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More airport
silliness
Today
I caught a Rex plane... a little teeny Dash-8. It's weird. A tiny plane
with two propellers, with its own dinky fold-out steps and the flight
attendant wears jeans. But then they serve champagne, and the seats have
lovely soft sheepskin covers on them. Nice....
The
silly part though was Qantas.
Silliness
1: there's a trainee at the gate, with someone supervising him. It
must be early days because as he gave me my boarding pass his hands were
shaking. Maybe this is his first ever announcement, but as we move off
to the gate, he says... "please make your way to gate 15 for boarding.
Have your boarding pass ready, turn off your mobile phone and other electronic
devices. If you have any questions, don't bother to ask any of our staff."
Yes,
that's right: don't bother.
Well,
I crack up, but not a single other person even smiles. Did they hear,
or just hear what they expected to hear? I turned to look at him, and
he was beetroot red with embarrassment, poor guy, and the supervisor was
having a hard time keeping a straight face.
Silliness
2: At the gate, they boarded us all on a bus, which usually means
a little Dash-8 plane at a far away gate. Everyone gets on, loads their
bags, gets settled, we wait for the inevitable stragglers, then set off.
It
goes 50 metres, then stops. We get out and board the plane which is right
there. I mean, what's that about? Are they frightened we can't walk the
distance? Are they worried some other guy will run us over, or what?
It
was so stupid that I burst out laughing, but only a few people were even
smiling.
So,
the question is: do I laugh too much? I think these kinds of things are
pretty funny, and I like a good laugh, but of a sample of about 40 other
people only one other person smiled at "don't bother" (supervisor)
and two others at the 50-metre bus ride.
Aah,
who cares. I'm not going to stop.
Visions
acceptance
Just
got an acceptance from Visions magazine for Private Moment, to appear
in their February edition. Also some lovely compliments from the editor
(keep 'em coming guys).
Woohoo!
Thursday
4 December 2003
Appearances
I
was waiting at a traffic light in Chinatown today, and three people stood
out from the crowd. A couple and their friend. They were obviously together
even though they weren't looking at each other or speaking, they just
seemed to form a group.
The
man, in his late forties/early fifties, wore the corporate weekend uniform,
the RM Wiliams jeans, loafers and button down top quality blue oxford
shirt. He looked as though he'd be much more comfortable in a really expensive
suit.
Casual
clothes on a guy like that look awkward, overly ironed, or something.
Wrong. I got the impression that he rarely wears casual clothes, and even
more rarely actually walks around streets.
The
woman next to him, I presume his wife, was similarly awkward. She had
on one of those flowery sundresses, not a "little sundress"
as a young woman would wear, but a longer covered up one, from Laura Ashley
or someplace like that.
Over
that a pale pink cardigan (in this heat!), with two rows of gorgeous real
pearls, minimum cost $20,000. Designer shoes, expensive haircut (but grey
hair, the only odd note), and shiny skin that had been treated by an expert
salon. She looked like she might be a corporate wife.
The
other woman, the friend, was whippet thin, she looked skeletal actually,
all in black, and every bit of it designer. Prada, maybe. Horrible botox
forehead. Not a hair out of place, a sleek expensive bob, perfect makeup.
The total effect was polished but very conservative. You could imagine
her as a Vogue editor, or head of a discreet firm of some kind. She has
fifteen different kinds of olives in her fridge (but probably never eats).
I
only mention it because they all wore the same expression and I was struck
with it. Simultaneously aloof (what on earth am I doing here in Chinatown,
walking around like an ordinary person? what if someone sees me?), haughty
- now that's something you don't see every day, but they really were -
and comfortable.
By
comfortable, I mean that they were looked after. Well fed. They have always
slept in a soft bed, their morning toast is always hot, they are usually
driven places, their bedroom looks out over a valley, you know: comfortable.
The expectation that life will always deliver comfort. I was blown away.
Oh,
and their eyebrows were the sort that are ready to rise in a kind of "indeed"
way. The light only took 2 minutes, but it sure was entertaining.
I
very much hope that my prejudices are wrong, and they're all totally different
from what I've assumed! Anyway, it's a fun writing exercise, dreaming
up personalities and histories for total strangers. All the way home I
imagined different scenarios and how they'd react.
Cars
and carriers
It
took over 50 calls to find this out: you can send cars to Brisbane, but
just not by train. You go by road these days.
The
problem in finding this out was that I didn't know the right word. I looked
in the yellow pages and on the web, but because the term "carrier"
hadn't sprung to mind, I got nowhere. I tried car, transport, rail, road,
truck, logistics, shipping, sending, cartage, all kinds of things.
Finally
one of the people I rang said "no, we don't do carrier work",
and bingo. It costs a lot, but still cheaper than hiring a car in Brisbane
(much much cheaper). Am deciding now whether I care enough to pay that
much.
Maybe
I can convince someone I know to drive it up? It would cost a great deal
more than what the carriers charge to drive it myself as I have no more
holiday left to do it in.
The
wonderful Karen has agreed to take a suitcase up for me in her car, so
that takes one load off my mind. The lucky woman gets to watch Stargate
and get PAID for it. I'm so envious!
Saturday
6 December 2003
I
come with a manufacturer's warning: do not operate in the am.
The
way dialogue in the am normally goes:
Morning
type: <bright smile, valiantly ignoring huge mess of hair hanging
around my face, Frankenstein-bride-like> Hi, good morning, how are
you?
Me:
<dull sleepy look>
MT: Hello? Alinta???<waves hands in front of my face> Hello!!
Me:
<Thinks, is that an actual person, expecting me to speak? Yikes.>
Ugh.
MT:
How about a nice brisk walk?
Me:
<thinks, how about punch in face, but can't make mouth move enough
to say it.> Ugh.
MT:
How about a breakfast meeting? That way we'll be nice and fresh.
Me:
<thinks, coffee, give me coffee, gimme it now, please don't make
me talk. But can't make mouth move enough to say so> Ugh.
I
can just pull it together if I MUST speak to a client in the early morning
(that is, before 10.30), with the aid of plenty of strong coffee and all
my intestinal fortitude, but after a couple of weeks working with me they
suddenly start scheduling meetings in the afternoon.
You
may snigger, but I get to have the last laugh at the morning types when
at 9.30pm their batteries fail and they run down, like the bunny with
the not-everready-brand batteries.
Then
it's like this:
Me:
Hey, morning type: wanna go out for a meal?
MT:
but... it's 9.30pm already.
Me:
yeah. I'm getting hungry.
MT:
<thinks, I ate at 6, what's she talking about?> Ugh.
Me:
<pokes MT in arm to wake them up> and after that, how about a
game of scrabble?
MT:
huh? <thinks, that word sounds vaguely familiar, but I want my bed,
and I want it now> zzzzzzzzz
Me:
...or a chat? Drink? Wanna go for a walk?
MT:
<thinks, get this woman off me, but can't move mouth enough to say
so> zzzzzzzz
My
work day is interesting. I do about 10% of a day's work before 12. Then
20% between 12 and 3.30. Then 70% after that. If I go with that flow,
I'm highly productive. If I try to force it, nothing happens.
My
best writing happens between 10pm and 2am.
Tuesday
9 December 2003
Instead
of writing...
Bren
sent a really cool shockwave game around yesterday, and I played it through,
it's so gorgeous! You have to save
the spaceship from destruction.
Wednesday
10 December 2003
Run
Panic Bight...answers some questions
Apparently
Gerald, who is the editor of the Between Space project, has not been able
to get to a computer, and hence the silence about which rights and which
stories he's taking.
Finally
today he got back to me, and I feel better now. To my great surprise,
it's actually going into a book called "Between Space", which,
get this, they're publishing on February 29 (yes, it's a leap year).
They're
taking my rewritten version of Terraforming Lily and Misbah's rewritten
version of Rockfall, but not the original stories. My my. I wonder
if the Misbah-Alinta style and the Alinta-Misbah style will turn out to
be similar?
I'm
actually glad that Rockfall is mine again. As for rights, well
I think Gerald hasn't yet been introduced to the concept, so he's given
them all to me. Cool.
Oh,
and he gave me Misbah's email, so we can talk to each other... could be
interesting. Though he did say he preferred us not to see each other's
work until it's published.
For
someone who's espousing "letting go" and "surrendering",
he's actually not doing a whole lot of it himself, it seems to me. Keeping
total control, to the point of expecting the two of us not to talk. Interesting.
But
still, I get to be in a book, so that's VERY cool.
Aack!
Only 26 sleeps to Clarion
...
and still a trillion things to do. As fast as I can cross them off the
list, more keep occurring to me.
Hilarious
dialectiser
You
go to this dialectiser page, put in your URL, and it translates it into
weird dialects. This is the entry about me in the morning
turned into what they call "Redneck".
Ah
come wif a manufackurer's warnin': does not operate in th' am, dawgone
it.
Th'
way dialogue in th' am no'mally goes:
Mo'nin'
type: <bright smile, valiantly igno'in' huge mess of hair hangin'
aroun' mah face, Ole Man Frankenstein-bride-like> Howdy-doo, fine
mo'nin', how is yo'?
Me:
<dull sleepy look>
MT:
Howdy? Alinta???<waves han's in front of mah face> Howdy! Fry
mah hide!!
Me:<Figgers,
is thet an acshul varmint, speckin' me t'speak? Yikes.> Ugh.
MT:
Howsabout a nice brisk walk? Me: <reckons, howsabout punch in face,
but kin't make mouth move inough t'say it.> Ugh.
MT:
Howsabout a bustfast meetin'? Thet way we'll be nice an' fresh.
Me:
<reckons, a six pack, gimme a six pack, gimme it now, please doesn't
make me talk. Shet mah mouth! But kin't make mouth move inough t'say
so> Ugh.
Ah
kin jest pull it togither eff'n ah MUST speak t'a client in th' early
mo'nin' (thet is, befo'e 10.30), wif th' aid of plenty of strong a six
pack an' all mah intestinal fo'titude, but af'er a couple of weeks wawkin'
wif me they suddenly start schedulin' meetin's in th' af'ernoon, as
enny fool kin plainly see.
<end
silliness, for now>. You gotta love an engine that turns out "Ole
Man Frankenstein".
Have
a go. Come on, no one's looking. You can do Jive, and Cockney, and
Hacker... how can you resist?
Roomies!!
I
was told who my lovely new roomies are today:
Sarah
Endacott
Paul
Haines
Andrew
McCrae
Claire
McKenna
Bren
Dibble
I'm
very pleased with the people, though I suspect Apartment B doesn't sound
like the ground floor, which I was hoping for. What's really on my mind
is this: I
do hope I won't torture them too much.
I
strongly suspect that many of us are secretly thinking:
-
will they all hate me?
-
will I turn out to have some hitherto unremarked habit that will drive
everyone mad?
-
was this really a good idea?
Yeah,
based on conversations with other Clarionites lately, I reckon we're generally
pretty scared that others won't like us. But honestly, we're a bunch of
eager to please charming fabulous people, so I predict we'll get on famously
(she said bravely).
Boy,
those bios people have been sending... how fantastic are these people?
It's funny: you send out your own, and you think oh, that's just my pathetic
bio, compared to those fab ones. But then others are thinking the very
same thing.
Underneath,
we're all squishy jelly. All of us.
Thursday
11 December 2003
December
madness
An
unbelievably busy day today. I have my final documentation due tomorrow
for my Canberra client, and am busy putting the finishing touches to that
(80 pages written over the last 7 days, with screenshots).
Plus,
we had drinks at a swish bar for our biggest client. It was remarkable
because one of the guys I worked with there said, 'you know, I hadn't
done a project like this before, and I kept thinking everything you said
wouldn't work, but it does, and the users love it, and it's been such
a learning experience for me'. It was so gratifying, because he really
did give a lot of push back in the project. And now he's a big fan, and
defending our designs from cutbacks! Cool.
I
never come out of a bookshop less than $80 poorer
Then
I dashed over to Galaxy... well, okay, I didn't actually DASH as such,
it was more of a mooch, it was about 30 degrees C and must have been 100%
humidity (good practice for Brisbane, I guess). Anyway I was there to
attend the launch, or one of the many launches, of Forever Shores
anthology. Terry Dowling spoke briefly, then Nick Stathopoulos read a
little from two of the stories.
Cat
was there, looking gorgeous, as was Ben Peek, who was featured in the
anthology (and read out by Nick), and Michelle Marquardt, Deb Biancotti,
Bill Congreve and a whole lot of others:
editors, booksellers, writers, and fans plus whoever was in the bookshop.
Naturally I had to buy a copy of Forever Shores, and I picked up
Elsewhere as well, and the Gardner Dozois Best SF 16 collection,
and The Time Travellers Wife, which has had great reviews.
Xmas
shopping sucks
Then
I walked back to Grace Bros and bought the last two Xmas presents on my
list. One was very very heavy, and no, I'm not saying what it was, and
of course like an idiot I bought it first, which severely limited the
amount of choosing I was prepared to do for the other one. No mattter.
The perfect item was right by the lift!
Then
a taxi drew up just as I walked up to Market St. As we drove away, a colleague
drew level with us and we chatted out the windows to each other. Something
I have never done before but I felt very cool doing it for some reason.
So
all in all, a fun evening.
In
years gone by, when I was a musician, I used to Xmas shop in October and
be finished by 1 November. These days my schedule is less flexible and
this is the latest I've ever been. I hate going into shops in December,
that's all, it's not that I have a need to be organised.
The
people are all equipped with crankypants, turned up to maximum, and it's
always hot as buggery, and you have to wait in line and no one wants to
help you... I hate it hate it hate it. I can't understand people who deliberately
leave it until Xmas Eve. Yech.
The
other tactic is I decide in the comfort of my sofa what I'm going to buy
for whom. Then I make for the shop that sells it, and get it. None of
this wandering around, thinking, is that something X would like? I can't
do it. My brain hurts. I can't think who likes what at the same time as
looking at stuff and I always come home empty handed.
My
last presents tonight took a total of 40 minutes to buy, including going
there and getting back to the office again at the end.
Phew!
Now, cards and wrapping...
Saturday
13 December 2003
Nightmare
on Clarion St
I
confess that a month ago, I had my first Clarion nightmare. Now that I've
had no 2, I'll tell you about both of them.
1.
I was in a classroom learning quantum physics, and the roughly 20 students
there were having a really hard time understanding the professor, who
looked like Einstein. He got angry and started yelling at one poor guy,
and I stood up and said, "hey, that's not fair. This stuff is hard,
give him a break." Then I told him he shouldn't humiliate people
as a teaching technique. All the while my cat Oscar was purring contentedly
on my lap.
Not
a difficult interpretation exercise, is it.
2.
(Last night's episode). I was at Clarion, but this time it was at a huge
university and thousands of students were milling around with the usual
university administrative chaos. The dorms were tiny and I had to share
a room.
Half
of Tasmania had exploded, turned out it was one giant gas field, and I
kept asking for the gas to be turned down to low, as if it were a gas
stove. I had a view of Tasmania with a nicely simmering gas stove-type
flame over its lower half.
(Do
you think I might be worried about the heat in Brisbane??)
Then
I realised it was day 3 and I hadn't gone to one class yet, I'd not even
realised they were on. It took ages to find the right room. I dashed into
the class, late. The teacher was Nalo Hopkinson, who looked like Whoopi
Goldberg, dressed in layers of new agey flowing clothes.
There
was a woman next to me, who's someone I met at a really awful writing
workshop a few months ago, a fruitloop who had been "trying to write"
an autobiography of her past life for the last nine years. She leaned
in and started touching Nalo/Whoopi's clothes and saying, "You should
wear a purple scarf with that." Nalo/Whoopi said, "I think I
can choose my own clothes thanks".
Then
she gave us an exercise: she handed out a page with individual words on
it, like "Dog, fragility, bicycle, highlight..". There were
30 words on the page and we had to write a story with them all included
somewhere. We had notebooks and a thick purple crayon to write with. "Just
fit the story on one page," she said, but you couldn't, because the
crayon was too big.
Several
other Clarionites have had Clarion nightmares. It figures, I suppose.
Sunday
14 December 2003
Xmas
at Cat's
Went
to Cat's annual SF party today. I had a very late night last night at
a party, and woke up with just 40 minutes before Nathan arrived. He, Zara
and I piled into my car, which promptly threatened to run out of petrol...
not quite, luckily, so we refueled with just 1 litre left in the tank.
Drove
down to Woollongong. "Boy, do they do this every month for Thorbies?",
came the cry as we neared W. Three Thorbies do indeed travel the 1.5 hour
trip between W and Sydney each month, all hail to them.
Had
a lovely afternoon chatting with all the usual people, Bill, Michele,
Kyla, Ben Peek, Mark and his daughter, Ian, Chris B and his wife Louise,
Rob and Cat of course, Emma, Nick, Stephanie Smith from Harper Collins,
Louise... and a lot of others as well. Met a few new people too, Trevor,
and Carl, and some others...so that was nice.
We
drank a little, ate a lot, sat around on the deck, and quite a few brave
souls watched the latest Godzilla DVD flown in fresh from Japan, while
the rest of us took refuge on the deck.
The
highlight of the afternoon for me was Zara and Chris doing an impromptu
impersonation of "Alpha writing-apes", ripping up stories and
throwing them over their shoulders in uncannily perfect unity.
There
was also a discussion of pyjamas at Clarion. Most of us don't wear any
at home, but all felt we should do so for the comfort of our roomies as
we stumble from bedroom to toilet in the mornings. The question is, what
kind to wear? It's a conundrum.
We
agreed that another burningly important question is, is there really only
one toilet for six people? I mean, we have to know. It's the bad thing
about going first: no information.
I
am so tired now it's not funny, with a headache to match.
Humiliation
I
go to bed having just found out that Saddam Hussein has been captured.
I couldn't believe they paraded him having his tongue poked around by
a doctor, his head checked for lice and a DNA swab being taken. How humiliating.
I know he's apparently a totalitarian dictator of the worst kind, with
thousands and thousands of political deaths on his hands.
But
there's no need to use those kinds of tactics. A simple photo of him or
short footage of him just sitting there would have been more appropriate.
Why lower yourself to that kind of level? It's just not right. No matter
how appallingly the person has behaved, there's no reason to behave badly
back, is there.
Have
a look.
Monday
15 December 2003
Borderlands
arrives
At
long last, my copy of Borderlands 2 has arrived. It got lost on someone's
kitchen bench, then packed ready to post and lost again. Eventually it
made its way here, and I am delighted. My story is first in the book and
has a cool illustration. I can hardly believe I'm listed next to such
big names as Simon Brown, Richard Harland, et al.
Very
cool. Today, Borderlands, tomorrow...the world, mwahahaha.
Oh.
But first I have to, er, write something.
Blogging
is not writing, repeat, not writing
Yesterday
Ben Peek commented that all the writers he knows have blogs and they spend
more time blogging than writing. Got me!
It's
so much easier, and it feels an awful lot like writing, it's all those
letters banging down onto the screen. And no rejection slip. I always
publish my entry (well, nearly always).
Wednesday
17 December 2003
Clarion
and "the real world"
People
have odd reactions when I tell them what I'm doing for the holidays. Six
weeks, they say. That's a nice long holiday, what are you doing? I explain.
There's usually a long stare, then:
"Oh,
that's a departure", said my osteopath today. "A new career
for you?"
"What
about Tony?" said a friend. "What will he do?"
"You
write what?" said a client.
"And
you're living in? Gosh," say many.
"Oh",
say most politely, "how...er...interesting."
Most people
can't understand why I would do something that's clearly not the way I
earn my crust for six weeks, in another city, without my husband, dog
or cat, giving up all my holidays for the next 1.5 years, in the heat,
living with 5 strangers in an unairconditioned student apartment, paying
a motza, giving up two weeks' salary (due to no spare holidays)....come
to think of it, why am I doing it?
Oh yeah.
Writing.
Thursday
18 December 2003
Gnocchi
Now,
I'm sure they have good pasta in Brisbane, but not that good. Went to
my favourite Italian, Il Baretto, today with a friend for her birthday.
The gnocchi there is so perfect, tender, light, with a creamy 4-cheese
sauce; and tomatoes, prosciutto, bocconcini, italian bread and olive oil
on the side... hmmmm. Lashings of really good mineral water. With homemade
mango and cherry gelato to follow, and fabulous dark coffee. And for $30
each too.
To
top it off, it is a gorgeous warm day with a breeze, my favourite kind,
and we sat at the front near the footpath where you can people-gaze more
easily.
My
friend is from the ultra-conservative North Shore and she loved seeing
all the people there. "All those men, having lunch during
the day in a cafe", she marvelled. "In casual
clothes too." On the North Shore they're all in offices wearing ties
eating sandwiches at their desks. No earrings, afros or tie dyed shirts
with open sandals, uh uh.
Of
cars...
I'm
taken aback to find that the two firms who assured me, yeah, no problem,
just roll up with your car and we'll take it to Brisbane now are saying,
no, sorry, we're closed over the Xmas/New Year period.
At
least there's still one crowd open but worryingly they won't take a booking.
I suppose it isn't a disaster if I don't get my car, but I have my heart
set on it now.
...and
blenders
All
the people in my apartment are partnered... which means that no one wants
to bring stuff like blenders, because their partner would have to do without
it. So far we have two coffee pots coming, and one airconditioner, but
no blender, toaster, good knives, etc. Maybe some of that is there, but
we can't tell because the Clarion organisers haven't got access to the
apartment again until the 2nd.
Perhaps
last minute additions to the suitcases can be made. I mean they are student
digs, not a hotel, so probably will not have all the things we'd see as
normal.
I
am feeling rather pampered and fussy. When I really was a student I wouldn't
have cared a jot about any of that. Then again, I'm now 42, not 22, and
it's okay to move on. Right?
18
sleeps to go.
Saturday
18 December 2003
Two
months...
I
was at our office Xmas party yesterday. My boss was going on holidays..
her last day. I hugged her goodbye and said, 'see you in two months'.
She gave a big start of surprise.. and so did I. Everyone knows I'm going,
but it has seemed a little unreal.
But
now it is just exactly two weeks away!
Tuesday
23 December 2003
Shopping
dilemmas
The
question occupying our minds is this: do we shop online and get groceries
delivered for day 1, or do we do it when we get there? The sad news from
Andrew is he won't be bringing his espresso machine. Damn. And I was planning
to make him my new best friend!
13
sleeps to go. Or 11, if you count it to the day of departure rather than
the first day of the workshop. Aack!
What to
write?
I
am trying to write a new story for week 1, but for various reasons it's
just not happening. I don't have too many unpublished complete stories.
Most
of my writing time lately has been spent on Apulder Sweet, and
though the word count hasn't changed much that's because I'm revising
things. I want to add more conflict to the early part of the story, and
that means small changes rather than lots of new words.
I
may have to just keep trying to write a new story, or failing that, revise
Rockfall again. I haven't heard a word from Misbah, which is disappointing.
More
on caves
Last night
there was a documentary on what to eat in caves! Bless good old Discovery
channel. I haven't yet watched it, but I will settle in with it this evening
and take notes. Tony is planning to cook a lamb roast for dinner... maybe
the last one cooked by him for two months!
Dr
Who
I am enjoying
the old eps of Dr Who that are playing at the moment, we record them and
watch them later in the evening. They are so cheesy! The Daleks are still
the best, though one Dalek last night had a definitely Northern English
accent, which was odd to say the least. They landed the tardis on the
Mary Celeste, the daleks followed and everyone on board jumped for fear
of their lives... cute.
I very much
enjoyed the scene where one of the Daleks fell overboard, lost his top
and screamed an unconvincing "aaaahhh" as he fell.
The Mary
Celeste was a tiny wooden model floating in a bath with some steam around
it in a vain attempt to hide the cheap production values. You could see
the glue protruding from the seams of the model.
At one point,
Vicki hit Ian on the head with a stick of some kind, and I distinctly
heard the clonk before the stick actually connected.
Good stuff.
Friday
26 December 2003
Hazy
days
I have changed
the "Sleeps to Clarion" at the top of this page so now it reflects
sleeps until I leave, rather than day 1 of the workshop. I am extremely
distracted... finding it hard to concentrate on just about anything.
Spent a good
part of yesterday and today sleeping, and after days of tossing and turning
and sleeping at most 3 hours a night, now I feel as though I have been
hit on the head with a brick.
The fact
that Xmas day was about 38 degrees Celsius didn't help, with nary a breeze.
Cooking again today for guests this evening...I'm enjoying that part of
the Xmas period. And the relief of not working for a while, though I do
have a course to prepare for March before I go officially on leave.
And still,
not a clue what to present in week 1.
I feel as
though I'm in an alternate universe, where nothing is the same. I am a
simulacrum of my normal self. Everything is a bit blurred and unreal.
Maybe I'm
sickening with something... maybe it's the extreme jar to my usual routine.
I don't know. But I really hope it passes soon.
Saturday
27 December 2003
Things
to do...
So,
it's just seven days until I leave, and here's what has to happen before
then:
- finish
writing a workshop I'm delivering about information architecture for
intranets
- revise
it with my boss, and finish it, send it to conference organisers
- decide
what the hell I'm going to show in week 1 at Clarion !! Maybe.. gosh,
even write something?
- pack
two suitcases so I know which things to put in suitcase two, which goes
in my car with my printer
- take
said suitcase in said car to the carrier, and hope like hell they'll
still take it for me
- meet
with three separate friends for lunch, since I've hardly had time to
see anyone for ages
- go
to Zara's for her birthday
- a
BBQ at another friend's house
- get
a pedicure... my toes are looking rather sad with peeling nail polish
- call
my ex-violin-student Naoko, who's in town this week, back from her second
year at the Royal Academy of Music in London, and arrange to meet
- see
Lord of the Rings (we have tickets at La Premiere)
- work
out how to use the XBox I gave Tony for Xmas, so he doesn't totally
thrash me when I get back
- exchange
my hairdryer thingy which just stopped working the other day, without
which my hair goes all frizzy, which means a trip into (gulp) town
- get
a refund from HCF for the various receipts I still have floating around
- pay
my December bills online
- work
out how my furniture should go into my dressing room, so that if Tony
does get it sanded in my absence, it will all be okay when I return
and won't need rearranging
AACK!
Oh...
and my mother and stepfather are going to be here all week. I'm sure I'll
have oh... two minutes or so to spend with them.
At
this rate, getting on that plane will be a relief.
You'll
notice my reading list hasn't grown much for the last several weeks. I
have had a Mary Gentle book on my bedside table for over a week and haven't
even opened it.
Sunday
28 December 2003
Fogginess
begone
I
still haven't opened Mary Gentle's book, but I did snitch the Nicci French
I gave Tony for Xmas out from under his nose while he was busy racing
cars around Paris on the XBox. I read it in one sitting... even though
I knew I should be writing that intranet course. It was fun though.
Went
for a long walk with Tony and the dog, and now feel ready to write that
course. I think that fog is finally lifting, thank Christ.
So
much for the to do list
I
just found out that my mother, on route to Sydney by car, had a small
stroke while having dinner in Wagga Wagga. She's now in the hospital there...
and that's scary. I mean, country hospitals dont' exactly thrill you with
their reliability. Last time I was in one was with Tony years ago and
they couldn't find a doctor or a pain tablet of any kind, plus they put
the plaster cast on his ankle so tight that when our doctor took it off
she paled and said, one more day and it would have been gangrene city
in there.
So..
we're flying down first thing in the morning to see what help we can be.
Tuesday
30 December 2003
Mothers
and Wagga Wagga
Well...my
mother is much mended. It's not clear at this point whether it was a mini
stroke or a dose of encephalitis (which apparently doctors pronounce with
a hard c... enkephalitis...new one on me). Either way, she is much better.
On
Sunday night she could hardly speak, but now she's speaking almost normally.
She substitutes a word for another sometimes, and is still hearing some
words that no one actually spoke. At one stage we were all laughing fit
to burst because every time someone spoke she heard what they said as
the word "smell". "How are you mum" became "how
smell you mum".
Now
the discussion is about when and how she can make her way back home. Tony
and I came back today, as everything seems to be under control.
I
will never forget the sight of her at one particular point. She got sick
of being in those horrid hospital gowns, so she put on the tshirt dress
she had with her, which has wide green and blue stripes across it. She
lay down on her stomach on top of the bedclothes, her head at the foot
of the bed, legs crossed in the air behind her.
She
had her head propped up on her hands, chatting to us and laughing aloud
at the stupid sentences she was making. She looked like she was at the
beach, or lying on her bed at home reading a book.
One
of the nurses came in and gave her a very disapproving frown. Not behaving
the way a patient should, I expect.
Wagga
is a lovely town
I've
never been there before and guess I never will again (fingers crossed).
It has loads of plane trees everywhere, a lovely river (Murrumbidgee I
think), and some lovely old cottages. It's very well kept but not in that
fanatical tidy town way. It has lots of industry, the university, the
RAF base, farming, and very low unemployment.
Compared
to somewhere like Taree, where I noticed quite a few groups of unhappy
people loitering about, there were happy, prosperous looking people everywhere.
Noticeably
absent were Aborigines... didn't see even one... and Asians. There were
one or two but it was definitely a WASP town.
Get
this: in the taxi last night we mentioned to the driver we'd need a taxi
to the airport today. "No worries", he said, "I'll fix
it". And at the appointed time, a taxi did indeed appear, with no
further calls from us. Sigh. Small towns are so cute.
On
the other hand...
On
the other hand, Wagga is HOT. It's like the heat you get when you open
the oven door: dry and intense. 36C in the shade, it must have been in
the low 40s in the sun at least.
You
don't even contemplate sitting outdoors at cafes. No breeze. The footpath
way too hot to walk on without shoes. Everything is airconditioned to
the max. Awnings over everything. Apparently it's like that every day
through all of summer. Yech.
That's
what a cappucino IS
And
there was the coffee thing. We forgot to bring the coffee plunger, and
though the motel we stayed at across the road from the hospital was 4-star,
just, it had no decent coffee. International Roast in the room. Blech!
So
I ordered coffee with breakfast but it was again international roast!
I drank the horrible stuff for the caffeine with lots of milk, not that
there was much caffeine in that devil's brew, and hung out for a real
one at the airport. I had noticed a cappucino machine there the previous
day on the way in.
At
the airport, I fell upon the coffee bar with glee.
Me:
May I please have a long black coffee.
Cafe
bar woman: We don't have no espresso.
Me:
(Glancing in puzzled fashion at the cappucino machine). But you have
cappucino?
CBW:
Yeah, love, we do that with instant. (Gestures at the big jar of Nescafe
behind her).
Me:
(Trying to repress horror, but failing). Sorry.. did you just say you
make cappucino with instant coffee?
CBW:
Yeah. Instant, with frothy milk in the machine. We do hot choccies too.
(You could almost see the thought bubble: 'demanding Sydney cow').
Me:
(Incredulously) Frothy milk. With instant coffee.
CBW:
That's what a cappucino is.
Me:
(speechless with horror).
Needless
to say I didn't order any. I did have some on the plane, for the first
time in years. Yes, that's what my addiction brought me to. That overbrewed,
dripolated, stinky burned coffee they serve in a plastic cup on the plane.
I've really reached rock bottom now, I thought.
Then
at Sydney airport, Tony waited for the bags and I nipped off to the ground
floor cafe and got a short black. They made it with beans, which
they ground fresh.
The
cafe guy said, as he watched me down it in two gulps, "you look like
you needed that". "A good short black is a little piece of heaven",
I said, and he nodded sagely. I told him about 'what a cappucino is',
and he laughed out loud. "Wagga", I added, and he nodded. "We
get a lot of business from there."
Suitcase
disasters
Spent
this evening packing. I have to pack everything so I know how much can
go into the boot of the car. That will be a day late now, but it can't
be helped. I may get the car on Monday, more likely Tuesday.
I
discovered that we only have one large suitcase. I had forgotten that
years ago one of them fell apart when Tony tried to pack it for a UK trip,
and we never replaced it.
So
now I have to go and buy one. Oh well, it had to happen sometime I suppose.
Wednesday
31 December 2003
Last
day of the year
This
morning I delivered my car to Toll Finemore. I have of course seen trucks
carrying things around by road. But I never gave it a thought. I drove
in there to find a whole world. The place takes up a few blocks, and it's
filled with all kinds of mysterious trucking things. I had no idea any
of it existed... a kind of parallel universe.
Apparently
all it takes to get my car to Brisbane is to park it there, fill out a
form, pay some money and Bob's your proverbial. I put the packed suitcases
into the boot, but they aren't insured, so that's a risk. Half my clothes
are in that boot. Gulp.
Also
Tony bought a new suitcase this afternoon and I have mostly packed that
as well, and now I really feel like I'm about to go.
Too
much honesty?
Then
I had lunch with Emma, which was delightful. She said my blog is "honest".
Hmm. Too honest? Or honest enough to be interesting?
I
have of course left out heaps of personal stuff, about me and people I
know. My intention is that everything private about people should stay
private. On the other hand, I want this blog to be an interesting record
or reporting of one person's Clarion experience, and if I leave out too
much it won't be that.
Lord
of the Rings (warning, spoilers)
We
saw Return of the King yesterday, and I thought it was brilliant. Three
and a half hours sped by, though there were a couple of slow patches they
didn't last long. The end was a little laboured, but then it is wrapping
up a 10 or so hour epic.
I
really got into the battles for a change. Loved Miranda Otto's line, "I
am no man", right before she thwomped the... no, I won't say, in
case you haven't seen it.
I
was very disappointed in Frodo. Perhaps I'm the only SF/fantasy fan who
has never got to the end of the books, but I did not know that Frodo does
not drop the damn ring into the Mountain of Doom. Cor. What a let down.
The
scene in which a huge hairy spider attacks Frodo was truly horrible. Normally
I don't mind spiders, but I sure did in this film. Yech.
21
today
Saw
my ex-violin-student Naoko today, and she's just turning 21. She had a
Tiffany's bag swinging off her arm.
Boy,
do I feel old! I taught her from the age of 6 to 12 or so, and now she's
living in London and has a French yacht captain for a boyfriend. It's
lovely that she still keeps in touch.
|
Finished.
At first I thought it was a charmingly observed study of English
village life. Like we need another one. But then I worked out
what speculative element is. It's a great read, but near the end
was a chapter that was too laboured. Apart from that, brilliant.
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