a whole lot more, just letting it flow by, without having to rethink the issues or worry about what was coming next, which direction it was going to take. First interpretations remain, interacting and influencing each subsequent viewing. Also enjoyed listening to Jude Law's attempt at an american accent again.

As the years pass by, we often seem to box ourselves in to a specific life and way of thinking. As a child, the walls of the box stretch out close to infinity, but are quickly pulled closer and closer, shaped by experience. I Heart Huckabees to me, is about coping with existence without bounds once the false finite nature of the box is regognised by realising that everything's connected and by asking how you are not yourself.

Coincidence survives twice as well in the brain as incidence does.

Tops and mops

Guppy Tales

2005-04-28T01:24:00.000+10:00

Was going to go down to the creek to catch some, but the guppies you find in Kedron Brook don't have the nice pretty tails like they do in the pet store. A shot of the old fish tank in one of my collection of recordings was all it took to refill my interest in keeping a small aquarium.

With partial success in breeding goldfish, I thought the live breeding guppy might be an interesting challenge. Running in from the rain to the pet store after work, I picked out a few that I liked. For now they're stuck in my tiny fighter fish tank, until I can get a replacement lid for my larger tank. Some, I've found, have a tendency to attempt an irrational leap into the unknown.

When I was a kid, we had a really old tank in the back yard in which we kept some guppies from the creek. They seemed to breed just fine, but after I while, I remember it became a little overcrowded in there and we had to let some of them go back into the creek.

Watched some of the special features from the I Heart Huckabees dvd both before and after work today. Hollywood seems so far away, out through the looking glass. I looked to my tank, trying to feel that hypnotic calmness you're supposed to get while watching fish swim, though as they gazed out through their glass walls, I couldn't help but ponder the parallels.

The little guppy tank

All Natural Mind Implants

2005-04-27T00:21:00.000+10:00

That tiny bump on the back of my neck; I tried to checked it again after The Manchurian Candidate spurred memories of a past X-Files induced, momentary mock-paranoia, that it could possibly be some kind of high-tech, government mind control implant, strategically placed just out of view from my gaze in the mirror. Probably only a small mole or something - or perhaps that's just what they want me to think.

One dollar Tuesday at the video store had us hiring an inordinate amount of dvds tonight. Just looking through my Firefox history now, I've managed to pinpoint the genesis of my decision to rent The Manchurian Candidate. An article on the front page of Wikipedia made reference to a conspiracy theory, leading me to do a search for the page on The Catcher in the Rye, a book my mind obviously identifies with conspiracies for various reasons. It seems from that site, I came across a link to The Manchurian Candidate book and a memory purposely implanted in my mind by the film companies, the memory of the film's trailer, sparked a desire to see the movie.

It's a good thing I only spent a dollar on it though, as it certainly wasn't amongst the top conspiracy themed movies I've seen. I found out afterwards that it was actually a remake of an old sixties movie that's supposed to be quite a bit better. Why are remakes so rarely as good as the original? I really should stop being so lazy though and actually read the book.

It seems the good old corporations aren't doing too badly in the mind control department anyway, even without all the flashy computer chip implants, metaphors in the film for real life media control. Every little thing you see becomes implanted in your mind as a natural function of the brain. The seeds are sown, ideas are cultivated, though in the end, it's our choice which species will survive due to our mind's own natural selection.

Rememberings

Ninety Years Young

2005-04-24T23:20:00.000+10:00

While relaxing along the banks of the Mary River, about three hours north of Brisbane, I noticed a small, speckled preying mantis crawling upon my shoe and watched him as he jumped from one foot to the other. Back up in the small town of Maryborough, after quite some time away, for my great grandmother's ninetieth birthday celebration, five generations gathered for lunch at the local cricket grounds.

When I was younger, Maryborough was almost like a second home to me, going up every school holidays to visit all the relatives. Fond memories return while walking along the riverbank, of days spent fishing for perch with cousins and of various other adventures around town. I especially enjoyed visiting my great grandparents also, mainly because they would always give me lots of ice-cream and other treats.

Incidentally, after asking my Nan about a Mary Poppins billboard I saw on the drive up, I found out that Maryborough was the birthplace of P. L. Travers, the author of the Mary Poppins novels.

Nine decades of life shifts things into a new perspective, stories from long before I was ever thought of, I struggle to place within my mind's makeshift timeline, while for them, the experience is living history. I admire her for her nature, her energy and smile, and wonder what person I will be, should I ever arrive at that age.

Not far from the Mary River, about three hours from where I am now, there may still be a small, speckled praying mantis, seeking life's little adventures and stealthily hunting for food amongst the grass.

Our friend by the river

Collisions & the Weight of the Soul

2005-04-22T02:53:00.000+10:00

"They say that we all lose twenty-one grams at the exact moment of our death, everyone. And how much fits into twenty-one grams?" --Paul Rivers, 21 Grams

Sitting at the lights in casual wait for that green arrow, about to turn off the main road towards the shopping centre, a sudden jolt startles me for a second before I realise that the woman in the four wheel drive behind me had apparently just collided with my rear bumper. The light flicks to green, no time to think as I accelerate around the corner, not really knowing what to do, not knowing how much damage had been done.

I imagined that she would follow me off the busy road into the parking lot, at least so we could exchange details, but instead she just continued driving, leaving me cursing myself for not catching the licence plate number. I expected the worst, though perhaps the impact felt a lot stronger than it really was, because when I finally found a park and hopped out to check around back, there was no apparent damage at all, not even a dent in the plastic bumper bar. It seems I was lucky this time.

Just finished watching 21 Grams, wanting to see again how Naomi Watts played against Sean Penn and perhaps discover what I found lacking in The Interpreter, which Naomi, I heard, was originally cast in. An infinitely more tragic car accident to my petty experience is the central event of this film, from which all the other stories seem to sprawl out into scattered time. Watts plays her character Cristina with such perfect emotion it's astounding.

While travelling along life's roads and highways, certain collisions are bound to happen. But it is these, often unfortunate events that make up the map we've travelled, the various turnoffs along the way to our destination. Perhaps it's this that fits into the twenty-one grams we lose when we eventually die (let's just say the information is accurate), the experiences, the moments collected, returning to the world, like a flock of birds taking flight into the twilight.

When I returned to the car park after shopping tonight, there was a tiny swallow, perched on the end of my car antenna, resting there for a minute before flying off to catch some of the insects, attracted by the illunination of the parking lot lights.

Naomi Watts

Differing Interpretations

2005-04-21T01:57:00.000+10:00

Tuesdays, over every other day, has firmly established itself as a refuge for the budget conscious movie goer. I can remember the days, long ago it seems now, when the Stafford cinema had just opened, riding bicycles down the road from our old high school just about every Tuesday, pocket money well spent.

I used to have a collection of movie ticket stubs that I kept in my wallet until it began to overflow and then I was forced to keep them stacked together with a rubber band at home. Sometimes I would sit and count how many there were, making an estimate of just how much I'd spent on filling my brain with moving pictures, and although always somewhat amazed at the total cost - even while on a kid’s budget - what is gained is always more than compensation.

Upon arrival at the cinemas last night, I bumped into Hilary, a lady from work walking in with one of her friends and we discussed how we all were and introductions were made and this and that and they told us that they were going to see The Interpreter because they'd heard it was good. It's interesting, but just from that offhand recommendation, it made me want to go see it just a little more - perhaps tipping the scales in the end. Why is it that we place such importance on what others think of a movie, knowing full well the variation that exists between individual tastes?

Nothing about the film struck me as overly spectacular and I felt there lacked a certain chemistry between Sean and Nicole that made them seem far too distant. The strange thing is, today at work, Hilary asked me what I thought of the film. Just from the tone of her voice you could tell that she really liked it, so I simply answered 'good', without really thinking. I'm glad she enjoyed it though.

The interpretations of what we see are really interpretations of ourselves. What would we be without those Tuesday trips?

Interpret this

Ardent Dreams, Braided by Time

2005-04-20T01:17:00.000+10:00

dream: n. 1. a series of images, ideas, emotions, and sensations occurring involuntarily in the mind during certain stages of sleep. 2. a condition or achievement that is longed for; an aspiration.

I was going to post last night, seriously I was, but I couldn't recall any recent dreams that I'd had - I was also somewhat sleepy - so I thought I'd give it another night, one more chance for my unconscious mind to play. It didn't help however; it seems my dreams of late have begun to fade as the waking state slowly gains the upper hand.

Watched the third episode from season four of Ed Sunday evening, entitled The Dream and again last night while waiting for inspiration to arrive. Ed attempts to realise his boyhood ambition of owning a champion racehorse and Carol gets into a spot of trouble just for encouraging Warren Cheswick to follow his dreams.

At times it can appear that the ardent aspirations of youth have been lost to stark reality. Like a dream, they become distant and unreal, lurking in the background, tucked away in one of the downstairs cupboards of the mind for safe keeping while the world drifts by. Daring to dream, letting those aspirations take hold can be daunting. The easy road however, I've found, does not lead to dreamland.

Carol Vessey

Hey Lyla

2005-04-17T02:22:00.000+10:00

I thought to myself that voice sounded familiar while listening to Triple J on the way home the other day. I wondered if it was actually something new from Oasis or just Liam off doing a song with another group like he has been lately.

Either way, I turned it up and enjoyed the ride back - a welcome change to some of the stuff they've been playing lately - finding out afterwards that it was in fact the new single from Oasis, Lyla out of the upcoming album Don't Believe the Truth.

Words and music by Liam Gallagher on this one, apparently giving Noel a break for a song or two on the new CD. A conglomerate of rock 'n' roll influence and a punchy beat. Killer tune.

The world around us makes me feel so small

The Modern Haggle

2005-04-15T00:48:00.000+10:00

I'm not normally one to try to talk a store sales person into lowering a price. In fact I don't think I've ever done it before, but tonight I figured I may as well give it a try. What did I have to lose, right?

I've been wanting to purchase a decent microphone for a while now and the fact that I'd been asked to film a few seminars for work and also to record an interview at the University of Queensland regarding the proposed abolition of compulsory student unions, it finally gave me the excuse to go out and splurge a little.

At Videopro I found one that was perfect, after disregarding the first one I saw, which was just a tad over my budget and so I waited patiently at the display case looking around for a while. Usually it takes them only a few seconds after you walk into the shop before beginning to hassle you, asking if you need any help and commenting on every little thing you look at, even after you've told them you're happy just browsing. For some reason it always seems that whenever I actually want to buy something, that they can't keep far enough away.

Eventually I went up to the counter and asked one of the guys if he could show me the Sony stereo microphone in the window. I'd already determined in my mind that I was going to buy it regardless, but I didn't want to appear too eager, taking my time to look over the contents of the box, reading the specifications on the back - half of which I have no idea about - before casually as I could, asking if he could do anything about the price if I paid in cash.

We went over to the computer and after a few short keystrokes, he offered it to me for twenty dollars off the marked price. It sounded reasonable enough, so I gladly took it – what more could I have done really? I have a slight sneaking suspicion though, that they may just be keeping their prices high there, just so they can give out deals without losing profits; makes them look like they're nice people. An extra twenty in my pocket though, I'm happy.

Dual soundwave to electrical impulse converter

Capacitor Recapacitation

2005-04-14T00:00:00.000+10:00

The other week, a lady from work shared the sad and unfortunate story of her faulty computer and the events surrounding its attempted repair - she is currently still waiting. Experiencing some problems with it randomly freezing up on her, she took it to her local computer shop. They concluded that some of its capacitors were faulty, bloated and leaking, and of course told her she needed to replace the whole motherboard. Somehow, mysteriously in the process, they came across a few more problems to add to the bill and in the end, managed, among other things, to completely erase her hard drive. Needless to say she is not too happy with them.

The freezing computer is a common annoyance for just about any computer user. When it started to happen quite frequently to a few of the computer at work, after eliminating any Windows defects as the cause and testing various hardware components, I figured it must be something to do with the motherboard. Upon closer inspection, I noticed a kind of brown corrosion leaking from the tops of the large capacitors on all three motherboards.

I googled around a bit and found a little story about a flawed stolen capacitor formula that was causing some problems in computers made a few years ago, expanding, leaking and even exploding. Jim said it would probably be an easy task of just replacing the eight troublesome capacitors, so we ordered them in and got to work today in fixing the boards.

Here are the steps we took, a little unsure if it would work, but surely worth a try:

1. Take the motherboard out of the case and put it on the desk.

2. Identify the offending capacitors and using a gas powered soldering iron on the soldered joins, remove the old capacitor from the board.

3. Remove any remaining solder if it is plugging the holes for the new capacitor, or use something sharp to push a hole through the solder.

4. Insert the new capacitor in place, bend back the wires on the other side of the board, solder to the board and trim wires.

5. Repeat for all incapacitated capacitors, return motherboard to case, then just hope everything went according to plan.

We only did one board today and I was a bit sceptical as to whether it would work. When we fired it up for the first time and all that was heard was one long beep and then three short ones and nothing else, I assumed the worst. While Jim was away trying to find out what the computer meant by that particular series of tones, I tried it once again, pushing the graphics card into place a little better and after that, to my surprise, the system seemed good as new.

The lady from work says she's going to bring her computer with her, the next time something goes wrong, assuming she ever gets it back from her computer store.

Incapacitated motherboard capacitors

Genealogy of the Blog

2005-04-13T12:07:00.000+10:00

The thoughts of the day, scrawled out in text on the screen, groupings of characters, words, concepts, ideas, and narrative combine, producing what in the end - like a lost star in the night sky - is a mere speck amongst the multitude. Yet though so like so many others, at the same time there are none quite exact in similarity. Variation it seems, just as it exists in biology between individual species of plants and animals, is apparent all around if you look hard enough. It is this variation that enables evolution and progress to thrive.

The blog is an organism, fighting for survival in a harsh environment fraught with many perils. It is a relatively new species and like so many if its inorganic cousins, its current existence is dependent on various members of the human race, who are cunningly persuaded into performing various actions so that it may continue to be.

The experiences of the day, which would otherwise remain revolving in the mind, are somehow coaxed out. The requisite work days floating past, dreaming of the future; the little ideas that seem to pop out of nowhere, which you hope may one day actualise, though probably will just end up like the rest of them, neatly tucked away in the corner.

Thinkings from pages read at lunch and the night before, Darwin's The Origin of Species, Nietzsche's The Genealogy of Morals and at least five other books that I've started to read and then put down or returned to the library, like tonight, to test drive some more. The idle chatter of the evening news and social propaganda of commercial current affairs in the background. The all new moments from New School, the first episode from season four of Ed. The words of other blogs around the world set down by others.

All influence to the present state of things, from fingers to keys to the screen to the blog.

Nietzsche blogging, old school

But Oh, That Magic Feeling

2005-04-11T01:17:00.000+10:00

"Out of college money spent, see no future pay no rent. All the money's gone, nowhere to go." --Lennon/McCartney, Abbey Road

It's a strange feeling when you realise that the lyrics to a song are actually not what you had previously assumed and perhaps - more embarrassingly - even sung along to. The song, as it existed in your mind is suddenly changed forever as the validity of its former meaning is stripped away. In the Abbey Road track, You Never Give Me Your Money, I always thought it was 'But oh that magic feeling, oh where'd it go?'. It appears I was wrong, though the sentiment seemed fitting.

Friday night, out 'till morning, yet somehow flat, a shadow of former times. Saturday to the movies at Southbank, parking a pain, a cramped and crowded theatre, obliged to see Sahara with the others - distant memories of a time when a trip to the cinema was an almost magical experience. The weekend closes, an early episode of Ed rekindles the urge to go bowling, unshared by all but a few. Searching, forever seeking, though content with discontent, but oh that magic feeling, nowhere to go.

The lyrics of life going round and round inside your head, and though the future may prove them different, what more can we do but to keep on singing regardless?

Beatles in the garden

Mouse in the House

2005-04-08T20:21:00.000+10:00

Tired from my efforts of the night before setting up SuSE Linux, I awoke this morning and was readying myself to go out, when I heard a rustling from the plastic bag of chips, popcorn and various other snacks on the kitchen floor. Through the semitransparent plastic, I saw the dark shape of a tiny mouse, which I had first seen from the corner of my eye, late one night, scampering across the floor about a month ago.

I had once almost caught him one night, in the box next to the fridge. Turning on the kitchen light, I saw him, sitting there startled, and looking up at me while I just stopped and stared right back for a second or two, wondering what he might be thinking. As soon as I advanced however, he must have regained his wits, jumping right up out of the box and bolting behind the fridge.

There was no escape for him this morning however. I grabbed the plastic bag, sealing him inside and went to look for something I could put him in. He was very fast and I knew that if I opened the bag just a little that he would quickly attempt an escape, so I got a plastic container along with a little box and headed to the bath tub. Opening it just the slightest bit, he darted from the bag to freedom, though luckily the bath tub walls were much too smooth a surface for his clawed feet to grasp and eventually he found a dark hiding spot within the box I'd placed in there.

I'll most likely let him go outside tomorrow, but just wanted to keep the cute little scamp for a bit. He's currently busy eating a bit of popcorn I put in his container earlier.

The mouse

Red Caps and Speedos

2005-04-07T13:17:00.000+10:00

"In twelve years, the baby will be eleven and a half." --Jane, The Life Aquatic

Probably a film I'll have to see again to explore its deeper subtleties, to dive into the depths of its... ok, ok enough of that. I had my doubts about this movie, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, not knowing really what to make of it at first. Its quirky style and dry humour seemed to catch me a little off guard, though after recognising the intentionality behind its skewed reality, the film became progressively more enjoyable and I was able to appreciate its silliness. By the time the movie’s end credits were rolling, there was that certain feeling where I'm not quite clear exactly why, but I just know I liked it.

It's the little details, the small idiosyncrasies that make the film, red caps and speedos, the absurd animated sea creatures, the appalling treatment of the interns, and the fact that everyone gets a Glock. No one could have played Zissou like Bill Murray and I was impressed with Cate Blanchett's performance as well and although not a huge Owen Wilson fan, I felt a kind of strange empathy for his character and the emotions of his situation.

When I was a kid, around eleven and a half, I used to love watching those nature documentaries they're always showing on the ABC and I remember always having aspirations to one day make one of my own while exploring the vast unknown somewhere. As a child your future is almost infinite, though it slowly fades with age as possibility gives way to reality. There's still time yet.

"Do you think it remembers me?"

I'd Like to Buy the World a Coke

2005-04-04T23:58:00.000+10:00

The 1971 Coca-Cola slogan on the surface seems to show a simple desire to spread some good in the world through a little generosity. The image of six and a half billion bottles of Coke opening simultaneously comes to mind, a Coca-Cola executive's dream. Over the years, this dark fizzy liquid has pervaded society, evolved and adapted to a multitude of variable social climates, and learned how to expertly exploit human emotion for its own advantage using a rich tapestry of enticing images.

Eleven-thousand-and-eighty shares of Coca-Cola Amatil Ltd stock at $8.48 per share, roughly ten-thousand Australian dollars, was the market order I put through tonight in my first foray into the online trading world - if only it were real money. I had just about forgotten I'd joined up for the ASX Sharemarket Game, after I'd given up on the hopelessly designed interface about a month ago, when today I received an email saying it's not too late to start buying shares with my make-believe fifty grand.

Coca-Cola seemed to be performing as good as any, plus it's oh so deliciously refreshing! I'll be eagerly watching the market in the weeks to come. You never know, perhaps soon I'll have enough to buy the whole world an imaginary Coke.

Refreshingly delicious

Collaterally Thinking

2005-04-03T11:59:00.000+10:00

collateral: adj. Situated or running side by side; parallel. Coinciding in tendency or effect; concomitant or accompanying.

While watching Collateral last night, the question of what exactly the title had to do with the picture came up, though only now after looking up the proper definition, can I see the connection. The action of the film takes place over a relatively short period of time and within that short time, the assorted lives of the film's characters come together, influencing each other in ways large and small, intertwined in their parallel existences.

The depth of this film surprised me somewhat when I first saw it at the cinema, both in character complexity and in the underlying themes and ideas presented, a welcome departure from many typical mind-numbing action flicks. I hired the dvd the other day, watched it by myself Friday, then with others last night and am currently listening along to the director's commentary while it plays in the background on my computer.

When you think about it, we're all living in collateral here on this large sphere of rock, billions of lives striving forward through time in this big cosmic coincidence. "Get with it. Millions of galaxies of hundreds of millions of stars, in a speck on one, in a blink, that's us lost in space ... the cop, you, me ... who notices?"

Darwin, shit happens, I Ching, whatever man, we gotta roll with it

I Wanna Be a Producer

2005-04-01T20:31:00.000+10:00

That familiar music is playing as the credits roll on the final Curb Your Enthusiasm episode, Opening Night, where Larry finally goes on stage as Max Bialystock in the Broadway musical The Producers after spending the whole season in preparation. It's my favourite episode of them all in fact, though I can't wait to see what he comes up with in season five. I didn't really know much about The Producers other than that it was a very popular stage play written by Mel Brooks, but after watching Larry David and David Schwimmer in the few acts they did during the show, I really wanted to go and see it, though a trip to New York at the time seemed a little unfeasible.

Last year I heard that it was coming to Australia, playing in Melbourne and a friend of mine, Jerry went to see it while he was down there for a friend's birthday or something, but I figured it was only a matter of time before it came up to Brisbane. Eventually it did and a group of us bought tickets for last night's show.

I remember a little "Curb" type incident happened in the process getting the tickets. Jerry had given the money for his two tickets to me and I was going to go over and give his money along with my money to Meg so that she could buy the tickets. Now I didn't count the money Jerry gave me, but I put it in a separate section of my wallet and when the time came for me to hand over his money, there was twenty dollars short. I only had enough to cover me, so Meg said she would get the rest from Jerry later. On the way home Jerry called me and I had to convince him that I hadn't just made off with his twenty dollars - quite an awkward situation.

I really enjoyed the show last night, very funny and original, though I think it would have been better to see it with the original actors, instead of having Australians putting on phoney American accents, but it was good nonetheless. The actor playing Bialystock, I thought could have done a better job though. I overheard an old couple during intermission calling him a "bastard" for overdoing it. I mentioned to Jerry that they should have persuaded Larry David to come down and take on the part, but I have a suspicion that he wouldn't do it in a million years. Bert Newton won the most applause at the end of the night, however I suspect it was only due to his notoriety from Good Morning Australia. Overall it was an excellent night, though by the end of it I was quite exhausted and collapsed into bed afterwards without posting.

Leo and Max, back on their tracks

Chillin'

2005-03-31T01:48:00.000+10:00

There's a certain point in every Windows user's life - sometimes several times per day actually - when substantial physical harm is wished upon Bill Gates. I bet he's having a good old laugh up there at our expense, with his billions of dollars, most likely using his own special version of Windows, before they add in all the bugs and annoyances, the Bill Gates edition that never freezes, never crashes and always does what it's told. Pehaps I should forget about my computer, move to LA and become a movie producer or something.

Sometimes you don't appreciate the quality of a movie until they bring out a bad sequel. I hadn't been to the video store in quite a while, so while chkdsk was scanning my Windows installation, I thought I might take a drive down for a browse. I'd recently seen Be Cool and was somewhat disappointed, so when I noticed the Get Shorty dvd on the recent release shelves, I had to get it to see if I could establish what it is that

It's hard to say exactly, but I'm pretty sure that perceived authenticity has something to do with it. Be Cool came across as being rather contrived and manufactured, similar to much of today's pop music. With Get Shorty, that artificial, almost phony quality is missing, leaving a witty, satirical and entertaining film.

"I don't think the producer has to know much"

Early Hours

2005-03-28T23:56:00.000+10:00

Arrived back from the weekend camping trip just this afternoon and am still feeling a little tired and worn out even after a lazy evening in front of the television, watching The Hours and other things. A nasty cold caught on the first night out and only just clearing up now, seems to have put a damper on the whole experience. I put in the effort regardless, determined on having a good time, though at times it appears as though there's always something there to trip you up along the walking path.

For a brief period this morning, with the sun coming up over the lake and shining through the trees onto our tent, for some reason I awoke a few minutes before my alarm. The early hours of the morning, before anyone else is awake, provides a certain solitude, even when surrounded by the sleeping. Standing alone at the top of the hill, watching dense fog float and engulf the distant trees and the morning mist sliding over the clear lake, glistening in the sun, gives that unmistakable sense of significance, bearing sole witness to the morning's reality while others remain happily dreaming. A single sunrise, a solitary moment, stored away in the soul.

The lonely sun over the Crestbrook lake

Moon on the Rise

2005-03-25T23:01:00.000+10:00

Well apart from the foolishness of the Easter pun I'm about to make, today has been a pretty good Friday. Having planned to leave for our camping trip early this morning, of course we didn't get on the road until around lunch time, after packing and picking up Frankie and Simon and everything.

The drive to Chantal's parents' place went by surprisingly quick and because most of the day had already passed away and the sun was soon to set, we decided just to pitch our tents in the backyard in preparation for the real thing tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it, though the facilities here are awfully convenient.

Until the sun had completely fallen behind the hills to the west, we played a little game of cricket, watching the full moon rise slowly into the eastern sky.

Full moon over Maclagan

Giving and Taking Chance

2005-03-24T03:48:00.000+10:00

Supreme effort often goes into the process of making life's little decisions, weighing up the multitude of advantages and disadvantages perceived in the mind, considering all the possible actions and allocating each a value based on the projected outcome. I've often wondered what would happen if each of the many little choices we seem to experience from day to day were to be determined at random, to live life by the roll of the dice or the flip of a coin.

Perhaps you can remember back to a situation where you've had a decision to make and were presented with a few options, like choosing between two movies in a video store or deciding which of your favourite restaurants to take her out to for dinner, "tossing up" between the two as it were and actually flipping a coin in an effort to circumvent your decisional duty. How many times have you been discretely pleased when a certain result came up in the cards that you perhaps had a slight preference for, using that coin toss to affirm your good judgement? And how many times have you thrown up that coin again, blaming some kind of interference or making it best two out of three when the result was not what you were hoping for, what in your mind had already been determined, if only by the smallest of margins?

We studied this a little in my Philosophy of Mind class at uni a while ago, about free will and all that. Are any of our choices really up to us at all, or are they just an automatic processes determined by previous experiences and the mechanics of the mind? Our lecturer seemed to have chosen to believe that free will is a mere illusion - something I'm still undecided on. I tried to think of a particular choice in which previous experience would have little to no bearing on the decision, pulled out a twenty cent piece from my pocket and asked him to choose heads or tails. Tails was his timely response and I asked him why he had chosen tails over heads. 'I don't know' was his reply.

Was his decision free will? Was it purely random? When you are one hundred percent certain of the odds and returns, choices become easier, as they can be precisely calculated, and when split down the centre, you can be sure whichever choice will be adequate. Decisions in life however are often infinitely more complex. Experience and disappointment frequently advises against taking chances, with relationships, with fashion, with friends, with money, with specific career choices, with different directions in life, though sometimes intuition and emotion can lead to actions against all ordinary rationality. It's certainly not often that someone will disregard their previous assumptions and actually give you a chance; it might be one in a million, but when that chance arrives on your doorstep, you'd be a fool not to take it.

Adelaide Street, Brisbane

From Above

2005-03-21T23:09:00.000+10:00

After work, sitting reading at the bench under the tree on the hilltop, a mysterious object fell from the heavens onto the ground beside me. It was small, flat, light brown in colour and looked rather like a half eaten dog biscuit; in fact that's what it was, most likely not a blessed gift from above, but rather dropped by a bird from the trees above.

Soon after, a lone magpie came strutting over; its movements reminding me a bit of Jurassic Park, the theory that dinosaurs turned into birds and that's where they all went, and my childhood fascination with prehistoric times. The black and white bird seemed not too bothered by my presence and casually proceeded to peck at the biscuit on the ground, holding it down with one leg while picking off little crumbs with its pointy beak one by one.

Tonight we met up with a few friends for dinner and coffee, such convenience and ease. To think that just a couple of hundred millennia ago we would have been picking various berries or running around after big, hairy animals for our supper.

The feeding magpie

The Way of the Future...

2005-03-20T23:57:00.000+10:00

The unlit path stretching ahead, the long and winding road; survival and prosperity often depends upon knowing its twists and turns, the successful prediction of what's coming around the bend. An aviation corporation decides to purchase forty-eight new jet aircraft to accommodate an expected rise in international flights. As a result, an eager stock holder decides to invest the rest of his life savings after hearing of the deal, predicting considerable returns. Scenarios of the future are played out in the mind and almost within an instant, actions leading to those most favourable are planned out, subconsciously much of the time, without a second thought. At the same time, actions leading to unfavourable scenarios are duly suppressed.

Howard Hughes the billionaire industrialist, film-maker and aeronautical engineer, portrayed in the Martin Scorsese picture The Aviator was, amongst other things, known for his erratic behaviour and excessive-compulsiveness attributed to various phobias, namely uncleanliness and germs. The film ascribes his intense fear of these invisible disease carriers, his hypochondria, to experiences from his childhood and things said by his mother while washing him with that black soap in a tin. He is unable to finish a meal touched by Jude Law's character Errol Flynn; he refuses to close a certain large business deal until a small spot of white is removed from the jacket of one of the businessmen - Data sure is getting on in years. All these are acts born out of that unconscious feeling that he is "not safe". I'd hate to see how I would be if I listened to everything my mother told me when I was a kid.

Last night the short-term future scenario of going to the movies had won the favour of my intentions and so I went through the series of actions that would actuate this objective. In short, I wanted to go see The Aviator, so I did. Personally I really enjoyed it - more interesting than Million Dollar Baby - though that's not to say it was without its faults, with some characters lacking depth and lacking serious emotional impact, I can see why it missed out on the Oscar. Although probably Leonardo DiCaprio's best performance to date and he obviously put in a lot of effort, I still wonder if someone else couldn't have perhaps played the part a little better.

Afterwards, walking back to the car, I was discussing the possibility of movies being shot with a few different actors for the lead roles, a few takes with one, then swapping them around. Audiences might then be persuaded to purchase a ticket for each version, to see how their favourite stars tackle the same role and put their own unique spin on it. It could even be up to the cinemagoers which one should become the official version. The way of the future? I'm not sure it would work.

Hollywood Types

Pixel Resurrection

2005-03-18T00:02:00.000+10:00

It was late-night shopping Thursday finally, that certain forces and various interconnecting lines of illogical reasoning began to bond together in the mind, joining forces to eventually overcome the few weakening oppositional arguments that had prevented me from purchasing a new Nintendo DS ever since the Australian release not too long ago.

That unmistakable pleasure you get from opening something newly bought, upon further inspection, turned to the irksome realisation that something wasn't right. The Metroid Prime: Hunters demo fired up and immediately amongst the blackness of the starting screens, I noticed two tiny dots, one bright red in the middle of the upper screen, one bright blue at the top of lower screen - the dreaded "dead pixels" that can sometimes plague TFT screens on the very rarest of cases - one in a million or something. It seems I was lucky enough to have one of these annoying little dots on each screen. What are the chances?

The next morning before band practice, I took the system back to Big W and although I had to wait around for about fifteen minutes while they looked for another one out back, I was thankful that I was able to do a simple exchange and didn't have to send it away to Nintendo or anything like that.

So now that all ninety-eight thousand, three hundred and four pixels of my new toy are in good working order, I'm very pleased with it. Finished the Metroid demo and am now playing Advance Wars, which I borrowed from Jerry - after returning the dvds I had from before.

NDS

Wednesday Night Lights

2005-03-17T11:29:00.000+10:00

It was a timely, nostalgic return to the Wednesday nights of old. Ok, so maybe it hadn't been that long and maybe it wasn't so nostalgic, just the first thing that came out.

Hadn't been in for a few months anyway, free pool at Her Majesty's until eight, then up to the new bowling place called Strike where we were going to bowl a few games, but because Lyn was feeling a bit crook, we waited around at the pool tables for Jerry to take her home and then come back again.

At first we thought we'd found a defective pool table, the neon lights that were glowing on the other tables were blown and each time we put in a dollar, all the balls would come rolling out, along with our money in the coin return. It was only later that we found out that all the tables were actually free as well.

Sometimes we play in darkness, clutching to what we have, never venturing into the light, for fear of what we might pay.

Strike lanes playing Monkey Magic

Weeping Guitars

2005-03-15T01:42:00.000+10:00

"I look from the wings at the play you are staging, while my guitar gently weeps. As I'm sitting here doing nothing but aging, still my guitar gently weeps." --The Beatles, While My Guitar Gently Weeps, Acoustic Version

George Harrison's acoustic recording from the anthology albums, subtle and hauntingly sombre, strikingly different to the version that ended up on The Beatles (White Album). I like them both though. I've been attempting to learn this one for a while now - so that it sounds at least half-decent anyway - though nowadays there seems so little time to spend slowly strumming away somewhere peaceful. No excuse really, I know.

Just another day, watching from the wings at the curious play of life being staged all around. Went out for lunch today on the way to pick up the new PA system and digital camera for work, sitting down to read The Origin of Species next to a table of Telstra workers, sharing stories that I couldn't help overhearing, about the troubles of their workmates and the company and various telecommunications adventures. Each seemed so captivated by the others' exciting tales, like it was all that mattered in the world.

While buying oil for the car this afternoon after work, a shelf stocker at Big W, evidently after finding yet another empty product packaging, remarked rather loudly that people mustn't be able to afford to buy things any more, they have to steal them right out of the packaging. I bought a new pair of socks while I was there also. All day long I'd been bothered by my big toe poking through a gaping hole in my old pair. Holeproof was the brand of these new ones - well, we'll see.

Was playing a little guitar earlier, but thought I should stop as there were some trying to fall asleep. Curbing your solemn song with respect to others; seems always to be the case. Perhaps just a little more with the volume turned down a touch lower. So now sitting here doing nothing but aging, shedding the seconds, silent tears of the weeping guitar.

Catching beatles in the grass

Borrowing Dr. Jones

2005-03-13T00:11:00.000+10:00

The other day I noticed amongst my small dvd collection that Interview With The Vampire was sitting there, still unwatched from when I borrowed it from Jerry quite some time ago - probably a few months at least. I remember sincerely wanting to watch it again at the time, having not seen it since back when I used to have it on video, but somehow it seemed always skipped over in favour of some other movie I'd seen less often. That night, for some reason, I was only able to watch half of it, though I planned to finish the rest very soon so that I could give it back with many apologies for the delay.

Just started watching Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade tonight - the only one I've got on dvd - when Chantal mentioned that she'd only just seen that one a little while ago. I kind of felt like watching The Temple of Doom anyway, which is actually my personal favourite of the trilogy, so I was considering a trip to the video store, but then remembered that the Indiana Jones box set was a part of Jerry's extensive dvd library. Even though I don't really like to do a "double borrow" from people, I called him up anyway. Turns out his sister had just been over to borrow some dvds as well and he was feeling a bit like a "drive through dvd rental store". I felt a little guilty as I was driving away from his place just down the road. I'll try to make sure for a prompt return.

I'm not sure exactly why I prefer Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom over the other two. It does have a rather different style to the first and third instalments I guess, less following the clues to hidden archaeological treasure and all that, but there seems to be something else that makes this film stand out in my head as slightly more enjoyable than the others. Even so, I've read on some other sites that many consider The Temple of Doom to be the weakest of three. What is it that lets one particular movie stand out inside the mind as somehow superior to others? Is it culturally related, based on past experiences? How is it that opinions change over time? The hundred years war of the mind, good versus evil, interchangeable terms really, advocated by the victor. Which one is your favourite?

Indi

Finding the Rainbow

2005-03-11T09:31:00.000+10:00

Yesterday I was back at home helping out with the old computer, when I decided to take a look around the old backyard where I spent so many days of my childhood. I noticed a few cheerful rainbow lorikeets chirping away in the large tree we have growing in the backyard.

A memory came to me from the days when that tree was once a home for my childhood pursuits, climbing right up to the very top branches and looking out over the canopy. I remember one rainy day, seeing a distant rainbow as I gazed over towards the park, thinking about all those silly stories you hear about what lies at the end.

The literal pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is merely a children’s fairytale, but I think it demonstrates the human ability to dream that something special is out there far in the distance, waiting for anyone willing to pursue it.

Rainbow lorikeet

Hitchin' A Ride

2005-03-09T23:47:00.000+10:00

I must confess that I can really appreciate a decent romantic comedy when one comes around, just to kick back, forget about things for a little while and have a good chuckle. It's also been said that laughter really is the best medicine, so perhaps seeing Hitch tonight will help counteract a few bad habits and indiscretions. One can only hope.

It seems everywhere there are people looking for love, that special someone to share moments of their lives with. For something that is so universal, that everyone is after, it almost seems rather strange that so many find that love is not always so easily found. This is where Alex 'Hitch' Hitchens comes in, the dating consultant, with his set rules of dating, lending a helping hand to guys that seem to be having more than a little trouble winning the heart of the girl of their dreams. But when it comes to finding love in his own relationships, things don't seem to go according to plan.

No major Hollywood movie these days would be complete without its fair share of product placement, hitching a ride on a direct train to the consumer subconscious. I noticed that Google was featured quite a few times in Hitch, both visually and in a few places, through the dialogue. I'm not too sure, but there seemed to also be frequent references to searching in the film, searching for background information, searching for people, searching for true love. All part of Google's master plan? Perhaps I'm reading too much into it.

The cure for the common man

Sleepy Hollow Dragons

2005-03-09T08:50:00.000+10:00

Sometimes in the mornings just arriving at work, sometimes in the afternoons leaving for home and sometimes at lunchtimes while I'm walking up to eat at the bench under the big tree on the hill, I will see a certain shy little bearded dragon quietly basking in the sunlight of the day, who will most of the time go scurrying back to his tree trunk hollow as soon as I come into view.

He appears to be still quite young, smallish in size compared to some others I've seen, day after day, seeming quite contented with his home under the small Jacaranda tree outside the office building, busying himself with all those things most important to the average lizard.

I wonder what the world must be like to this small sleepy dragon, why he finds solace in his tree trunk hollow, never venturing too far out for fear of the unfamiliar.

The Dragon

The Carol Vesseys of the World

2005-03-06T23:48:00.000+10:00

The most beautiful girl in school, adored by all. You're careful - though averting your amorous gaze proves rather difficult - not to stare too long, lest it somehow distracts from her exquisite perfection. Feeling much too inadequate to put together even half a sentence in her presence, much less working up the courage to ask her out, you watch from the sidelines, with silent wonder, as the school days roll by, until eventually you find that all those days have long passed away and all that's left is a deep regret for opportunities not taken.

I remember being really excited - perhaps a little too excited - after seeing one of Channel 10's promotional spots that they're always doing at the beginning of each year, showing the upcoming season line-up, when some shots of the television series Ed flicked past, in and amongst a few various other run-of-the-mill shows. Ever since I saw that very first episode, I knew I’d found something special and so I watched from the sidelines each week. I loved the interesting and complex characters, the clever, interlocking storylines, and the way the show combines humorous and emotional elements, not quite comedy, not quite drama, but amazingly both at the same time.

Weeks went by however without any sign of Ed Stevens' melodramatic attempts at winning the heart of his high school crush, Carol Vessey, back in little old Stuckeyville, until finally the network decided to put on a few reruns in the middle of the day. But then, for some reason, they cut the show off half way through the season, replacing it with NYPD Blue - as if we didn't have enough police shows on tv. I had to tape the episodes that they did show and it was great to see them again, but I must say I've just about lost all confidence in Channel 10 right now.

I sometimes wonder what happens to all the Carol Vesseys of the world out there, if they're happy in their lives, happy about themselves. It's sometimes easy to imagine them now as they once appeared to be: perfect in every way, living the dream life. Yet sometimes it's those who seem to have it all, who carry with them the deepest insecurities and sorrows.

Carol

At The End of the Day (Endings and New Beginnings)

2005-03-04T01:15:00.000+10:00

"Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf; a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago." --Herman Melville, Moby Dick

The day, edging towards its inevitable close, stands but a memory, looking out to the horizons of the future from its unmoving perch; a tired, old former sea captain, gazing out at distant waters from the rocky shores. The meandering thoughts that pass through the mind as sleep slowly takes hold, form personal epilogues of the day duly spent.

Just reading a little here and there, during lunch breaks and sometimes just before bed, I finally came to the end of Moby-Dick, a book I started slowly sailing my way through last August, around about the same time I began writing this weblog. Last night I also finished Half-Life 2, which took a relatively short amount of time, and although its a great game, the graphics, action and gameplay are amazing, I never seem to feel the same emotion from the narrative of computer games that seems almost always present by the end of a good movie or book. I wonder if this is an area that will be explored as games move forward and evolve.

It seems life is full of beginnings, middles and endings; the pattern is everywhere you look, in the written words of a book, in the sounds of a rock 'n' roll album, in the symbols splashed on the silver screen, in the levels of a game, in the hours of a day, in birth, life and death. The introduction, middle and conclusion of a published book already exist as a whole, bound together on the page, yet must be experienced in a linear fashion as we read each word through the passage of time. Such is life, at the end of the day.

Breaching Moby-Dick