Preview of the Opera - Work In Progress

Well. I've been hanging out to be able to show this one off. You bet.

This link here: Outcast Opera Bedlam Video take you to the YouTube version of the video that Outcast have made for purposes of engendering interest in the project. I'm listening to it right now... and I've got chills.

You'll note it incorporates a lot of dance. In general, Opera doesn't - but this one is different, because the people behind it are different. And frankly, I think the movement, costumes and choreography will add a wonderful extra dimension to the whole opera concept.

For what it's worth, the basic plotline is relatively simple. It's set in the infamous Bedlam asylum, circa 1815 or thereabouts, at the height of the very dodgy doings of Dr Thomas Monro -- the boss doc of the place. Somewhere deep in the heart of the asylum is a prisoner with a terrible secret: the mad queen mentioned in the clip.

I'm not sure how much I should divulge here. The clip says the queen is out of time, which is correct in more than one sense, I should say. It also says one will try to claim her, and one will try to save her. So we've got the classic triangle thing going on, naturally.

But of course, this is a Steampunk fantasy piece, so the men trying to claim her or save her are not exactly as they seem, and neither is she... and so, good readers, there will be anguish and bloodshed, plenty of tears, doomed heroism, Victorian science gone mad (and in a madhouse!) and all wrapped up with gorgeous dancers in even more gorgeous costumes plus the marvellous music of David Lazar.

I know. Most of you aren't opera people. Well, heck - who is? But actually being involved in the creation of a marvellous collaboration like this is just fantastic. Watching your ideas as they evolve through dozens of other artists... it's amazing. And then to see a piece like this, polished, beautiful, ready to go, and to hear one's own words floating ethereally on that elegant soprano, over the top of all that dark, lovely, dangerous-looking choreography -

- yeah. It makes up for a lot.

First Spam

Better weekend this time.

Last weekend was... challenging. Natalie set us up in a nice holiday place, to have a weekend away. Unfortunately, she wasn't exactly prepared for the kids' response. It was, by and large, okay -- we went to a really groovy little restaurant in Launceston, played mini golf, and veged out -- but the kids are kids, and they weren't always pollyanna positive, and they clashed with their mum.

That's always difficult. I tend to stay out of it as far as possible. But it got a little over the top this time, and I think all of us were thankful to get home.

This weekend - well, so far I've spent roughly six hours putting a new doorframe and a new door on the chicken coop. Then I set up the barbecue so I could char-grill two lovely free-range chooks, stuffed full of tarragon and mushroom and chorizo. And I've been throwing fresh bay leaves and branches onto the charcoal, creating clouds of amazingly fragrant smoke. This chicken is gonna be Da Bomb.

I can't say I really enjoy fragging around with chook-coop doors and fencing and stuff. But it's spring, and the weather is gorgeous, and Younger Son insisted on helping, so we had a really good time. And I'm gonna have a couple more beers, and then the barbecue chicken will be done, along with twice-cooked baby taters and fresh green salad.

Meanwhile: the photo above depicts the children's response to their very first tin of Spam. Yes, they have discovered Hormel's claim to fame.

It all started with Monty Python - as many things do. The kids laughed themselves sick at a DVD of some of Python's better efforts, including the infamous Singing Vikings - who sing about Spam, naturally. And so, they wanted to know what 'Spam' might be.

I did my best to explain, but I don't think they believed me. So this morning, when I went shopping, I got a tin of the stuff.

They weren't impressed. About fifteen minutes ago, they were outside in the afternoon sun with that floggin' great magnifying glass, trying to set fire to a spoonful of Spam...

...this can only end well, right?

Woo-hooooo!

Every year, just before the school year commences, I get the job of going down to the school, signing the kids in, collecting all the books, paying for everything in sight, and making sure we're all duly accoutred for another wonderful year of education. And every year, after I've gone through all the other tables with books on them and signed stuff, and agreed that my kids will be doing this, that or the other, I'm shepherded towards a table with a cheerful, hopeful chap who says something like:

"And are you going to sign the kids into C.R.E?"

And every year, I smile. And I say: "C.R.E? Does that stand for Comparitive Religious Education?"

And the cheerful, hopeful chap duly smiles back and says, with a note of surprise, "Why, no! It's Christian Religious Education."

And then I say something like "Oh, what a pity. I would dearly like the kids to be able to study a range of religious beliefs. Well, never mind. No, they won't be taking part this year, thanks."

Now, I would in fact be extremely happy if the kids got an introduction to the world's major religions, placed on an equal footing, as belief-systems to study. Religions have played a huge influence on the history and on the cultural development of the world, and it's valuable to learn the basics. Especially if you live in a world shared with many different cultures and religions, yes indeed. But that opportunity seems to be lost on the education system.

However, I'm very pleased to note that in NSW, at least, they're doing something progressive:

Labor to defy churches: ethics classes likely to start next year

I think this is brilliant. I'm very tired of hearing all about how atheism cannot possibly offer a moral or ethical basis for behaviour, and I'm delighted to see that finally, finally, someone has had the courage to follow through on this. Ethics and religious beliefs are not the same thing, nor ever have been. If this programme comes to Tasmania, I will be very happy indeed to finally change the tired dialogue at that last table.

"You'll be signing the kids up for C.R.E, right?"

"Is that still Christian Religious Education?"

"Uhhh... yes."

"In that case, no. My children are going to study ethics instead. But if you do decide to teach a comparitive course, please let me know."

The Wrongs Of Spring

• The grass is growing like a bastard. The dog vanished yesterday. The children are putting up rope-lines like they use in the Antarctic to navigate from hut to hut in blizzard conditions. I'm pretty sure a tribe of headhunters has set up camp somewhere under the bay tree. Unfortunately, every time I try to get out the lawnmower, it rains again.
• Wattles are wonderful. Their golden inflorescence paints the mountainsides with living sunlight. And makes me sneeze until my head inflates like a cheap party favour.
• The cats are freaky. Both neutered males, one getting up for eight or nine years of age... but come springtime, they start bolting through the house in pursuit of random phantoms. They lurk in corners and leap out, tag your leg, then lay their ears back and sprint like hell for the cat-flap.
• The rabbits are breeding. I can hear them. It's like a gigantic hillside of rabbit porn out there. Make them stop!
• The daffodils have pretty much finished blooming. So now we have masses of tall, skinny clumps of grassy stuff hanging around, looking embarrassed for itself. And I can't mow 'em because there's some irises lurking in there that haven't bloomed yet. And besides, it rains every time I get out the lawnmower.
• I feel like a dickhead every time I put damp laundry in the dryer. But every time I decide to hang the stuff out to catch some of that glorious spring sunshine, the rain comes back.
• The sun gets up way before I want to join it. And it's getting noisier and more bolshy every day.
• Am I cold? Why is it so dark? Oh shit, it's raining. Better get the electronic dog-bark defeater inside!

Awww, Crap! How Much Worse Can It Get?

Guess what, folks? Everybody's favourite piece of moronic middle-american non-comedy is about to go Hollywood. Yes indeedy: not content with trying to kill the braincells of every living being on the planet by making a 'Marmaduke' movie, it turns out that the Moguls of Mediocrity are about to bring 'The Family Circus' to the screen. Somehow.

Naturally, it had to be Fox, didn't it? Please, Great Cthulhu: let Rupert Murdoch NEVER, EVER discover 'Fred Basset.'

Afternoon Cooking Project

Toffee apples, yes indeed. With Natalie being called out a lot, extended sessions in the garden, out of earshot of the house, didn't seem such a good idea. I got most of what I wanted done, but it became clear that the remainder of the job would have to happen another day.

And so we decided to answer Younger Son's curiosity regarding the tray of Toffee Apples he spotted in Woolworth's this morning. The tray was empty, so I tried to explain - but then I thought: no, how difficult can a stupid toffee apple be?

Not very, would be the answer. Sugar, water, a little cream of tartar for flavour, a dash of colour, a heap of boiling, and periodic drops into a bowl of icewater. When you hear the syrup make crackling noises as it hits the water, turn off the heat. Dip your apples (this stick goes in first!) and swirl until coated. Leave stickside-up on greased baking paper. Done.

Note: probably wasn't clever of me to refrigerate the apples. Those beautiful specimens do NOT have a delicate, crumbly toffee coating. They have about two millimetres of sugary armour. Eating the bastards is a hell of a job that has taken all three children outside, with a small hammer...

Something Of A Blur

Healthwise, things aren't so great around here. Oh it isn't me. Nor Natalie. No, it's the three kids, with their persistent, deep, wet, racking coughs that send them into spasms so violent that on a couple of occasions they've vomited.

Wouldn't be so bad if it came and went. But Elder Son has now been coughing like this for more than two weeks. Younger Son has something like asthma, and we had to aggressively up his meds to bring his cough under control. And the Mau-Mau... when she coughs, it sounds like there's a small, elderly truck somewhere in her lungs, attempting to start after a long, cold winter. And so it has been for two weeks.

Naturally, this doesn't do much for sleep. The chorus of strangulating, rattling coughs drifts up the stairwell, and keeps a couple of parents on edge pretty much all night.

They are getting better, definitely. Younger Son is mostly over his dose. Elder Son is clearly better than he was a week ago, when we even had to keep him back from school. And even the Mau-Mau, whose case is the youngest, is getting no worse and certainly shows improvement during daytime.

What's the cause? Who knows? They're not really 'sick'. They have plenty of energy, and their appetites are undiminished. They do not have fevers. They just have a filthy goddam cough. So it's most likely viral.

So that's the backdrop, for the last couple weeks, to everything I've been doing. Very entertaining indeed.

Wednesday was a bit excessive. I dropped the boys at school, then shopped like crazy because we had a going-away party in the evening for a young, visiting doctor much liked by the surgery staff and the community - as well as me. (Hi, Rob! You gonna drop by and finish that absinthe, or what?) But being Wednesday, it was problematic. I ran up a couple of salads, a bunch of khofta, and some roulades of smoked salmon with cream cheese/lemon/black pepper/capers/dill as filling. I also prepped some spiced chicken kebabs, and set up the barbecue because of course I had to be gone from 1430 to 1900 at ju-jitsu training.

The plan was that the sixteen or so visitors would bring bits of stuff of their own to put onto the barbecue, plus maybe a few salads, etc. No drama, right?

Wrong.

The ju-jitsu training went well. Couple of newcomers for the older group (yay!) who were smart and motivated. Hopefully they'll return, because it's always good to have more people to train with. However, the real problem with The Plan cropped up halfway through the second training session: lightning, distant thunder, and rain.

Whoops. Really doesn't work for a barbecue, does it? Damn.

I made it home around seven, after dropping the Viking Boys (who attend the martial classes, naturally) at home. And then it was cooking and eating and drinking until the wee hours. Yep.

Thursday was a public holiday. Naturally, I'd made the foolish promise to the lads that we could have a day of gaming in Shattered Worlds. So much for most of Thursday.

Friday was unallocated, so I took the Mau-Mau and the trailer, and I went to Launceston. I bought $50 of spent mushroom compost and grabbed some framing timber, came home, and put some more work on the strawberry patch. I do believe that today I should be able to actually put plants in the ground, after I'm done here... but of course, yesterday was all about hauling wheelbarrows of mulch down from the big mulchpile to the strawberry patch, to build a nice slug-repellent and weed-reducing barrier on the inside of the (wallaby-proof, rabbit-proof, field-mouse deterrent, locust-deterrent, bird-proof) fence.

And of course, Natalie's on call all weekend, so I'm mostly Parent In Charge too.

Today I dig in a couple of uprights to make the frame for a gate to the strawberry patch. And I put the last of the fencing in place. Later, I head down to the Viking House and collect a bunch of strawberry runners (theirs are acting like triffids: overrunning the place aggressively. I like that in a strawberry plant, myself.) then set them nicely into the newly mushroom-composted secure zone, water them in, and heave a sigh of relief. After that, I only have to add the gate, put a light frame around the top of the uprights and sling bird-netting over the lot...

...in the meantime, I've got an MS to read and assess. Beer money. Usually it takes me about eight hours work to read an MS and prepare from five to eight thousand words for the author. That makes it a reasonable rate of return, but it's still beer money. Or computer-upgrade money. Or whatever. Still, I like doing it and I'm good at it, so why not?

Signing off... got another vast day to get through. At least spring is here, in all its green and gorgeous glories. Of course, that means the lawnmower needs an overhaul, and the whippersnipper has to come out of hibernation. And also, that stupid birds begin to fly into the glass of the sunroom once more. The last one was some kind of cuckoo/thrush thing (I'd identify it positively, but the bird-identification books have long since subsided into the morass of printed matter in this house. Bugger.) that the Mau-Mau found on the verandah on Friday.

It didn't show any real signs of damage, but it had clearly knocked itself into a kind of stupidity excessive even for feather-brains of that sort. The Mau-Mau promptly gathered a lot of grass and built a 'nest' for it on the deck, surrounding the 'nest' with a motley wall of ... stuff... including a watering can, a plastic tub, and a child's bicycle. This was supposed to keep the dog at bay.

I gathered up the bird (and young Jake just brought me the birdbook -- it was a Fan-Tailed Cuckoo) and brought it inside to rest in a warm, dark place. A couple hours later, it still wasn't showing signs of flight - it just sat, blinking stupidly.

Eventually, I made a perch for it high up in the kitchen, where it rested for the entire night. In the morning, Natalie took it outside - and it flew away! Score one for the goodguys, eh?

Hmm. That last sign-off failed, didn't it? I'll try again.