November 2006 Archives

my father shares the following from Layall Watson, Lifetide: The Biology of the Unconscious:

The human eye is limited to events that take place no faster than fifty times a second. This factor, which is known as its critical fusion frequency or CFF, is what determines how we see the world and how we react to what we consider to be objective reality. It is ultimately this which determines the level at which we are conscious.

To take a simple example, a sheet of writing paper has many possible realities. To me it is a featureless rectangle until I begin to scribble on its blank face. But a faster organism with a CFF of less than a thousandth of a second, though it would see my hand crawling painfully slowly, might even be able to pick up the movement of molecules in the paper itself. While a slower being, with a CFF of an hour, wouldn’t be aware of my hand at all, but would each hour on a good day see yet another page instantly and magically filled with a closely reasoned manuscript.

Imagine that instead of a camera filming us from a nearby star, we are being observed by an awesome organism with a CFF equivalent to one earth week. Assuming that it, like us, has divided time into convenient portions about fifty CFF’s long, one stellar second will roughly correspond to each earth year. And if it should in such a second happen to glance at us through some unimaginable telescope, this is what it would see: Earth’s surface would be a blur, because it would be spinning at over three hundred revolutions per second. It would not be spherical, but would look instead like a diffuse cylinder stretched into an ellipse around our sun. And although this sounds paradoxical—you can prove it to your own satisfaction by constructing a simple model—the surface of the earth, the area on which we live, is on the inside of this cylinder.

perhaps this explains why i've been feeling a bit spread out lately? i just see things slower than you. or, er, slower than humanity-at-large.

i can live with that.

slowly.

so i think maybe i'll look into working with established web design firms here in melboure? i do some googling, click to the top hits for "melbourne web design":

uh.

*shudder*

garsh. most of them are so, well, ugly. and the design on the design sites? not well designed. it's almost funny. two of them wouldn't ever LOAD.

anyone want to set up a web design firm here in melbourne with me? you don't even have to MOVE here. i'll just gig things out to you. now that the american dollar is in the crapper there isn't even a big incentive to earn them greenbacks. try our money. it's more colorful!

and it has the queen on it. oh wait. that's an emu.

whatever.

the good news is that none of them list copywriting as an offered service. i could try to get in there as a favored contractor or something. just as soon as i figure out how much copywriters make in australia, that is.

i may find that out tomorrow, actually. i have an interview for a j.o.b.

where hopefully they will not laugh at me because all my writing samples are from last century. ha ha ha.

our thanksgiving was chocko with good food but we miss our family. our friends. soon we will have gobs of friends here. soon.

today is thanksgiving. maybe not actually, but for us. it's just not particularly feasible to cook all day on a thursday if you have to work.

and bartlebee had to work. so for us thanksgiving is on saturday.

what? you think i know how to cook a turkey on my own?

step one: get turkey
this wasn't so easy in melbourne. in the states, everyone is hawking turkeys in november. here, not so much. after asking around in a bunch of places i found one halal poultry market that said they could get me one. when i came to pick it up they said, "sorry mate, you asked for a 5kg bird but we could only get you this 8kg one." we like leftovers, but that's crazy-talk. luckily i'd spotted one in the butcher in the local foofy-department store the day before. so we got us a bird.

step two: brine turkey
that was kind of an adventure. we don't actually have big bowls or anything so i had to use the broiling pan. a 5kg bird in another kg of salt water isn't light or easy to move. i only almost dropped it only once.

step three: watch football
i was all happy because i found this site that organizes NFL torrents and figured i could download the annual Detroit Lions thanksgiving lose-fest for us to watch while waiting for dinner. alas, the seeders all disappeared when i was at 90.4% so i lose on watching the Lions lose. they do lose, right? i can't recall them ever winning on thanksgiving. i'm still hoping some seeders reappear, but so far no love.

step four: watch wife cook turkey
this part was surprisingly easy.

step five: deal with repairmen
what, you think we get the day off just because it's a national holiday in some other country on a different day? no. today we saw a second plumber who agreed to try to talk our landlord into replacing our range as the gas burners are befucked. also, don't laugh, we had our washing machine replaced again. this is our third washer. if it doesn't work we've been promised our money back. frankly, if it doesn't work i'm going wear the same pair of dirty skivvies and hang around the white-goods shop for two months in protest.

step six: blog
uh. i'm thankful that most of the repairmen have come and gone. i'm thankful that i got to talk to my family yesterday when they all called from san francisco. i'm thankful that my visa has come through. i'm thankful that we have at least two friends in melbourne whom we actually like. i'm thankful that my wife knows how to bake pies. we've got apple-cranberry and pun'kin'.

she's really foxy when she bakes pies.

the kindly folks at boingboing have introduced me to joe sayers. joe sayers writes comix that make me snort. he also lives in oakland. do you live near oakland? good. buy him some cookies. he deserves them.

i also deserve one of his shirts that is orange and men's small and says, "never give up on your stupid, stupid dreams."

because, uh, my dreams are pretty stupid and yet i still have them all the time. in fact, i just achieved one of them! i am australiafied. i have a two years temporary residency visa, a medicare card and an australian tax id number! why did i want that stuff again? i forget.

my other stupid stupid dream is to have a working washing machine. yes. i am still waiting for the repair dude. they were supposed to show up last night but they did not. ha ha ha.

today i need to return the library books, buy two water glasses, a baster and a funnel, pick up the turkey, mail a bunch of stuff and do other things that i cannot remember now. it's a day of excitement!

also the midwestern wondertwins sent me a package. it had ding dongs in it. it also had a choose your own adventure book entitled, "space vampire," by edward packard. have you heard of him? i think he's supposed to be good. there were sausages inside the package as well but the customs guys ate them.

they left a note. it said, "sorry we ate your sausages but we are not allowed to let things we want to eat into australia. please ask your friends to send us you more delicious pickled meat products."

i don't know why the customs guys are so hungry. it must have something to do with the economy.

Dear Zack

I have been able to grant your Visa today. You can collect your passport tomorrow between 9.00 am and 1.30pm. If this is not convenient please ring me on (redacted) to arrange an appropriate time.

Regards

Annette

translation: i am now an australian resident. if you're in the neighborhood, drinks are on me.

of course it'll be a tinnie of vb, mate. i still don't have a job...

i'm waiting at home again today.

for a repair guy.

for a repair guy who was supposed to come yesterday. so i waited home all day yesterday. for a repair guy.

our super fancy, ultra-expensive ($300) washing machine is leaving pretty brown stairs on my wife's clothes. i told her it was all the rage. like stone-washed jeans. it's brown-washed t-shirts! why would you want that passe "i just bought it and it's one of two shirts i own" look when you could have clothes covered in brown stains?

jeez. people are so blind to cutting-edge fashion.

so yeah. i'm waiting home again. i called the appliance place and they said the guy would come "around lunchtime." which is nowish. i'm waiting.

if i do get out of the house today (excitement!) i will swing by the internet cafe to print out my new resume, my second xword puzzle, and make a copy of my super flash FBI criminal record report for my records.

i sent off for the report three months ago. it took them a long time to process it because you know i'm a gangsta. after all that time i got it back -- the exact same form i sent them but with a magnificently official-looking, bought-it-at-Office Max black smeary block text stamp on the back that reads, "No Arrest Record" and the date.

uh. thanks. if i had known it was going to be so unforgable i definitely wouldn't have considered making a fake one at the corner shop for $15.99. hey! maybe that's my new business plan? have a criminal record? want to purge it? $15.99.

our tax dollars at work. oh wait. sorry. YOUR tax dollars at work. i've moved to australia...

where the FBI has no knowledge of my house-arrest record.

my baby just wanted some clean clothes, officer. i'm not a violent man. unless the repair guy doesn't show again.

it's little balls of ice, falling from the sky.

this i suppose is melbourne spring? bouncing from scorching high-thirties (that's celsius) to hail storm to back. which suits my mood fine. 'cause i'm bouncing high and low, too.

the question on everyone's mind (and for those of you who haven't asked, thanks) is what will i do for work?

i really don't know. today, as the hail gets a bit vicious on our rose bushes, i'm thinking of those immortal words from raising arizona:

H.I., you're young and you got your health, what you want with a job?

so true, evelle, so true. and after reading this article i'm thinking i might try to get back into contracting. as a tech/copy writer. new mate simon points out i'm american, and more than that, from silicon valley -- that's like being siberian and applying to taste-test vodka! it's gold, baby! who cares if i haven't ever had any tech writing training? who cares if the most technical thing i've written in five years is directions to the flat we were subletting in wellington? (if you've been there, you get the joke.) i mean, looking on-line, i even found a placement agency for tech writers. i could start working their gigs and once we've paid off the debt, try to do more of my own stuff.

like maybe starting up a website and seeing if i can make some moolah using google adsense? if i can figure out how to get traffic (anyone want to pose naked?) to a website, i can make as much as at a stinkin' temp job. of course getting the traffic is the key. i'm savvy enough to build a site that looks better than average for a blog. i can write content fo' shizzle. i just need to figure out a niche.

my mother always thought i should make orthodox jewish porn and here's where that idea bites her on the ass.

no. just kidding mom. who wants to listen to "oy oy oy oy oyyyyyy veyyyyyyyyyy!!!!?"

i mean, more than once? or twice if you're showing your friend what you found on the internets.

i do have a whole mess of pre-prepared content from when i was working on those travel books. maybe i should just slap a bunch of that together and try and compete in the indie-travel market? i'm not seeing a whole lot out there in terms of backpacker/travel blogs that appeals. just 'cause i'm feeling a bit too grandpa to do much more traveling doesn't mean i can't run a travel blog. i think?

in a sense Troublonia is already set to transform. decent look. workable interface.

do i really want to blog for money?

um.

it's bright and sunny now.

maybe i'll get a job.

i know that i was on dial-up for a month and before that traveling in such well known internet speed demon hubs as addis ababa and kampala but still:

my new dsl2+ connection here in melbourne with iinet is smokin'. thought if someone out there was googling for "melbourne broadband provider" or something i could give iinet a shout out. 'cause it's fast and their help desk answers the phone, speaks english, and is actually helpful.

perhaps they can teach HP something?

do you, xzackly, take this country to be your lawfully wedded place of legal residence?

i do.

i'm practicing. i got a nice form letter from the australian department of migration and cultural affairs. it was all in one font except for a long alphanumeric identifier, my name, the name of my assigned case officer and a date.

i have a date! what should i wear? do you think my hair looks better up? what about this skirt? is it too slutty? i hope she likes me! oh oh oh!

it's set for next tuesday. i'm supposed to bring my wife which makes it kind of a weird date, but hey, i'm a foreigner. when in rome and all.

i've got all my documents squared away so it's feasible i'll be able to work in a few wee... wait? job? i've got a date that's going to end in a job? dude. that is fucked up. this may be the worst date ever. i'm definitely not wearing the slutty skirt.

oh fine, they already took a sample of my fluids so there's no point in acting demure. i just hope they like me. you know, REALLY like me 'cause this date cost over two thousand dollars and i'm definitely expecting a little chicka-boom for that kinda cash.

yes. chicka-boom for both me and my wife. jeez. what kinda gentleman does you think i is?

the kind who thinks american movies need to pick up the pace, that's who. last night i watched Miami Vice. this was a mistake. it was about as exciting as professional bowling. and colin farrell looked like will ferrell in a bad wig. if it's comedy, good. in an intense action-drama? nu-huh girlfren'. i think it was about drug dealers, but it might have been about the importance of having a nice cellphone.

it's important to have a nice cell, you know? otherwise, how will your snitch reach you in your really fast car while you're driving it over your really fast boat to the plane. on drugs. on the phone. while having sweaty sex.

okay, so i realize that now it sounds like it wasn't that bad a movie, but it was. i would have rather watched that old episode of the miami vice tv show with phil collins in it. hmmm. i wonder if i can download that?

i also went with my sister and brother-in-law to the $5 matinee of The Departed. what does it say about this scorsese, damon, dicaprio, nicholson film that i came away saying, "well, at least i thought markie mark was good."

not much, that's what. by the end, i didn't care who was good and who was bad. i just wanted them all to die so i could say, "the end."

that's two big american films by critically acclaimed directors that have been less-good that watching drunk guys trying to negotiate revolving doors.

on the other hand, i watched Kenny, which is this australian film about a guy who runs porta-loos. shot doco style. engaging and honest and actually funny and insightful. and i watched Suburban Mayhem which was like britney spears jacked up on reds and shoved into an episode of Twin Peaks with a lit stick of dynamite in her ass (lit side in). it's one of those movies where you leave saying, "i need a drink" and "you don't see that everyday" and "mommy." i think you should see it. i also think you should bring whiskey with you.

yazza yazza yazza!

i cannot tell you how nice it is to wake up to discover that there is a very good reason for that smug smile to have been smacked off the face of gwb. don't let the fact that you've been axed torture you, rummy.

but, political rays of sunshine aside, i'm celebrating our live dsl installation by posting pix of our new house in melbourne. thought you might like to see where we ended up after all that galavanting.

things are looking okay after a rough week of waiting for plumbers, fridge repairmen, deliveries... also, for a change, my hard drive failed. luckily i was able to salvage it with the help of my brother-in-law. total rebuild.

i called HP for help.

(laugh now)

it's a bee-utiful day so i'm going outside now. i hope to start blogging more often now that we're off the dial-up trudge.

Today, for the first time, I feel like I live in Melbourne.

We moved into our place last Thursday. Had a night to ourselves with only a bed for furniture. Then our mate Glenn stayed with us for the weekend while we scurried around like busy little mice buying and fetching and sorting. Last night we were on our own again. I cooked up some bolognaise with lamb mince. Bartlebee ran out for a bottle of wine. We ate at our hand-me-down table (white wood, two leaves, six chairs) and watched an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. The first-part of the one where some guy gets an unexploded bazooka shell stuck in his chest. Opiate of the masses and all.

This morning, Bartlebee woke up early and took the tram down to her month-long temp gig at Fosters (yes, the beer co.) I woke up a bit later and had the house to myself. Our house. To myself.

I live here. My stuff is unpacked. We have dishes and cutlery and an ironing board. My wife has a job. We’ve got four phone numbers and dsl is on the way. There is a key, to the door, in my pocket. Our handyman’s name is Ron. Our green grocer is Nasser. Our neighbors are Kaylene and Peter and their son, Jeff. They brought us lemons and flowers and bottle of sweet white wine.

All these people. All these things. They’re in Australia, just like me. Sometimes that isn’t so dramatically noticeable but those times are rare. I feel it when I’m trying to figure out how to make a phone call. I feel it when the woman at the café asks me where I’m sitting and I need to ask her to repeat the question because I don’t understand her version of English. I feel it when we’re driving up to visit grandma and we miss slamming into a mid-sized roo by about four millimeters. A kangaroo. In the road. Whipping it’s tail out of the way of our headlights at the last second and looking over its shoulder at me in full marsupial meltdown. I feel foreign crossing the street and looking in my wallet and shopping in the market.

What is that feeling like you ask?

Today it presents as; “oh shit.”

It’s the “oh shit” of waiting for the elevator to open on your first day of work; knowing that when it does there will be an office full of people you’ve committed to joining on the other side, smiling expectantly. Are they smiling because you're going to fit in or because you've made a ghastly mistake? Or maybe because by the time you figure out which it is you'll be close enough to forty to hit it spitting.

I'm thinking I'm going to like it here. I'm also thinking it's going to take me a while to get used to having foreign feel normal. Because I think trying to feel Australian is as smart as trying to feel ceramic, or intangible. Aint gonna happen.

Ding. I guess this is my floor.