A Somewhat Disturbing Tale

I believe I have mentioned from time to time that the Younger Son is... a little dangerous.

Nobody ever takes it seriously, though. He's the middle kid, after all. Jake is taller and much more talkative and gregarious. And of course, the Mau-Mau is terminally cute, and vivacious, and determined to be the centre of attention. Younger son is just a small-ish, slightly stocky blond boy with a mischievous grin.

Of course, if you look carefully, you discover stuff. For example: he's been helping me in the kitchen, slicing vegetables, since before he turned four years old. Seriously -- he really wanted to be involved, and he showed me that he had the necessary concentration and dexterity. He's not fast, no, but he handles a chef's knife better than most adults I know.

And for his fourth birthday he got a cordless electric drill. Okay - it's actually a cordless screwdriver, because his hands are small, but he loves taking things apart and trying to figure out how they work, and an electric drill was the great desire of his life at the time. He still has the device, with all its bits. And he still uses it.

Then there's that slight stockiness. He's going to basic gymnastics once a week now. Last week, he broke their local record for holding a reverse-grip chin-up. Watching him on the beam, you feel he might as well be trotting along open ground. They use an odd, lozenge-shaped cushion thing to force the kids to work their balance while doing deep knee bends: Younger Son doesn't wobble at all while he's doing his bit, and instead of doing a measured count of knee-bends, he just keeps going until they finally notice and tell him to stop.

He's not a talker, though. It would never occur to him to make much of these things. They're natural to him, and from time to time he expresses puzzlement that others can't do the same. But he is learning. And he has something else on his side: patience, and a devilish concentration.

They've only been back at school about four weeks. In his new classroom this year, Younger Son found that one among the various laptop computers didn't have a power supply. When he asked, he was told that the power supply had been misplaced because they'd lost the password for the computer, and they were waiting for the (harried and harassed!) IT guy to come and reset it.

Younger Son ferreted about the classroom until he found an appropriate power supply. Then he asked for permission to try and use the computer. His teacher, not knowing the little beast for what he is, apparently thought nothing of it.

The passwords for these 'puters are alphanumeric, and nine digits in length. There are some limits on the character range they use at the school, but I'm not going to detail them here. Likewise, they have some habitual patterns they use in their passwords, apparently, but again, no details needed.

It took him about two and a half weeks of brute-force password entry tests. And then one day he came home with a big grin. "All the other kids want to use my computer," he said. "But I won't tell them the password."

Of course, he'd not told me anything about the whole matter, so I had to tease the details out of him. But yes: he'd slowly, patiently, methodically worked his way through a range of potential passwords before he found it. And now he has essentially private access to the hitherto unusable computer...

He will be nine years old on his next birthday, on Christmas Eve. I have absolutely NO idea what to give him for his birthday this year...

Movie Talk: Rango

Frankly, I should just say "see it", and leave it at that. But to be fair, the film is pretty damned cool, and deserves more.

I wasn't expecting much. After all, 'Rango' is directed by Gore Verbinski - and even if I did enjoy his work on the first 'Pirates' film, there's that whole Hollywood-populist-director bullshit to overcome. And it was animated.

First clue that it's a lot better than you'd expect? It's not in 3D. Coulda been. Wasn't. And the animation is farking beautiful. Much, much more beautiful than with stupid glasses balanced on my nose, giving me a headache.

Second clue? Well... there's that cast. Johnny Depp as the out-of-place chameleon who calls himself Rango. Ned Beatty as the mayor of the town Dirt, doing a vocal James Coburn so damned good I found myself trying to remember whether or not Coburn is still alive. (I don't think he is.) A whole bunch of others with some decent acting chops. Yeah.

Then there's Hans Zimmer's score. I am really starting to like Zimmer's cinematic work. Loved the 'Pirates' score. Really enjoyed the 'Sherlock Holmes' score. And this one? Well, let's just say the blue-grass version of 'Ride Of The Valkyries' done on banjo is about as special as it gets.

The storyline is nothing too outrageous. Rango is a chameleon who lives in a tank. During a move, he falls out of the car and into the desert somewhere near Las Vegas (and there is a fucking hilarious cameo from an animated Hunter S Thompson which will send anyone who remembers 'Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas' into fits of laughter. Damn near killed me.)

Abandoned in the burning sun, Rango-to-be finds a shaman in the form of an armadillo flattened on the road who gives him the usual sage, cryptic advice. Then he wanders off and is found by a female lizard named 'Beans' who takes him to the local dead-end town, Dirt.

Dirt - and the rest of the movie - is populated by animals who stand in for the usual Wild West characters. And frankly, it's here that the movie begins to become truly outstanding. There's been a lot of good animation in the last few years, but the visualisation of the animal characters in 'Rango' is truly brilliant. The creatures are utterly believable, wholly convincing to the eye - and yet they still suggest the classic Western stereotypes from which they are drawn.

The film is doubly plotted. The town is running out of water, courtesy of the villainous machinations of a character who shall not be announced in this review, not that it would really spoil anything, and it's up to Rango to save it. And of course, Rango himself is nothing more than a creation: a lie, invented on the spot to keep himself out of trouble. (He's a chameleon, remember? Blending in is what he does.) Therefore he has to undergo the inevitable quest to discover his own true nature, and be the hero of his own story.

Neither of these is particularly new, of course. But they are played out with subtlety and just enough irony against a backdrop composed of a loving homage to all the great Western films -- and the animators are allowed to join the game, which makes the entire 'feel' of the film truly wonderful. For example, the scene of the animal posse riding out on roadrunners, silhouetted in distorting heat-haze against a setting sun, is done so very beautifully that were it shot in a 'real' film, somebody would be up for cinematographical awards. Here, in an animated film, it's entirely gratuitous, and therefore hilarious in its self-aware irony - but it's also still very beautifully done, enjoyable on several levels simultaneously.

The film is full of clever, subtle pop culture references, and some which are less subtle but still clever. It's beautifully realised. The dialogue is marvellous. The characters are charming, and deeply individual while recalling their western-film origins. There's plenty of action, remarkable visuals, tonnes of invention, and an altogether satisfying conclusion to both levels of storytelling.

I'm very glad I saw 'Rango' on the big screen with the kids. I'd see it again, if it wasn't such a fuss, and I'm sure I'd get new things from it. As it is, I'm going to buy it on DVD and chances are it'll become a favourite for family film festival nights.

Rango is hot. Go and see it. Now.

The Thing I Miss Most

I was chatting with a friend a while back. Not what you'd call deep stuff. But - we've made different life choices, she and I. And we were kinda comparing notes a little, and thinking, and she allowed as just maybe, you know, the family-and-kids thing has something going for it.

And she's right, yep. But that doesn't mean the choices she's made don't work. And I'm never really going to know, am I? Because I made my choice and here I am, and I'd be five kinds of an idiot if I bothered to regret it, or wish for something else. Life is what it is. One finds a way to live it, and appreciate the living of it.

But as a result of that particular conversation, I did do a little thinking, and honestly - yeah. There's some shit I miss from the no-kids side of the equation. I could make a few quips about money, and sleeping late, and being able to find my books and tools wherever I leave them, but they've all been done a thousand times before. And besides, they all actually relate to one common thread.

Responsibility.

What I miss: I miss being able to make simple, tiny choices without the possibility of weighing down somebody else's life, maybe for good.

I'm going to have to explain this by example, because if you aren't a parent, then I truly don't believe you can really wrap your head around what I'm saying. Because it's just not intuitive. It's too big. It's too pervasive. Ten years now, I've been a parent, and I'm still just beginning to understand.

Let's consider something simple. You're cooking a hardboiled egg. The phone rings. Do you duck over and pick it up?

Of course you do. Unless you have a small kid. Because if you have a small kid, the first thing you do is turn the handle of the pot to the back of the stove, and turn off the heat. (You were already using the burner at the back. You use those burners for pretty much everything, even though the big one at the front delivers more heat.)

And once you've secured that pot of boiling water you take a look around and assure yourself of the kid's whereabouts. Then you grab the phone. And because you're a parent, it's a walkaround phone, so you can go back into the kitchen to keep an eye on that dangerous pot of water while you talk to whomever.

What time do you get up in the morning? Any morning? Every morning? When do you go to bed? How much do you choose to drink, in terms of alcohol? Or even soda - because what their parents do is, for small children, the very literal definition of true and right and proper.

Driving. How many of you curse at the fucknuckles on the road who brake and turn without indicating, pass on blind corners, swerve gormlessly around at 60kph on roads designated for almost twice that speed?

Yeah, the kids are listening. What I do these days: I point out the vehicle in question, and I show my older kids the reason why what they're seeing is dangerous as hell, and stupid. (Like the tailgater on Thursday afternoon who followed me out of Launceston all the way to Nunamara so close behind I couldn't read her license plate in the rear view.) But I don't curse, and I don't run down the drivers of those vehicles: I just point out that their driving is dangerous and stupid, and that hopefully, when the kids grow up they'll remember not to do that.

What do you read? What do you watch? Do you get your exercise in? Do you clean up after yourself? Your speech -- is it articulate and thoughtful, or do you toss poor English after half-considered slang?

Everything you are, everything you do is up for evaluation. Your kids -- they want to be proud of you. They want to have reasons to believe in you. Do something clever, or accomplished, and they think it's wonderful. Problem is, do something half-assed or stupid or foolish and they'll find excuses for you, and they'll take away the lesson that half-assed and stupid and foolish are okay.

It's a bitch. Stone-cold. If you've ever worked in a job where the boss was watching you every second, you've almost got a hint of it. Except you get to go home from a job. And you can quit. And fuck it, no matter what else, it's just a goddam job. It's not you. But there's almost no time-out from the parent gig. And home is where it happens. And if you quit, you're not done: you've just become a bad parent, a fuckup - and chances are, your kids will love you anyway and take it all on board, maybe even blame themselves.

It's not a job. You even try thinking of it that way, and you're lost.

I'm sure the day will come when I'm not carrying this any more. I'm sure of this because somewhere along the line, I figured out that both my parents were adult human beings whose choices were entirely theirs, and didn't necessarily have to have any effect on mine. My mother's dead now, but I think she finally got used to the idea, in the last few years of her life. And I know my father has worked it out now, even though he still occasionally lapses into trying to set an example for me... but that's cool, because he does it for 'most everyone he believes might be smart enough to learn from him.

I'm not sure how I will feel about it when that day comes. The unrelenting, ubiquitous nature of this responsibility is such that it can very easily feel like it's your reason for living. You can become a parent first and foremost, and forget the other parts of your life. People who do that - you see them once the kids leave, and they look around like they can't quite figure out what the hell just happened, or where they should be, or what they should be doing.

I don't want to be that way. I need to keep hold of the other stuff. Writing. Martial arts. Drinking good wine. Languages, art, travel. Making music purely because I enjoy it.

But oh, hell, it's hard.

God I Love NT News

Long-time readers of this blog will know that from time to time I will reference the broader media -- usually with regard to some issue I consider to be important, but frequently to highlight some piece of utter nonsense that makes me giggle.

In the latter department, the Northern Territory News seems to crop up with disturbing regularity. And once again, that august body has not disappointed:

Flying dong dings bucks party goer

You can click the headline above to find the full text of the article. It is a piece of journalistic glory from yesteryear, replete with innuendo, alliteration, and piss-poor punning. Most importantly, it brings to light a serious issue of OH&S that lesser mainstream outlets are simply too fearful, too cowardly to cover.

All crap aside, I love the NT stuff because it's a window onto an Australia that seems now gone. The complete lack of propriety, the broad humour, the willingness to believe that we're all in on the joke together -- I miss that, in these buttoned-down, uber-sensitive PC modern days.

Yeah, I know. It's crass. And not infrequently offensive, if you choose to take it that way. So sue me: I grew up in Far North Queensland, where people rode liloes down flooded rivers and hurled empty beer bottles at the saltwater crocs to make 'em keep their distance.

It's a complex world. I miss the kind of place and time when you really could hope to solve most problems by sitting down with the opposition and cracking a slab.

Game-Changer

Fossils of Cyanobacteria in CI1 Carbonaceous Meteorites
Richard B. Hoover, Ph.D. NASA/Marshall Space Flight Center

Synopsis

Dr. Hoover has discovered evidence of microfossils similar to Cyanobacteria, in freshly fractured slices of the interior surfaces of the Alais, Ivuna, and Orgueil CI1 carbonaceous meteorites. Based on Field Emission Scanning Electron Microscopy (FESEM) and other measures, Dr. Hoover has concluded they are indigenous to these meteors and are similar to trichomic cyanobacteria and other trichomic prokaryotes such as filamentous sulfur bacteria.

Read the rest of the synopsis here.

Meanwhile... wow. I'm still thinking about this. Hoover is certain enough of his results to throw the paper open to discussion by a very large group of scientists. If he's correct - and it seems likely he is - the implications are amazing.

I showed it to Natalie, who observed that on Earth, extremophile bacteria are found under the most astonishing conditions: kilometres underground, in rock; at the bottom of the ocean, drawing energy from geothermal vents; beneath the Antarctic ice. For her, this article was a shrug.

For me, it's much more. What you've got here is... kind of breath-taking. If the material in the Solar System's Oort Cloud is more-or-less seeded with life, then it's statistically certain some of that life has already gone extra-solar, probably billions of years ago. Equally: who's to say life arose in these parts in the first place? If life can potentially travel like this, then there's absolutely nothing to say that our billions-of-years-distant ancestors didn't hitch a ride here on a carbonaceous chunk belched out of another star system altogether.

Either way, one conclusion is virtually inescapable: this planet is not the sole carrier of life in this galaxy.

So. Where the bloody hell are you, ET?

Finding The Pace

Okay, yeah. Things are working out so far.

I'm learning. Every year, I stop taking on new responsibilities roundabout mid-October, and I don't start again until March or so. Why? Because the end of year carousel is an enormous pile of overload, and agreeing to extras during that time is just pointless. You can't say "yes" to anything in a meaningful way, because you may rest assured that any loose time you THOUGHT you had will be taken up by kids, end-of-school-year stuff, Christmas stuff, visitors, medical students, etc. It's imperative to leave as much time as possible open just to have a margin of safety for the inevitable stuff -- car problems, health issues, random events, etc.

By the first or second week of March, though, the new school year is in train. All the changes are more-or-less rung. I know, for example, that Monday is My Day. No kids, no wife, no significant obligations until dinner must be cooked, and then sword training. Tuesdays Natalie is home too. That doesn't bode well for work. Wednesdays Nat is home as well, and there's ju-jitsu in the afternoon. Thursdays are chopped to the shithouse by relentless to-ing and fro-ing to the school with musical instruments and language-study stuff. Fridays should, in theory, also be useful... but by Friday, you can count on a fistful of imperative errands, plus a bunch of stuff postponed from earlier in the week.

And the weekends are full of kids. Which is fine, yes, but don't expect to get a whole lot done.

So today I did some one-on-one ju-jitsu training with Jake, up in the tricked-out dojo/shed. I ran the pump. I pruned the biggest cherry tree back, rather brutally. Did a few loads of laundry, cooked a mushroom soup with autumn mushrooms that have cropped up in the garden. Got some grocery shopping done, of course. Did some reading on a novel MS that I'm assessing for somebody, took a lot of notes. Yep.

Not a really big day by any means. But through it all, I managed to find time to be around the kids, do a few things here and there. I helped Younger Son figure out how to pull the ink cartridges out of an old bubblejet printer somebody gave him. Younger Son loves pulling complicated shit to pieces, and this was a real bonus: it was a 'Brother' brand printer, so the colour cartridges were all separate. He took 'em all out: red, yellow, blue, and black, smashed 'em open, and gave himself the wildest set of body-paint tattoos you're ever likely to see. Good fun, if you're eight years old, yep.

Younger Son is a hoot. I just wish he and his mother wouldn't argue so much. I don't think Natalie has realised how much alike they are - so when his temper flares and he gets stubborn and bolshy, it rubs her completely the wrong way, and then she kind of reflects it back and it gets even worse. What do you do with an angry eight-year-old and an otherwise sane woman who loses her perspective when she gets caught in an argument with the eight-year-old?

Bad enough that Younger Son and his sister are perpetually trying to one-up each other. It's annoying, yes. But when mum gets involved too, the whole bloody house becomes practically unlivable... and I'm left wondering which one I should be telling to 'grow up'.

Ah, sibling arguments. I suppose I should be entertained. For sure I did enough arguing with my sister as I grew up. But I did grow up. And you wouldn't find me getting involved in that shit any more. There's no bloody percentage in it, is there?

Ate a Blood Plum off my tree today. I put it in about three years ago. This year there's a dozen or so plums on board, and they're delicious. I've had to pick them a little early, for fear of evil possums and parrots, but they'll be fine in a day or two. Got some nice apples on one of my little trees too, and on still another, a couple-dozen almonds. It's nice when all the work of keeping the bastard wallabies and rabbits at bay pays off, even if only in a small way. I can only hope that those of you reading this have had the privilege of eating a ripe plum straight off the tree, sun-warmed... or a decent apple (Cox's Orange Pippins, as a matter of fact) fresh as they get.

Doesn't make up for the dodgy crop of berries this year, mind you. But that's okay. I'll cut back the canes in a month or so, when they've gone dormant, and I'll clean 'em up, and then I'll supply a serious load of blood and bone, and next summer we'll be swamped with 'em.

Meanwhile... I'm thawing a big chunk of lamb. And I've got ripe pepperberries. I shall smash them up with fresh garlic and sea salt in the mortar and pestle, and make a paste that I shall apply liberally to the beastie. Then it will be roast in the charcoal barbecue until it is terrifyingly delicious, and it shall be eaten with crispy potatoes, green salad, and a fine, swaggering brute of a red wine. Hooray!

To finish: a new recipe.

Mr Flinthart's Rather Good Mushroom, Bacon and Sweet Potato Soup.

One medium-sized sweet potato

300 gm bacon, rind removed

400 to 500gm nice, big field mushrooms or portobello mushrooms

two garlic cloves

two white onions

black pepper

fish sauce

cream, milk - or both. Plus a very little cornflour.

Chop up the sweet potato, put it in a small pot with just enough water to cover, and simmer until the potato is cooked. Add a couple tablespoons of fish sauce and allow to cool.

Dice the bacon, the onion and the garlic. Add fresh ground pepper to taste. Cook with a little olive oil in a large pot, over a low heat, until the mixture is much reduced, the onion has become clear, and there is a significant amount of 'pot liquor' at the bottom. Now slice up those mushrooms and throw them in as well. Put the lid on and 'sweat' the mixture for a while. When the mushrooms have darkened and softened, stir the whole mass thoroughly.

Now, with a hand-held blender, puree the sweet potato in the cooking liquid (with the added fish sauce.) Pour the lot in with the mushrooms, and stir.

By now, if you take a spoonful of the mushroom mix, you'll find the flavours are strong and bold. To improve the texture, and to bring the flavours together and soften them a little, whisk maybe a tablespoon of cornflour into two cups of milk. (You may choose to add a half-cup of cream or so for extra richness. Not sure how necessary that is, with all that bacon.)

Add the milk and cornflour to the mushroom soup, and stir thoroughly. Adjust pepper to suit yourself. Add more milk if you want to soften the flavours and increase the volume a little; otherwise, simply serve with a little sour cream, fresh parsley, and crusty bread.

Goes well with a chardonnay.

Dice the bacon. Slice

Holy Sheet!

I'm lost for words. Really. Fan-made live-action trailer to an "Archie" (as in the asinine comics) movie which doesn't exist.

Absolutely amazing, utterly hilarious.

See for yourself.