Cranko-meter: not cranky
Sorry I haven’t been here more often; I think doing a lot of corporate writing for tender responses has turned my brain into a buzzword-spitting bullshit bingo machine. Innovative! Ka-pow! Solution! Ka-ching! Nah, I promise I haven’t been using waffle-words to bid for the supply of things that have already been invented.
Anyway, I was in the city during the week to run some errands and was checking my blog feed while waiting for a tram. My favourite librarian had just posted a blog entry that one of his poems was on show at an exhibition at Flinders Street station. And I, at the time, was one stop from Flinders Street station. Freaky coincidence and serendipitious planetary timing, I think so.
I swooshed my soon-to-be axed casual user’s travel card through the turnstiles and checked out the Moving Galleries exhibition. What a grand idea to bring arts to the peeps at the train station.
I took a pic of all three poems on this panel as I like them all in different ways, but congratulations to the comrade in the middle for having his work acknowledged in public.
It’s really, really difficult harnessing enough agro to be cranky when I’m rested, awake, nourished, somewhat fitter, not worried about much and having a prolonged period of freedom from the original black dog. I’ve read some unexpectedly good books, arsed in great parking spots whenever I’ve had to drive, and the shitty things like not being able to find local Japanese restaurants that actually want to provide food fade from my grumpy storage banks before I get to jot them down.
And Guy Pearce is on the cover of The Age’s A2 lift-out today. Life is good.
I need to get back to work so I have a locus of shittiness again.
Added: I took a photo of the front of the A2 as it’s an even nicer picture.
Crank-o-meter: is this what they call content?
With more than a million hits and hundreds of comments on every post, I’m last in line to know about Margaret and Helen and the whacky cross-section of society who post comments on their blog.
Thanks, Foodycat, I found them when clicking through your site!
I want to be them when I get older. Ah, bugger it, I want to be them now.
Now go away while I make some popcorn and laugh at Helen’s crisp analysis of Christmas tradition:
However you celebrate the holiday with your family – celebrate it fully and savor the time with loved ones. Hang your tree right side up, upside down or stick it up your ass for all I care. Quit worrying about how others choose to celebrate it. It accomplishes nothing except to ruin your own holiday.
I wonder what they make of Kris Kringles and office Christmas lunches that no one wants to organise but everyone bitches about?
Crank-o-meter: sides are aching
In world-breaking astronomy news, Venus, Jupiter and the eyelash moon will form a smiley face in this evening’s sky. Have a look after 9pm and grin back at the happy formation.
The weather report for most of Australia is dark and possibly cloudy, so let’s hope the (wo)man in the moon can peek its head out to say hi. And hopefully it’s a starry night so the face has freckly cheeks because that would amuse and delight me even further. I don’t know if readers in the northern hemisphere will see the same formation because you’re upside-down and all, but I’ll try to get a photo.
By the way, the journo referred to this celestial event as a smiley face before I did. Okay, he used ‘crescent’ to describe the moon and not ‘eyelash’, but that’s my value adding service.
Crank-o-meter: say cheese
There’s something about echidnas that makes me squeal with joy and hang out with them until they curl up in little balls and try to spray rather rank jets of piss at me.
I met this juvenile one out looking for ants (it was looking for ants, I’m too short-sighted to do such a thing). This one must have wonky vision like mine because s/he bumped into my leg before meandering off to the next ant hole.
I’m starting a course tonight in radio broadcasting and engineering (or whatever you call the dialling of knobs and pressing of switches to make sounds come out of the trannie).
It’s a tad exciting, especially when I had forgotten my commitment in one of those, gee, that sounds great, I’m up for it moments earlier in the year. Courses are panelled at the kind of short and casual notice that makes my plan-everything-to-the-nth-degree gene twitch just a little. I don’t even know if they want money; I don’t have any so perhaps I can dust the dials to pay my way.
It’s also a tad stressful because anything that runs on electricity and technology tends to die when I start fiddling. Let’s see: the blog has been destroyed twice, I lost a stack of work e-mails last week and they’re not in the deleted box so they could be missing in inaction anywhere, the Bluetooth thingy on the laptop doesn’t talk to me any more and there’s that day I logged in and brought down an entire network without even trying. These talking on the radio people are the type who keep organisations running on goodwill and magic and I’m not sure they can afford to take me in.
I have a face for radio but a voice for mime, so I doubt anything will come of it apart from learning something interesting. And I’m currently obsessed with Balkan-inspired hip hop beats and the other five people in the country who share this obsession won’t be in frequency range.
Please don’t let me break anything.
Crank-o-meter: good evening and welcome to the cranky hour
I’m a bit brain-foggy from a mysterious sleep drought, so until my mojo comes back, here’s librarytart, a new blog I’ve been working on. I have a mission to read the books from A to Z in my local library .
It could be fun as I’ll use the magic 8 ball to decide when to change to the next letter .
 Not all the books, as I have realised there are too many and I’m tiring of A already.
 Most of my life decisions are made with the toss of a coin, but a magic 8 ball is good for handling direct questions, if a bit wishy-washy sometimes.
Crank-o-meter: writing the little book of not sleeping