It's Saturday morning and I'm sitting at my desk in my tracky-dacks and a t-shirt trying to figure out when I'll enter into the world proper today. It's bright outside - it'll be warm again - and a bird coos. I have it all mapped out.
I have people coming over for a barbie tomorrow and should begin the preparation for that. I ordered some top line steaks from Hopkins River Beef - reputedly Australia's best - during the week. I have a hunk of sirloin I'll carve into steaks and marinade. And I have to do some shopping for all the other fixings. I'm well sorted for beer and wine.
I bought some vegie plants yesterday too - some tomatoes, capsicum, zucchini, plus a mix of herbs - which I have to transplant. That'll be fun, kinda. I'm sure Rigby will be poking his nose into that, helping.
The rest of the day is being slob outside of a party tonight. It's Derby Day today, some decent horses going around. I'll put a few bets on this morning, including a crack at the quaddie, and I'll watch through the day the TV brosadcast from the track. There'll be 120,000 people there, but I'll be perfectly happily to slop around in my shorts watching it from home.
On Thursday I wore shorts for the first day this season. It was sunny and bright and just over 30 degrees. I got in the car and with the sunroof open drove across town to visit the Cheeses and check out their new addition. We cracked a bottle of Sparkling Shiraz sitting out on the back deck, then had a beer or two. As I drove back I stopped at a set of lights in Prahran. I glanced across at the car next to mine and found sitting in the passenger seat a chocolate brown labrador about the same age as Rigby. It was a battered old BMW 318i driven by a woman in her mid-twenties. As Rigby often does the dog stood upright in the passenger seat. He was a very good looking dog, just like Rigby, and I felt myself becoming proud and sentimental, before leaving them behind at the lights.
Yesterday it was warm still, but with it came the rains we get in October and November. It was a summery rain - I walked around in a t-shirt - falling solidly at times and later developing into a storm, much as we get at this time of year. Later in the night I was in the city waiting at a tram stop for a tram to take me home when it started pouring down. While I sat undercover listening to an audio version of Frankenstein the rain fell so heavily that within minutes the tram tracks were awash with water that flowed like a stream down the slight incline of the road. It was marvellous, doubly so considering we are in year 5 or 6 of drought.
The tram came and I got on board as the rain eased. By the time it made it to my stop the rain had ceased, but all around me there were flashes on the horizon as if a battle was occurring just out of sight. With the flashes there would come a few moments later a slow rumble. It was just on midnight and my suburban street quiet. Once the world lit up as if I had walked beneath a flickering fluorescent street light. I love storms.
Earlier I had been in town and unexpectedly having drinks with old colleagues. It was good, as if I had never been away. I found myself wondering aloud about things which had been so much a part of my life then, and falling into the same easy conversations as before. It was good.
At one point I found myself pondering a decision I must make. For much of the night I found myself sitting next to a girl who liked me. I had always been distantly aware of this, but had never really given it much consideration. Let's face it, I always had a lot on my plate and though gratified, had other things to worry about. Perhaps because I have been gone nearly 12 months, or perhaps she is different now, but I found myself reacting to her differently. I liked her more than I remembered. For a start I noticed her a lot more, and realised that besides a bright and winning personality that she was an attractive woman. She compared me to George Clooney, in personality more than appearance, an association she had obviously long held. We had frank discussions together all night. We talked and I gazed at her long legs and short skirt and her engaging smile and I was attracted to her and for a short while contemplated taking it further - further being a drink elsewhere just the two of us, then back to my house.
It didn't happen. In the end it feels too close to home. I may not work there any longer, but I still have good contacts with people inside. It may seem trite, but it was a complication I wished to avoid, though these things are ever likely to change. We parted on the steps of the station with a quick kiss and the promise to catch up again.
Every time I pick up a newspaper these days I feel a little bit depressed, and not just for the litany of disasters around the world.
More than anything else I feel myself dispirited by the many examples of mean, self-serving and often hostile actions of people in the news. Most of these are politicians, unsurprisingly. I feel like I have just about reached my limit in the last month. I'm sick and tired at much of the crap, the empty rhetoric, the political posturing, the political correctness that seems to be everywhere these days. Enough is enough!
I pick up the paper this morning and there's more about Rudd's so-called 'Indonesian solution' and how it's becoming unravelled - as it should be. This is a shameless example of another politician abstaining responsibility, passing the buck to the Indonesians who, it now seems clear, don't want to take it. Make a decision man! Cut the tough talk - it's a bit like the Milky Bar kid coming on strong, and just as laughable. Be honest, be real, act with fucking integrity for a change... No-one ever said being PM was going to be easy, but you wanted it - now be the man the office demands. Be above party politics, act according to what is right rather than what is convenient and easy - and take responsibility. Your wife puts you to shame.
Then there is the ongoing fiasco about global warming and how to deal with it. Fuck me dead these politicians put Nero to shame. They'll still be arguing about it and trying to gain some political advantage while planet earth turns into a sizzling ball of flame. Can they not see there are more important things than protecting their sorry arse? Silly question of course - the answer is no, they can't.
Then there is the carry on here in Vic about city violence and booze. This too has become a political football. Every aspect of this is now scrutinised for potential political gain, all clamour and hue. Much of it is a sideshow, the irrelevant theatre the politicians put on trying to make themselves look noble (when will they learn?). In the meantime the real problems and the real causes are ignored because that way lays vested interests no-one wants to put offside. This is a problem of their own making yet no-one is willing to own up to that - and so instead we have this shadow theatre which does not one whit of good.
Of course there is much more than that, but I can't be bothered going on. Let me conclude though with the latest farcical contribution to cultural debate here in Australia.
As I write this picture me with steam coming out of my ears. A couple of days ago some shit-stirring dickhead made a big song and dance about racist biscuits Coles are selling. That's right, racist biscuits! Good grief. The biscuit in question was called a Creole Cream, which according to this prick (Sam Watson you idiot) is another example of the racist nature of Australian society. His claim is that Creole is derogatory word to describe someone of mixed blood.
I'm no expert, but my understanding is that Creole is not a derogatory term and in fact is a description of pride for many people - and why should it not be? It's these cultural Nazis that turn everything upside down and make the innocent evil. For the record Creole is in fact recognised as a language for one thing, and of course Creole cooking or cuisine is well established. Bah, I don't even know why I'm bothering to explain this. I'm going to go the next person who tells me how to think and what to say.
Look, the world needs people like Mike Moore, people to speak for the little guy, and against entrenched interests be they political, financial or corporate. That he exists to ply his trade is does not necessarily make for a healthy society maybe, but it's solid proof of a strong democracy.
I saw his latest film in preview last week, Capitalism: A Love Story. I went with Whisky, a good capitalist if ever there was one, after we spent the couple of hours before sitting in the sunshine and drinking good European ales on one of the prized balconies of Cookie. It was a lovely day for it, so much so that I briefly considered canning the movie altogether and ordering another round of drinks, but no...
Moore is as he always is, the happily unfashionable nerd, bearded, plump, and wearing his baseball cap - I don't think I've ever seen him out of it. As always he is a character in the drama, the shambling maverick poking his nose into other people's business and making a point - occasionally comical - about the inequities and evils of the world. This time he took aim at capitalism in general, and capitalist America and the fat cats on Wall Street in particular. That's a popular target and he loaded up and fired.
I like Mike Moore, I 'enjoyed' (if that's the word) Fahrenheit 911, and I think he's important. Given that he has about 2 hours to propose a theory, develop and 'prove' it, he has to stick to the headlines with a few colourful leads thrown in. There's information there, but it's presented simplistically and with an angle I'm guessing he has no apologies for. He's an entertainer at the end of the day. No-one wants to go to the cinema to be lectured to or be forced to wade through all manner of facts and figures. He joins the dots and paints the picture and lets you feel the outrage. He loads up but his approach is scattergun.
That may seem like a damning indictment, but it shouldn't necessarily be seen that way. I think it's sensible when going to watch shows of this sort to go in with an open, but critical, mind. I always ask myself what I'm not being told. Sure, there's generally plenty presented on one side of the argument - but where is the other side? Turn on a current affairs program tonight and you'll see what I mean - it's sensationalist, tabloid TV, designed to indoctrinate you to a particular view.
So is Mike Moore a tabloid journalist? I don't think so. For a start Mike Moore is a lot smarter than most tabloid journalists, and unlike most, is a true believer in what he does. He might share some attributes with them - the sensational claims, the odd sentimental manipulation, the occasional simplistic analysis, but generally it is better informed and more intelligently reasoned. Generally he has something important to say, something worth hearing - the counter-balance to 'conventional' opinion.
To an extent this explains some of my disappointment with this movie. I thought about half of it was great, but the other half was crap.
Lets start with the crap first, and the sweeping, tabloid-esque assertion that capitalism 'doesn't work'. I almost groaned eating my popcorn on hearing that grandiose claim. It begged the question, if capitalism isn't it, what is? A few times in the course of the film he touched upon socialism, but I don't think he was really suggesting that was the solution. Rather - and this is very much the way of the tabloid media - he was pointing out the problem by and large, without propounding a solution.
To say capitalism is wrong is plain stupid, no matter which side of the political fence you're on. It's such a broad, facile statement to make as to be meaningless. Right there and then some credibility was lost, for the problem is not capitalism as such - it is the way it is regulated and governed. That's the real story, and ultimately the story he told.
We have had a global financial crises not because of capitalism, but rather because of the absence of controls and appropriate regulations in the American market. Once upon a time they were there, some of them at least, but in the spirit of unfettered free market economics they were removed. Australia, a capitalist country, suffered not nearly as much as the States, and almost entirely because we have the governance they don't have in the shape of prudent fiscal and banking regulations, and sensible government policy.
Capitalism is built upon the profit motive, which gives the impetus to a system that in its purest form will benefit everyone working within it. In that ideal state it is a dynamic, living organism that needs none of the artificial stimuli that socialism and its ilk need to get going. There is no need to prod the beast into action because it is forever on the prowl searching for more, searching for better, because that is where the pay-off is. The beauty of capitalism is that it is self-perpetuating; the peril of it is that it should do so without any control.
There are hundreds of different economic philosophies and schools. By and large they measure and theorise about economic triggers and management. Many are at odds with each other and are perpetually evolving - economics is big business these days, even if it is an inexact science. A few would argue that rampant capitalism is a good thing, in much the same way that Gordon Gekko pronounced that greed is good. That's a hard argument to sustain in these economic times when it is greed and unfettered financial markets that have led to the mess Moore documents in his film.
In essence the difference in the two arguments is the difference between having an untamed tiger in your front yard and one toilet trained and taught not to eat the natives. What would you rather? Yet this is what has been allowed to happen. By removing the natural and proper constraints from the market the tiger is shitting in the laps of the big corporations and chewing on the natives - the poor punter in the suburbs.
The real issue is not capitalism then, but greed, and Moore knows it. Accordingly he takes aim at Wall Street and the fat cat banks and brokerages, and the insidious influence they have had on government policy - now that's a story worth exposing. He quite rightly comments on the obscene salaries and bonuses of senior management at a time when lowly workers are laid off without getting their full entitlement. And he exposes the absolute lack of government oversight on the billions of dollars paid to bail-out half these corporations. All in all the picture is bleak. It is a story of incompetence at best, and corruption at worst. It is an American story, and in some part at least Moore is right, there is something sick in American society today that allows these things to occur. It's not capitalism though, it's greed and it's the decline of the social contract.
I trust people will be smart enough to overlook the more extreme elements of the movie and see them for what they are: pure sensationalism. Whether we want to or not we can't live without the financial markets, and without Wall Street everything would grind to a halt. The real story is how greed, mismanagement and rampant de-regulation led to a global disaster. And in a way it's all about the need to return to human values - something I think any intelligent person would applaud. In that Mike Moore is right - it's time.
I remember when I went to uni a mate and I would spend half our free time playing Galaga and other games at a nearby video arcade. He was an expert who took it very seriously, for me it was a bit of fun and a lot better than studying.
In later years I got into the odd computer game. Most I could take or leave, but I liked the strategy games, and in particular the various iterations of Sid Meier's very famous Civilisation franchise. I'm not sure whether it spoke to the latent empire builder in me, or the gung-ho conqueror, but I recall many times playing well into the wee hours of the night, expanding my empire, conquering neighbouring countries and attempting to make life better for the happy citizens of H-ville.
Last year I got myself a PS3. I bought a variety of games to go with it, Need For Speed, The Godfather, Tiger Woods Golf, a Boxing game, and a few others. I happily played them for a few hours here and there, a welcome distraction but not a real passion.
In the last couple of weeks I've been playing Uncharted 2: Among Thieves. This is a mind-blowing game for people like me. For a start the graphics are great. It's a far cry from the very raw and basic graphics of Civilisation and the Age of Empires and so on. That's how much the technology has pushed on with every passing year. Now it's almost like watching a movie, and you're part of it. It's a pleasure simply to behold.
But then there is the gameplay. I became very quickly addicted to Uncharted 2 because it is my sort of game taken to an extreme of entertainment and challenge. For those who don't know the game is pretty much about the adventures of Nate Drake, a kind of Indiana Jones figure out to make his fortune in a variety of cliff-hangar type adventures. It's addictive stuff even if you're not playing the game. I get caught up in it. The hours roll by. I sit on the edge of my couch manipulating the action and figuring out the best way forward. At the end of it I hope to get to the next level, and then the next level beyond that.
Great stuff. Makes you wonder how far all this will go. When will it end?
I was in my kitchen making my morning coffee first thing while a few stray thoughts crossed my sleepy mind. I was in that state when nothing registers too deeply, when the day ahead is something vague and gladly so - lets think about things after coffee.
One of the stray thoughts was about Amy. I have not thought about her for months, and so after a moment the surprise of it pulled me up short. As my mind focussed I thought it must be near her birthday. I remembered her birthday party 3 years ago, and then remembered the terrible trip I made to Perth straight after it. Then I realised, or thought I did, that today is her birthday. How strange. And as I sipped my coffee I figured it was no accident that she popped into my head today. Though I was not consciously aware of it the fact of her birthday had lodged itself deep in my memory and like some reminder that flashes up on your computer screen the memory had made its way to the surface.
Last week I ran into an old flame in Camberwell. It always seems unexpected when it happens, and on this occasion I was so surprised it was only really when she had passed that I realised. S was a very attractive girl when I knew her, with reddish gold hair that fell straight and long like a waterfall of hair from her head. She had a good smile and a silly sense of humour we would spend hours playfully indulging. She looked like a model, and in fact did hand modelling on the side, something that always gave us cause for mirth, and excuses to speak about George and the hand model episode in Seinfeld. She was a nice person, sweet and good and fun.
I was on my way to an appointment on Thursday when out of the corner of my eye I spotted her. She had a smile on her face as if she had already seen and recognised me, but it became different as she remembered how things had ended between us - not bad, but awkward. By now I was past her and was only then registering her in my mind. She looked little different, older, perhaps a little too slender now, though attractive still, I thought she must work at the same as she did 10 years before, just around the corner.
They come and they go. I guess you're always going to bump into these memories occasionally, and I guess there's nothing terrible in it.
Thursday night was a lot of fun, but perhaps a little messy. Over the course of 5 hours I had about 12 glasses of wine and two cleansing ales. In between times delicious finger food prepared by the Seamstress cook was brought around on platters for our delectation. The venue was interesting - the suburban offices of Jeremy Oliver - and the crowd varied. I had fun.
The theory was that each of the 12 wines served on the night were matched to the food. There were a variety of wines, from Prosecco and sparkling Shiraz, to Riesling, Chardonnay, a brace of Pinot Noir's and the wine of the year - which we'll leave to later. Each of the wines were introduced by Jeremy Oliver, and were universally good. Really quite a treat for a wine lover.
In between times we mixed and mingled. There were a couple from my footy club I was surprised to see, Alec Epis, a great footballer in his day, recent board member and pretty good wine maker in his own right was one; the other the recently retired CHF of the team, Scott Lucas. I'd like to blame the prosecco, but I found myself uncharacteristically star-struck as I shook Scotty's hand. I've met him before, but I guess that's generally at times when I expected to. On Thursday I fear I may have acted like an awed kid searching for an autograph.
Mingled with a few others, including a antiques auctioneer I'm hoping to see, some attractive types, a few winemakers, and the various scions from good families, nice people all.
We left at about 1am I guess, but that was not before we'd each had a glass of the wine Jeremy Oliver awarded wine of the year status to. Perhaps it's no surprise it went to one of the great labels of Australian, if not the greatest: Grange Hermitage, this one the 2004 vintage.
It was lovely as you would expect of a wine that retails around the $600 mark. Speaking later to the winemakers they raved about it. And towards the end of the night when I asked Jeremy Oliver what was the best Australian wine he'd ever tasted he said the 1953 Grange - but this was next best and still had a lot of improvement in it.
Predictably weary after a long day at the track yesterday. It was a beautiful day, perfect weather almost, marred by the fact that I now have a face that looks like a stop sign. Too much sun, but that's not really I should complain about. It was a fun day which would have been 'funner' had we a few more winners.
In fact I only score two second placings on the day, though at long enough odds that they provided a nice return. Had they been an extra metre forward I would have made close to $400, but not to be. Like so many sports horse-racing is a game of inches (or centimetres).
There were three of us, JV, Donna and myself, all dressed up in our best clobber, casting an eye on the fashions on the field parade between (and sometimes during) races, picking at the passing platters of sausage rolls and mini-hot dogs, race-paper rolls, prawns and nori rolls.
Each race JV and I would go to the rail to watch the race while Donna stayed in the enclosure. We were in the centre of the track in one of the corporate areas. Each race we would come away cursing some bad luck or a poor run, JV particularly, who bet much more extravagantly than me, and consequently lost a lot more than me. Then the big race came along.
As so many occasions with the Cox Plate it turned into a remarkable race. In the past many have become famous with close finishes and with backmarkers coming from a long way behind to flash home. Well this race was pretty well the opposite of this.
For pure competition there was little to get excited about - the winner won by about 4 lengths. And the backmarkers stayed where they were, with the two first places going to the horses who had led out of the gate. In fact that's one of the things that made it remarkable. It's rare to see a horse lead all the way. Many race followers will grown when their horse goes to the lead too soon, believing that they've blown it. Well yesterday the youngest horse in the race went directly to the lead and 2040 metres later was still there.
It was a strange race to watch. So You Think loped around in the lead, at one stage about 7 lengths in front of the third runner and 4 lengths in front of second. By the home turn the field had come together and it looked likely the two brave front runners might be swallowed up - but no.
Once more they went to the lead, making ground on the following pack before So You Think galloped away with it, his jockey, the great Glen Boss, standing tall in the saddle and waving his whip in the air as he passed the winning post.
It was a great ride, and Boss has a great record in the big races. He's a winning jockey, and it brought home to me afterwards a couple of truths I should have considered. My grandmother, a keen and very astute race follower would always say never to bet against 'Black' Bart Cummings (as she called him) in the cups. It's a rule I've generally followed since (though not always on the right Cummings horse). Glen Boss is another example of someone who does his best work in the big races. In combination they should be unbeatable - and they were.
I wrote yesterday that the Cox Plate is invariably won by great horses. I was sceptical that would be the case this year as the field seemed ordinary. I'm confident I was right now though. I think So You Think will be an absolute beauty. Watching him parade before the race I murmured something to JV about what a beautiful horse he is. Big and dark, and very leggy, and distinctly different from the other horses. He'll grow more, and he'll get better.
Strange you know, he actually reminded me of Rigby! There was that same uninhibited joy in racing around the track as what Rigby has around the house. So You Think looks and raced like a colt yesterday, but a mighty fine one. All he wanted to do was run it seemed, and run with the exuberance of a kid. Boss wisely gave it its head and the result was a famous win in a time second only to the great Might and Power.
I did my dough but I was content enough with that. Like most Australians I think Bart Cummings is a national treasure, as well as being some kind of genius. And in So You Think we saw a new star born. Watch him go now. Hard to see him losing in this race next year, and in time he'll be a special for the longer cups. I think he might be one of the greats of the race track.
So that was that. At the end of a long day Donna left us and JV and I moseyed in towards the city. We had intended to check out the soccer, but chose not to. Instead we had a beer at Fed Square and then a 4 course dinner at Bok Choy Tang overlooking the city.
About to head off to Moonee Valley to watch the Cox Plate being run today. It is pleasant outside, blue skied and serene - a good day for it. The Cox Plate is a big race, and this a big day.
The Melbourne Cup overshadows the Cox Plate perhaps, but the Cox Plate is my favourite race on the racing calendar. The Melbourne Cup is the more democratic, the peoples race, and a handicap. That makes for some big finishes and the occasional long shot getting home. The Plate by comparison is a weight for age, and is almost invariably won by a great horse - Octagonal, Kingston Town, Northerly and Makybe Diva are all past winners. More often than not the select group of runners competing for the Cox Plate make up the best field all year.
Unfortunately that's not the case this year. Whobegotyou is the outright favourite this year, and it's hard to see him beaten on the tight Moonee Valley racecourse. I may be unfair, but I think he might struggle to run a place in some of the stellar fields of past years. A good horse, and a horse that may one day be a champion horse, it's not nearly in the class of the greatest winners.
Still, I'll likely have my money on him. His only real threat is Heart of Dreams I think, and the roughie is Zipping, a tough competitor. Guess we'll know soon enough, regardless, I'll be enjoying myself.
I had lunch with Cheeseboy on Wednesday at the only Dutch restaurant in Melbourne, where he had frikadaller special and I had croquettes. In the course of our conversation we touched upon the impending new arrival, the little cheese that was due to enter the world sometime in November. It might be a little early he told me.
This morning I got a text message just before 9 that Mrs Cheese had in fact delivered a happy and healthy baby girl. I called Cheeseboy soon after and found that the labour had come on quite suddenly, and in fact Mrs Cheese had been in the delivery room for barely 30 minutes when Annabel Rose entered the world. I know many women who would be green with envy at such a short and efficient labour, but this is something Mrs Cheese excels at.
I must say as a dear friend of the Cheeses that I found myself delighted by the news. Few things really spark you up as much as the joyful news of friends. I found myself feeling both fond and sentimental. I'll be visiting through the week to check out the little cheese and to pass on my delight - right now I feel buoyant and happy for my friends.
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