Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Hunter Street

The centre of Planet Newy has a bunch of old shops laying around doing nothing except become more derelict. Our council is going with the easy option of waiting foir a massive property developer to snavel it all up and fix it in one big sterile and uniform go, than actually maintaining a city that has a sense of heritage.

What do empty shops cry out for? Tagging.

I normally look upon tags with distate. They have no sense of artistic placement, no splash of impact. They're just there as a personal brand stamp on easy target. This one caught my eye, however. I like the associated shadow that it casts.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

More Questions...

I'll carry on with a bit more of Maria's Meme. Maybe today I will get a bit further through the questions than last time.


There used to be a gorgeous huge painting by my girlfriend that smacked you in the eyes from the moment you walked in the door, but we moved it to the lounge area so that everyone could enjoy it. Now there's a hideous built-in wardrobe unit that smacks you in your bad-taste lobe and cries out for customisation.


Scratched, dinged up and not even a year old. It's had grease, sweat, dust, rain... and as a combination of the last three, mud caked on various parts in various combinations. I've learned the hard way that paying the extended insurance fee is well worth it.


Well. Fuck. There are too many genres to cover here, so...

not much Country
not much Opera

I am amused by Metal in it's various pompous forms. (Get over E minor, guys. And dropping your tuning by a semitone or a tone didn't really change your content. It just made those string bends easier, didn't it?)

Jazz has to err on the side of pop to really hold my attention - I mean, if a soloist wanders around for a good ten minutes and can't hint back at the tune at least once or twice I'm bored. I'm lost. I used to think that it meant I didn't have the mind to contemplate jazz properly. Now, I think that it's not so much me. If you wander off and don't link your solo to any good reference points, you're just waffling. You'd fail if it was an essay.


Easy. When the world stopped and everybody said Oh Fuck.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Friday, June 24, 2011

A Meme! Holy YAY!

A while a go Maria posted a mammoth meme that had to come out in a couple of parts. Now, I'm going to bust it up even further. Thirty questions? I haven't got the stamina to answer thirty questions
in one sitting? No way can I sqeeze out anywhere near that in one sitting, especially when for some answers I seem to be prone to a form of literary elephantosis.

So here we go. Maybe five a sitting? I'd say five a day, but that would mean giving up the snooze button time religiously. I can't commit to that with any certainty since the cold snap of the last week.


I have a scar on my head. It's this lumpy raised line that will never (as far as I know) go down. It feels funny when I scratch at it, which is often. The story...

I'd been seconded to do a quick pressure job for my absolute favourite of all superintendents, a gruff loud man by the name of Mick. He would grab you, march you to several points that he wanted cleaned up (that all look identical) and fuck off and leave you to it before you could even ask a question. If you cleaned the wrong area you got yelled at. He was a fantastic man who kept you on your toes by the minute.

Anyway, I found myself cleaning a few places in greasy crawlspaces on a time limit. Because there was nobody but me left after he dictated the job and fucked off, I took the rare liberty of taking my hardhat off while I crawled in and worked. I finished, crawled back out, and stood up too early - before the incline of the roof was actually high enough to stand up under. Consequently, I stood up under a set of grease injectors which have adjustment tabs and buried about a centimetre of one into my head.

Fuck that hurt I thought. Dickhead. I touched my head to feel if there was a bump and instead there was blood. Fuck. Fuckitty FUCK. First thing, I went for the bag of rags I'd been dragging around with me and plucked one out. I pressed it onto that patch on my head and then had a look. It came back red. Not just a little. A big, big patch of red.

It's okay I thought. Head wounds bleed far more than others. I'll go get a second opinion.

With that thought I made my move toward the exit out of the belly of the huge machine I was in, off to search for my supervisor at the time, and also my best mate. Cath'll look after it. She'll tell me I'm a dickhead and it's all fine. Head wounds just bleed a hell of alot, that's all..

So I'm on my way out around this big circular area, and who turns up? You guessed it. Mick. Fuck. He'll blow his brain at me. There he is, coming into my area of work, yelling out for me at the top of his lungs to see if the job is done. I leave the blood soaked rag on my head and whack my helmet over it to cover up the evidence. He checks my work, I breathe a releived thanks, Mick and hightail it the fuck out of there to find Cath.

Cath is having lunch in our work truck. I peel off my helmet and rag combination and tell her to look. She's a mother and a horserider. She's been there for all sorts of injuries. She pries my skull and pokes a bit before she turns to one of the other guys and says it's bad. Go get Mick. Oh, shame.

After that it was decided that I should go to the mine First Aid room. These guys rarely have any fun. They have to be there on call all day and all night, have all the training in the world, but really not much actually goes wrong. So when a case like mine comes in they pull out all the stops. I arrived with a rag on my head and walked out with a full under the chin and a few hundred times around bandage. They have remembered my face for the last few years (primarily, I think) because I made them take photos on my phone for me of just how ridiculous their over the top bandaging effort actually was. We laughed a lot despite the situation.

Next came the trip to Singleton hospital to get stitches. It's a reasonably large town, surrounded by industry and mining, with coal and money spewing out of every orifice. Yet this hospital reminds me of the one that was near the tiny little town I grew up in. It was small and pretty backward. The nurse unwrapped my ridiculously bandaged head. She poked around. She remarked that it would need stitches and disappeared for a while. When she came ambling back through the door she was holding a bit of paper, not the stainless steel bowl of accessories that I expected. There was no doctor following her. Oh, that's right. The doctor had already gone home for the day.

The piece of paper she gave me was a map to the nearest doctor's surgery. In there I spent a further several hours waiting (now in the company of my unpleasant boss) before a doctor pried open my already well clotted and dried wound. He put a stitch in and left me to it. The unpleasant boss stood by while I paid for the whole procedure.

Singleton Hospital? I mean, thank fuck a piece of machinery didn't fall on me. Thank fuck my hand wasn't severed. Who knows what the idea there would be? Here's a map to the nearest metal shop. They'll cut it off in the press for you.


No way. I've written enough for today. That'll do.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

More of Sydney

Here's another not so great night shot of the Vivid Light Show in Sydney recently.

I think the fact that it was raining made the installations all the more beautiful, even though navigation was not so great. Throngs of people with prams and umbrellas and backpacks and cameras and tripods. What a nightmare! No wonder we ducked into any available bar we came across for a "rest" as much as possible.

Once you've stopped tracing the curl of the light ribbon in this installation with your eyes, you look up to see the rest. Nestled just over the back to the right is the Harbour Bridge. If you turn around just a little more to the right you would see a strip leading off toward the Opera House, with more interactive fun installations all along the way to it.

Turn around to the left and you're looking back along Circular Quay, the main transport hub of the harbour, with a set of wharves and train station. The station and several of the hotels behind it are lit up, so that when you are coming across the harbour (either on the bridge or by boat) you will be recieved by a coordinated feast of colour.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Sunday Smart

We continue in Smart style, following the themes of roads, curvature and stark signage... with a container on the back of a truck thrown in. I love in this one how the cones and curvature of the barrier draw your eyes to the fact that maybe it's actually you that has been barricaded, but that traffic and industry do not stop, in fact they just go around you regardless.

Friday, June 17, 2011

Lit Up

Our weekend trip to Sydney was primarily to see the Vivid Light Festival taking place around the harbour. I know Dive is going to be salivating in anticipation of Sydney photos, so here are some extremely amateur shots of the Opera House as a starter.




...and other comments similar to those at a fireworks display. Except this doesn't have pungent smoke and the occasional burning chunk falling out of the sky.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

And the Winner Is...

Oh, Sydney.

We just went to visit our capital city for a few days. Since I don't know my way around at all I was being driven around this city by my partner, my head virtually hanging out the window to soak up the mish-mash of cultures, people, smells, and architecture. I'm still feeling queasy from a dubious experince in Chinatown. Or maybe it was a combination of that and memory-deleting amounts of alcohol at a gay bar on Sunday night. My legs are still sore from the mammoth walk we did along the harbour, looking at light installations and people and fire shows. My mind is overloaded with snippets from exhibitions and sights and wonders.

Could I live there? I don't think so. Maybe. I think that mash of people would send me insane.

Could I visit, as much as possible, indefinately? Hell yes. I don't ever want to tire of looking up at the struts of the harbour bridge while we drive over it. I don't want to lose that amazement of somanybuildings and so MUCH sandstone. I think I probably would if I was a "local".

Anyhow, some picures from the light festival should pop up here within the next couple of days....

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Sunday, June 5, 2011

Sunday Smart

This is my favourite of all Jeffery Smart paintings.
I love the portions of reflection.
I love that the worker placing the arrows is also part of the reflections.
I love the deliberate every-which-wayness of the arrows themselves. I love that they are set up with no point at all.

I love especially that, typical of all road workers, there one dude standing around in the background doing bugger all.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Equations that Make Sense

Yoga = Aerobics + (10 x Years) - Headbands