Hieronymous the Anonymous

Farewell 2010

Just as the weather on Christmas day never gets better than middling, new years eve seems always to be hot, and often volatile. Last year it was damn warm until the storms broke spectacularly as we approached midnight. Several years ago I recall a day of 43 degree heat. Today it is purportedly 40 degrees, and blowy.

In my book that's not ideal weather to usher in a new year. Had I been going to a pool party - as I should be - my opinion might be different. As I'm putting on a suit and going to a masquerade ball it seems like a kind of hell that must be endred to 'celebrate' a new years dawn.

I sound churlish, but I oughtn't be. The venue tonight is walking distance from home - a big bonus - and if I crack the shits early I need only walk out the door. The pool party might have been nice at JV's, but I reckon I'd be just as happy watching DVD's at home and nursing a sneaky bottle of bubbles.

The celebrations are transient in any case, an excuse to get shitfaced and for misbehaviour. I'm one of those unreconstructed souls who needs little excuse for this normally, though it's nice to find a quorum for once, when even the most prudish lift up their skirts and have a dance.

That'll be about it for me. Last year I was being propositioned by 9. Though I'm attending with about 6 single women and anything is possible, I'm doubtful there'll be any hanky panky tonight, if only because with 2 dogs my style is greatly cramped. Hell, I'm not even changing my sheets. (All of which guarantees there'll be action tonight).

So what about the rest of it - out with the old, in with the new, a time for reflection and foresolutions quickly reneged upon?

I'll do some of that, as I have before, and I may write more on that in the days ahead. I have no resolutions for 2011, merely plans, though good ones. 2010 was pretty good in most ways. In some ways it has been a quantum leap forward. Unfortunately the darkness of mum's illness overshadows that, as it will for a time. There's no getting by that: mum is likely to die in 2011, and probably sooner rather than later given how she is talking. It seems wrong, small even to be considering other things in light of that, but my life will go on. It will be different, in key aspects it will be less, but it gives me a direction to move in also. These recent events have lifted a veil from my eyes. There are things I must do, areas I must work upon. By and large I don't know what 2011 holds, but I am hopeful, I will strive, and will expect ultimately even with the worst to come that 2011 will be a better year again. 

The ghost at the end of my bed

I woke up at about 4.30 this morning. I was over-warm, which may have been the cause, but there was another reason too. As I lay there I heard the heavy breathing of a woman. It was not laboured breathing, the breaths coming quick and sharp, but rather deep, lung filling gasps of air that came in erratic bursts.

I lay there trying to understand it. Was it next door? I used to hear the previous tenants sometimes when they had sex, but have heard nothing since the new people moved in. I didn't think it was next door though. What I heard before was the in extremis sounds of a couple fucking and noise travelling through the common wall. This was not that loud, though it was much clearer. It sounded like the sound was coming from inside the room, at the end of my bed.

I sat up in bed wondering if it could possibly be the dogs, though with every gasp that seemed less likely: the sound was human and feminine. In any case the dogs slept, one on either side of the bed, seemingly undisturbed by the sound.

I fumbled for the lamp switch by the side of the bed. I was not concerned or afraid, but I felt it something eerie. It was not a threatening sound, but it didn't belong either. For a moment I thought maybe someone had come in the open back door and stopped at the end of my bed.

All the while I'm fumbling for the light switch which I can't find in the dark. I'm afraid the sound will stop before I get the light on, but it continues unabated, crystal clear.

It must be 10-15 seconds before I finally get the light on - and the sound stops. Light floods the room, but no-one is there. Rigby waking to the light looks up at me and thumps his tail on the floor. I'm no closer to understanding what it was, and turn the light off.

I lay back in bed and wonder at it. Maybe it was next door I consider. Maybe the sound travelled through the chimney? That doesn't compute though. The ears play tricks, but I was certain it was in the room. Then for some reason I think of mum, now far away in Honolulu. That seems silly though. Eventually I fall asleep without knowing any better.

Earthed

Image via Wikipedia

It's been a relaxing and productive few days since Christmas. I'm a tad surprised to have got most of the things on my to-do list already ticked off, and managed a few more that weren't on the list at all. Half the time I've been working outdoors either re-painting the outdoor setting, tidying up the garage or cleaning out the shed. All this positive activity has a therapeutic effect upon the soul. It earths you, which is what I think this time of year is all about for me.

Yesterday was all go, go, go. By 10.30 I'd had a massage and cooked breafast in Gertrude street. On impulse I turned the car in the direction of the Docklands and rolled up to the much vaunted Costco.

Inside I wheeled around my oversized trolley in the barn-like space, rubbing shoulders with scores of bogans stocking up on toilet paper and lining up with relish to have seconds and thirds at the cooking samples at the end of each aisle. I felt a little a fish out of water, and realised - again - that we live insulated lives, often even in our own town. It was bogan-ville there but.

I bought my fair share, including the mandatory years supply of sorbent, but I was not as impressed as I might have been. Some prices were better, particularly those in bulk, but other prices less so. For a man living alone there is little real call to buy up in bulk. Besides, I've always a preference for quality over price. I don't mind spending a little more to get just what I want.

I didn't know half the brands there - they may be great, I was just unfamiliar. The meat looked fine in general, but as a particular fusspot when it comes to that I passed it by. I'll likely go again just to justify the membership, but not sure what the big fuss is about.

It was a lovely sunny day and I began the drive back to Hawthorn listening to the last moments of the cricket. I was driving past the MCG when the ninth wicket fell, and promptly switched over to FM. I didn't want to hear the Ashes gone.

In Hawthorn I did more shopping, particularly at the butcher, which is excellent. I have a BBQ Sunday so topped up with half a dozen excellent Tasmanian porterhouse, and a few others.

Through the afternoon I cleaned out the back shed and worked on my Mac configuring and converting things as I had long intended. I now have Apple TV and want to structure things such that everything is available.

I went from one room to another, sorting and labelling things, throwing much more out, getting my life in order. As Donna was coming to dinner I took the time to marinade some chicken fillets for the barbie, and after 5 opened a good bottle of Australian Arneis to sip as I read a book in the backyard.

It's BBQ weather, a great time of year. I'd cooked dinner on the barbecue the night before, and with Donna arriving cooked up another simple meal we ate on the freshly painted outdoor table, sipping wine and talking about Christmas and New Year and all our collected gossip. It's a good way to live.

She left a little after 10 and that was just about the day.

Today will be different. I'll do some work, but I intend to do a lot more reading, possibly in a bean bag in the garden. I have a few books to get through before the holiday is over. Tough life.

Enough

This is very selfish of me. Donna thinks she has breast cancer, like her mum did. If she has then I give up. That's the end. Except it won't be. I feel surrounded by it.

Chances are she hasn't, but...

Know Thursday.

Anti-social days

I was intending to go to the cricket today, but have no stomach for it now. It pains me to write that, but it is how I feel. Sunday was quite possibly the worst day in Australian cricketing history. Yesterday they recovered a little, but are still looking down a very long barrel. I don't give them up - there are still qualities there - but it will take several remarkable performances to save the match from here. I have other things to do.

It seems to me each year that I take this time for myself. I don't need people as others do and find it easy - even necessary - to be occasionally anti-social. It's what I predicted for this time, and what I have been.

I haven't shaved since before Christmas and have crazy hair right now, as if I've gone for a swim in the surf and let my hair dry in ridiculous angles. I don't care much one way or the other, and it hasn't stopped me from minor social contact - I had a girl visit me yesterday afternoon, and was out shopping at the sales yesterday morning. By and large though I have kept to myself.

I've done a lot of reading as I intended, and worked through a few tasks around the house. I've needed some 'me' time to work through things - I was quite leaden and sad on Christmas day, and I've been quietly adjusting to it since.

Everyone is away it seems. Mum and my sister are in Honolulu; Whisky's in Hanoi; the Cheeses in Merimbula. I'm minding my sisters little dog in her absence, a little Maltese terrier/Jack Russell cross about quarter the size of Rigby. The main difference now is that I have two dogs following me wherever I go, rather than just one.

In bed this morning reading I was wedged between Rigby on one side the length of his body against me, as usual, and on the other side Perce (named after Percy Jones). Both want a piece of me, both want affection and play. I'll take them for a walk soon to get some of that energy out of them.

Had I gone to the cricket today I'd have come out of my self-prescribed shell. Time enough I reckon to get back into my social groove. I haven't been in that mood these last few days - bad company I would guess - but I'm inclining towards lazy days with a drink in my hand, the sun shining down and good friends to laugh with.

Keeping it to myself

I revisited those lost posts this morning. It was by design or intention - the file was open, I clicked on it and there it was. I read it more thoroughly today. The other day when I discovered it I felt a reluctance to dig too deep, afraid, I think, of what I might stir up. Today I was much more matter of fact. I read and remembered. I was pleased at how honest I had been. I felt a passing regret, sad that things had not turned out differently.

It's always interesting to look back with hindsight at the words written in the middle of something. Reading now you have the benefit of knowing how things turned out; in the middle of writing it is all hope and wonder. It's doubly interesting when the words are secret - the posts you chose not to publish because they were too sensitive or close to the bone, and then forgot.

In the days since I've discovered these 'lost' posts I've been wavering in one direction and then the other as to whether I should now make them public. The argument for claims the record is incomplete, and possibly even skewed, without them. And if I am to be honest, then there should be no exceptions.

I'm not that honest though. There are things that happen in my life that will never see the light of day. That's fair too. I'm a man, not an open book, no matter how candid I try to be.

My reluctance to publish, I told myself, was for fear of unnecessarily raking up old news. Sounds good, but whether I publish or not the news has been raked over in the reading of these things. If I could go back and insert these posts where they belong in November and December of 2006 then I would do so happily, completing the record. I can't do that though, and to drop them in here now, nearing 2011, is to do so without context. They don't belong in the here and now.

That may be my official reason for not publishing them. Unofficially the reason is slightly different. More than anything it is a feeling in my stomach telling me I have no right to do so. It's a strange thought considering I have tried to publish here without fear or favour, but it holds true. It might have been right then because it was all around me and in, this was the time, these were the events, this is what I felt and thought and tormented myself with.

That was well and good then. Times have moved on. No-one who was there then now reads this blog as far as I know, but that's irrelevant. There's another person involved. Once we were linked together, now no longer. Doubtless she has gone on with her life, happily I hope, and much of this now forgotten. It would be self-indulgent of me now to publish these posts. It may be my blog and my life, but I have to be true to my principles.

Does that make any sense?

Grand Designs

Image via Wikipedia

One of my favourite programs on the TV at the moment is Grand Designs Australia. I love architecture. Had I the sense then I probably would aimed to become one when I was a kid. I still have a passion, and find myself often admiring some house or building or even just some small and elegant feature - and probably more often decrying the same. I remember once I threatened to blow up a building I thought was desecrating a great position on Southbank - about 3 years later I worked there.

Combined with a love of architecture is an indulgent streak a mile wide. Like a lot of people I love beautiful things. It is a great joy to see beauty married to function. The imagination runs wild.

While Grand Designs caters to all that what I really like about it is the critical and expert eye cast upon these grand and often melodramatic projects. Peter Maddison is an architect with his own practice. He presents with the confidence and authority of a man who knows his stuff backwards, but he is also an urbane and sympathetic commentator on all the dramas surrounding these projects.

I've seen two houses I loved in this series. The first was built in the spot where it's predecessor was burnt down on Black Saturday. In it's place was an imaginative and soulful building of rusted metal and reclaimed timbers nestling sympathetically within its bush setting. It was serene and, given the situation, heartwarming. This was the loop closed - and a beautiful home to boot.

The other was a grand home overlooking the Hawkesbury river north of Sydney. Like most of these episodes there was an unfolding human story in parallel to the construction. This was the obesession of a man who ended up hocking everything to get the house done as he wanted it as the cost sky-rocketed. At the close of the episode it was uncertain if he could afford to keep the house - it was a beautiful and tasteful house though, and brilliantly located.

While a program like this has you licking your chops and wishing for the budget to do this yourself, there are some caveats. My observation from the season so far: costs always run over budget (at a guess, by an average of about 20%). People always want more than what they really need (human nature). To my taste most of the houses have been over-scaled, unnecessarily so, sacrificing intimacy for size. I guess the last thing I would add is that there it takes a dose of megalomania to make this happen - these owner-builders are passionate and want it just right. They have a vision and nothing is going to stand in their way.

The G today

The Melbourne test match has just begun. England won the toss and for the second test running have sent Australia in. It sort of worked in Perth, but I think it's asking a lot two times running and on a MCG pitch. It's a bold move when all they need do is draw.

A couple of sundry thoughts. Channel 9 commentary team are a bit tired. Warne is great, Nickless and Chappell very good, and I can live with Greig and Lawry. Mark Taylor is a tad ponderous though, Healy annoyingly talkative and Slater a boy pretending to be a man. I guess he's for the gen Y appeal.

And finally, been meaning to make note of this for a while. I dislike the Fanatics, the clowns who dress up in gold and green at just about every sporting event Australia is involved in all over the world. I'm as patriotic as they get, but it goes against the grain when it starts to get organised and choreographed. I'm wary of anything that begins to resemble a mob, and aghast at the thought that I might be wearing the same clobber as everyone around me. For the most part they've been respectful and good natured, but there have been a couple of instances when they've tested the limits. Ultimately I think it's pretty un-Australian.

Dickileaks

News this week about the so-called 'dickileaks', about a 17 year old girl who published the nude photo's of selected St Kilda footballers to a facebook account. She claims it as revenge for the treatment she received from the club and the AFL when it was revealed she was pregnant to one of the players, and abandoned.

Unsurprisingly a storm of controversy has erupted. The St Kilda captain - the subject of one of the photos - called a press conference to deny any wrong-doing and to express disappointment at the chain of events that have led to this. He spoke well and presumably honestly. I doubt he is culpable, but others certainly are.

I don't know the truth of the allegations made, but given the amount of smoke you have to believe there is a smouldering fire somewhere. The girl making these allegations is an interesting personality. I admire her in ways. I think her actions unwise, yet I respect her zeal to get even as such and to expose some of the dirty laundry that rarely gets aired in public. She clearly has issues, but given the circumstances - which include being disowned by her parents - that's no surprise. In the shitstorm of publicity she has held up well, but it's hard to see an happy ending out of this.

The situation has raised questions about privacy and the ownership of such photo's now so easily taken and published to the world. That's an issue, but is the smaller issue as I see it.

Right now this 17 year old girl his being dragged through the courts by a furious St Kilda FC. It's not a good look. Fair enough they want to protect the reputation of its players, but none of this would ever have occurred had said players had even a modicum of common sense, and acted with the decency that society expects of its members. That seems to have been brushed under the carpet.

Regardless of her foolishness this girl deserves our compassion and support. If she has been mistreated as alleged - and I have yet to hear a rebuttal - then she is more sinned against than sinner, whether it it be in law or not. As a minor going head-to-head with one of the most powerful organisations in the country she deserves a fair go.

Unless things change I expect there will be a backlash against St Kilda for taking such a heavy and high-handed approach towards a girl. She may be spirited and foolish, but a better outcome for all would be mediation rather than confrontation. Thankfully that seems to be the way the court is heading, and may just be what the girl wanted most: to be heard, to be acknowledged, to be more than just a discarded plaything.

Yu live in hope that something like this may change things, but I doubt it. Footballers live on pedestals. St Kilda may claim it makes them targets, but more relevantly I think it gives those young men a warped sense of what they can and cannot do. Those of us who live in the main current of society know what is right and wrong because those boundaries are constantly reinforced. Not so with these league footballers who are feted before they are 20, earn many times what the average guy does, generally don't have a regular job and the exposure to society that brings, and love it or loathe it, have strangers buy them drinks and girls throw themselves at them.

It takes a level-headed and intelligent man to resist that, but is no excuse when those boundaries are transgressed. This is where the clubs themselves and the AFL need to take a guiding hand. Strong leadership and good role-models are needed to educate and to lead by example. I think clubs have a duty of care to society to provide this, and must be proactive in doing so. Some clubs are clearly better at this than others - St Kilda are clearly less well managed.

On a side-point, I find it amazing that anyone would consent to have a nude picture taken of them. Doubly so when it's being taken by a mate. It may be my generation, but I've rarely seen my mates naked, and when I do have never been inclined to take a happy-snap of them. I'm probably more liberated than most of my peers - a naked body is just a naked body after all, if you see it you see it - but there is a difference between random nudity and posing. To me it's strange and narcissistic, but it happens all the time clearly.

Related articles

• "Dickileaks" St.Kilda photo scandal...the plot thickens (aussiecriminals.wordpress.com)
• Photo scandal girl on her own (heraldsun.com.au)

Home free

So it's Boxing Day. I doubt I'm going to walk out the front door all day. I'm wearing the old tracky-dacks and t-shirt I threw on to collect the newspaper, and chances are will stay in them. I expect for it to be a quiet day. I'll watch the cricket and read the newspaper. I might do some necessary housework. I'll empty my mind.

I've got the Christmas/New Year period off, which is a decent break. At one stage I was looking to go away and was looking at a beach resort in Sri Lanka. I sort of wish I was doing that now if only for the change of scenery and pace. Still. it will be fine at home.

I am setting myself some jobs to get done. Need to clean out the shed; paint the outdoor setting; attend to the vegie garden. I need to do some work configuring my Mac and to get some synchronised back-ups on the home network. I intend to read 3-4 books and slow the mind in doing so. And I want to write.

Right now I feel in abeyance. The new year is coming, most of the current year is behind me. Mum is going away on a holiday with my sister and I feel I can rest a little from her situation. I'm not sure if I need to figure much out, but there are things that need to happen. Right now is a brief interlude, a period of rest and occasional reflection.

There is much more I could write - and doubtless will - but right now don't feel comfortable doing so.