New bike and future rider

After much searching on eBay, I finallybought my own bike. It's almost a toy bike by serious biker standards but I just love the styling of the Yamaha Virago- retro (like me), minimalist (like I'd like to be) and stylish (I wish).

Anyway, the idea is to use this bike to get my roadcraft and skills up and then- once I'm convinced I'm serious about this- to go for a bigger, more powerful bike.

Mess is Good...

An article by Michael Duffy in the SMH this weekend, says exactly the right things to me:

The decline of mess and the pursuit of neatness start early. We abort foetuses if they show any sign of not being perfect. We're world leaders in our enthusiasm for caesarean births, which do away with much of the mess of ordinary labour. Imperfect, emotionally messy marriages are terminated. Children are farmed out to child-care centres. Old people are put into nursing homes. Those with a low IQ or a mental illness are hidden in welfare sinks such as Minto and Mount Druitt.

Religion, which helps people to cope with the existential messiness of life, is no longer necessary for most of us, except to provide a backdrop for wedding photos.

Our desire to eliminate mess is reflected in our obsession with health and gyms and cosmetic surgery. We see it in the gentrification that has transformed the cityscape, with good taste breaking out in homes and gardens and public places. Everything is new, renovated, freshly painted or planted. In dozens of housing estates around the city fringe this has been taken to extremes, with literally every square metre landscaped. The messy city I grew up in, a place of unguttered streets, vacant blocks and untidy backyards, has almost disappeared beneath the tide of gleaming new apartment blocks, and interesting street furniture.

For some years now I've been wanting to present a eulogy for mess, but I've felt so alone it didn't seem worth the effort. In the relentless search for heritage paint charts, tighter tummies and the perfect olive oil, who would listen? People I talked to about mess often turned out to be wracked by anxiety.

He goes on to quote the authors of a book in USA about the difference between people whose desks are tidy versus those whose aren't- this being the model behaviour that all the efficiently and time management gurus want us to strive to achieve:

[they] are particularly sceptical about personal organisers, who claim that having a messy desk means you waste an hour a day in looking for stuff. They surveyed real office workers and found that people with very neat desks spent 36 per cent more time on organising and searching than people with fairly messy ones. This is probably because an apparently messy desk reflects some intuitive organising principle inside its user's mind.

I knew that.

Powered by ScribeFire.

Coming Out in Style

That was the subject header in a recent email we received from a relative from M's side. The sender has decided to out himself as a gay person and his email went on to say:

Hey all,

Ah, I'm such a dork for doing this in an email but being the champion for cowardice that I am and promoter of the joys of talking about people behind their backs, email it is! So, yeah, I'm gay and that's the first and last, the this and that, thick and thin, and ying and yang of it.

Most of you, I believe, I've told (or hit on!) quite a while ago but being also a champion for lethargy and couldn't-be-bothered-ness, I couldn't be buggered to sort email addresses.

Nah man, this is not an email 'defending' myself or going on some rant and rave so all you wanting a show, move along now! But if you feel I must 'defend' myself, well you'll just have to fuck off coz I couldn't be bothered! If you don't feel I must, well, then I definitely do owe you an apology, at least. It was certainly not a reflection of any mistrust of you but a more general, hard-to-explain weariness. To draw on preeminent 90's philosopher George Castanza, I'm basically giving you the 'It's Not You, It's Me' routine!

But anyway, now that we're done with his, it doesn't have to be anybody, does it? Perhaps, I'm okay, you're okay?

On the 'other news' front, I'm into Month 2 at the PhD program at Stony Brook and I'm finally settling into the grind of readings and classes again after my beautiful 15-month 'sabbatical'. I've got my house (and roommates!) in order and need now only to convince some very smart people for 5/6 years straight that I'm worthy. Shouldn't be too hard. So long as I 'ah-hmm' and clear my throat appropriately during class discussions and punctuate perfectly in my writing, I can't think of what else there is to it...

Very good then. As you were...

Brave, funny and direct. I wish people in my part of the family who I know are gay were able to come to terms with their own sexuality and bring it out in the open in a similar way.

Jamberoo

Pictures from a visit to Jamberoo- an 'aquatic amusement park' about 150Km from Sydney, past Wollongong in the South. Saira enjoyed but came down with a cold the next day....

Eleventh on the third

Quiet initial celebration of Saira's birthday at home (click photo to see more):

Saira B'Day1

Party with friends this Saturday.

क्या केक है!

Flunked the motorcycle test...

Finally got to the next step in my quest for the motorcycle license. One day training course involving classroom instruction, road ride and a motorcycle skills test.

Got a bastard of an instructor, pedantic and rigid, who enjoyed the power he held over the four of us there that day. We all got through the instruction and road ride but I and another bloke flunked the rider skills test. In my case because I could not do the tight, slow U-turn without letting my foot touch the ground.

Back to the drawing board and next time I will practice the hell out of the specific manoevures needed to pass the test before going there.

The only redeeming feature of the day was this note stuck on the on the eye level flush cistern of the urinal in the men's toilet. The last line reads- PUSHEM HEAP BIG BUTTON ON TOP. Obviously the 'How?' question had been asked by a vertically challenged gentleman....

More Blue Mountain Views

Boars Head point?

Kanangra Walls

The 3 sisters

Jenolan Cottages

By day (that's Ami in the shadow)...

And by night...

Blue Mountains View- Oct '06

The Princess and the Queen

Parliament House, Canberra, October '06

The light, the light

Taken at twilight on a day in early February. It had rained earlier in the evening and we were awash in a pale golden light. Later, the fading sunlight was orange as these snaps attest- taken without flash at exposures of about 0.6" (thus a bit blurry).

Comes the day...

1990 Kawasaki ZZR250

...when I can finally get on the bike! Note the yellow L-plate on the back. Thanks, Sreeni!

Getting to ride...Step 2

Completed and passed (46 correct answers for 46 questions!) my Driver Knowledge Test today.

Funny thing is one of the guys doing the rider training with me said that he found that the most long-winded and complicated answer was usually the correct one. I found this to be absolutely correct with the exception that for a question for which the answer was 'Never' you had to choose Never, which was the shortest answer.

Usually they will take a photo and issue you a normal card licence right away. The guy at the RTA sheepishly told me that the licence printing machine was not functioning that day and gave me a paper receipt that will serve as a temporary licence.

Armed with my L plates, I will now go to my friend Sreeni whose bike is sitting unused and which I can use for a month or two... This will happen on Friday.

Need to get a helmet and some gear before that....

powered by performancing firefox

On the road... to a rider licence

Well, I completed the first step to my motorcycle rider learner licence this week.

I have finished the 7 hours (over 2 days) training course and obtained my certificate of competency.

The course dealt with the theory and practice of riding with an emphasis on safe riding. I had to re-learn how to ride after un-learning some of what I had learnt from my riding days in India in my 20's. It's interesting to learn a 'system' after my seat-of-the-pants earlier experience.

They provide the bikes (Honda 250 cc's) and the gear- helmet and gloves.

The course was made more interesting by the typically laconic Aussie bloke we had as our instructor. Though Lachlan (call me Lochie or 'Hey You') looked a boyish 30 with his spiky blonde hair and earrings, he was probably closer to 40. He had the standard-issue laid back self deprecating humour that made some of the boring, pedantic parts of the instruction a little easier to bear.

Next step, to take the computer-based Driver Knowledge Test...stay tuned.

powered by performancing firefox

Keating!

Australians love to hate Paul Keating, the prime minister before the current occupant. Mostly they remember the high interest rates at the time of the recession in the early 90's. That hit them hard in the one area you don't mess with- the cost of and prices of their houses. Many also think him to be arrogant and out of touch with the common guy.

Portrait of P.J. Keating which hangs in Parliament House in Canberra (edited photo)

Certainly he was far from the stereotypical 'average' Aussie. Though coming from humble working class origins, he collects French antique clocks, loves classical music especially Mahler and wears tailored Zegna suits. I do not seem to remember him being particularly hot on either of the two sports- football and cricket- that keep Aussies opiated.

But I am a great fan of his. Firstly he was a radical in terms of his steps to free the Australian economy from the clunky old protectionist backwater it was turning into by continuing the financial deregulation and reduction of import tariffs of the Australian economy, looking to Asia as the place for Oz to find its future place in and his visionary moves to make Australia a republic and for reconciliation with the indigenous Aborigines after the High Court ruling on native title in the Mabo case.

He has inspired a new musical called- Keating!- that has had a good initial run; good enough for them to bring it back in March for a longer run.

For the sourpuss point of view, read Paul Sheehan's review.

powered by performancing firefox

Annual pilgrimage to the Domain

Every year in the Domain, there are at least a couple of free concerts in the summer holidays in Dec-Jan: a Symphony and and Opera. This time there was and opera and jazz in the domain. Last night we went for the opera, Puccini’s Turandot performed by the Australian Opera.

The original poster for the Opera when performed in 1926 (via Wikipedia)

Well, the weather held up and we got a reasonably good spot right in front. With the help of the surtitles and the large Live video screens, plus the binoculars we’d taken along, we actually were able to follow the plot. Turandot is- like most opera, actually- Bollywood on steroids. But it’s hard not to get caught up in the passion and music. And it certainly has one of the most popular arias in Nessum Dorma.


I think we may now be ready for seeing an opera in the House this year!

Belated Friday funnies- better late than never

To Wilson who's off to Punjab- here's a primer on how to deal with the Punjabi girls:

Moving to the other end of the subcontinent now- for admirers of Rajnikanth here's something from a fan that will inspire you:

No one can split bullets like Rajinikaaaan...!

“Noor daram chonna maadhri!” chorused the audience. I sputtered lemonade all over my shirtfront. I turned to Hamsini, who sat next to me, smirking, “Isn’t this the premier show?” Her eyes were glazed, so I tapped her shoulder and asked again. Maybe the whistles and claps had drowned my question. So I asked again, “How do they know the dialogs?” A bald man sitting in the row in front turned around and smiled, “First timer-ah? Wonly Rajini is Sooperstar. Watch, watch!.”

...

I watched, speechless. The projectionist had paused the film. A few lights came on, the entire audience rose to their feet, and there was a deafening applause. I wondered if the movie stars were present and were to be garlanded. But the bald man turned around and explained, “Sutti podu…how do you say in your North, ‘nazar utaarna’.” I watched as they performed the ceremony to the paused frame with my jaws touching my knees. They stayed that way for the rest of the movie. In fact, after fifty-three of his many hundred movies, I probably need medical help from a glazed eye and surprised jaw specialist.

I know now. I am in love with Rajinikant movies. He makes a better entry than Sly Stallone. His sambaar kung fu is far better than Steven Segall’s. He dances, sure, he does. But not once do we forget that he is very mensch (well, the moustache helps). He is Sooperstar!

At first, my gal pals, who have seen me drool over Johnny Depp, thought I was playing a huge trick on them. The boys, who have patiently watched me rewind Bruce Lee flicks to the frame, thought I had lost it.

“Rajanikant?” they exclaimed, “Are you serious?!”

“Yes, yes, Rajinikant!” I corrected. “His Billa makes Shah Rukh look like a sad imitation in Don.” At this point, several girls of the Shah Rukh fan club, found me unworthy of presidentship, left the party. The husband checked if I had imbibed more than a fair share of the Green Island Rum. I read his mind just as Rajini does in Chandramukhi, and told him I’d had but one glass to drink.

I continued, “Even Helen chose Rajinikant over Shah Rukh, she dances the equivalent of ‘Yeh mera dil’ in Billa! And his sneer iz faar more yeefective…” The boys ignored my rapidly thickening accent were persuaded to watch Billa on DVD. Then Ranga, then Muthu, Veera, Annamalai, Dharamayudhdham, Chandramukhi, Padikkadhawan, Thee, NaanMahanalla, Naan Sigappu Manidhan, even Dhalapathy…

Rajinikant is one of a kind. (Sorry, that’s the understatement of the decade!) When he drives an autorickshaw in Baasha (that’s Manik Baasha to you!) he makes heroes out of the little people. He just has to swish his little hand towel back and forth around his neck to make madras checks fashionable. I lost my fascination with the nun chaku after watching that swish. Oh come on! Don’t tell me you’ve seen any movie star light cigarettes the way Rajinikant does. Well, perhaps Clint Eastwood in the spaghetti westerns, but give me Rajini’s taair-saadam fueled fights any day. He flicks chewing gum in the air and the whip-the-sunglasses trick for kids. He walks through hoards of baddies with a smile on his face as he makes his trademark entry in Chandramukhi (I am still searching for sneakers with red sole, by the way). He sticks his hand into a snake-hole and conquers Ramya and Soundarya at one go in Padaiyappa. Who am I to stop him from becoming a part of my DVD collection?

Of course, you can look him up on the Net. No one movie star has more sites dedicated to him than Rajinikant. Rajinikant runs faster than the electrical current to save his lady love. Rajinikant brushes the dust off his shoes (after beating scores of villains) by jumping into the air and clicking his heels. Rajinikant throws a Muruga spear and splits the bullet into two (yeah, you’ve heard about that one, but have you seen it?!) He wears satin green and red and black churidar kurta with matching Lawrence of Arabia headgear, and still gets the heroine to sing, “Style, style da!” There are temples and fan clubs in his name. He’s the only super star to have Japanese fans create manga comics and collectibles in his name. Politicians quake in their veshtis (and sarees) with the thought of Rajinikant entering politics.

If I could I would simply release his films everywhere with Hindi subtitles (or for that matter in any language), even the morning shows at multiplexes would be filled to capacity. He rules YouTube.

No more lusting after Johnny Knoxville’s lower abs, or Matthew McConaughey’s torso. Rajini’s churidaars are tres cool now in my book. And his sooper dialog delivery, accompanied by a half smile and a cocked head. I shall unashamedly watch Padaiyappa again and again and repeat with him, “En vazhi, thani vazhi!” (“My path, is a different path!”)

Certainly he is Sooperman! And what exactly were his antics- here's a partial list- most apocryphal, I suspect:

[1] Rajanikanth has a Brain Tumor which, according to the doctors can't be cured and his death is imminent. In one of the fights, our great Rajanikanth is shot in the head. To everybody's surprise, the bullet passes through his ears taking away the tumor along with it and he is cured! Long Live Rajanikanth!

[2] In another movie, Rajanikanth is confronted with 3 gangsters. Rajanikanth has a gun but unfortunately only one bullet and a knife.Guess, what he does? He throws the knife at the middle gangster & shoots the bullet towards the knife. The knife cuts the bullet into 2 pieces, which kills both the gangsters on each side of the middle gangster & the knife kills the middle one. Long Live Rajanikanth!

[3] Rajanikanth is chased by a gangster. Rajanikanth has a revolver but no bullets in it. Guess what he does. Nah? Not even in your remotest imaginations. He waits for the gangster to shoot. As soon as the gangster shoots, Rajanikanth opens the bullet compartment of his revolver and catches the bullet. Then, he closes the bullet compartment and fires his gun. Bang...the gangster dies... Long Live Rajanikanth!

[4] Rajanikanth gets to know that the villain is on the other side of a very high wall. So high that Rajanikanth can't jump even if he tries like one of those superman techniques that our heroes normally use. Rajanikanth has to desperately kill the villain because it's the climax. Rajanikanth suddenly pulls two guns from his pockets. He throws one gun in the air and when the gun has reached above the height of the wall, he uses the second gun and shoots at the trigger of the first gun in air.The first gun fires off and the villain is dead. Long Live Rajanikanth!

For those of you who've come so far, a bonus serve of an electrifying performance from Vijaykanth awaits:

(via Ultrabrown)

The Blues Sisters

Indi and Saira, some months ago. Taken by Joie, I think.

Untouched by time...almost

I like this photo- taken at the recently re-launched Lake Parramatta Reserve because it could well be one taken thousands of years ago- pristine wilderness now in the middle of the Western suburbs.

Hunt's Creek Reserve- revisited

About a year and a half ago, we went for a guided walk in a reserve very close to where we now live. It's a small reserve but is very quiet considering that it is in the middle of suburban houses. Now that we live closer to it Saira and I went for a bike ride there. We reached what is a small 'waterfall' and took this picture on the right:

It's pretty clear to see the effects of the prolonged dry we have had (large parts of NSW are officially in drought). There's barely any water in the waterfall- see the picture we took in 2005, below to compare:










Last time, I took this picture of what I was told is an orchid bud- not many of these are seen except after some rains. It looks like some alien animal, though it was only about a centimetre or so in size.

Friday amusements

Sam Kekovic is being used again to promote Australian lamb on Australia Day. Last year's ad is a very ocker speech, littered with Australianisms and should provide for some fun even if not all of it will be intelligible to non-Aussies.

I'll post a link to this year's ad when available.

And for those of you wondering where this whole outsourcing is going to end, let me introduce you to 'The Singhsons'

Parents on strike

Here's an interesting story from the Herald Sun that says, of kids:

Many parents have failed to create a spirit of co-operation and mutual respect, and find it's time for a new approach.

So, abandon whatever you have been doing. It doesn't work, and if you keep doing the same thing in the same way you will always get the same result.

Lose the Rambo attitude, sarcasm, character assassination and ultimatums.

Threats are the most common and least effective tactic used by parents.

They automatically trigger defensiveness and a power struggle.

Start by drawing up a list of regular, age-appropriate jobs, ensuring the chores are fair and evenly distributed.

Ensure there is a regular time and day agreed upon when chores must be done.

I recommend a three-step process:

• Show the child how to do the task;
• Do the task with them the first few times;
• Let them do it on their own and praise them when they do a good job.

Don't nag or shout and don't go into broken-record mode. One or two reminders are sufficient.

Try this: "When in the next 30 minutes would you like to feed the dog, set the table, put away your laundry?"

If they don't do something after having been asked once or twice, take away privileges.

On the second request, say in a calm voice: "If you don't do it now, computer privileges are gone for the day."

Some families allow their kids to play their favourite music, loud and throughout the house, while the vacuuming is done.

Finally, the issue of money. Some parents pay their children for work around the house, but I think this is suicidal.

It is wiser to keep jobs around the house separate from pocket money.

Offering financial remuneration for them to do chores sets up a dynamic where the child is no longer helping around the house as part of belonging to the family.

Instead, they learn to see it as a financial transaction.

This can lead to industrial action, and you'll find yourself in drawn-out collective bargaining in which they argue that the money isn't worth it.

Remember, there is no arbitration commission to help you out.

The idea of a working childhood is one we need to embrace by allowing childhood to flow seamlessly into adult life.

I love the picture that came along with the story:

On strike ... mother Cat Barnard takes her frustration to the front yard / AP

Parents of the world- unite!

powered by performancing firefox