Produce the goods

Well it has been a while since I last posted anything of value (some people would argue that I’ve never posted anything of value). I have been busy. Really. I have. I’m working hard – although you might disagree when you’ve finished reading this post. On Wednesday night I picked up the cast and crew of Fresh – the channel 9 (I’ll get to channel 9 later) cooking show from the airport. They are the best film crew I’ve worked with so far, and were a lot of fun to host.

On Thursday night I attended a black tie, $200 a head, 6 course banquet dinner. I’d post the menu but you’d all be jealous, I’ve now tried rabbit, crocodile, tuna loins (but where are their legs), duck and other interesting stuff… with wine to match. The dinner was the opening of the Australian Festival of Chamber Music. My mother will be happy to know that I now just eat whatever is put in front of me – provided it’s been prepared by a 5 star chef… I’m being very sophisticated.

Here’s three things I learned while on the road with Fresh
1. The reason you never see flies on the set of cooking shows is because they spray the food with fly spray to keep bugs off… (I wanted to make a “bugger off” pun there but couldn’t think of a suitable way to frame it – and we all know the key to art these days is the frame).
2. The Nine network need to work harder to ensure their staff are confident about job security (I’d suggest that rather than spending millions of dollars flying the Footy Show to Germany, or having senior management catch a cab from the Blue Mountains to Sydney, they should keep their lower level staff employed.)
3. You should never begin a list with an arbitary number of things to achieve – instead you should edit in retrospect. Which I will not do now… So that you can learn from my mistakes.

People keep rewarding me for my work (which I get paid for) with produce (as in fruit and vegetables) – first it was the crazy fashion bash man with the eggplant (which I donated to a good cause), avocadoes (which i’m going to have to turn into a dip) and pumpkin – which became a pumpkin pie, enjoyed by all at work (but not prepared by me)… and now I’ve been further remunerated with items of home grown goodness. I took Fresh to a pineapple farm. The pineapple farmers were cool – they’re this four generation farming family – the farm was started by Mr Pace Sr, he had three sons, Messers Pace Jr, these sons had sons, Messers Pace Jr Jr, and these sons married and had sons, and daughters (the oldest of that generation is 15, the second oldest 14 – he drives trucks and stuff around the farm, and knows more about pineapples than anyone should at his age). All but the oldest Mr Pace still live on the farm. There’s 20 Paces in total, which sounds a bit like a duel… anyway, the Paces were lovely, and they gave me a huge watermelon, and some pineapples.

So this week I’ve had more free food than I could poke a stick at… well I could have poked a stick at it, but that would have been odd. Really, really, odd. I wonder where that expression came from.

I know I said I’d talk about Channel 9. But I’ll do that in a later post. Maybe the same one that I talk about the benefits of eloping (for Caitie’s benefit, or by her request (I’m not sure I know anything about eloping. I must be the world’s worst source of advice for any relationship issues)).

Musical Calculus

I’d like to use today’s entry to pose a question inspired by Mark’s comment on my last post.

“The “derivative is bad” argument is silly. Pretty much everything in art, music, science, social/political thought, etc has prior art “influences” and thus can be seen as derivative or reactionary.”

Yes Mark, that is a fair comment – and one well backed up by the Ecclesiastes passage you referred us to. Nothing is new under the sun. However, that does not give musicians open slather to run around stealing other people’s style. Intellectual property laws ensure that you can’t get away with simply stealing another person’s idea, and doing so in the realms of art, music, science and social thought is generally frowned upon. It’s called plagiarism. You don’t see wannabe painters out there recreating the Mona Lisa. If music is art then some originality is required. When seven bands release seven songs with the same chord progression and the all wear the same clothes, and claim the same influences – bands 2 through to 7 of that group are redundancies – unless 2 is a tribute band with a clever pun as a name.

There’s an old song lyric – and you can google it if you like – that says “if everybody looked the same, we’d get tired of looking at each other,” which is pretty much the point of the “derivative is bad argument” – if all music sounded the same we would get tired of listening to it. Therefore derivative music is bad.

I would also make a distinction between “derived” and “influenced” – derived work is something that could only be reached by copying something – there is no art to that. So that step in Mark’s syllogism is a non sequitur.

In the words of someone who played an important role in the artistic movement – or in the words of some sort of manifesto – Vive Le Difference…

And now… on the subject of the French and Revolutions – check out the newest, most coolest thing on the internet – askaninja – actually it’s not new, only recently discovered…


Taste in music

I am a music snob. This will come as no surprise to some of you out there. Other people (perhaps Townsville people who’ve seen me lead the singing in church) will question my right to hold such a position based on my demonstrated lack of actual musical ability. Still others may argue that musical taste is a matter of personal taste and therefore should be judged subjectively, and on that basis my musical snobbery is yet another form of arrogance.

I haven’t always been a music snob – in fact the darkest skeleton in my closet is an old Backstreet Boys album** (it’s not literally in my closet having been donated to the Campbell family music collection some time ago – perhaps it should have been donated to the Smith family… but that would hardly have been charitable).

I was recently directed to a website that I’m sure will amuse my fellow music snobs. It’s the brain child of Eman Laerton (which backwards is Not real name). A mysterious caped crusader fighting the good fight against bad, derivative music. I’d recommend you spend some time there appreciating all the fine videos. I’d particularly recommend the Evanescence one.

“If Linkin Park is the derivative – what do you call the derivative of the derivative?”*

This site is the coolest thing I’ve found online since discovering Strong Bad and friends at The download times are well worth it – I’ve been literally LOLing for days.
Special thanks go to housemate Dave (as opposed to other Daves, of which, it must be said, there are many) for sending me to this site. I can only hope that further Eman Laerton productions are equally amusing.

I must confess at this point to owning a Linkin Park album, it was a rainy day, I was walking through Target, and it was pretty cheap… That’s all I have to say in my defence.
** The nice thing about writing blog entries is that they don’t have to be linear – I have no defence for buying this album apart from youthful naivety… I should point out in my defence that I did grow up listening to Simon and Garfunkel – and surely that gives me some credibility.

We’re through…

What a bizarre game. This World Cup has captured the attention of the Australian public – and if games continue to go down to the wire like that one – it’s likely they’ll be caught up for some time. Harry Kewell finally lived up to the hype. Kalac showed why Schwarzer belongs in the Australian goal mouth. The referee issued three yellow cards to the same player… The game had it all.

Both teams looked much more comfortable chasing qualification than defending it. Neither team acted decisively when they held the upper hand – but Australia continued to play a composed, mature brand of football that I can only attribute to their combined experience playing in top class club competitions, and to the brilliant tactical nouse of Guus Hiddink (who was apparently richly rewarded for taking Australia to the second stage – you’ve got to wonder what he was thinking when Kalac let the ball roll over his body and into the back of the net).

Here’s my player ratings…

1. Zeljko Kalac – Ordinary handling and poor set piece decision making could have cost us our spot in the next round – obviously not match fit. I don’t think I saw him make a save. He was lucky Craig Moore was in position to clear the ball off the line in the last couple of minutes – 3/10

2. Lucas Neill – Again a superb performance – showing maturity, poise and style in the backline. Neill is my favourite Australian player and he’s showing the world what he’s made of – expect a big money transfer offer to come in for him in the weeks following the World Cup – 8.5/10

3. Craig Moore – This guy should still be captain. He’s level headed – and he can score penalties… He was in the right place at the right time to clear the ball off the line at a crucial point in the match. Our 3 man defensive pattern has held up strongly in the tournament so far. 8/10

14. Scott Chipperfield – Made some probing runs down the left hand side, including a beautiful turn and cross which asked questions of the defence. Made way for Kennedy late in the game. Does well balancing attack and defence. 8/10

5. Jason Culina – A favourite son to Guus Hiddink – playing in his club and national teams – always holds his own in the midfield – but sometimes guilty of lazy passing and poor decision making. 7/10.

7. Brett Emerton – Mr Reliable – controlled effort in attack and defence – unluckilly dismissed after receiving one soft yellow card, would have missed the next game anyway because the handball was a clear yellow card offence, he will be missed by Australia. 7.5/10

4. Tim Cahill – was everywhere – looks dangerous on the ball but can be a little volatile. For Australia to do well Cahill must perform. I stand by my statement about his importance to the team. 7.5/10

13. Vince Grella – solid engine room toiler – makes some poor passing decisions but also makes some crucial defensive contributions. He’s a valuable, physical presence anchoring the midfield and keeping tabs on key attacking players. 7/10

21. Mile Sterjovski – I like this guy, makes some great, dangerous runs on the flanks and keeps involved in the play. He’ll be a regular fixture in the green and gold. 7.5/10

10. Harry Kewell – finally delivered on the hype. Kewell looked dangerous all match and consistently troubled the defenders with some neat running, passing and shooting. Was on the spot to capitalise on Bresciano’s brilliant cross to seal our path through to the next stage. 8.5/10

9. Mark Viduka – Viduka is shadowed by several defenders on reputation alone – he never shoots, sometimes bundles loose headers into the keeper’s arms and never really troubles the defence. He’s a master of receiving the ball with his back to goal and looking for an easy pass. He’s penalised too regularly for backing into the defender who’s marking him and holding them off the ball. He’s an imposing physical presence and probably comes back in defence too often. 5.5/10

15. John Aloisi – Australia look instantly more dangerous with two dedicated strikers on the pitch. 7/10

16. Marco Bresciano – provided some spark and forward momentum to the midfield – and a beautifully weighted cross for Harry Kewell’s goal. 7.5/10

Josh Kennedy – He’s a giant. All gangly and stuff – didn’t have long to make an impact but didn’t really make any mistakes either – gives Australia someone to aim at in the box. 7/10

The ref – umm… ordinary effort, someone needs to explain the basics of the game to him. 2 yellow cards = 1 red, handballs in the box = a penalty… Luckily that Croatian guy didn’t do anything special after he should have been dismissed – he musn’t have been too smart though because he managed to fit a third card in right at the death.

Bad coffee, pumpkins and other endemic NQ anachronisms

Have you ever bought a coffee that was so terrible you winced as you drank it? I have. Don’t buy coffees from the ferry terminal in Townsville. They are bad. Maybe it was because I decided to be healthy and sample the “skinny cappuccino” – I won’t be doing that again. If I didn’t need the caffeine to I would probably have tipped it down the sink. I had to hold my nose to get it down. Seriously. Bad. Coffee. There are some good coffee outlets in Townsville – don’t let my experience curtail your plans to holiday here. Townsville is the tourism capital of the world. At least it will be. Maybe.

I had another strange North Queensland experience yesterday. My job is all about networking – and using this network for leverage to gain favours for other people in the network – it all balances out in the end. I exerted some leverage to obtain some video footage of the area for a conference organiser from the Burdekin (it’s in the sticks man… about 45 minutes south of Townsville). This guy has a reputation around town for being a pretty prickly character (or a bit of a …). He hassled me and hassled me on this footage – I can’t make the WIN production people do their stuff any faster, particularly when they’re doing me a favour – but I eventually produced the goods and this guy, as a demonstration of gratitude, produced the produce. He dropped a pumpkin, and some homegrown eggplants and avocados around to our office to thank me. I’m not sure what the message here is – pay peanuts you get monkeys, pay vegetables you get me? Hmm…

North Queensland people do some strange stuff… ‘ey. See I can type in their lingo. But to the MPC people going on the youth leaders training thing this weekend – be nice, and don’t tell any lies about me. I’m doing a good enough job of selling myself up here without your “help.”

There were a couple of noteworthy stories in the newspaper yesterday.

Apparently James Blunt’s song “your beautiful” (I’m not capitalising it because I don’t believe it deserves proper noun status) woke a young girl from a coma. I guess that makes the scoreboard on the damage wrought by James Blunt vs good stuff caused about 10000000000000000 – 1. That was a completely arbitrary number of 0’s you could add some more for good measure.

An employee at Australian’s money producing factory (I can’t remember what they’re called) made a mint out of his job (see how I set up that pun…poetry) – walking out of work with $600 worth of $2 coins every day for 10 months. He put the coins in his shoes and lunch box.

And finally a plug for two websites… Would a website unplugged be a blank screen? Or a letter? Interesting questions… interesting interpretation of the word interesting…

Scooter gave me an inside look into his upcoming Interesting Pigeon facts. I’d encourage all my readers to become his readers too. I imagine if a number of readers from here went there it would be a real coup/coop/coo (that’s two puns in one).

I can’t encourage you strongly enough to check out the works of those two crazilly flawed nuts at from Everybody’s second favourite segment productions – Phil and Smiley (I will refer to myself in the third person for the sake of this advertisement). Check out their all new comedic endeavours at At the moment you can read an exclusive interview with the cast from the highly successful, but never released, MADE IN CHINA – The Art Rock Musical. It’s highly likely that reading it will cause your sides to split – whether that’s from a skillfully inserted knife, or laughter, is yet to be determined. We’re not actively encouraging people to go developing post musical stigmata or anything… but hey.

Playing with knives and part 2 of the story of the crazy Japanese man

Well I do believe I’m a prophet… I’d just written that heading and was going to talk about the exquisitely sharp leatherman I’d just been playing with when BAM (or more correctly SLICE) I shut it on my thumb. It hurts. Blood tastes funny. Metallic in fact. But the med students I’ve asked can’t explain why. My guess is that it has something to do with the iron content, and because I’m an iron man my blood must be extra metally tasting. So I’m feeling pretty retarded at the moment (sorry to all the politically correct people out there – but it’s technically true – my movement and thinking is somewhat inhibited). I was using the knife to stab myself in the arm anyway, so I probably deserved it. I haven’t gone all emo or self harm crazy or anything – I just had a funny pimple that needed probing… that’s probably a pretty disgusting thing to put on my blog – but that’s what you get here – you get my life, pimples and all…

So yesterday’s Japanese man story has a sequel. There maybe some ethical ramifications for posting this story on the internet – so to protect the identities of the parties involved I’m going to rename them. For the sake of this story the Japanese guy who was last seen handcuffed and heading off to the hospital yesterday will be called Bob. And the med student who handled the admission of said patient, and tracked down his family, will be called umm Nyrrik. Don’t go reversing either of those names, because the first one is a palindrome anyway so there’d be no point, and the second one, well that wouldn’t really protect anyone’s identity would it.

As Bob was pushed into the back seat of a police car (note the indefinite article – it wasn’t “the police car” because there were multiple police cars on the scene… that’s what happens when two different people call the police and one uses 000 while the other dials the direct line) I realised that Bob would probably be being taken to some sort of mental health type place – given that he’d exhibited all the signs of being slightly (well probably more than slightly) crazy. So I sent a message to Nyrrik, who is currently on a mental health rotation for her med studenting… or for her degree… to tell her to watch out for the crazy Japanese guy we’d just sent to the hospital. It turns out she was on duty and got to spend the day making important phone calls to educational institutes and diplomatic organisations trying to track down Bob’s family. I’m told this was a successful process. Bob is now under observation in the hospital. I’ve met plenty of crazy people before (I mean really crazy, not crazy like umm… Annod or Noraa or umm… some other people that none of you know) but this guy took the cake. Bob appeared to have led a fairly normal and competent life before this whole incident so I guess we can only hope he’ll eventually snap out of it. I blame drugs. I’m not sure that they’re actually responsible in this case, but they make a convenient social scapegoat.

Part three of the story is that the girl from work who looks after the Visitor Information Centres and volunteers gave me a packet of Tim Tams today which just goes to show that heroism pays off. I’m thinking of resigning and donning a cape and some tights. Actually, I wonder if I’d have to resign to do that…

And finally, as promised, I have a photo from my fishing adventure with I Fish. I’m not sure when the episode will air – but I’ll be sure to keep you posted. This fish was actually a lot bigger than I remembered it being – but in answer to your questions – yes I caught it, no it’s not trick photography, and no I’m not a wimp who’s afraid of touching fish… That rumour circulated in our office for a while today. I’m going to put a stop to it by going to a fish shop, buying some bait fish, and throwing them at people.

Late nights, cereal killing and crazy Japanese people

Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any more interesting I found myself in the middle of a drama right out of the script worthy of Blue Heelers. Well worthy of Blue Heelers if it had been set in a tourist information centre (visitor information centre or VICs for those in the biz (in the bus would have been something quite different there wouldn’t it, english is a funny language (is english in that context a proper noun? I imagine it is, but putting everything in lower case on your blog is cool… moby does it on his myspace (his space) anyway)). I think to do the story justice I need to do it in a film noir first person type narration thing… so here goes.

“So there I was, sitting at my desk, leaning back in my chair, the rickety ceiling fan whirring in the background. It was the morning after the night before, or rather the morning after the morning before. The light from the overhead fluorescents was hurting my eyes. The words on the computer screen in front of me blurred into insignificance. The office phone rang… and rang. The usually reliable receptionist was not at her desk. The lobby area was empty. Empty like the black, vacant sockets of a skull. I picked it up. It was Annette. Annette, Annette? Where had I heard the name, it rang like a bell… like a not very big, but somehow significant bell. Like the bell of an icecream truck driving down distant streets… Annette? Who are you Annette? It clicked when she told me. Annette and Ray are volunteers at our visitor information centre. Annette had a case for me. A case requiring the indelicate touch of a brawny, burly male. She was out of breath with concern. A crazy man, crazy like a fox, crazy like a fox on some sort of trance inducing meds, was terrorising the centre. Could I help? Of course.”

Anyway, to cut an increasingly long story short – I had to go to the visitor information centre to deal with a crazed Japanese tourist. He had this whole silent creepy guy thing going – coupled with an unwillingness to break eye contact, or speak to, his target. I quickly became his target. Rescuing our vols from a rather uncomfortable situation and placing myself in the firing line. That wasn’t in my job description. The four female police officers eventually arrived to find me restraining the guy – preventing him chasing our volunteers into the “employees only” area of the centre. It was weird. That guy was weird. The police took him to the hospital. I hope I haven’t caught some sort of contagious super disease because of the guy’s lack of understanding of the concept of personal space. If you’ve seen Shaun of the Dead (or any of the non parody zombie movies) he was just like the vacant looking zombie people, only slightly more animated.

All this topped off a long weekend (not of the three day variety – but a weekend that took a long time) featuring a 4am bedtime this morning because somebody (me) decided it would be easier to stay up for the FOOTBALL (not soccer, I’m following the Fairfax style guide at this point) than it would be to wake up for it. To borrow a well coined Australian phrase… I’m buggered.

I’ve also rediscovered my love for eating breakfast cereal at all hours of the day. Have you noticed all the wonderful new cereals out there – I remember a time when there were only 3 or 4 options… or maybe that was just in our pantry when I was growing up. Speaking of the good ol’ days – have you noticed the price of bottled water in servos these days… ridiculous, and all you hear is people complaining about the price of petrol.

In Limbo

Dear Diary,

I’ve always wanted to start something that way, maybe I’m extra in touch with my feminine side or something. I should warn you all that I’m in a bad mood, and the contents of this post may offend. I might even delete it later. Who knows. If you’re reading it, enjoy it while it lasts.

A week ago I was pretty sure that Townsville was home, and Brisbane was just where I used to live. Tonight I’m not so sure. I think I’m feeling the first pangs of loss. I don’t know what set it off (actually I probably do, but it’s just been a progression of events rather than a single event). I think it’s the realisation that proper relationships with people take longer than 12 weeks to develop. It’s possible that throwing myself into the deep end in terms of my involvement with church up here has been a mixed blessing. On one hand I’ve developed relationships with a bunch of people really fast, but on the other I haven’t taken the time to get to know people in any deep or meaningful way. So now I feel relationally in limbo, and I think my visit to Brisbane may have hammered it home a little (or a lot). Don’t get me wrong (and this isn’t just a disclaimer to appease any Townsville readers) I do really like the people up here. Hmm, there’s an old rule somewhere about not publishing things you don’t want other people to read. It also applies for not saying something in front of a microphone you don’t want recorded (there’s a funny story about a sportsreader who got caught out when a story ended with the words “he was suspended” and the newsreader added “by his testicles” because he thought the microphone was still off.). Anyway, I’m beginning to understand the importance of welcoming, and the fact that welcoming is an ongoing process. Welcoming is an interesting concept, and I’m not sure that any church does it particularly well. I haven’t been in this situation too many times before, and in the past the churches I’ve been welcomed to have been “dad’s churches” which, in my limited experience makes things feel easier. Although I haven’t had to go through the process of fitting into a new church for a long time, and last time I had to fit into a new school too.

Anyway, back to the theories on welcoming and why I think jumping into serving at church as quickly as I have may not have been the wisest move ever. I think ministry requires trust. That goes without saying. I think trust takes a while to establish. I think trust is earned on the basis of a relationship where you demonstrate a level of trustworthiness. I don’t know how long it takes to develop that trust but it probably takes more than 12 weeks, and definitely takes more than the 2 weeks it took me to get involved with stuff. I think, to paraphrase Paul, I can teach or do whatever ministry stuff I’m doing all I want, but at the end of the day, without “love” I’m just a noisy sounding gong. And that’s tough. And interesting.

So in conclusion, it’s been almost 3 months since I moved here, and I’ve only just realised that while I really like the people around here it takes longer than 3 months to establish real, deep friendships. Which I guess some people might have expected. I think I’m just a specialist at superficial relationships.

Anyway, it’s late, I’m tired, I’m grumpy and I’m annoyed. Well Brisbane people, it looks like I might miss you afterall.

So I was wrong…

Apparently it happens some times. Scooter and CB both took great pleasure pointing out that aspirin does not in fact thin the blood as I may have suggested in an earlier comment. It seems that’s a simplification of the chemical process involved. Aspirin actually prevents the blood coagulating as freely or something like that – meaning rather than thinning it just stops it thickening. Have I got that right pharmacy people (Mel I guess since you’ve got that pharmacy degree you keep telling us about you might even be able to answer this question).

I would like to point out three extra things tonight – firstly, lists are cool. Secondly, free food is cool, except when it’s lukewarm, then it’s too cool. Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, I’ve started a second blog.

Why does anyone need a second blog I hear you ask? Well, let me tell you.
Once upon a time I went to a big university called QUT. To cut a potentially long story short I met a guy there with a very long surname that not many people can spell. His first name is Phil. His last name is Enchelmaier. It has several vowels. More vowels than any other surname I can think of in the time it took me to type this sentence – which is to say not very long at all. Phil and I were kindred spirits (We had lots in common). A common love for ourselves. A common love for funny things. A common belief that we were capable of achieving funniness. And a common willingness to look stupid in front of large groups of people. Now that we’ve finished uni, I’m missing all the avenues through which, or by which, we used (once) to, and used (utilised) to embarrass ourselves (I think I just realised there’s a pun in the Dandy Warhols song “We used to be friends”).

But I digress, you can find samples of our work – including the scripts for the infamous OCC project. I can also promise new works of a quality rarely seen before – including a soon to be released musical collaboration created in a single day.

You can find our amazing new blog RIGHT HERE.

Feeling Blue

I apologise for the title. Some times there’s nothing wrong with the obvious. Here are the three reasons Queensland won tonight:

1. They played very well
2. New South Wales were rubbish, mostly because of point 1, partly because of point 3.
3. Brett Finch is a gimp.

New South Wales took terrible options in attack and had an atrocious completion rate. There were way too many long, floating passes to no one in particular. And the Blues forwards were outmuscled and out enthused. And Queensland’s halves were halves. That probably helps.

Some people have complained that my posts are too long these days. I think those people should check out this site here.

That’s all I have to say for tonight.

Except that I think people should go out to their nearest, or most trusted, CD shop and purchase something by Lior. Lior is brilliant. And not at all gay, despite what my sister might have suggested at one point. That might be the sister who has posted a picture of a model as her profile picture…

Man of the moment

They say football (soccer) is a game of two halves. In reality its a game of 90 minutes where things can change in an instant. The beauty of the “round ball” game is the ability for games to dramatically turn around in the blink of an eye. The game’s critics in Australia cite low scores and the possibility of games ending deadlocked at 0-0 as reasons not to embrace the code. These detractors have failed to understand the drama involved in a game where just a momentary lapse in concentration can mean the difference between victory and despair. Australia’s world cup fortunes have been decided by a series of such moments. Some would say the moment Guus Hiddink put pen to paper on a contract agreeing to manage the Socceroos was one such turning point. The few seconds it took for Harry Kewell’s bungled shot to fall for Marco Bresciano to bury into the back of the net in the qualifying match against Uruguay were another. That goal altered the course of Australia’s World Cup campaign. The microsecond it took for Mark Schwarzer to choose the right (left) direction in what turned out to be the decisive penalty save was another key moment. All these moments played a part in Australia’s long awaited return to the world’s biggest sporting show.

Tim Cahill was Australia’s man of the moment last night. He was the man of the match too. Two moments of brilliance. Two vital goals. Tim Cahill managed to snatch Australia a victory from the jaws of an undeserved defeat. John Aloisi’s third gives Australia’s goal difference a vital boost in a group where for and against could be the difference between second round glory or an early trip home. Australia had the lion’s share of possession in the match and looked the better team in attack. Japan are a team seemingly more comfortable defending a lead than extending it. They seemed content to keep men behind the ball in defence, launching probing counter attacks down the flanks when given the opportunity. As Hiddink searched for the breakthrough he brought attackers on for defenders. His substitutions proved a masterstroke. The introduction of Tim Cahill, John Aloisi and Josh Kennedy were too much for Japan’s shaky defence to handle. Cahill buried his first through a sea of defenders. His second, coming as both teams looked content to battle it out for a draw, was a brilliant strike from outside the 18 yard box. The midfield dynamo gave some spark to an otherwise lacklustre performance from the Australian engine room. The truth is, for 80 minutes the Australian attack looked impotent. Shots were mistimed, miss hit and misplaced. Mark Viduka is potentially the game’s greatest defensive forward. His imposing physical presence keeps defenders on their toes, but he too often fails to the goal mouth itself. He looked lonely as the sole player in a one man front line. Josh Kennedy’s introduction to the fray injected some life into the Aussie attack. A regular partnership of Kennedy and Viduka as a strike duo would do much to allay concerns over Australia’s inability to get the ball across the goal line.

Schwarzer stood largely untested in the Australian goal mouth – his bungling role in Japan’s solitairy goal will be excused by some due to the attention he received from a kamikaze striker’s charge. In truth, a goalkeeper of Schwarzer’s stature should not be being forced off the ball by a diminutive striker. By rights he should have claimed that ball. Luckily he was spared further embarrassment thanks to Cahill.

Cahill’s arrival on the field last night also saw the introduction of product placement to a World Cup already teeming with sponsors. Cahill is sponsored by Weet Bix. A point the SBS commentator was only too aware of. “We can only hope he’s had his Weet Bix” he said as Cahill took the field. 33 minutes later when Cahill slipped the ball deftly between the legs of two defenders and into the net the commentator saw this as an opportunity to point out that Cahill must indeed have imbibed his daily dose of high fibre breakfast cereal. Of all the players involved in last night’s event it was the commentator who truly had a shocker. His outrage at the circumstances leading to Japan’s goal led to a constant stream of criticism for Egyptian referee Essam Abd El Fatah. As the whistle blew for half time he said something like “and perhaps fittingly the Egyptian referee has the final say, bringing the end to a sometimes controversial half of football.” Umm, could someone explain when the referee does not have the final say in a half of football?

Free speech and criticism

It seems that these days everyone’s a critic. I decided to post the following bits of criticisim from Mel and Sara in the interest of a free press, in a brutal body blow to the concept of blog censorship (I’m not sure it’s really an issue – some blogs need to be censored), and to promote freedom of speech. I really want to make sure that no one misses out on these gems – I really do value your feedback and opinions (that is to say I place value on them – not I hold them in high regard).

Sara says…
“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind Nathan when you said you might mention me in your blog… Oh well, I probably shouldn’t make assumptions. Really, I should have guessed how imprudently impudent you are. (I looked those words up in a Thesaurus, does that disprove Nath labelling me uneducated? And another thing, don’t unintiated and ignorant mean the same thing? So really, aren’t you just repeating yourself for the sake of making yourself look more intelligent? It could be similar to saying that your post alludes and insinuates that Mel and myself are uninformed. While each word had its own distiction, in this instance it’s clear that they both mean the same thing.)Now how am I going at proving my acumen? On a lighter note, CB; you’re a champ! Thanks for sticking up for us!”

Sara wrote that comment on Sunday evening. She was so passionate about getting everything perfect that she was late to church. I’m afraid looking up a thesaurus does not further your argument Sara. There would also be a subtle distinction between uninitiated and ignorant, but I can’t be bothered making it up. I apologise if you feel I either alluded or insinuated that you were ignorant. I meant to say it outright. That’s not true, it was just a good punch line.

Mel said…
“Nathan – you egotistical pig!It was great having you back… but may also be great you’ve left – I just read the blog & if you were still here, you’d be injured or dead…DON’T EVER COME CRYING TO ME ABOUT BEING SICK – I WON’T HELP YOU! My university degree mustn’t be enough to prove i have some intelligence, so I won’t use it to help you. You don’t need big words to be intelligent. I read plenty of books – maybe even more than you! I don’t see the use in talking myself up by pretending to sound smart. (Unlike some)Sara & I are intelligent.. perhaps you are just too thick to see it. Our suggestion was to make it more reader friendly – not so wordy… Or pretentious. Thanks CB – you are great!”

Mel, maybe I sound smart because I am? I’m not sure a university degree really says anything about anyone’s intelligence any more than owning a tractor says something about a person’s farming ability.

So, there you have it, according to Mel and Sara, I’m an egotistical, impudent, imprudent, and pretentious pig. On the other hand CB is a great champ.

For the record – all I did to encourage such thinking was refer to a conversation in which certain parties suggested that my blog was too intellectual for them. Obviously these people missed all the fart jokes, nudie runs, and other low brow content contained in the archives of

For the record, my blog now contains a stirring 27,000 words. That’s over half a Mills and Boon novel.

flights of fancy… and some other garbage

In the immortal (or somewhat unknown in this case) words of Billy Corgan from the Smashing Pumpkins. The aeroplane flies high. I can’t wrap (or rap) my head around the physics involved in getting a machine as big as…well for want of a better corroborative noun, as big as a jumbo, into the air and keeping it there. I sat just behind the wind on the way home today – there are a lot of little adjustments made to the wings during flight that I’m sure are absolutely necessary to keep it in the air. I’ve had some aeronautical engineering type people (who I guess technically are rocket scientists) explain all the updraft and stuff to me but it all boggles the mind. I wonder if boggles became a verb before, or after, the board game…

I flew home with Jetstar. Jetstar owe me $3.80. I don’t know who’s responsible for the coffee shop next to the terminal – but they should warn passengers that you can’t take your coffee on board. What did the hostess think I was going to do with a cup of coffee? You can’t exactly highjack a plane with a lukewarm cappuccino. If I was going to highjack a plane – hypothetically of course – I’d be more likely to use this (don’t miss the customer review at the bottom of the page).

The other question which has been weighing on my mind is a question regarding an industry with its share of critics (and a history of mafia involvement in the US ala the Sopranos) – the garbage disposal industry. Garbage disposal and waste control is something we all take for granted and probably don’t give enough thought to. It’s one of those industries where if you do happen to take notice something’s probably gone wrong. My question is this – how many wheelie bin loads fit in the standard garbage truck? I’m going to try to do some research and have an answer by the end of the week. It hadn’t occured to me that there must be a fleet of garbage trucks operating on any given bin day untilI saw two driving around at around the same time. – asking, and answering the questions that matter…

and finally – a fantail wrapper question just to get the comments rolling…

Born Nigeria, 4/4/1960, he arrived with his family in Australia in 1976. He graduated from NIDA in 1981 and made his debut in Maybe This Time (80). He won an AFI Award for Best actor as the blind photographer in Proof (91); and was nominated for Priscilla, Queen of the Desert; won a second AFI for The Interview (98); and was named the Australian Star of the year. He then starred in two blockbusters which would give his identity away.

home page

I’m home. Or am I?

I’m sitting at mum and dad’s house, which hasn’t actually been my home for about 3 years, trying to figure out where home is. I’ve used my time in Brisbane so far to catch up with people who I hadn’t realised I missed as much as I think I might realise when I go back to Townsville.

Unfortunately some of these people (hello Mel and Sara) said my blog was too wordy and complex for them to understand… so for the rest of this post I’ll try to use words with one bit part (syllable for the uninitiated or ignorant, I figure I can write longer words in brackets and maintain consistency).

My small girl tribe mate (sister) plays her valved horn (trumpet) now (syntax is going out the window with this one syllable thing). She is quite good.

My flight on the day before the day that was (yesterday) was late by four hours. They had to send a new plane from this place to the place I came from due to bad stuff in the first plane. I had to sit at the plane place for what seemed like a long time (it was a long time) so I bought a thing made from trees with words in it (a book – that’s a tough concept for the ignorant reader to get their head around I guess). I think the plane group should give me my cash back for the book – they did give me six bucks to buy food. That is a rate of one and a half bucks per hour. I’d be paid more for my time if I worked in a sweat shop (technically one word I think).

I went to the pub last night and then to a shop that sells flat bread things with meat (pizza), I was with Nat and the guy whose name is like the nut group (Knobby). Those boys make me laugh more than any one else. It made me think of the game I want to bring in to the world. For the purposes of describing this game I’m going to use some two and three syllable words. I think people should play restaurant taboo – where you have to order without using the name of the thing you want or any words they use in the description – funny how stylisticly this would tie in with some of the sentences above, eg the pizza sentence. So you have to walk into maccas and order the thing with three bits of bread (big mac) or the bird burger (McChicken), or the tiny pieces of rabbit (chicken McNuggets), or the frozen pig fat with brown sauce (chocolate sundae).

The challenge is now out there. Sorry about all those big words.

I went back through some old posts to see if there were any comments I’d missed – Leah has made some interesting comments to some posts. Particularly her stance on chequebook journalism which I’ll address in my next “journalistic theories” type post. She also bagged out my headlines for my press releases. That wasn’t very nice Leah. I cried.

How do you think?

Have you ever thought about how you think about things? Is your stream of conscious thought in the style of a documentary? Do you narrate events in your life like a detective in a film noir piece? Or does your thinking mirror a monologue to the camera like those annoying spots in Malcolm in the Middle?

Trolling through the links on Dan’s blog I found myself at the home of Michael Jensen’s blog. He’s one of the famous Sydney Anglican Jensen tribe. He’s doing some sort of study in England – you can find it if you like, but I can’t be bothered searching for the link. He posted an entry on viewing life as a stream of narrative. He’s a pretty smart guy. I didn’t really read all that much but it got me thinking about thinking and how I frame my thoughts. I think my stream of thoughts often flows like a stream of narrative – I do things in time and space, interacting with other characters and these interactions lead to outcomes – problems are resolved, conflicts arise… and my thinking reflects that. I think about how to solve things – and the voice in my head (which I guess is consciousness not some weird psychological condition) follows the narrative, or even pre-empts and influences the narrative, when the interactive bits of life are happening.

News stories are taking bits of a stream of narrative and analysing the elements. The journalistic definition of “news” is information that is of some interest to the public. The approach journalists take when they report news is to answer the big 6 questions – known in the industry as the 5 Ws and 1 H – who, what, when, where, why, and how. If narrative is a stream of connected events occuring in space and time then all these elements will be addressed.

Being of a journalistic, inquisitive bent I find that my approach to the narrative of my life has been somewhat influenced by this paradigm (paradigm is one of my favourite words). Not only do I approach any “conflict” or events that arise in my narrative (life) through the framework provided by these questions – but I’ve started viewing every event that occurs in terms of its newsworthyness.

There are a number of jokes out there featuring different professions and how they see the world – or the simple things in life. A true story I heard recently featured a group of people watching the football – a dentistry student, a med student, and an excercise/sports science student. During the game there was an incident where a player collided with another player’s head. Play was stopped while the player received some medical attention. The dentist commented on the effect the impact would have on the player’s teeth, the med student named the bones that may have been fractured, and the sports science student pointed at a guy in the background and said “he’s doing that static stretch wrong.”

And here, after that complicated five paragraph intro is the story that prompted this post… last night I was driving home from Mission Beach (where I’d been for a work function featuring Beechworth bakery owner Tom O’Toole (an interesting character)) with one other member of the Townsville Enterprise team. It’s a 2.5 hour drive to Mission Beach from Townsville – some say 3. Just outside of town we were stopped by a collection of emergency service vehicles attending the scene of a major accident… and do you want to know what my first thought was? Where are the TV cameras… this is a news story. I had my phone in my hand calling WIN television’s news director with the hot tip before I’d even considered the possibility that people may have been seriously hurt by the crash. When did I become so callous? Have I been that desensitised by years of watching and reading the news? Tom O’Toole made a comment about watching the news that was funny enough to repeat:

“If a dog came into your house and pooed on the ground while you were eating dinner you wouldn’t just sit there and watch him – you’d kick it out of the house, or worse… but every night we let the news do the same thing – it feeds half an hour of crap into our living rooms and we just watch it without thinking. I stopped watching news 20 years ago, and now when I turn on the television it’s the same news anyway – same wars, same crimes, same politics… you may not be what you eat, but you are what you fill your head with.”

Has anyone else been so obviously scarred by their profession? Do the teachers out there see every event in life as an opportunity to fill a lesson plan? Do opera singers see every tragedy as a potential aria (the style of song not the Australian Recording Industry Award)? Do IT people ever see any events that happen in the wider world? and do proctologists just think the world is a bunch of (feel free to insert an appropriate colloquialism here – I’m not going to do your dirty work for you).

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