Birthday Stuff.

Many thanks to all the kind folks who sent birthday greetings and wishes. I did indeed live through another one yesterday, and I have to say it was pretty forkin' good. Really.

I did a little grocery shopping in the morning, and Natalie took the kids on an expedition to Find Gifts For Dad. So... you know: stuff. Note in the picture below, for example, I am wearing a "World's Greatest Dad" medallion. Courtesy of the Younger Son. Barnes, Birmo -- I guess that just about fuckin' settles the question, doesn't it? World's Greatest Dad: says so right there on the medallion, and there's no gainsaying that, eh?

Happily, I'd done a cunning bit of planning, and conspired with my friend Smileyfish to do an afternoon of river ecology science stuff with the boys. As usual, things got a little larger than life, so instead of just my lads, the boys from the nursery Down The Hill came along, as did the three youngsters who were here earlier in the week. And naturally, since numbers were up the post-river barbecue got shifted up a gear into more of an Event...

Smileyfish In Her Element

The river science thing went off beautifully. We went over the mountainside to the St Patrick's river. Smileyfish and her partner (Cuddlefish!) took a couple kids in their trusty Corolla, and followed the two 4wd cars along the riverbank to the chosen site. Then we jumped out, apologised to the quiet family camping there, and plunged into the river in pursuit of Science.

Searching For Science!

Smiley led the way with the big net, but the boys were right behind: turning over rocks, scooping stuff off the bottom, grommiting around under overhanging banks... nothing better in all the world than a cool, clear river on a hot summer afternoon.

People got wet. Smiley fell on her butt, and lost a pair of sunglasses to the riffle. Kids argued over nets. Stones were skipped. And then we took our catch back to the main base and pored over what we found...

The idea was to go looking for diversity -- to see what kind of species lived in the water, and find out if there were any surviving which were pollution-sensitive. Indicators of water health, in other words. I'm delighted to say we found all sorts of great things: tonnes of mayflies, caddis-flies and stoneflies, all of which are quite sensitive, suggesting that the river is currently in pretty good condition.

The boys were fascinated and delighted, and so was I. We slurped up all kinds of greeblies and creepies, put them into ice cube trays and stared at 'em with magnifying glasses. We found a cool nematode and put it in a sample jar. Every new critter had to be admire and exclaimed over -- the whole two hours went by in a flash, and the visiting boys announced how pleased they were that they'd gone to the river instead of to the fair down at Bridport. I thought that was pretty cool: they passed up rides and junk food and stalls of toys, and felt they had the better end of the deal.

We made it back to Chez Flinthart, and I started cooking. The kids went out and mobbed the trampoline, and the drinks got broken out. Someone had actually left a slab of beer with my name on it at the surgery that morning - as well as a couple bottles of very palatable red! - but we started off with the infamous Gay Blue Drinks, and went on from there. I grilled sausages and chops (Nigel's famous wonder-lamb, thanks!) for the kids, and some chicken skewers with lime and salt and chili. All that was just to keep the wolf at bay while the big lamb haunch roasted over charcoal, with garden-fresh rosemary and garlic and sea-salt. And then there was the infamous salad of smoky grilled vegetables with sea salt and balsamic vinegar, and a couple nice green salads, and roast potatoes, and then a chocolate birthday cake, and finally, a small serve of freshly made super-rich vanilla ice cream with blackberries from the garden.

Heh. Smileyfish isn't good with gluten. I promised her a decent feed in exchange for her aid at the river... and I think she probably would have been happy with dinner. But just to be sure, in the morning I made a batch of fluffy gluten-free pancakes which were eaten with still more of the ice-cream and blackberries. I suspect the Flinthart kitchen acquitted itself okay.

Overall? I had a brilliant birthday. Best I've had in years. I sat up late talking with the Fish Folk, and it was marvellous. They're smart, interesting, cool, funny, and we share a range of interests. It's wonderful to catch up with somebody new and simply enjoy the whole process... I'm extremely grateful, delighted, and all kinds of pleased. And I even got a birthday present from the Fishy Friends: vietnamese mint!

The new plant is going in my herb garden this afternoon. In the meantime: here's a photo of the Mau-Mau in her new fairy dress, with her nifty new curly-toe felt slippers...

...and the way she looks in that photo is exactly how I feel.

Thank you to everyone!

Ai-yi-yi!

So they blew bubbles and the dog chased them. But then the boys decided it was time for archery, and I had to help them string the bows. They lost three arrows, but when I sent them back out, they found one of them.

The trampoline got hella action. The dog had to be chased with waterguns because he goes berserk any time the kids get up on the trampoline. The dog ran onto the road and wouldn't come back, so the kids went berserk. I had to call the dog home again. He's not stupid. He came when I called.

Meanwhile, I worked on pizzas. Eight of 'em, as a matter of fact. But before that, I shifted the Wii up to the shed with the big screen, and they stomped around playing Godzilla and Rabbids and whatnot.

They ate six of the pizzas. I had to make one with just cheese and ham, but most of 'em were full spectrum jobs -- pepperoni, onion, mushroom, capsicum, olives, pineapple and feta. Happy kids. Also lots of ginger beer, watermelon and mint drinks, with ice. Yes.

Next came the Shower Ordeal. I dictated that movies could only be watched by clean people, and an assembly line was formed. Six kids. Of course, the pet rat is in her cage in the bathroom, so while any one kid was showering, up to three were hovering around the rat. And the other kids were racing half-naked around the place, dripping.

The movie system worked moderately well. We put on some Pinkie and the Brain as an opener, so the little girls could enjoy themselves too. Meanwhile, I made six very large bowls of popcorn, most of which got scarfed up as soon as I took 'em up to the shed.

Once I decided the girls were looking a bit worn (a lot of trampolinery for them all day, oh yes) the boys got to put on "The Mummy". The plan was that they were going to watch that, and then a "Hellboy" cartoon, and sleep up in the shed afterwards. Meanwhile, the girls got a pre-bed dose of Dora the Explorer (their choice, I promise).

It didn't work out as planned. First the girls got sleepy during Dora, so I put them to bed. That would have been all right, but young D - the eldest visiting child - informed me that his sister (whom we shall call E) tends to get nightmares, and usually sleeps next to an adult.

Uhh... what? Nobody told me about that one!

Well. One improvises. I stuck little E in bed with the Mau-Mau. She was dubious. Lots of anxiety about the dark, and about people coming to 'get' her. I guess she does get nightmares. I had to send her back to bed four or five times.

Meanwhile, it turns out that "The Mummy" was a bit much for the intrepid Shed Boys. (I cleared the movie-level with the visitors parents beforehand, by the way.) They sort of chickened out of the idea of sleeping up there. So they trooped down en masse with sleeping bags, and I had to organize them onto the floor of the boys' room.

And of course, that awoke Little E again, and she wanted her big brother D to come in and say goodnight. But I'd had about enough. D was settling, and the Mau-Mau was asleep, and I figured: no. Little E could stay in bed as instructed. But of course, I had a secret weapon.

Toxo the Wonder Cat -- the same cat who has looked after all my kids, one after another, during their sleep as they grew -- came to the rescue. He'd climbed the ladder to be with the boys during the movie (after spending the day around the trampoline and the swings and the cubbyhouse with the kids) but once they came down, he had no reason to be up there, so he trotted into the Mau-Mau's room right on cue. I introduced him to Little E, and told her how Toxo would look after her while she slept...

... and bingo. One unconscious kid. She slept the night through. Nary a nightmare to behold.

I live in fear of the day that Toxo finally leaves us. He's about eight years old now. I figure he's got another four or five good years, and maybe another five or six slow, quiet years. Hopefully that'll be enough. But he's already given me eight years of completely unbelievable loyalty, help, devotion and affection. Best. Fucking. Cat. Evar.

So morning-time was all about French Toast. And rocket science: baking soda and vinegar rockets at 0730, and me having to dart in and out of the kitchen, fine-tuning rocketry in between rustling up french toast with cinnamon and maple syrup. Then I bullied the kids into picking up their clothes and bedding and doing a quick round of tidying up before they ducked back up to play the Wii a little more. Lots of arguments there, so I had to play Solomon and set up a rota system. Happily, it got too hot after a while.

I've been doing laundry and dishes, making banana-chocolate smoothies, applying sunscreen, sorting out skinned knees and prickles in the feet, distributing cold pizza and coconut jelly and pomegranates... meanwhile, the dog is hiding from waterguns, and Toxo the Cat is sailing the wide seas on the good ship Cubbyhouse, under comman of pirate princesses Mau-Mau and Little E.

Half an hour to go until the father of the visitors arrives and rescues me...

Glutton For Punishment

Well -- momentous news! The Mau-Mau has just gone six consecutive nights without wetting her night-nappy. She has been rewarded with copious praise and chocolate. Tonight is the seventh night. If we get through this one dry, I'm going to make a great fuss over putting the nappies away for good... though I will put a protective undersheet on the mattress, of course.

And in other news: I'm looking after six kids today and tonight. My three, and three of similar ages from up the road. It's a good match: their youngest is a daughter, just five months older than the Mau-Mau, and the two boys are similarly situated with my lot. So today, their parents get a break. I'll make a lot of pizza, and tonight, they can have a movie festival in the shed, then crash out in sleeping bags.

Mind you... I've already overseen the archery, and the bubble-blowing, and the drinks, and we're about to head down to Scottsdale for pizza ingredients and lunch, and frankly, I don't envision getting very much done today.

That's okay. It's a holiday, I s'pose.

As Promised, A Few Photos

It wasn't a big photo-op sort of expedition, this trip to Melbourne. But it was fun. Here's the Mau-Mau and Younger Son in the ute which features as both obstacle and decor (and even fairway!) somewhere around the fifteenth hole of the Glow In The Dark Mini Golf Course...

Shut the hell up! I'm driving!

Same location. This is Mr B, casually draped across some of the more unconvincing scenery.

What's that, Skip? My deodorant smells like ass? Well fuck you, roo! Where have you been shoving your nose, anyway?

And here, in the 'Lightning Show' at the Science Works Museum is the Elder Son, singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." I can't believe they didn't let him run with Vampire Weekend...

I don't care if it IS by Mozart. It still sucks...

Melbourne Weekend

Natalie has gone to her annual Big Folk Music Thingee, just outside Kyneton in Victoria. She'll be there a week, practising fiddle, going to evening music sessions, drinking, and taking a break from the world of medicine and children. This is a Good Thing.

I narrowly missed going with her this year. Turns out an old friend of mine from university is part of the team that runs the singing group at the music school -- John Thompson of Cloudstreet. Not having seen John for something like twenty years, I figured it would be a good way to catch up. Unfortunately, the planned parental babysitting did not occur.

However, it does not appear that this excuse will work twice. Not only did Mr Barnes' good wife volunteer (like a madwoman!) to look after all three Flinthart offspring for the necessary period, but it turns out I've got an old friend in Kyneton as well -- hi, Sam!

The kids and I visited Sam yesterday morning, after we abandoned Natalie to her musical pursuits. Sam looked the same as ever, despite being two small children to the good, and meeting her partner Paul was a real pleasure. It's nice catching up with old friends and finding they're leading a life that they enjoy.

Anyway: Sam's as mad as Mr Barnes' counterpart, and volunteered immediately to do kiddie duty.

Now, while I really wasn't prepared to lumber poor mad Madame Barnes with all three of my offspring, I feel obliged to say that the my boys got along very, very well with Barnes the Younger. Frighteningly well, actually -- particularly Elder Son. They discovered they're both huge fans of Artemis Fowl and the 'Horrible Histories' series of books; that Barnes the Younger practises Aikido versus Elder Son's Ju-jitsu... in fact, they had so much in common I swear the pair of them didn't shut up the entire time they were in each other's company. Seriously: they both just talked, non-stop, somehow absorbing the output of the other while simultaneously blaring away with their own narrative. It was spooky.

The Melbourne weekend prior to the music thing was lovely. Big thanks to Guru Bob for recommending the Hu Tong Dumpling House in Market Lane... holy shit, that was some superb Chinese food there. And the man himself came along, along with his Sweet Thang. Word has it they've actually found a house to purchase, and they're going through settlement right about now. Much more sneaky word has it that there's a certain amount of fixing up to be done on the place, and our man Bob is planning to get his hands dirty... keep an eye on the accident and emergency reports for the Royal Melbourne; Guru Bob will be the bloke with the claw hammer embedded in his forehead.

Greetings also to Struggers and the lovely Amy, who kept us company at the Hu Tong. I'd not met Amy before. Last time I was in Melbourne, I caught Struggers by surprise in his Lair, and Amy was not in evidence. This time I wound up sitting next to her at the table... the conversation went well, so hopefully she hasn't concluded that all of Struggers' friends are dope fiends and froot loops.

It was a good weekend, even though it had to be pretty kid friendly. We managed to fit in the Science Works -- Lightning Show and Planetarium Show. Elder Son enthusiastically volunteered to get up and sing during the Lightning Show, and duly had his voice put through various distortions and oscilloscope displays. And for some reason, Natalie decided we should take in the "Glow In The Dark Mini Golf" course out at the shoppingville they built when they thought that fucknormous ferris wheel was going to rejuvenate a stretch of Melbourne riverside. (For those not in the know: they built a ferris wheel the size of Tom Cruise's insecurities, to act as a long-lasting tourist attraction and city landmark. Of course, last summer was quite hot. After about five days, the truly fucknormous ferris wheel warped beyond repair, and was decommissioned. Brilliant planning there...)

The Barnes Crew were quite good-natured about being dragooned into roles as navigators and drivers and so forth, and survived the mini-golf with good will intact. I believe I even have some photos, but they'll wait until I've sorted out everything else I've got to do.

For I am home now, yes. Having driven back from Kyneton, negotiated the horrors of two airports with three kids in tow, and the return journey over the mountains and all. Today I must reclaim the dog, pay various pet-minders, buy some supplies, replace a couple pillows we abandoned in Kyneton for lack of carrying space, and manage sundry other things. But it's sunny and cool and lovely, and I can see all the way to the horizon and beyond without all that weird hazy shit. The mountains are blue and purple, the sky is clear, and the kids are outside playing.

Good to be home.

"Avatar": Some Thoughts

Well, I went. Took the lads and a friend while Nat and the Mau-Mau went swimming for a while. It had to happen, I suppose.

James Cameron's Avatar is at once an amazing accomplishment, and a depressing disappointment.

Technologically and visually, it's stunning. Nobody's ever achieved anything like this on film before. The realisation of the complex living world of Pandora is fabulous. For the filmgoer, even with those clunky glasses perched on your nose, the immersion is near-total. I laid out my money, I bought my popcorn, I gave up two hours and forty minutes of my life, and honestly, I really don't mind. The sheer spectacle, the gorgeous imagery, the vocabulary-challenging technical mastery of the work is just off the scale.

But I won't be going back to see it again. Natalie will go in a few weeks, and she'll go along with the friend who came today. He reckons he can sit through it again. I know I can't.

Yeah, I know. I've got a freaky memory. Natalie's currently watching ST:TNG episodes that I saw just once, some twenty years ago, damned late at night on dodgy televisions in various share-houses -- and I can still remember too much of the plotlines and the action and the dialogue to enjoy seeing them again.

But so what? I watch the director's cut of Blade Runner once a year at least. Same with The Princess Bride, and Casablanca. The original Star Wars, with my kids: yep. Raiders of the Lost Ark: check. I just bought Sauna on DVD, and I'm looking forward to seeing it again as soon as I can find somebody prepared to sit through it with me. And I watched Memento for the third time just a month ago.

So you see, I can sit through repeat showings of certain films, television, etc. Just... not when I'm watching poorly written B-grade stuff.

I'm sorry, by the way. Anybody out there who just loved the Avatar story: more power to you. I don't begrudge you your enjoyment, nor wish to curtail it. But me? Well, I've got a few things working against my ability to enjoy the film.

First is that I'm a writer, and the various plot turning points of Avatar were... umm... not subtle, shall we say. It was a by-the-numbers story with a very ordinary script. I saw it maybe six hours ago, and I can't actually remember a single quotable line. You know the kind of thing I mean - the clever or quirky bits of dialogue that linger in the memory long after the film. "Game over, man!" "I'll be back." "Nuke 'em from orbit: it's the only way to be sure." (Notice I stuck solely to James Cameron films there? I'm playing this game as fairly as I can.) For anyone with a real involvement in the craft of writing, the Avatar script is frankly horrible.

Second, I'm a science fiction fan of long standing. Been reading the stuff maybe thirty-five years now. And I have read a great deal in that time. Everything from Jules Verne through "Doc" Smith, through the Asimov/Heinlein/Clarke era on to the New Wave and beyond. I read SF for the same reasons I always have: it allows writers room to be imaginative, and creative, and thought-provoking in a way that most genres do not seem to match.

And... uhh... sorry. Avatar was not imaginative. It was creative, but only in a visual sense. And the only thoughts it provoked were those of disappointment and irritation. This is not a smart movie. This a big, shiny, woo-look-at-me crashy boomy sort of movie full of egregious stereotypes in place of characters, full of half-assed preaching instead of genuinely thought-provoking concepts, full of cheapjack, bullshit plot devices instead of ideas.

Third: I'm widely read outside SF too. I've got a decent grounding in basic physics, chemistry, biology, evolutionary theory, and a bunch of other scientific fields. Not claiming expertise, no. Far from it. Just what I'd call "scientific literacy", you know? But even that much is enough to make me wince, time and again, at the slap-dash throwaway shit they tossed into that movie in place of science. I don't want to put in any spoilers, but I'd like to say first that "unobtainium" sucks the way even Disney's Black Hole didn't manage. And "flux vortexes" are the single worst piece of throwaway tech-talk crap since the Doctor first used his sonic screwdriver to reverse the polarity of the neutron flow.

This isn't a review. If it was, I would quietly, bitterly, and skilfully eviscerate the storytelling and the scripting of this film in such a way that you would never, ever see the movie without remembering, precisely and involuntarily, why it is a piece of dreck - and you would then curse me, quite reasonably. But as I said, this isn't a review. This is thought, and opinion, and I don't intend to go through the long, painstaking effort of justifying and reasoning out what it is I have to say.

There are just two reasons for this: first, because if you're the kind of person who's going to groove on the Avatar storyline, then you're unlikely to be reading this anyhow, and in any case, nothing I say is going to change your mind. But if you have a love of good storytelling, or good science fiction, or good scripting, you're going to hate that side of Avatar no matter what I say.

And the second reason is simple: the film is beautiful. No matter that it's dumb as a bag of badly broken coprolites. It is gorgeous, and technically unparalleled, and worth taking the time to see it on the big, shiny screen.

Just... don't ask more than that, and you'll have a great time.

Younger Son, Elder Son, the Mau-Mau and some gigantic goon in a solar topee holding buckets full of fresh, perfectly ripened blueberries.

That was our morning, right there. Natalie is on call, so she's in and out and round about. I rousted the kids early. We packed away a bit of breakfast, and slathered on the sunscreen. (It's meant to reach 31C today, and I think we're just about there right now.)

It took us about forty leisurely minutes in the gentle morning breezes to load up our buckets. We picked something like eight and a half kilos of blueberries. I've shoved some in the deep freeze, to be brought out now and again through the year. But there's an enormous bowl of them on the table, and an unopened bag on the counter in the kitchen.

Tonight, in honour of the summery weather, we shall feast upon antipasto. There will be garden-fresh vegetables. There will be smoked pork, and cheeses, and ham. There will be olives and pickles. Indeed, I've pickled half a kilo of button mushrooms which will be perfectly cooled and ready to go come dinner time.

After dinner, we will have big slabs of melt-in-the-mouth shortbread, and piles of fresh, amazing blueberries, served up with big scoops of home-made French vanilla ice cream.

Meanwhile, I have to finish up what I'm doing here, and set up for a rousing game of Monster Apocalypse with Elder Son... but first, I think, another beer.

Life is hard.