This is the wind farm in Albany. This is the most interesting photo I have of the trip because I am a tool and decided that my camera would be more “interesting” if all the menu items were in Japanese, and accidentally deleted all the photos I took while hiking up Bluff Knoll. They were cool photos - you could see for, like, a hundred kilometres - and hard won because it was frickin’ difficult climbing that mountain. Think of taking the stairs up a 200-storey bulding.

Other unphotographed highlights of the trip included:
the world’s slowest kebab shop in Albany
a cool little maze made out of bushes, between Albany and Walpole
awesome heath plant communities (I have a thing for heath, ok?)
“Fun Chick” - the world’s worst promotional mascot. (It’s a badly drawn chicken with what appears to be armpit stubble, used in fast food restaurants in Albany and Kojinup.)

We also went in this gantry thingo in the trees. ‘Valley of the Giants’ it’s called. The one in Victoria is better.

I got the first Sugarcubes album. They are the Icelandic Talking Heads. It’s my favourite form of Björk.

I saw Death Proof. It was sweet: great music, cool chicks, awesome stunts and a blatantly moralistic but satisfying ending. It’s my favourite form of Tarantino.

That is all.

But hey, has anyone been listening to anything good lately? I’m thinking of legitimately purchasing the new Be Your Own Pet album, but maybe I really want something else. Is the Operator Please album any good? It has to be fast is the main thing.

From Cabinet of Wonders

PS I am sick. *sneeeze*

Degrees inside: 16
Number of jumpers: 3
Heater: useless
Mood: frickin’ cold

I want one of these. Maybe not the pants.

Next year. Early. February sometime. Neato!

I went to the funeral. It was sad, but bearably so. Here are the things I found interesting:

1. It seems that, in death, one is divested of the humility that one had during life. Which is not to say that the eulogies were exaggerated, or even lacking in humour. Just that everyone treats you with a much greater reverence when you are gone than they ever did when you were present to take the compliment. Bummer!

2. The music was silly. Sometimes it was meant to be, as when the coffin disappeared to the tune of ‘Whiskey Bar’ by the Doors. Other tunes, like ‘Simply the Best,’ however, seemed a little out of place. Mind you, I think almost any song with lyrics would be out of place at a funeral. Even though there might be a triumphal line that, at first glance, appears to apply to the deceased, the song is inevitably about something else – as when that gangster in Victoria was carried down the aisle to the tune of ‘White Flag’ by Dido.

3. Mind you, I could totally see the fun in being cremated to the tune of ‘Can’t Touch This’ by MC Hammer.

4. There are things that one shouldn’t think but inevitably does. First, all of the above. Contemplation of the deceased should not be interrupted by wondering what would be the dumbest song that could possibly be played at a funeral. Second, yes, I was checking out all the girls. Apparently it is true that the death of a friend puts one’s priorities in order; just that the particular order in which one’s priorities end up might be somewhat embarrassing. At least the deceased would have dug it.

5. That’s it. I didn’t cry or anything. Even though some of my friends did. It all seemed somehow normal. Not even all that sad really. Just an ending.

just gave me an ad for online dating with the title: “25 and still single?” :(( Grr! Is this what targeted advertising is for? Insulting you in a more personal way? Highlighting your inadequacies in a more detailed and comprehensive way? Wot a load of bollox.

I have to go to a funeral on Tuesday. (Dr Minotaur won’t be there.)

So today I had my first inspection at my new apartment. I have had a couple before - always in Perth, never in Sydney, since real estate agents in Sydney have better things to do than pry into people’s personal lives - and the people inspecting my apartment have always said “no problems.” That is, they leave a note saying “no problems,” because I would rather absent myself during such proceedings. However, when I came home tonight, there was a note saying (of all things!) “please tidy up a bit more for inspections.” Obviously, I am completely hurt and boiling with rage. The nerve!

Seriously though, I am not sure of the purpose of this note, nor how to respond to it. I can, of course, see that they may have a point. If you have been to one of my apartments you will know that I am by no means King of Neatness and Archduke of Tidytown. I tend to leave stuff scattered everywhere, simply because it pleases me not to have to open a cupboard or a draw to get things when I want them. It’s not mess per se, but a form of organisation that makes full use of the available space on benches, tables, chairs and the floor. You will notice that my cupboards are, by contrast, basically empty. So there is a degree of untidiness which, to the naked eye, may be interpreted as the product of laziness rather than, as I have cogently argued, a verve for efficiency. However, having said that, there is no dirt. Nor mould, nor rubbish, nor odour. The apartment itself is in perfect condition, regardless of the haphazard manner in which its contents are arranged. Therefore, I can only interpret this note as an attempt to “improve” me as a person, by demanding that I adopt more conventional habits with regards to the way I use the space in my apartment. The subtext would thus appear to read:

“dear Mark, you are clearly not a derelict or a man-monkey. Nonetheless, this place could use a ‘woman’s touch,’ so to speak. I mean, why don’t you just put things away? Learn to be tidy? Make it an everyday thing, and before long you will be doing it automatically. I mean, if your grandmother came over and had a look at this, don’t you think she might be mildly disappointed? You should really just try to be more like other people. Or at least try to put on a better show for inspection day. Because, you know… I have authority over how you live your life. It may be a vague and nebulous authority, and it’s certainly not written into your lease agreement, but it’s there. So suck it, lowly tenant. Bye! PS: Beware my wrath.”

Now my problem, as I stated earlier, is how to respond to such a stinging rebuke. I am inclined to feel an injustice has been done, since the manner of my habitation is exactly what one would expect from a single, male student in the middle of completing his doctorate - perhaps even a bit better, for that matter. Moreover, I possess a couple of rather unfortunate personal characteristics: the first being that I tend to cling, if rather tentatively, to the notion that people ought to accept me as I am, and the second being that I cannot stand arbitrary and pointless exercises of authority. These difficulties mean that I am unlikely to do any more cleaning before inspection day than I would do normally, and am therefore bound to receive more barbed missives from real estate agents in the future. That would be distressing - especially since, as I mentioned, I am not entirely sure that people ought to accept me as I am. Perhaps I should change? This evening I did some additional tidying and found it somewhat gratifying. But to change my ways would leave me with the inevitable feeling that I have suffered some great moral defeat. Should I trade my pride for a complimentary slip of paper? And even then, the apartment might still be deemed unsatisfactory, in which case I shall have neither pride nor paper. I will be left disconsolate and with the impression of having been violated. Which, one would suppose, is the ultimate goal and satisfaction of all real estate agents.

Perhaps, if I have made my mind up to give in to this harassment, I should at least be clear on the standards required. I therefore submit the following questions:

Do the benches have have to be empty?
Can there be things on the table? Are postcards okay? How about a jumper?
Do I need to make the bed? (If so, how is that done?)
Do the cables of my computer have to be… straighter?
Is it okay to leave a Playstation controller on the floor in front of the tv?
Can there be soapy buildup in the soap holder in the shower?
Is it wrong to have a ukelele on the couch?
Given that the back of a chair is almost certainly the wrong place to dry a towel, what would be an acceptable alternative?

And, unless these questions can be answered, how am I to prepare? The most rigorous professor in the world could not set an exam without giving in advance a reasonably specific account of the knowledge required in order to pass. Yet, here I am. With neither moral fortitude nor the knowledge required in order to get out of having to show moral fortitude. In short, helpless.

I’m reading a book. Not now, obviously, but generally. I hope to pick it up again soon. This evening I will defer to some interesting videos but maybe tomorrow I will read more.

The book is ‘The Europeans’ by Henry James. It’s all about… uh, well it’s extremely slow and it involves lots of women who are not particularly pretty. That’s all I have worked out so far.

My backup plan is to re-read ‘Fear of Flying’ by Erica Jong. One way or another, I will Read a Book. Cool!