Gnerrrghhh!

So I promised a short story to an anthology a while back. Deadline end October. And I had a lovely idea.

Except it was a complex idea, with about three different themes resonating through it. And really, it coulda, shoulda probably been a novella. So getting it pared back to short story form was a real bastard of a job. A screaming bastard.

By the weekend, I had it mostly in shape, at least in my head. All I wanted to do was write, and get it done. But we had rain, didn't we? Fuckbuckets of rain.

That wouldn't have been so bad, except Natalie was on call for Saturday, and theoretically, not so much on call for Sunday. Which meant she was cranky on Saturday. And then on Sunday, when it really pissed down, she was even crankier because the kids were trapped indoors, and she is totally not adapted to the way the kids fight with each other.

It's a nightmare, really. When the kids start fighting, I just break 'em up and send 'em off with a few sharp words. But Natalie wants them to negotiate, and speak nicely, and so forth... and so she winds up deep in a four-way brawl, with the kids bitching at each other, and herself getting snakier by the moment.

It's not good.

Normally, when that sort of shit starts to rain down, I excuse myself from the study, go out, and quietly redirect some energies. Maybe take the crankiest kid off to the garden. Maybe haul out some forgotten toys. Maybe grab a couple kids and get the shopping done. I do it quietly, and it wasn't until the weekend that I realised: they don't know that I'm doing it.

I realised that because when I STOPPED doing it because I ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY HAD TO WRITE, I put up with most of a day of some of the stupidest, most petty infighting I've listened to in a long time.

It is very, very hard to write anything good with that kind of crap going on just outside your study door. I was up until three in the morning making that thing come together.

Erf.

Monday was a lot better. We didn't do much, but the sun was out, and I had the story away, and we went into Launceston for the evening and ate at the new Korean Barbecue place. It's just a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant on Elizabeth St, but the food (it turns out) is inexpensive, and delicious, and according to a Korean friend of mine, not too far off what it's supposed to be. (Though the Kim Chi wasn't as spicy-hot as I'd hoped. Not that I've ever had Kim Chi before.)

Tuesday's dinner was good, too. Friend of mine dropped off a big, fat, wild-caught trout, and I baked it over the charcoal gorilla, with lashings of ginger, salt, pepper, lemon and curry-leaf. Woo-hoooo! Mind you, my mashed potatoes were too gooey. I had a brainwave, and made 'em with chicken stock and a little cream in place of the usual milk/butter/whatever. They were totally frakking delicious... but too damned runny. I used too much stock by accident. Ick.

And today? Today I got the job of being Natalie's tech guy for telephony. Which meant I had to go into Launceston with her, and with Younger Son and the Mau-Mau, and while Natalie and the Younger Son went to his first double bass lesson (did I mention Younger Son has now aced his first two violin exams? He did. Really well. But he doesn't enjoy the violin, and we promised him that if he took his music seriously, we'd look into finding an instrument he really enjoyed. So now he has a 1/8th size double bass. Which he loves to death.) I had to negotiate through the minefield of phone plans and smartphonery and so forth.

Natalie now owns an i-phone. Well, phine, that's her problem not mine. I'm sure it's a lovely, shiny toy. And it only took me an hour to set up an appropriate plan, and carve a path through the bureaucratic Telstra bullshit. And now that we're pulling out the old ISDN system (which we don't use any more), what with Natalie's shiny new phone plan and shiny new phone, we're actually... umm... ten dollars a month better off. And she now gets four hundred dollars of calls plus 500mb of data on her new phone every month. Locked in for two years, yeah, but since she was running on the $20 per month plan for the last five years on her old phone, I doubt she'll be too upset.

Of course, now that she's home with it, the fun has started. She's been trying to synch it with i-tunes and her i-pod since... ummm about 1800. It's now 2100. She's just done over a year's worth of updates to the i-tunes software, and finally reinstalled all the drivers for the i-phone, and I think she may actually be coming to the light at the end of the tunnel.

Of course, what would I know? I just use a shoddy cheap-ass MP3 player, a little old Nokia flip-phone... and I organise my own digital music. I'm just a primitive, I guess. But then, my computer is still working, isn't it? Whereas Natalie's had all but locked up under the strain of all the updates. I had to give it the old three-finger salute, dive into task manager and strip out a couple dozen minor functions and stupidities that were eating into memory, etc.

She will keep using Vista, though.

Who Was That Masked Man?

“Ugh,” he groaned. “What happened?”

“Take it easy,” she replied, staring intently into his eyes.. “You’ve been dead. High-speed crash.”

“Dead!” His mouth worked, but no words came.

She stroked his forehead. “You’re okay now. A guerilla medic found you in time. One of the last holdouts from the Gene Wars. He rescued your neurochip and grew you a new body. He had all this military-grade medware in the back of his hover. It -- actually, it tool less than fifteen minutes. It was amazing!”

He sat up carefully, exploring his body with his soft, pink hands. “Unbelievable. And he didn’t even stay around so I could thank him?”

“That’s not his style,” she said, and opened her hand, showing him a silver hypodermic needle.

His eyes widened. “You mean that was —”

“Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes to the heavens. “Thank God for the Clone Arranger.”

__________________________________________________________

(Wrote it years ago as part of a little in-house competition at the VISION writer's group. I just found it, lurking in my notes. It made me laugh, so I thought I'd post it here.)

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.'