Disastrous Disasters
Posted in News and politics
Real Fame
Yeah, so I had my 15 minutes. Thankfully, they’re over now, and I no longer get weird half-familiar looks from people as I wander around Brisbane. (Unfortunately, my dad no longer gets drinks bought from him based on the fact that’s his daughter in “that ad”.)
All-in-all, it was a strange experience. I have two life-sized posters of myself in my hall closet. I had people asking to have their picture taken with me. I’ve had strangers hail me by name and introduce themselves. All-in-all, “creepy” really is a much better adjective, and the riddance is good.
But my friend James, his fame is more of the sticky kind (and according to him, often way more creepy). He’s on that TV show, and now! Oh, the mileage… One of Australia’s Most Eligible Bachelors. Go, now, vote for him. They’re putting an engineer up against football thugs and flight attendants!
Posted in Entertainment
Ben Franklin ain’t got nothing on me
I’m involved in a patent application at work, and we got an email yesterday from the lawyer with the salutation "Dear Inventors".
I’ve never been an inventor before. I feel like some great new responsiblity has been bestowed on me. It feels like I’m now supposed to be tinkering down in the basement, cooking up some sort of machine triggered by my alarm clock that will tip me out of bed into my clothes, make me toast and eggs and funnel me into my car. It’s a lot of pressure. Not the least of which is because I don’t have a basement.
Posted in Uncategorized
Welcome to fücking Deadwood!
"Should it ever be your misfortune, gentlemen, or mine, to need to kill a man, then let us toast, together, the possibility that our trials be held in this camp."
It’s like they beta’d the Californian justice system in the Badlands of South Dakota.
Alex and I have just spent a Florida-interrupted few days marathoning a TV show, and I’m honour-bound to report that my pantheon of shows has a new member. At the other end of the spectrum from shiny young Veronica Mars is a friendly and couth little show called Deadwood.
Deadwood has a fair bit going for it. It’s dirty, violent and primal and looks and sounds beautiful. It has a huge cast of wonderfully dimensional characters staffed by a veritable treasure-trove of "Hey it’s that guy"s. It’s written by psychotic junkie David Milch. But I love it most for the language.
When most people talk about Deadwood language, they kinda mean the obvious thing. That thing that has people starting way too many forum posts with "I’m not a prude but…" The thing most amusingly referred to as the "swears". (What are we? Five?)
Yeah, so profanity is used in Deadwood. A lot. A fucking lot. If you want to know what a fucking lot is, here’s a link to seven rather blue-tinged minutes of audio snipped from one 53-minute Deadwood episode. This page even handily has a running tally.
But I don’t think it’s the swearing that makes the language of Deadwood so notable. Someone (who as far as I can tell is known only for this line) said "Profanity is the common crutch of the conversational cripple". Deadwood is an example of the absolute opposite. Deadwood dialogue is far from conversationally retarded. Deadwood dialogue is so ornate yet poetic and lyrical, it’s Shakespearean.
Deadwood makes watching TV a contact sport, but damn… I mean, fuck it’s worth it.
Posted in Television
Hero: It’s not just a big sandwich
At Kennedy Space Center, I was reminded how weird I found it when the victims of September 11th were referred to as "heroes". (I’ll refrain from side-tracking on how I feel about "coward" being used to describe the terrorists.) Most definitions of ‘hero’ include references to courageous action, and while this certainly applies to the passengers who caused the plane to crash in Pennsylvania, and to all astronauts, it seems inaccurate to ascribe it to all September 11th victims or to restrict it to only those astronauts who died on the Challenger and Columbia.
The Columbia and Challenger astronauts were also martyrs, but after seeing the pyrotechnical footage of the failures of the early rocket testing, learning about the triumph of skill and luck over general fuck-up that was the first moon landing, and knowing about Apollos 1 and 13, Challenger and Columbia, anyone who steps into NASA machinery is acting pretty bloody courageously in my book.
Especially those Mercury 7 guys. They heard "So we’re going to take an ICBM, strap you to the front and point it up instead of at Russia" and said "Okay then" and obviously have brass in place of genitalia.
Winston Scott was asked if he was ever afraid on his Shuttle missions – he said that he wasn’t, that ‘excited’ really described how he felt. He seemed genuine, but I’ve got to think that the ten years between the Challenger Disaster and his missions helped a bit. The crew that loads into Discovery next month for the first Shuttle flight since Columbia has a great reason to be a bit more nervous. Overcoming fear about the repeated failure of the crappy old Shuttle technology is heroic.
As a girl-power side-note, I have to say that it seems they’re in the best hands possible. At the helm will be Eileen Collins, first woman to pilot a Shuttle and first woman to command a Shuttle mission. Apparently, since the first Shuttle launch, crews have been contributing to a pool to be awarded to the first "perfect" landing. Collins collected that pool on her debut as commander.
Posted in Language
Arlene, astronauts and alligators, oh my
Had a jaunt to Florida. Had a conference to attend in Orlando, so to celebrate the Twenty-Ninth Year of Me, my boy shunted on down later in the week, and we wandered all about central Florida on the weekend.
We were planning on heading down to Palm Beach and doing a couple of dives (there are some great wrecks and nice lazy drift dives there), but that pesky Tropical Storm Arlene put the kibosh on it. On the plus side, we were under Tornado Watch for a few hours – we’d just been on the Twister ride at Universal Studios the night before, so Alex spent time peering hopefully out the window.
Despite the weather, we went to Wet’n’Wild. It reminded me how glad I am to live in a city where most people are mostly covered up most of the time.
With Geek Boy in tow, the trip to Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral was mandatory. I tried in vain to appear jaded and bemused by the frantic geeking-out taking place beside me, but it was actually very cool. I could have done without the strident patriotic Bruckheimer-esque musak that blared out throughout the place, but it is hard to belittle that whole landing on the Moon thing.
Alex got to meet astronaut Winston Scott. By all reports, he won the encounter – Mr Scott said that he’d never been to Australia and would quite like to, to which Alex replied that he’d never been to Space, and ditto. I’m confident that the photographic record will be up on Alex’s blog with much haste.
Geek Boy has eagle eyes too (our scuba guides always learn to hang near Alex so whenever he spots stuff, they can get points showing it to the rest of the group) and so managed to spot an alligator in the ditch beside our tour bus. They make this big deal about how Kennedy Space Center lies in the middle of a 140 000 acre nature preserve that is home to more endangered species than anywhere else in the US….then they take us to an observation point three miles from the two main Shuttle launch pads and brag that if we were there during the launch, the concussion would kill us. Sweet, load that place up with bald eagles, manatees and rare frogs.
Posted in Travel
Dude. Dumb.
"Murder Suspect Climbs 18-Story Crane". Wow, he was really not smart. He should have known that unless he had Punjab primed with helicopter and turban, this was not going to turn out well for him.
I’m not sure whether I’m now supposed to riff on the stupidity of criminals or the lessons we should learn from films. Or maybe an exploration of the disturbing plots of movie musicals and a comparison of the songs "Little Girls" in "Annie" and "Gigi" in particular. Maybe I could write at length about my fascination with construction cranes and the rather self-referential way they’re put together. Probably I should just discuss my life-long goal to be described as a Renaissance chick.
Posted in News and politics
Hey, Star Wars, remember when you were cool?
In the commentary for the Season 2 Buffy episode "Innocence", Joss Whedon says "The two most important things to me are emotional resonance and rocket launchers". You can set your story where ever you like, you can make it as big or as insignificant as you like, but if your characters aren’t real, if your audience can’t relate to their problems and become invested in their success, you’re going to fall on your ass. Oh, hi Mr Lucas, can I help you up?
Episode III seriously blew. It pretty much had to deliver one piece of character development successfully – Anakin turns to the Dark Side. Now, it may be that Hayden Christianson just can’t act (and really, he just can’t), but he was given no assistance by the story. His motivation was thin, delivered badly, inconsistently and unconvincingly. He turned to the Dark Side because it said so in the script.
The only cool part of this film was its foundation for the original three movies. And the Wookies.
Posted in Entertainment
Girl, you should hear what people say about you
It’s official. I’m obsessed with "Veronica Mars" It’s engrossing, entertaining, clever and this article does a way better job explaining what else is so fricking cool about this venture into shiny Californian teenage noir.
My summer project is going to be to convert all Buffy fans (Kb, Stace, Robin, I’m looking at you) if I have to duct-tape a television to their heads. It’s completely freaking me out to be so into this show, have all sorts of theories about everything ever and to have NO-ONE TO TALK TO ABOUT IT!
Posted in Television
To sleep, perchance to do a bunch of drugs
Emerson wrote "Judge of your natural character by what you do in your dreams."
I have a frightening natural character.
I dreamed that Cin, Kb and I, along with the Alexs, were in a Buddhist Monastery at the Mt Everest Base Camp. (It wasn’t an actual monastery – I suspect my subconscious drew on kung fu movies when creating an appropriately Himalayan building.) While exploring, a touter tried to get us to come and see the preview of a new ballet: a ballet of Sweeney Todd.
There are many bizarre aspects to this dream, but the one I was very concerned about, even within the dream, was how the hell you’d make a ballet out of Sweeney Todd. It doesn’t seem to lend itself to graceful storytelling. Plie, plie, arabesque, stuff person in pie, grand jete!
The dream also had an undesirable by-product – I woke up with "The Ballad of Sweeney Todd" stuck in my head.
"….Fleet! Street!"
UPDATE: Yammy has a strange natural character too. He reports the following:
"You might find it amusing to know that a few nights ago I had a dream about having dinner with BillG and his friends (he picked me up in his helicopter and we went to the Bahamas). When he showed up and shook my hand, he said "Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Ilana Smith."
Posted in Health and wellness









