tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4795648121873941912024-03-15T04:58:18.418+11:00The Kettle ReduxThis blog will be templateless until such time as I figure out what's doing.Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.comBlogger231125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-91980458024795882292013-10-18T19:30:00.000+11:002014-07-26T22:05:31.865+10:00The moment in the waterThere’s a moment when you’re in the sea and you realise you’re not okay. It just materialises. It isn’t there, the thought, then it is and you know the force pulling you back is stronger than you are. There’s nothing below you and two-feet of white water bearing down on you and not a thing to hold on to. <br />
<br />
Harry knew it too. The moment we realised he let out a cry. I know, I said, I’m trying. <br />
<br />
There was a man on the beach with his kids so I waved that straight-armed wave of panic. He looked and I waved again then he was there. I gave him Harry. I can’t, I said. <br />
<br />
I got half way home before I almost cried. But there was music on the radio and Friday afternoon traffic around us and we were fine. It's just, you know.Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-18375318318685523812013-06-25T21:05:00.000+10:002013-06-25T21:49:15.779+10:00I've got your stuff: An open blog post of apology<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ8DkN2Lvr6XtkBSLbfwk31zaPOE7oO99-d0mR_6EaqRqY09T3tL-jcJENfVm4C30q00x0aEttRi-AStVqwdclCztw0nxN7ZrhXx8ShLdf0GKP1CmJvs1UbeR8yonZ2bFSLdt-hkp0YTc/s1600/books.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ8DkN2Lvr6XtkBSLbfwk31zaPOE7oO99-d0mR_6EaqRqY09T3tL-jcJENfVm4C30q00x0aEttRi-AStVqwdclCztw0nxN7ZrhXx8ShLdf0GKP1CmJvs1UbeR8yonZ2bFSLdt-hkp0YTc/s200/books.png" width="150" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: small;">A selection of the 15 million books I've borrowed, suffering Stockholm syndrome.</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
There are a stack of things I can do quickly: run to just miss a train, eat tacos, get to the head of the beer queue. But one thing I'm never going to do is get your stuff back to you in a reasonable time. I'm sorry, it's bad, I feel bad about it. But age has not wearied my capacity to hold on to your stuff.</div>
<br />
Books are my main problem. They're just so damned interesting and I want to read them all and you have so many! And you're so kind and sharing and offer them to me, and I snap them up greedily, knowing they won't see you again until your children have left home. <br />
<br />
You may not even remember I have them? I recently bumped into someone who had lent me a Jonathan Franzen book a while back. I stuttered something like, "Hey I've started the Franzen! Yeah finally, I had this thing I had to finish but now my evenings are clear and I've read the first 30 pages and I'm really enjoying it (the language is great!) and I should have it finished and back to you by..." At which point I kind of trailed off and she looked at me like I was a cat short of a crazy lady then muttered something about a meeting she had to be at. So Franzen lady, I'm sorry, your stuff is with me. <br />
<br />
So my question is, should I work my way through all the books people have lent me (project-style), or just return them wholesale and unread and add myself to some global 'Do Not Lend' black list? What would you do?<br />
<br />
<br />Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-74804331245314637762013-03-21T21:29:00.000+11:002013-03-21T21:29:01.910+11:00Because it's an election year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhym0VCENVscp_eMe18KiWxKc0YFBhetYdCfMEzusnfle8u2JUi0bsH53CM9tjtGQhV9expGhBvCuaeZJNqMAIbgrFMC_J5D7M6uYPetonsqz3h2ebdTwWYnKxovbwwupeDvdV9fhskmiA/s1600/vd-spill-235x136.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhym0VCENVscp_eMe18KiWxKc0YFBhetYdCfMEzusnfle8u2JUi0bsH53CM9tjtGQhV9expGhBvCuaeZJNqMAIbgrFMC_J5D7M6uYPetonsqz3h2ebdTwWYnKxovbwwupeDvdV9fhskmiA/s1600/vd-spill-235x136.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
I've been thinking about doing some kind of low-brow election year commentary, just for shits and giggles, but I've been a little intimidated, frankly, with all the political smarts of politically smart people flying around.<br />
<br />
But after the fun of today, what with Crean and Gillard and the leadership challenge that never was, I reckon an untrained monkey has as much chance of making any sense of it as anyone else so what the hey, why not have a crack.<br />
<br />
So what do I bring as a political commentator? Absolutely nothing. But I do promise to:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>re-watch <em>The West Wing</em></li>
<li>drink enough beer to make Hunter ST proud</li>
<li>bring everything back to the carbon tax</li>
<li>never, ever say 'Juliar' even if I really, really want to (so lame, so very, very lame. So very lame.)</li>
<li>base my political analysis on fortune cookies and horoscopes</li>
<li>hold my suburb's third, maybe fourth, least sucky election night party.</li>
</ol>
So comrades! Let's get this shit on.Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-63955404151184070082012-08-27T23:21:00.002+10:002012-08-28T21:33:28.646+10:00Wallet, where the bloody hell are you?So I lost my wallet on the weekend which is really, really annoying.<br />
<br />
Of all the shit in my bag, I would have preferred to have lost:<br />
<ul>
<li>any, or all, of my 16 million pens</li>
<li>my high-tech, secret-squirrel work pass</li>
<li>my double-barrelled pencil sharpener (seriously the best sharpener ever, which I have carried with me (I shit you not) for eight, maybe nine, years)</li>
<li>any of my many USBs, replete with awesome blackmail-worthy images.</li>
</ul>
But no. I lost my wallet, which has all the really cool stuff like my driver's licence and my credit card and, bloody hell, my Pet Barn membership. <br />
<br />
So because it's late and I'm grumpy and possibly a little over-tired, here's everything I blame for me losing my wallet:<br />
<ul>
<li>The two boys on the train who were smoking this morning. Far out they were dumb</li>
<li>My darling friend Kate who continues to live in Canberra when I would much prefer her to live in Sydney</li>
<li><em>Big Brother</em>, what's that shit about?</li>
<li>Petrol prices</li>
<li>Climate change</li>
<li>Time machines (lack of)</li>
<li>Rota virus</li>
<li>The cost of living</li>
<li>Capitalism</li>
<li>Lenin (premature death of)</li>
<li>Abdominators</li>
<li>Chumps (generally)</li>
<li>People who hose their concrete</li>
<li>Unequal pay rates</li>
<li>Sexism</li>
<li>Plastic Christmas trees</li>
<li>And Tony Abbott. He just out and out sucks dogs balls.</li>
</ul>
Oh bloody hell, I have nought to blame but myself. All I can say is love your wallet right (or else come join me for a pale ale to dull the pain; either way, win-win).Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-38956281246081408212012-06-28T22:21:00.000+10:002012-06-28T22:21:35.539+10:00Is that a guitar in your lap or are you just happy to see me?I have just started learning the guitar, and goodness me! Isn't it a marvellous instrument? Not only do I feel like Leonard Cohen (I sound like shit but in my head it's all Cohen) but I'm developing suitably rock-god-like calluses.<br />
<br />
This is all very well and good, these calluses, and I am deriving a great deal of pleasure showing friends and loved ones my toughened digits (tapping them on benchtops, desks, any hard surface, "See look! Look! Can't feel a thing!"), but I'm beginning to realise that with every gain to my hardening fingertips there is an equal and opposite loss of everyday functionality.<br />
<br />
You see, I'm discovering that wicked string-stopping calluses mean no fine fingertip sensitity.<br />
<br />
This may sound like a small thing but the consequences are potentially massive (or at least very slightly life-changing in a handful of mildly inconsequential ways).<br />
<br />
You see, I can no longer use chopsticks gracefully, or peel grapes, or pick lint off my clothes. <br />
<br />
Or type properly, or do up bottons with aplomb. And my days as a hand-model? Over, baby.<br />
<br />
I know what you're thinking, I probably couldn't do these things beforehand and you'd be absolutely right, but now that I really can't I'm starting to wonder what other inconsequential things I've been doing on a daily basis (like a chump) that I can get away with not doing, like working, cooking, vacuuming (occasionally), parenting, you know, participating meaningfully in society and shit. <br />
<br />
So tonight I'm giving it all up for the couch, a glass of red and my guitar. Every once in a while it's good to be me.Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-3921682057250705272012-06-09T21:55:00.000+10:002012-06-22T19:52:41.803+10:00So I went sailing on the Endeavour and stuffNow that the histrionics of my last post have passed, I can get on with actually telling you about my trip on the Endeavour. <br />
<br />
And what holiday re-telling is complete without a turgid holiday snap slide-show? None that's what, so here we find ourselves, turgid slide-show and all. So I entreat you to settle down with a nice cup of tea (or a beer if it's after 10am). Ready? Great, let's get started.<br />
<br />
Slide number one, please.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcQ5yxdHWaTPoCW6e2paq9Zr8SU4pypkY80yankZroMtJX0B2ijV7phUn8FnsUfvXtnwmK3VJ4ZPaCh2m4ujGf0NZSDp5zvssSi-NffHpNVdU8MsjwboerI7rs10ewkRj6BBNlMYDrI4/s1600/015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcQ5yxdHWaTPoCW6e2paq9Zr8SU4pypkY80yankZroMtJX0B2ijV7phUn8FnsUfvXtnwmK3VJ4ZPaCh2m4ujGf0NZSDp5zvssSi-NffHpNVdU8MsjwboerI7rs10ewkRj6BBNlMYDrI4/s320/015.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Like all good holidays on the high seas, mine started with an interstate trip to the library. But not just any library, the National Library in Canberra which very conveniently happened to be showing an exhibition on Patrick White the day I was passing through (en route Sydney to Eden, where the Endeavour was docked). <br />
<br />
My darling parents very conveniently live in Canberra so accompanied me to the exhibition where we nerded up a storm then ate Nicoise salads and drank wine at the library's cafe. It was a very, very good several hours.<br />
<br />
After the Patrick White nerdgasm subsided I got back on the bus to Eden. We rattled south through Canberra then on to Cooma, where we stopped for a meal break.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLuKXMFlu3-IUYNUA-8dfhjEhlhMAHen8llEcafWjMwCfXspxZ2guM0MGaFREuRRQs4htT50vNNRk4-rZuWxILKBj578UlVF5V0eBIftCDzDZpn1uDve-awZEpzScOk0EUMB5c7LqSgno/s1600/Cooma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLuKXMFlu3-IUYNUA-8dfhjEhlhMAHen8llEcafWjMwCfXspxZ2guM0MGaFREuRRQs4htT50vNNRk4-rZuWxILKBj578UlVF5V0eBIftCDzDZpn1uDve-awZEpzScOk0EUMB5c7LqSgno/s320/Cooma.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
In Cooma it was inhumanly cold; the little sign above says six degrees. I would have taken a better photo but my fingers froze so this was all I could do. Sorry about that.<br />
<br />
We eventually made it to Eden at some late hour. I had the nine-hours-on-a-bus crazies:<br />
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<br />
But sent my family this photo instead, so they wouldn't worry:<br />
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<br />
Then I slept and had a nightmare about being stuck on a bus for nine hours and having to stop at Cooma and freeze my arse off and then getting the crazies in a budget hotel room in Eden (no wait).<br />
<br />
The next morning started with instant coffee (which we won't speak of), then, goodness, this:<br />
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<br />
And look! This:<br />
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<br />
Is it not the most beautiful boat you've ever seen? I think so too.<br />
<br />
On the boat there was lots of rope.<br />
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We eased it and hauled it, then we coiled it. Rope is cool.<br />
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When we weren't on watch (four hours on, eight hours off) we were scoffing food down in the teeny weeny galley (or, more likely, playing cards):<br />
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<br />
Or trying to get some sleep in the hammocks:<br />
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Or up on deck enjoying the wonder of it all:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIsNFltCgMnquIx2xEmJy1Y5tOd8YFBInRFMv3miYfGbONUcylqJhSJBbXrf4JS6adgLCo5DZoATYB1ofaGHlkor8mT8HLbOJdL58FGdvqg8_6DSYqLlPSQuAU9d_z2OXm0g8eFWuwpfw/s1600/endeavour+sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIsNFltCgMnquIx2xEmJy1Y5tOd8YFBInRFMv3miYfGbONUcylqJhSJBbXrf4JS6adgLCo5DZoATYB1ofaGHlkor8mT8HLbOJdL58FGdvqg8_6DSYqLlPSQuAU9d_z2OXm0g8eFWuwpfw/s320/endeavour+sunset.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbzhHTxUf_1nN09j6-L3nBTfNgfhyTyzp4D9CCr_r7P1SKVgfwg0B5HbUHJK7oD48Yue4ItzsgwvpG2D0yiVNfYX32r7LAKc_fnLe5WX6H82GG1KJkdr_PoP141E2wsAlUF_ne_xzRZY8/s1600/endeavour+aloft.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbzhHTxUf_1nN09j6-L3nBTfNgfhyTyzp4D9CCr_r7P1SKVgfwg0B5HbUHJK7oD48Yue4ItzsgwvpG2D0yiVNfYX32r7LAKc_fnLe5WX6H82GG1KJkdr_PoP141E2wsAlUF_ne_xzRZY8/s320/endeavour+aloft.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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[Thank you, dear crew member Foremast Number Six, for helping me climb aloft. You rock Mr P.]<br />
<br />
Despite the sleep deprivation, the non-surfeit of showers, the sometimes-we-work toilets and the constant rolling of the boat under our feet, coming home was very hard and I wasn't at all sure I wanted the voyage to end. Sailing into Sydney harbour (almost) made the end bearable:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6g_bEFA2h8Gy3eZUrpyeej_9CR2i9YOaXpqZTkhZ9s5vd18j0-tYSR7veqG1Z-IqWlDmv6qZXxJ-2sg6rVxloHwy9AI0tZbjPy5Xw5sLgFpGR-G-dgBO5LMlEAS-HgEjgISJWftOTtNo/s1600/endeavour+into+sydney.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6g_bEFA2h8Gy3eZUrpyeej_9CR2i9YOaXpqZTkhZ9s5vd18j0-tYSR7veqG1Z-IqWlDmv6qZXxJ-2sg6rVxloHwy9AI0tZbjPy5Xw5sLgFpGR-G-dgBO5LMlEAS-HgEjgISJWftOTtNo/s320/endeavour+into+sydney.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3TNw-eaoFP1rVSAOyDU1F6F28SwYORrH_flCVsjPL4xnrUfYYjtJBCXiOhcaEI4Q8WgTpq5bJsKpQ9lNzurO0sszRSG_fF4w98wQMR0DSgdNuZejnQ4uoxvnRHwJ_iIDocASEtHbUp5o/s1600/endeavour+harbour+bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3TNw-eaoFP1rVSAOyDU1F6F28SwYORrH_flCVsjPL4xnrUfYYjtJBCXiOhcaEI4Q8WgTpq5bJsKpQ9lNzurO0sszRSG_fF4w98wQMR0DSgdNuZejnQ4uoxvnRHwJ_iIDocASEtHbUp5o/s320/endeavour+harbour+bridge.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBIYBDLFbyz3QSXqlXP7qOFNV0orSnhD086MEeXT0RnRyVGpO4ySE98r0QpNjvPGJuc-_IYcQ_L6APkkkamnEuDuVYkUMmRvtZDFPSp8IoXliT-o22dcf5I4zw6T3R84pOgwAH8v0bkmU/s1600/endeavour+sydney+return.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBIYBDLFbyz3QSXqlXP7qOFNV0orSnhD086MEeXT0RnRyVGpO4ySE98r0QpNjvPGJuc-_IYcQ_L6APkkkamnEuDuVYkUMmRvtZDFPSp8IoXliT-o22dcf5I4zw6T3R84pOgwAH8v0bkmU/s320/endeavour+sydney+return.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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And after a week at sea nothing, absolutely freakin' nothing, could have tasted better than this did:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr9NCPkTgn5sdc7OV6A5WujXeDpocpGm1PjUVPTrEdDzbNMsX8LeZ79YwbtCSzrqkAToqV7gNdY5_aQuRAw7hjuGpUuesW23HtCZaaDV27sw6zZwKtzSE1z-8pXwR51fBeVIZbpBA5PFs/s1600/endeavour+beer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr9NCPkTgn5sdc7OV6A5WujXeDpocpGm1PjUVPTrEdDzbNMsX8LeZ79YwbtCSzrqkAToqV7gNdY5_aQuRAw7hjuGpUuesW23HtCZaaDV27sw6zZwKtzSE1z-8pXwR51fBeVIZbpBA5PFs/s320/endeavour+beer.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Where to from here? My small boy and I were out on the ferries again the following Sunday, and I'm busily planning my next trip into the great blue. Huzzah.Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-91662264801664809002012-06-07T21:55:00.000+10:002012-06-07T21:55:57.954+10:00The worst thing about writing a nonsense blog is that every now and again life slaps you in the face and what you want to write about doesn't fit the frippery you've been throwing around.<br />
<br />
This, of course, comes with the danger that you're taking yourself too seriously and there's nothing worse than that (really, absolutely nothing). <br />
<br />
So what to say? I want to tell you that I sailed on the Endeavour for a week and it was the best week of my life and the worst. It was physically hard, mentally hard, cold, wet, rushed, panicked, incomprehensible. <br />
<br />
But it was also ridiculously fun, other worldly, companionable, magnificent, irreplaceable, unrepeatable.<br />
<br />
For the first time in my life I get this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSUEEf8h850y726yHvbgxxrgBnp_qzuttVpRWMCU-IS_QbROju4WleJbgDiBx831rLIi0lBiLyPnzzP543qytlRY7wcCTXexAl847PAMvgoBkqD9JbWoMeLyy8x-3hjhHrhO9tZFJ52o0/s1600/love_hate_tattoos_1495.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSUEEf8h850y726yHvbgxxrgBnp_qzuttVpRWMCU-IS_QbROju4WleJbgDiBx831rLIi0lBiLyPnzzP543qytlRY7wcCTXexAl847PAMvgoBkqD9JbWoMeLyy8x-3hjhHrhO9tZFJ52o0/s1600/love_hate_tattoos_1495.jpg" /></a></div>
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There is no static middle ground, really. Who are we kidding? We swing right across the spectrum in everything we do. And I like that. If we didn't, how would we know we're alive?<br />
<br />
Time to sign off before you start snorting in derision at me.Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-83631287404199602652012-04-13T23:29:00.000+10:002012-04-26T07:25:37.048+10:00Stop wining [yes wining!] and do my tax?So Mr Kettle is heading off to Melbourne for a long weekend at the Melbourne Comedy Festival. Go Mr Kettle!<br />
<br />
Since cloning technology has not (surprisingly, yes?) advanced so far as to enable me to be in both Melbourne living it up <em>and</em> Sydney raising the next generation I find myself trying to decide how best to spend the weekend here in Sydney.<br />
<br />
Should I:<br />
<ol>
<li>Buy half a dozen bottles of wine and invite some friends over for a few hours of crapping on and ad libbed performance poetry, or</li>
<li>Do my 2010/11 tax?</li>
</ol>
Please, take your time, it's not an easy question to answer (and, also, it's the question that does actually face me). Your thoughts?<br />
<br />
And when you're done with that, can someone please explain to me what the fuck happened with the Greens today?Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-17224784830112719542012-04-12T22:36:00.000+10:002012-04-13T07:32:36.696+10:00Once-diligent blogger 'got peckish', forgot to postGoodness me I've become the world's least-posting blogger. <br />
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Luckily there are a few oft-searched words in posts from earlier years so to my delight this site still pops up in the Googles every now and then. <br />
<br />
And to my extra delight the most commonly searched terms that lead people here are 'nice boys' and 'good hair,' which I'm cool with (the search phrase that does actually worry me a little is 'how to survive a dust storm'; true story. There really is nothing here that can help you if you've got a dust storm bearing down on you. Please! Leave now! I don't know shit about sand!).<br />
<br />
Anyhoo, so here we are in April already. While it may <em>look</em> like I've completely neglected this site for months now it's not entirely true that I have. You see, I've been annoying dear friends and family taking photos of, well, bloody everything, all with the intention of posting them here. I've stopped meals, halted martinis mid-sip, made people pull over, ignored dear companions for whole chunks of evenings while I've set up just the right shot... All for what? For nought, because I've posted none of them here.<br />
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Urgh, I really am the world's worst blogger (and possibly friend/daughter/Mahjong partner too).<br />
<br />
So, time to re-engage. Here's a little something we can talk about tomorrow. See you then?<br />
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<br />Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-36765677873417409752012-03-22T22:40:00.000+11:002012-03-22T22:40:20.656+11:00Things I should probably work on:<br />
<br />
1. Emotional resilience.<br />
<br />
(So. Very. Tired.)<br />
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Here's a picture (why not?):<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi06mjaaWMr5E0Cn9Gt4wYYHoJLdpYMN9bMmFccwb5HymBdY2zObBDYr1TPCX1yzJLm7LOTc03VE81XqMaQcN-zR656OtzRskMxrwaKTGt4BHA23qTVv3Rvb1CD2kHZqNIVN4hnULCXeIM/s1600/111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi06mjaaWMr5E0Cn9Gt4wYYHoJLdpYMN9bMmFccwb5HymBdY2zObBDYr1TPCX1yzJLm7LOTc03VE81XqMaQcN-zR656OtzRskMxrwaKTGt4BHA23qTVv3Rvb1CD2kHZqNIVN4hnULCXeIM/s320/111.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-36469635272536630802011-12-28T17:47:00.000+11:002011-12-30T17:56:15.510+11:00Christmas* wrap* I'm not sure if it's possible (or advisable?) to begin a post with an asterisk but look! It's where we find ourselves. I do hope you'll forgive me.<br />
<br />
I've called on the asterisk in a half-arsed attempt to excuse away my laziness. <br />
<br />
You see, I'm more (as in entirely) an atheistic type so wishing everyone a 'merry Christmas' is a bit non-sensical. But as we have just returned from a week interstate and I'm feeling, well, lazy the prospect of writing a few nuanced, sensitively worded paragraphs outlining a few nuanced and sensitive thoughts on the significance of multi- and non-denominational end-of-year celebrations is entirely beyond me. <br />
<br />Let us, in the absence of such commentary, agree to agree that there is something very lovely about getting to the end of the year, about eating wildly excessive amounts of food, and about watching the cricket (just joking Ramon. I haven't actually watched <em>any</em> cricket!).<br />
<br />
So in the true lazy-montage-spirit of all B-grade films from the 1980s, here's a bunch of photos from my end of year/wildly excessive food/non-cricket celebrations.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QRywa-rQfcU/Tv1SwBQgM9I/AAAAAAAAAvc/KB1kdNMpgoE/s1600/ridiculously+nice+martinis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="249" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QRywa-rQfcU/Tv1SwBQgM9I/AAAAAAAAAvc/KB1kdNMpgoE/s320/ridiculously+nice+martinis.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />There were martinis with lychee (singular) and blueberries (no way!).<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yWri5BycQJU/Tv1TH7WQutI/AAAAAAAAAvo/J3KrfUGEGmc/s1600/Beach+picnic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yWri5BycQJU/Tv1TH7WQutI/AAAAAAAAAvo/J3KrfUGEGmc/s320/Beach+picnic.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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There were a-happenings at the beach (where does the water end and the sky begin, and etc.).<br />
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There were ridiculously happy children at water parks.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lrkWKqQwAq4/Tv1UAfg_WcI/AAAAAAAAAwA/jvOXUbmCHno/s1600/foot+carols.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lrkWKqQwAq4/Tv1UAfg_WcI/AAAAAAAAAwA/jvOXUbmCHno/s320/foot+carols.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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And Christmas carols, performed ped-style.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oHGc-rSai5g/Tv1VRRNu5EI/AAAAAAAAAwM/cgVlrpxGONs/s1600/worst+music+evah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oHGc-rSai5g/Tv1VRRNu5EI/AAAAAAAAAwM/cgVlrpxGONs/s320/worst+music+evah.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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There was a long discussion about which was the worst sheet music to admit to owning from childhood (our vote was tied; your thoughts?).<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1AAdVlKgcYc/Tv1V4EQoOgI/AAAAAAAAAwY/3UPhVNsA2u0/s1600/prawns+and+dictionaries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1AAdVlKgcYc/Tv1V4EQoOgI/AAAAAAAAAwY/3UPhVNsA2u0/s320/prawns+and+dictionaries.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And another long discussion about 'couth' and 'uncouth', for which the Penguin dictionary was absolutely no help whatsoever (at least there were prawns).<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vBmpTesBUsY/Tv1WzPXA-YI/AAAAAAAAAwk/vhIGj6KCVx4/s1600/too+much+time+christmas+light.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vBmpTesBUsY/Tv1WzPXA-YI/AAAAAAAAAwk/vhIGj6KCVx4/s320/too+much+time+christmas+light.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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There were neighbourhood Christmas lights by people with really, really too much time.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7eaP7h0lVAo/Tv1ak8CBcpI/AAAAAAAAAw8/tpwpWiFBmIE/s1600/Christmas+lights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7eaP7h0lVAo/Tv1ak8CBcpI/AAAAAAAAAw8/tpwpWiFBmIE/s320/Christmas+lights.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And of course, wanky hipstamatic photos taken willy nilly by lasses who really do know better.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rai4Xso9FOs/Tv1XO7FJNZI/AAAAAAAAAww/oIaAfbb6_IQ/s1600/Christmas+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rai4Xso9FOs/Tv1XO7FJNZI/AAAAAAAAAww/oIaAfbb6_IQ/s320/Christmas+tree.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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There were badly framed Christmas trees, with surprise elbows!<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z_JmHSfllYk/Tv1bZNky6HI/AAAAAAAAAxI/7dFDu2p_xsI/s1600/the+prince+and+duchess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z_JmHSfllYk/Tv1bZNky6HI/AAAAAAAAAxI/7dFDu2p_xsI/s320/the+prince+and+duchess.jpg" width="310" /></a></div>
<br />
And curious tins of biscuits at the local supermarket...<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-k4WVMEKlplY/Tv1b8XaPeNI/AAAAAAAAAxU/ILK7N14zzQE/s1600/curious+biscuit+sections.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-k4WVMEKlplY/Tv1b8XaPeNI/AAAAAAAAAxU/ILK7N14zzQE/s320/curious+biscuit+sections.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>
<br />
...in even more curiously labelled sections.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mEpi41edrdU/Tv1cdUpIV0I/AAAAAAAAAxg/I68ho2Un1a8/s1600/happy+blurry+photos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mEpi41edrdU/Tv1cdUpIV0I/AAAAAAAAAxg/I68ho2Un1a8/s320/happy+blurry+photos.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
But best of all, there were lots and lots of happy, blurry photos (aww shit).<br />
<br />
Now tell me about your break while I quietly vomit about the sentimentality of my own.Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-66523436759250782292011-12-12T18:27:00.001+11:002011-12-12T23:47:05.991+11:00Completely self-indulgent photos from my trip to Melbourne (because I can, that's why)So I went to Melbourne on the weekend, and while I love my family dearly and couldn't live without them I would also be ok staying in Melbourne for ever and ever and never leaving. Ahem.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I had such a lovely time. It was so good that I took a whole bunch of wanky hipstamatic photos and I would dearly love to share them with you. Will you indulge me a moment or two? <br />
<br />
If you do not have a moment for such indulgences I thank you for joining me to this point and I wish you well for the rest of your day.<br />
<br />
If you do have a moment, hurray. Let us revel in the awesomeness that is Melbourne together.<br />
<br />
So, photo the first:<br />
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I think there's something in this for all of us. Yeah that's right, Melbourne's Environmental Management Team totally sucks. I took this photo around 8:30am Saturday morning; what kind of city leaves this sort of poetic detritus from the previous night's revelry lying around until that time of the morning? Sheesh.<br />
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This might be too small to see? The sign says, 'Captains of Industry: Gentleman's Outfitters and Cafe,' which I liked very much.<br />
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This shit is about coffee and ukuleles. Oooohhhh yeahhhhhh.<br />
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Gills Diner and The Commercial Bakery do the best of everything ever. You should go there.<br />
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Check out those cheeky tomatoes on the middle shelf. Poking their tongues out. I say. <br />
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Next suit I buy (following the next offer of employment I receive) I'm buying these cuff links for sure (unless I get a job at The Commercial Bakery, in which case I'm gonna get me some cheeky tomato cuff links).<br />
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So I went to the National Gallery of Victoria to see the Mad Square exhibition. Firstly, I still can't figure out how it can be the 'national' gallery of Victoria, and secondly, which is sexier: the hairy arm-pitted woman in the banner or the man-in-the-checkered-shirt's arse? <br />
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This is the other side of the gallery entrance. As you can see I accidentally bumped the filter on hipstamatic so we somehow landed in Copenhagen in 1957. Who knew time travel was possible with a $1.99 app?<br />
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These teeny weeny chairs were on display in the gallery shop. I have a thing for tiny chairs; I only wish there was time to go into it now but fortunately not. This is a shit photo and I couldn't get it to work but the tiny chairs were magnificent.<br />
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This was lunch at the gallery. I'm embarrassed to say I wolfed it down (and I may have sculled the wine too). It was the tiny chairs what did it to me.<br />
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This is the nicest piece of street art I've seen anywhere ever.<br />
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The framing on this kills me but what's not to love about a sign for an ocular prosthetist? Nothing, that's what. (And wouldn't you love to meet Mr Russell?)<br />
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And so we come to one of the trip's golden highlights: beer, lemons and chips with Ramon, Melba and Mr E from The Site Formally Known As. You three characters bloody rock. I was very pleased to meet you.<br />
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Then surprise jazz gig! With crepes and sangria! Who knew crepes and sangria went together? Well they don't, so no-one I guess, but the jazz was good.<br />
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Post-jazz it was Salman Rushdie and tempranillo at the Punch Lane Wine Bar. Fark. By the end of the night we three were totally best friends.<br />
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At closing time Salman and I stumbled along Bourke Street past our favourite bookshop in Melbourne, The Paperback Bookshop, where we bought the seventh edition of the Sleepers Almanac because we both love and support new Australian writing. Go Sleepers. Go Salman.<br />
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Sunday morning brought this, before anything else.<br />
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After a decent amount of time, Sunday morning also brought this: a chappy playing a 'hang' (Dave this is for you).<br />
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Then I met some darling friends for lunch and we planned a book we hope Littlefox Press at Alice & Co. will publish for us. I love Littlefox Press almost as much as I love tempranillo and Salman Rushdie.<br />
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There was more of the trip after that but I have clearly reached my wanky hipstamatic photo quota so will stop here. The end.Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-54675181185997044222011-10-17T23:47:00.007+11:002011-10-18T00:07:12.101+11:00Late-night ramblings about Fourth Generation German-American writers (now deceased)I've just finished reading Kurt Vonnegut's <em>Slaughterhouse Five </em>for the first time (well, second; books that good deserve immediate second readings). Vonnegut's prose is the best I can remember reading for at least a decade.<br /><br />I thought, after 354 pages, that I loved Vonnegut completely then I came across the following and fell in love with the dear man all over again and then some:<br /><br /><blockquote>In the mid 1950s, Vonnegut worked very briefly for <em>Sports Illustrated </em>magazine, where he was assigned to write a piece on a racehorse that had jumped a fence and attempted to run away. After staring at a blank piece of paper on his typewriter all morning, he typed, "The horse jumped over the fucking fence," and left.<br /></blockquote><br />Mr Vonnegut, you're alright by me.Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-55635601254978384522011-09-07T21:23:00.009+10:002011-09-07T21:43:37.283+10:00Motor Ace is still the shiz<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhngH5s1MqR2PosgcWoU9IRhpq_rwQ3Mo8bK9Sh2PBmCeiSydio74bSfq5ADbQyFqHvnSLSom1bZ7iNhHmFFEsJyix6sHwDDwRkyDCk_4ZJozgsip1hyhli0yoz8zT_oo9gOzhnQadPoS8/s1600/Motor+Ace.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 225px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhngH5s1MqR2PosgcWoU9IRhpq_rwQ3Mo8bK9Sh2PBmCeiSydio74bSfq5ADbQyFqHvnSLSom1bZ7iNhHmFFEsJyix6sHwDDwRkyDCk_4ZJozgsip1hyhli0yoz8zT_oo9gOzhnQadPoS8/s400/Motor+Ace.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649579796712064482" border="0" /></a><br />So I used to love Motor Ace. You remember Motor Ace? With their <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">angsty</span> pop-rock they were the perfect band for the melancholic early-twenty-something. I remember going to a gig (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ok</span> several gigs) at the Metro in Sydney where I clutched my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">BFF's</span> [<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">sero</span>] hand and we screamed the lyrics of 'Budge' as Patrick <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Roberston</span>, in all his diminutive loveliness, sang them just for us (we were so sure).<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Anyhoo</span>, so a recent wave of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">nostalgias</span> has inspired me to dig out <span style="font-style: italic;">Five Star Laundry</span>, and sitting here listening to it and wondering what the shit happened to Motor Ace, I came across this on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Wikipedia</span>:<br /><br /><blockquote>The individual members remain on amicable terms. Robertson now professionally scores for film and television, while <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Ong</span> still occasionally performs around Melbourne with his Joni Lightning project. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Costin</span> continues to work in the music industry. Matt <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Balfe</span> is currently a freelance lion tamer.<br /><br /></blockquote>Matt <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Balfe</span> is currently a freelance lion tamer? This is not so much what I expected as not what I expected? Can anyone verify this?Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-4466334381213372562011-09-06T17:01:00.000+10:002011-09-06T20:44:40.888+10:00Survey thisA long time ago (January?) I started a series of posts called 'Things I Don't Understand (But Wish I Did)' on another blog. It was meant to be an occasional series, and I must confess I have taken such liberties with it that I have not added to it since its inception in January (although there have been things, multitudes actually, and daily, that I have not understood).<br /><br />So in an effort to address this terrible neglect I decided this morning to post the very next thing that mystified me, so here it is:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Rac9C8efYfUUBDGLog5ccsVcAaqZ2BGVaacUvSlbG6r5RYmel6wDvF-Jt2x2ICDbXJm30g1S0UPWHDbh52ha4QVwkfLeA76GxIlNXZJ7AnNGQn9V1a-SZHIU9qyaTtA0-TVrfZdjKNE/s1600/survey0002.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 103px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Rac9C8efYfUUBDGLog5ccsVcAaqZ2BGVaacUvSlbG6r5RYmel6wDvF-Jt2x2ICDbXJm30g1S0UPWHDbh52ha4QVwkfLeA76GxIlNXZJ7AnNGQn9V1a-SZHIU9qyaTtA0-TVrfZdjKNE/s400/survey0002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649186759734830738" border="0" /></a>Not the easiest thing to read, is it? Sorry. I'll see if I can fix it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn42lbby5tr1kZpd9B3LYL-iSrgi7Wn4VTIbaqyJnpPwXEUl2rIWOIpckoHlI4bDi_kIcnCOuaB5pYotVjqR9dr0Pmp50quimtKmaDog8pLxzXAlvgPj94J-oCyx9i0WKgd40KufyhiCk/s1600/survey0002.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 100px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn42lbby5tr1kZpd9B3LYL-iSrgi7Wn4VTIbaqyJnpPwXEUl2rIWOIpckoHlI4bDi_kIcnCOuaB5pYotVjqR9dr0Pmp50quimtKmaDog8pLxzXAlvgPj94J-oCyx9i0WKgd40KufyhiCk/s400/survey0002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649188835015310402" border="0" /></a>Ok so apparently I can't fix it. Sorry about that (Alex help!).<br /><br />Anyhoo, it's a survey that arrived today, one of those 'Tell us what it's like to live where you live, chump!' surveys. Now I love filling in a good survey, in fact I love filling in forms of all types (formgasmic), so imagine my delight when this giant 10-pager arrived.<br /><br />I rattled through the pages, ticking boxes, strongly agreeing and mildly disagreeing everywhere. Then I got to the last two questions, above:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Question 42</span>: How satisfied are you with the way democracy works in Australia?<br /><br />and<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Question 43</span>: What is your favourite retail shop in your local area?<br /><br />What the fuck? Seriously? Your thoughts on the effectiveness of Australia's political system, and oh, while we've got you, where do you buy your Tampax?<br /><br />I'm guessing this is a State government effort.Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-16235842408504416542011-09-02T17:44:00.003+10:002011-09-02T18:14:56.492+10:00Yeah I mean you, shitty businessSo here's the thing with Facebook: If you're a business and you have a Facebook page and you post things on it and people respond, unless those responses are unforgivably lewd (and you're not, ahem, a publisher of adult 'books'), THEN YOU SHOULDN'T DELETE THEM BECAUSE IT MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE A CENSORIOUS DICK of a business.
<br />
<br />Just saying.Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-80899269900042234452011-07-26T05:40:00.019+10:002011-07-26T10:15:18.203+10:00Polaroids of *Ahem* Hot Guys ReadingShameless, Kettle, shameless.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_0E8nSkbrd3RCC81Sxo5bk3oFxp1uJgQDrESPntPQv3XrVTBTGbvfcLDwtDNGkjVOJT2RVoyHppNZRpUQcn9F_NDu3KMwVzLSBzj_j9c7rHoIjk8-Ymti-VnqmSwgOuSsDz43Mo7boYc/s1600/polaroids+of+hot+guys+reading.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 387px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_0E8nSkbrd3RCC81Sxo5bk3oFxp1uJgQDrESPntPQv3XrVTBTGbvfcLDwtDNGkjVOJT2RVoyHppNZRpUQcn9F_NDu3KMwVzLSBzj_j9c7rHoIjk8-Ymti-VnqmSwgOuSsDz43Mo7boYc/s400/polaroids+of+hot+guys+reading.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633390469317564018" border="0" /></a><br />See more (more!) <a href="http://polaroidsofhotguysreading.tumblr.com/">here</a>, via <a href="https://www.facebook.com/readingsbooks">Readings</a> (thank you ever so much, Readings).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaeYMu4JV3BL3vAgaxNESMTYDDm-VNV6uhFTk0Xmm5L7_IUn-rJXe0SHkg874M0QI23xWkhDBuSsCRwG6p0do9HdHwz3kreI6wZNy8L5tAepwaKYQP6gXQ_vwHDjsCKwnD3Lq85jiQIrM/s1600/polaroids_3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 389px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaeYMu4JV3BL3vAgaxNESMTYDDm-VNV6uhFTk0Xmm5L7_IUn-rJXe0SHkg874M0QI23xWkhDBuSsCRwG6p0do9HdHwz3kreI6wZNy8L5tAepwaKYQP6gXQ_vwHDjsCKwnD3Lq85jiQIrM/s400/polaroids_3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633447868086973186" /></a><br /><br />Oh go on then, here's another one:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3P8LW1-ATMcNz00hUJdE1TGKAjWiOLk7vGWYYC-8p287iQsGJ7g3CSR5DmYE43TV7JftOqKGAD67EUllskkgnruDSZJVKv0OCBuKd6sJ52lc6jWs1wPcD_Ey2mJ3q7WZd-k0-RNf-Leg/s1600/polaroids_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 388px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3P8LW1-ATMcNz00hUJdE1TGKAjWiOLk7vGWYYC-8p287iQsGJ7g3CSR5DmYE43TV7JftOqKGAD67EUllskkgnruDSZJVKv0OCBuKd6sJ52lc6jWs1wPcD_Ey2mJ3q7WZd-k0-RNf-Leg/s400/polaroids_2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633390588327575794" border="0" /></a><br />Thank you Mr Dean and your <span style="font-style: italic;">Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley</span>, now I can get back to work.Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-74328740420503260772011-07-16T17:09:00.025+10:002011-07-16T18:51:39.993+10:00Your coffee or your love?There's a cafe up the road from our place where they're very serious about coffee. (Very. Serious.) If the term 'coffee shop' didn't sound so cutesy I'd call it a coffee shop because that's pretty much all they do: sell coffee, in its wet and hot, wet and cold, ground and unground forms. Sure they sell a few macaroons and the odd chocolate croissant but I suspect these items are more counter accessories than a major source of revenue.<br /><br />So this cafe sells very good coffee which is, inherently, a very good thing.<br /><br />By extension then, given the God-like status caffeine enjoys in my life, I consider the staff to be (inherently) very good people, and I would certainly have their babies and/or tweak their nipple rings if any were to ask.<br /><br />(Please ask.)<br /><br />But despite the centrality of these barista Gods to many of our lives, I worry they may not be altogether very happy people? In the year I've been frequenting this 'coffee shop' I have never seen any of these baristas crack a smile or share a familiar 'hello' with their devotees, nor (heavens!) engage in a spot of banter.<br /><br />In fact, I was so desperate for an actual interaction with them last week that I mistook a barista chappy asking me how he could help me with how I *was* (existentially, I assumed). It was only when he looked away (embarrassed for both of us) that I realised he wasn't in the least concerned with how I was, just what form of coffee artistry was required of him. Ahem.<br /><br />So my question is, can you be an expert coffee-maker <span style="font-style: italic;">and </span>show your clientele the odd human kindness (a smile here, a 'see you next time' there), or does one preclude the other?Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-91639016080103198742011-06-29T18:44:00.001+10:002011-06-29T18:46:32.312+10:00Marvellous!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm8dbMBmz3FtIU_B1Kqq7EJcY6tIvC_7BWA3nfJ3jSxs8rXJI1dfotUXovw0JXwFSHpOGpgq_FMp1GvDyjlqZV5KwohlMQE6lcGtiWlzcl1-FZBfbo6ppiXpHfN-cy9dGAIQcCBlF-h18/s1600/gaymsrisghrhrhr.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm8dbMBmz3FtIU_B1Kqq7EJcY6tIvC_7BWA3nfJ3jSxs8rXJI1dfotUXovw0JXwFSHpOGpgq_FMp1GvDyjlqZV5KwohlMQE6lcGtiWlzcl1-FZBfbo6ppiXpHfN-cy9dGAIQcCBlF-h18/s400/gaymsrisghrhrhr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623560130485208706" border="0" /></a>From <a href="http://www.dangerousminds.net/comments/if_you_dont_like_gay_marriage/">here</a>.Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-63664292818162919722011-06-20T11:01:00.005+10:002011-06-20T11:13:30.371+10:00Teach me what?I have an exam today so I've been doing some practise questions.<br /><br />I just came across this one:<br /><br />True or False: Living in poverty affects a child's school achievement rather than their emotional or behavioural states.<br /><br />My answer: False<br />Correct answer: True<br /><br />I thought, in answering the question, no, living in poverty does not <span style="font-style: italic;">just </span>affect a child's school achievement, <span style="font-style: italic;">rather than </span>their emotional or behavioural states. I think living in poverty would affect <span style="font-style: italic;">all </span>those areas; doesn't it?<br /><br />Apparently not, according to my textbook.<br /><br />There's a message there for policy-makers: Fix the poverty problem and you'll instantaneously fix the literacy and numeracy issues in Australia too. Sure we'll still have all our emotional and behavioural issues but 40 years in a mundane processing job should beat them out of us.Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-56374534082140400922011-06-09T20:29:00.006+10:002011-06-09T20:40:36.385+10:00Dumb Word of the Day<span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Webliography</span>.</span><br /><br />A <span style="font-style: italic;">bib</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">liography</span> of <span style="font-style: italic;">web </span>addresses.<br /><br />Amazing. I mean, seriously, <span style="font-style: italic;">wow</span>.<br /><br />If the person who came up with that had spent a few extra minutes sleeping in that day and thus had a few less minutes spare to ponder the cumbersomeness of 'web bibliography' (and to create the equally cumbersome '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">webliography</span>') the world would be a better place.<br /><br />Don't you think?Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-62683322964148870072011-06-05T19:19:00.012+10:002011-06-05T19:56:01.086+10:00How many feathers can a vego bear?I bought my son a new doona today, a feather one. It's lovely, very fluffy, just the kind of doona to keep a small child (or anyone who fits into a single bed) warm during the reclining hours.<br /><br />But... [and I can't say this too loudly because I fear the answer: Should a vegetarian actually buy a feather doona?].<br /><br />I'm assuming (on reflection, after the thrill of my trip to the local Westfield has subsided) that the 85% duck feathers and 15% duck down that make up my son's doona filling were collected pond-side by enthusiastic bird-watchers who did not rip said feathers and down from dear birdies' sides but picked them up, delicately, one by one, as they fell to the ground during sun-bathed morning wing stretches, right?<br /><br />Right?<br /><br />On the other hand, how many baby acrylics died to make his previous acrylic-stuffed quilt? Gah!<br /><br />What a shame we can only metaphorically bask in the warmth of our parents' love; that would have solved my son-warming doona dilemma.Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-29625321239072304142011-06-02T22:10:00.005+10:002011-06-03T05:13:11.325+10:00Signs that 35 may be closer to 40 than 301. Watching <span style="font-style: italic;">Deadwood</span> and saying to your partner, "I mean, really, do they need to say 'c*<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">cksucker</span>' <span style="font-style: italic;">quite</span> so much?"<br /><br />2. Realising that people who were born in 1993 are now eligible to vote. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Sero</span>?<br /><br />3. Automatically picking up the locally produced, gluten and antibiotic-free, certified free range eggs with no added hormones at the supermarket.<br /><br />4. Deciding amongst your pals whose house to hold the regular poker game at based on who has the most and/or youngest kids.<br /><br />5. Enjoying a track called 'Blue-winged Kookaburras' on an album called <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Kakadu</span>: A Celebration of the Wetlands</span>.<br /><br />6. Eating exactly eight almonds a day because your nutritionist told you to.<br /><br />What. The. Fuck.<br /><br />Then again, a darling twenty-something pal of mine who is a fully sick rock band drummer has just started knitting granny squares so hey, maybe 20 is the new 40.Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-55119552838086843792011-05-04T19:10:00.013+10:002011-05-04T19:50:42.043+10:00How's about those southern states?I've just returned from a couple of days in Melbourne and am happy to report that Melbourne is a way much <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">betterer</span> city than Sydney. Here's why:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1.</span> In Sydney I see at least four people a day picking their noses in their cars. Far as I know car windows are still transparent, people.<br /><br />In contrast, I didn't see a single person picking his or her nose in Melbourne (not even at the conference I was at; not a one).<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2.</span> In Sydney I get caught in traffic jams all the time; in Melbourne, not once (sure I didn't have a car in Melbourne, and sure I walked most places, but I didn't hear anyone complaining about traffic jams on the 112 to Gertrude Street last night).<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">[</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">2.1. </span>In Melbourne they have a street called Gertrude Street. Awes.]<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3.</span> In Sydney people are still wearing short-shorts even though summer is <span style="font-style: italic;">well over</span>. In Melbourne they spit on short-shorts.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">4.</span> In Sydney they have signs like this on escalators in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Westfields</span>:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3yalwSlM37mVgyE7I5rUgtXCsxZKTXgaaRl4bUFDb9fvI8aYYWagaVt1JvgfNCfLV8q9UgMZvQokOtVekybxHUjmOlZ50Hl9-JhyQgomCFW0O24SBV595PrJmn-cznaDCKoihmxtFnv0/s1600/Westfield+crocs.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 327px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3yalwSlM37mVgyE7I5rUgtXCsxZKTXgaaRl4bUFDb9fvI8aYYWagaVt1JvgfNCfLV8q9UgMZvQokOtVekybxHUjmOlZ50Hl9-JhyQgomCFW0O24SBV595PrJmn-cznaDCKoihmxtFnv0/s400/Westfield+crocs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602789350224856946" border="0" /></a><br />In Melbourne they don't have <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Crocs</span> (I'm not even sure they have <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Westfields</span>?).<br /><br /><br />The only things Melbourne doesn't have are: Mr Kettle, my son, my dear friends, my lovely family, Campos Coffee, my PO Box, my favourite bookstore in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Newtown</span>, my awesome babysitting-swapping neighbours, our swimming teacher, our long established gainful employment, and my dear, irreplaceable pal Meredith. All I need to do is convince them all to move south; shouldn't be too hard, eh?Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-479564812187394191.post-37344197771104274962011-03-27T18:06:00.018+11:002011-03-28T20:16:48.510+11:00Bloody vouchersWhen I woke up this morning I had a wad of pre-paid movie vouchers that I need to use by Thursday.<br /><br />No worries, right? Right. So off I went to some megaplex or other to see <span style="font-style: italic;">The Adjustment Bureau</span>. I found it a very enjoyable film, but that's not entirely surprising considering I'm quite partial to anything bureau-related. And who doesn't love a love story? And also, Emily Blunt is well hot.<br /><br />So <span style="font-style: italic;">The Adjustment Bureau</span> was a good pick and my wad of vouchers has reduced to six. All good. So now I only have six vouchers to use before Thursday.<br /><br />Should be easy, yes?<br /><br />Should it shit.<br /><br />The problem is that now I've seen <span style="font-style: italic;">The Adjustment Bureau</span>, what else is there to see? I've run some calculations and am sorry to report that at least 87% of the movies out at the moment are shit.<br /><br />Shit. Shit. Shit.<br /><br />Which bodes poorly for my wad of vouchers.<br /><br />So please, will you help? Will you look into your good and generous hearts and advise me how to get rid of my vouchers? Here's what's on at the moment:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Rango</span>: Johnny, Johnny, Johnny; what have you done?<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Justin Bieber: Never Say Never</span> (3D): This boy makes me want to vomit into my handkerchief.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">127 Hours</span>: An uplifting tale about a chappy hacking off his arm with a teaspoon (if I understand correctly).<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Gnomeo and Juliet</span>: Animated? At least visually, if nothing else. Shakespeare's play with a happy ending, and gnomes.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Conviction</span>: Hilary Swank's character's brother goes to jail for something or other. She does something or other to get him out.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">No Strings Attached</span>: Natalie Portman pretends to find Ashton Kutcher attractive. I forget how it ends.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Fast and Furious 5</span>: Five? They've made five of these abominations?<br /><br />So shit, I don't know. What do you think?Kettlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555996290361714986noreply@blogger.com17