Last night was a book launch at a St Kilda hotel. It was a theme party so many people turned up wearing their flannelette pj's, something I declined to do. There were buff and effeminate boys dressed in shorty pyjamas and hot pink balloons, and in the corner a made-up double bed which the author retired to after his introductory comments. There he lay with his shirt off and a naughty grin like some grand nabob while the punters queued to climb in bed beside him and get the book clutched in their hands personally signed by the author.
Not really my usual crowd you might think, and true enough, but it was actually fun. I had a few drinks, snaffled my share of passing canapes, and had a few interesting conversations. The most interesting conversation was with an English guy who had similarly and thankfully abstained from the pj theme.
He was the CIO of a tech start-up with a very interesting product. I don't want to bore my readers with details of what I do for a living, but one of the areas I've been delving into recently is social networking in the business context, and more precisely what is now called collective intelligence. Of course a lot of that is pretty huge now, but by and large has yet to be properly leveraged by the community. That will come and think actually is the next big thing. This guy had a tool to facilitate that very cleverly.
We discussed that for a while, and then the general business, as well as the joys and perils of working for yourself. We agreed there was a genetic pre-disposition to be independent no matter how fraught it can be. We touched upon what I do - which is the real reason I was there, to network - and agreed to hook up putside the party. Job done I could relax and enjoy.
I'm an open minded character but the idea of climbing into bed with another guy in front of a bank of cameras didn't appeal to me, so I turned up the chance to get my book personally autographed. Instead I had another drink, another nibble, spoke to some people dressed in their smalls, then Donna arrived.
She promptly ran into a guy who had hit on her at my birthday celebrations, had gone out with once and then dumped. That was embarassing, but that that's how life works in my experience. It was fine though, all very pleasant as I stood by a head taller than the guy half an ear tuned in while I scanned the crowd. Nothing doing.
We left, a pretty pink presentation bag in our respective hands, and a late hamburger dinner in Bridge road on the cards. Another night.
Was out last night. Met up with the speed-dater at Hu Tong Dumpling Bar. Had a wonderful meal. Chinese dumplings are a wonder of God, though with the seed of something deliciously decadent in them. I can't eat a dumpling without thinking of sex in some way. It's the slippery, sticky dumpling slicked with sauce that explodes with tasty sensation in your mouth. More, more you think, yes, yes, as your chopsticks slip and slide trying to grip the moist parcel of pure delight.
So, the dumplings were good - especially the chicken dumplings in chilli sauce. Then we had beef with chilli sauce, which arrived in a large bowl full to the brim much too much for two people. Chilli seeds floated in the oily residue in which chunks of beef were visible, stained a deep red by the chilli. The SD later claimed it was the hottest dish she had ever eaten. I wouldn't say the same, but it was warm. My mistake was to not drain the oli off before transferring to my bowl. The oil was fiery. It was enjoyable though.
We had a couple of glasses of wine before deciding a Tsing Tao was a good option to accompany the beef - as well as some water. We talked throughout, haltingly sometimes - she is a little shy - but more fluent as the evening went on.
I suggested a night-cap afterwards and so off we toddled to the Gin Palace for a gin sitting in one of the comfortably upholstered chairs. The conversation opened up here. The alcohol had loosened the SD up and relaxed her inhibitions. The conversation took off in pleasantly unpredictable directions, just as it should when two people become comfortable and familiar with each other.
Getting to know someone there is almost always a starchy formality to begin with as each advances along predictable and socially accepted avenues. There is question and answer and the conversation runs in a linear direction. It is only when you feel more relaxed that the conversation opens up.
So sitting in the Gin Palace the conversation opened up. It was fun. It was good to see her like that. As always I remained unffected by what I had drunk - it takes a lot more than that to get me tiddly - but it was fun to sit back and let the conversation flow and to watch her settle into her role.
We parted a little after 11. I got home with the familiar preference of staying up. I flicked the TV on and sat on the couch. Rigby, glad to have me home again, climbed up to take his regular position beside me, his head in my lap. I watched the end of the cricket and then flicked over to watch the tail end of Henry and June.
This was the right movie for the moment. The earthiness of their desires was refreshing and stimulating. I understood the need to express the keen edge of feeling in the sensual act, whether it be teasing restraint or out and out dirty rooting. This was the stuff of life, the stuff that Henry Miller lived by, wrote about, the stuff he scandalised the world with in his time by writing about the act and the undying desire that led to it as if no-one ever had before. Few had actually, though pretty well everyone with any life in them knows what it feels like. It just wasn't written about - until Henry.
I read his books in my early twenties. There's a whole bunch of literature that almst cliche for the young man 'finding himself' as I was, and many do, in the years not long out of school. Sartre and Camus are classics of that young man genre, but so to is Henry Miller. Between the lot of them they encompass the mind and soul, they explore the existential pangs of anyone looking to find their feet and provoke reaction and thought. And of course the body is not forgottten, nor the slow ache of sensual longing, nor indeed the more raucous demands of sexual desire - all familiar, like it or not, to a man in his first quarter century. Not much has change really, except the fire has diminished from a roaring blaze that consumed everything in its path to a warm and everpresent glow of red hot embers in the bed of the expired fire.
Watching I felt myself stir at the sight of the petite and demure actress who played Anais Nin, she with a fire burning inside of her. Well, I wanted a piece of that. That's a good part of life - why would you deny it? I felt that and watched and found myself looking at Paris in the thirties as if it were a place I could never know - which is true. Paris I love, and much of what was depicted on screen was familiar in some way; but likewise there was such particularity of moments that equally it seemed a place I could only peer in at as if my TV was a window to another time and place. The cloudy pernod, the rain tumbling down, the thick French coffee poured into a bowl, the heavy woollen suits and beat-up hats. If only I could travel back and be part of it I thought. Not to be, and so I went to bed.
I was like a giggly kid on Sunday. For the last 7 months I have like every Essendon supporter keenly awaited the opening of the 2011 football season. The return of the most beloved player in living memory as the team coach was every supporter's wet dream come true. Delightful as that was the list of top-line and legendary coaches joining James Hird as assistants left all of us wondering if we would wake up to find it was just a dream.Was it too good?
It was no dream though, there they were living and breathing and injecting hope into the multitude of passionate supporters. In that there was a danger I think everyone Essendon supporter felt deep in their heart. What if it was a disappointment, like Voss? What if all our hopes would be dashed and revealed as childish dreams? What then, what would we feel, how would we recover? What if the great man has feet of clay?
There's a lot of naive hope in following any football team, but then that is one of the great pleasures of being a supporter. We suspend disbelief and occasionally common sense in barracking for the team we grew up loving. It's not about common sense or even pragmatism. The church may not like it, but following a team hard is like being part of a religion in which you all share a common faith. It is all about rituals and symbols and blind adherence to the word - and the word is the club.
Following a footy team will often test that faith. From week to week and season to season hope surges and retreats, it causes us to blaspheme sometimes, to question and doubt; our faith ebbs and flows, but rarely if ever is it broken.
In that context then James Hird has returned to the club less as the prodigal son than as the messiah with his band of apostles. As coach he said the right things and guided the team through a pre-season that was impressive and demonstrably better than previous years. There was reassurance in this, some relief. It was not the real thing though, not yet: that would come with the season proper.
The season proper began for us on Sunday. We went in as underdogs against one of the powers of the competition. I wanted a win, but I was happy to see effort, performance, improvement. For all the hype James in the end is only human (allegedly), and it was my more prudent self suggesting to keep a lid on it, it's a long journey, let's just take it one week at a time...
And Essendon took the field and wiped the opposition from it.
I watched laughing often with delight and the sort of ecstasy that bubbles up unexpectedly when you really it isn't too good to be true. I yelled and clapped and hollered as my beloved team played with an authority I have not seen for many a year. They were quick, they were bold, they were tough, they were exciting, they were disciplined and they were ruthless. And they won big.
I doubt Hirdy could quite believe it himself. I know it is only the beginning; I know it is a long season. I know there will be disappointments along the way. Nothing is certain, yet I also know now what is possible with this team. And I know as I was never sure before that we are on the right. And I even wonder now if James might not just be the messiah after all.
A little earlier today I watched a press conference as Ricky Ponting announced he was stepping down as Australian cricket captain. He hoped, he said, to continue playing for the team, but that was out of his hands.
It was a dignified and typically forthright performance. As I wrote a few days ago he is a divisive figure in the national consciousness. Many admire him as one of the greatest batsmen of all time and as very tough nut. Many more think he is an abrasive, charmless character.
I'm definitely in the former camp. Though I support his decision I found myself feeling sad today on hearing the news. For all his faults - and he has some - he remains one of my favourite ever players. Like many men I utmost respect for the innate fighting qualities he has put on display time and again.
In some ways it's a very Australian admiration, which is why we tend to turn out tough characters like this on a regular basis. As Australians, and Australian men in particular, we have great suspicions over those we suspect as being a bit of a showpony - example Michael Clarke (who I actually like). We can respect the aesthetic qualities of our sportsmen, but what we truly admire are those we know who will go that extra mile. That's one of the defining qualities of Australian sporting success, and the benchmark we tend to measure our sportsmen by. We won't always win, but we're never beaten.
Ponting epitomises that standard. His excesses are generally the spillover of competitive zeal. He said today his motivation has always been to be part of Australian victories, and to share those victories with his team mates. He is an imperfect human being, but he is also the genuine article. I don't agree with all he says or does, but likewise think he is marked hard and often unreasonably. He is uncomplaining and honest, a hard visage throug which we occasionally glimpse the man his team mates adore, the tender husband and father, and the faithful, devoted servant to Australian cricket.
I hope to see Ricky Ponting scoring centuries for Australia again now this burden has been lifted from him. It is enough to see him step down as captain, it is too soon for him to be lost to us altogether. I don't know if people properly recognise what a colossus he has been in world cricket; better now to enjoy and understand that than regret later what we never properly appreciated.
The winner of the cricket world cup of 2011 is still to be decided, but for two of the big teams of world cricket it's all over.
Australia's demise was no big surprise. The slow decline of Australian cricket has been oft reported, and though still competitive they have have lost that fearsome cutting edge they once had. In this tournament they never really seemed to get going in the manner we have come to expect. As if believing reports of their vulnerability they often played tentative, unambitious cricket. Batting particularly they seemed more concerned about protecting their wickets than pushing the scoring rate along. In days past a departing batsman was replaced by someone just as capable - I think that is still true, but I don't know if the squad retains that faith. And so they played smaller when batting. It was enough to win; in past days winning was not enough, Australia sought to dominate.
Confusing instructions didn't help much. Haddin, a very capable, but occasionally dumb cricketer seemed unsure as to what his role was. A natural stroke-player he seemed to reign himself in when the occasion demanded he should go for it, only to generally get himself out stupidly when the discipline got to much for him. He should have been told to play his natural game, which is to blaze. Statistically Haddin had a good tournament, yet his contribution should have been greater.
Cameron White was disappointing. A very astute leader of men and cricket brain he seems robotic sometimes batting. He's in the side for his big hitting, but with that deserting him he had no other gear. As a batsman he seems to be fully on or switched off altogether. He seemed incapable of pushing for the quick single and rotating the strike, and seems never to be to encoraged to do so. In hindsight he was clearly a handicap to the team and though I'm a fan, persisted with too long.
The biggest deficiency in this side was the lack of a quality spinner. Australia was unfortunate to be queered by injuries and forced into a bold bowling strategem. It might have worked had the missing ingredient - a decent spinner - had been in the team. No offense to Krezja but he lacks control and, in 50 over cricket at least, venom. Ultimately our part time bowlers looked more threatening than him, and that's why we bowed out at the quarter final stage. Give me a hald decent spinner and we would have reached the final.
Still, I can't be too disappointed, and if I sound harsh then I don't mean to be. For all the shortcomings in the squad the team fought tooth and nail to the end, as they always do.
Leadinmg the way was Ponting. He's a divisive figure Ponting. I love him, but many don't. Women particularly seem to take against him while men, more attunmed to that spirit, are more forgiving. Ponting is a warrior. He's the toughest cricketer in world cricket and has been for many years. He's one of the best batsmen of all time, which he proves again and again by rising to the occasion again and again. His century in the QF after being besieged in the weeks before is just the latest proof of that.
Ponting is a great leader. Criticised from outside he seems genuinely loved by those in his charge. It's easy to see why - he's one those strong, unflinching types who lead by example. He's an ordinary on-field captain however - which leads now to the next big decision.
In the wake of the Ashes disaster a review was initiated. My hope is that it goes deep. I want Ponting to stay in the side, though I think he drop down the order in tests. I think he should be replaced as captain though, if only because the next generation needs to step forward. Selection policies and selectors themselves should be reviewed. And Tim Nielson as coach - a great disappointment in my book - should be replaced. Off field there seems insufficient guidance outside of Ponting, and some of the things Australia have traditionally been so good at have slipped back in standard.
I'll take the quick single as an example - once upon a time it was the corner-stone of the re-build of an Australian team by Bobby Simpson. The game has moved on, big hitting is much more prevalent, yet running between wickets is one of cricket's one percenters. They seemed to have been overlooked or forgotten, yet it is in the combination of these that is often the difference between winning and losing. Australia used to be way out in front in this area. Today, we're probably the best fielding side in the world still, but otherwise have become much sloppier than we once were, and someone has to be accountable for that.
If Australia's loss was no great surprise, South Africa's loss was - in a way at least. Probably the tournament favourite they went into the QF final playing the only other team never to have won a knock-out match in the comp. That's an astounding statistic. Australia have probably lost 3 over the distance, and won about 15. South Africa, perpetual favourites, seem always to fall away when the pressure is on. And so in a way their loss was no great surprise either.
Australia and South Africa leave the tournament in different states. Australia knows it must re-build, but at least there is an exciting batch of youngsters coming through. And our rich tradition of tough, uncompromising cricket has been upheld - we lose, but with our heads held high.
On the field South Africa appear to be in a much healthier state than us. They have a strong batting line-up with a good sprinkling of youth, and they have the best bowler in the world. I have a lot of time for Steyn as bowler and as a man. But they leave also with this sorry record of underperformance - let's face it, of choking - underlined once again. Amazing. The monkey on their back must be the size of a gorilla. For the likes of Kallis and Smith that's probably it - they won't be around next time. In any case, how do they recover from this.
So that's where it is. Australia, the West Indies (who have won a combined 6 of the 9 previous world cups) and South Africa out. I think Sri Lanka will win it. They've been my pick from the get-go. They're a well balanced team with good hitters, some sublime batsman (Sangakkara is world best imo) and a potentially potent attack. They'll likely play India in the final, who I'll be glad to see lose. I don't mind they beat us, but I mind the typically ungracious way so many of their supporters celebrated it. We won't forget.
I'm writing this with the buzz of Formula One practice audible in the distance, like a bunch of bees on steroids. It's a familiar sound these days, not just from this year but from many years past also.
Otherwise it's cool and rain threatens. It's weather that suits my mood just now. I'm feeling a tad dark and broody. How much is due to a late night - 4am bedtime - or other things I'm not totally sure. I suspect it's more other things.
I feel a bit mentally weary from having been so busy trying things, doing things, from acively and incessantly thinking about angles and the best way to exploit them. It is tiring, and right now it feels pretty futile also. That's not a good vibe.
I've almost committed to writing the day off and having a lazy one. Maybe that's what I need. There's no shame in that, I've earned a break - but at the same time I don't really want to succumb to this lethargic disinterest. It's a killer I think. If you're not careful you turn into a slug.
At the back of my mind is the inevitable cycle. Right now I'm at the low point. That may continue another day or two. At some point I'll bounce. I'll get all angry and belligerent and fuck this and in very typical fashion muscle my way out of it. The upward swing will continue until once more I'll be focussed and hard at it, as determined as anyone on two feet, the eye of the tiger returned.
It's perhaps symptomatic of how I feel right now that I feel pretty cynical about all that. I'm sort of sick of it, like an old movie I've watched too many times. Enough already I think. I oughtn't complain - it could be much worse. And ultimately it's nature isn't it? It's how I'm made - what point complaining about it?
That's an interesting question I'm often pondering. I caught a bit of Bruce Almighty on the TV the other week, and the part where Bruce basically prostrates himself before God and says you know better, I'm sorry. Being an agnostic cum atheist that sat badly with me even though it was a comedy and God was the very acceptable Morgan Freeman. I thought about it for days.
I actually wondered if I should be more humble. If I should accept my place in the world. Maybe it would be easier if I settled for somerthing less. Maybe I should accept I'm just another dude. In a way I felt as if my attitude to life set me up for trouble. Why want so much? Why strive? Isn't that hubris, arrogance? Why want more?
It was actually tempting - it's exhausting sometimes to be always on the make. It is what it is though. It's my nature and I may be damned in the afterlife for not being as humble as I could have been, for wanting more than my fair share, but so be it. I can't squash myself into a box. Nor should I. This is the road, and I'm on it.
So here I am today a tad singed.
It's perilous though too, and when I think about it, pretty scary also. You gamble a lot taking this road and you either win big or fail. I sort of like the extemes of that, yet there are times I want to curl up and dream of easier times. Easier times are smaller aspirations though, and I just don't have those in me.
So, as I said, it is what it is.
In the meantime things develop regardless of me. I've done enough that there is a momentum that continues even when I curl up in a ball. So far not a terribly productive momentum, though things are happening, jobs being offered. I want my own thing though - there, that pig-headedness. Maybe I'll do something for someone else, but not forever. I want to own my stuff. And do my stuff.
Right now the jobs being offered me are project management, as if that's the sum of a very interesting and diverse CV. It's not my favourite role. It's like being the conductor of an orchestra, which sounds okay I guess, and is better than playing somewhere in the string section - though doubtless that has some charm. Not enough for me though. I don't want to be playing the music or even conducting it; I want to write the music.
Has there been a less credible opposition leader than Tony Abbott? God knows I'm no great fan of Julia Gillard, but she's way ahead of Abbot. You could pretty well train a parrot to do the job Abbott's doing.
Have to seriously question his judgement also.The government may be unpopular, but Gillard is still the preferred PM by quite a margin. The Libs may wake up to the fact one day (though I doubt it), that if they had a reasonable and thoughtful leader they would be way out in front. Abbott has his rusted-on, blindly unconsidered supporters, but he continues to alienate the more reasonable members of the electorate by his hard core opposition, stupid comments and silly actions.
In short Tony Abbott is the best thing the Labor party has going for it. Drop Malcolm Turnbull into the role and it's a totally different ball-game. I'd certainly vote for him, as would thousands and thousands more of the generally disenfranchised electorate.
Yesterday's performance by Abbott was pretty typical. After putting the frights into everyone about the so-called carbon tax - his standard gambit - and calling for a 'people's revolution' - once more pretty typical - he then was obliged to front up to the very motley bunch of protesters landing on Canberra's doorstop.
You really have to wonder why the Lib powerbrokers continue to support him; or at least don't try to moderate him a little. He has hits, but also has a lot of misses - and the misses are ugly. Yesterday was the essence of ugly.
Whipped up by the right-wing shock jocks across the land a bunch of misinformed bigots rolled up to Canberra in their chartered busses and began wielding placards abusing Gillard - often on grounds of gender - Bob Brown, and others generally seen to be of liberal (not Liberal) bent. It was an embarassing, cringeworthy backdrop to which Tony Abbott was forced to appear.
Flanking Tony were the parties ritual fascists Brownwyn Bishop, faced forever frozen into the mask of an evil grandmother, her body preserved in formadelhyde and stuffed full of horse hair; and Sophie Mirabella, the parties frantic attack dog, the cocker spaniel nipping at your heels with the surprisingly vicious teeth.
There it was then, Tony Abbott amid a crowd of bogan extremists accompanied by the Liberal party's SD members. If it's true that you get judged by your friends then this is the final, damning indictment of Tony Abbott as leader - and as a man.
My head is sort of spinning at the moment. I've been immersing myself in a variety of different learnings, some within my area of expertise, some way outside of it. I think I have to do this, but the bonus is that no matter how clogged my head feels or how much it spins I sort of enjoy it. Being curious is the baseline for me, and so satisfying that curiosity is always going to be fun.
Not surprisingly maybe I've never felt more competent than I do now. My head buzzes with new information and in its way quickly begins joining the dots between the separate pieces, imagining and extrapolating before synthesising into a neat set of bullet points. Out of all this come opportunities which I'm itching to exploit.
In the last couple of days I've written a short piece on Collective Intelligence for my soon to be released website, and updated another piece I've called the Human Element. I've been in contact with professionals in Asia and the states looking to outsource expertise I don't have to finalise my business Facebook and twitter presence, to manage lead generation and possibly content management. I've learned a lot about these things recently, but I'm not expert enough to do it myself, nor do I have a time - and at $15/hour why not get someone else to do it for me?
While a lot of this is related to my career and business I am also putting time into other areas of my life. For the last couple of months I've been seeing a personal trainer 2-3 times a week. I'm getting pretty fit, and beginning to look both trim and pretty cut. All good. I'm motivated to continue on this path though I hate the exercise - the 'high' people speak of is a myth to me. No pain no gain as they say. I know that I have to work - and to suffer to some degree - if I'm to achieve my end goal. That's the cost, I'm prepared to pay it.
I get competitive with these things. It grows as a challenge in my head to the point I feel as if I have been dared to go harder, longer, further. My commitment grows out of a belligerent defiance. And because of the way I think I find myself wanting to know more. To that end I have been reading up on human physiology in reference to the effects of diet and exercise on the human body. I find the cause and effect fascinating from a scientific viewpoint. From a personal viewpoint I have adopted some of the findings into my life. I've modified my diet and am exercising regularly with or without my PT. This is not forever - I value the good things in life too much - but I'll give it a month. If it goes to plan I should be pretty sweet by then.
Last night I went out with a girl I met speed dating last week. She's cute and interesting. She's the project manager for a new Australian retail website. We found much to talk about in her work, which interests me and which overlaps some of my expertise. I grilled her about certain aspects wanting to know more. Outside of that we shared a few glasses of good pinot, a good meal, and a bit of each other.
I'm seeing the Irish girl Thursday and catching up for drinks with a Kiwi next week. In a moment I'll set off to the myotherapist so he can work on my back, which is much improved. Then it's lunch with a friend who also happens to be a job opportunity.
How do I feel? Fit and healthy, strong and smart. But also frustrated. I need to apply these things to make them worthwhile. I need it financially, but I also need it spiritually. I've got into this business for the good of my soul as much as the health of my bank balance. I want to make a difference, I want to show why I can do and run with it as far as I can go. Just have to make that happen now.
I've just returned from a long walk with Rigby. It's a beautiful day, perfect almost, as this time of year is wont to throw up. It's unusually still, the temperature somewhere in the mid-twenties and a bright sun in the middle of perfectly blue sky.
We walked down by the river where it is very pretty. Near the bridge a children's party was in progress. Kids ran around gleefully while their parents huddled around the gas barbecue. We followed the narrow path along the river to where it opened into a series of rustic parks. Dotted here and there were park benches; languid gum trees with lazy overhanging limbs provided a dappled shade. There were others like us, dogs with their owners out for a walk. Rigby loved it.
I was feeling a little wonky. It felt as if the earth's axis had tilted overnight, but I'm pretty sure it's my gyro which is out thanks to a few bevvies last night. It was peaceful in the park in the sunshine and it felt like a tonic to me. Still I stopped to sprawl in the shade of a tree while I listened to my iPod and Rigby panting kept a keen eye on everything going on.
We walked further on, once again paising to sit by the river and watch the slow water move by through the tangle of brush at the river's edge. On the way back we cut up through the quiet streets and past the grand homes and elegant apartment blocks facing onto the river. There was a serene Sunday feel to it. A man trimmed his garden; a car pulled up and a girl with her arms full of bags got out. Through this we wandered curiously, Rigby turning his snout in interesting directions while I wondered how my rambles had never brought me this way before.
Home again and it is pleasantly cool indoors. Rigby pants from his exertions and the relative heat, and happiness at having gone on a walk with his master. It was he who had insisted on it. I had told him we would go for a long walk later and at the mention of the word his ears had pricked up before he went to the laundry where his leash is kept and sniffed at it hanging on the handle of the door while looking at me. Ok then, now it is.
I must write a piece on Collective Intelligence this afternoon, but do not have the mental energy to do it. I feel idle and still a little odd after last night. I had a bit to drink and did not make it to bed until after 3.
It was a friend's 40th birthday last night. He had a small party at his home which was very pleasant. I met with some interesting people, amid which were a couple of interesting encounters. One was a girl I dated very briefly about 10 years ago - I was surprised I remembered. If she did she said nothing of it. The other was more peripheral. I was introduced to a pleasant lady who turned out to be the present HR manager at the company where I met Amy.
I had mixed feelings learning this. I was curious, but likewise it was not something I wanted to dig into too far. Still, naturally, she asked of my time there, where I worked, etc. She joked she had heard nothing bad of me and later when we parted said she would be asking about me in the office - something I would prefer she not do. I didn't say that though.
I stayed longer than planned because I was urged to, sacrificing then my ride home. Still, I could not leave until the cake was cut. An hour or so later I left and after an expensive cab ride home I sat on my couch watching the cricket - in many regards something I'd have been better off not doing.
Reading the newspaper these days is mostly a depressing experience. There is the odd feel-good story, but for the most part it is a litany of human and natural catastrophe's that get the headlines. It's pretty bleak, but looking around the world it's easy to understand why.
This morning read about the man who threw his young daughter off the Westgate Bridge a couple of years ago. The mother was in the dock explaining how she had been waiting to see her daughter off on her first day of school, a happy event. Instead her ex-husband told her to say "goodbye to your children" before he dropped his daughter over the railing to and into the water far below. Terrible srtory.
Then of course there is Libya. What started with so-much hope and promise is now turning nasty as Gaddafi fights back and the international community dilly-dallies wondering what it ought do. Something fellas, that's the tip. It's a complex and tricky situation, but can we, as citizens of the world stand-by and watch this? In Bahrain the rebellion seems to be fizzling out also.
Then of course there is the big story, the story I've been avoiding: the Japanese earthquake.
I was out on a sunny Friday afternoon when I heard the first sketchy news of the quake. I was early in a bar and with a beer in front of me killed time by catching up with the news on my iPhone. At that point it was very unclear as to the scale of the disaster, though the tsunami was being reported on.
We now know what it's like. Pictures of the devasted areas show a wasteland similar to that after the atomic blasts at Horoshima and Nagasaki. Almost everything is flattened, houses turned to matchsticks but for the old erection still standing amid the carnage. Cars are piled up like driftwood by the force of the tsunami, with the odd vehicle stranded atop a building by the retreating waters, as if parked there. Fishing trawlers when not smashed by the water are stranded deep inland. Somewhere in all of this are the people.
The footage of the actual tsunami was mesmerising, as so much of this is. The water raced in, smashing homes and lifting others off their stumps and carrying them forward like houseboats. The water surged and tumbled, smashing over sea barriers and seeking the low lying areas. Belatedly cars and trucks sped away to elude it, trying to find higher ground, a way out, as to did the odd speck on the film, a desperate person running from destruction. Some are successful, some not. In the wake of it there two towns virtually wiped out with many of their inhabitants. The cost is huge, in human life, and economically. The scale of almost complete destruction is almost beyond belief.
For all this destruction the greatest danger was ahead. Even as I write we are poised not knowing what is to happen with the nuclear power stations damaged in the quake. There have been explosions in some, and fears of a meltdown and the absolute catastrophe that would be. Radiation levels are manageable for now, but for how long? And what next?
This is another in a series of natural disasters over the last 6 months. I exclaimed over the Christchurch quake, only for it to be topped by this. They both sit on the same fault line, which curls around and returns through southern California. It's not hard to believe that the next stop in this train of catastrophe might be where it's been dreaded for so long: the San Andreas fault
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