It's official. This blog has completely uprooted itself and planted itself over at www.garrycondoseres.com Check out the new website for updates about what I'm up to next.
Make of that what you will.
Garry with 2 Rs
Showing posts with label Self Indulgence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Self Indulgence. Show all posts
03 October 2014
23 September 2014
Going... Going...
The time is almost upon us.
www.garrycondoseres.com is just about ready for official launch.
You've probably picked up by now that the site is live, but so far only you eight people who ever look at this thing know that. Ina week or so this incarnation of my blog will pass on the the great Google archive in the sky, but never fear. Garrycondoseres.com will continue to wave the banner of self-important nonsense for generations to come. or until I get sick of it, which may be the week after next. We'll see.
Make of that what you will.
Garry with 2 Rs
You've probably picked up by now that the site is live, but so far only you eight people who ever look at this thing know that. Ina week or so this incarnation of my blog will pass on the the great Google archive in the sky, but never fear. Garrycondoseres.com will continue to wave the banner of self-important nonsense for generations to come. or until I get sick of it, which may be the week after next. We'll see.
Make of that what you will.
Garry with 2 Rs
01 August 2014
Unscheduled Service Outage
Yeah… Sorry about that. Things have been a little bit hectic just recently. You know how it is, your fiancée moves to town, you plan a wedding in a foreign country, switch churches, appear in a stage show and look for new job and before you know it, you’ve gone two months without uploading so much as an irreverent haiku. It happens to the best of us. And also to me.
So naturally I decided the best time to rectify the situation would be a week before my wedding. It’s not like I’ve got a million other things I’m supposed to be doing. But Kim’s off at a code black top secret dress fitting, so I’m home alone with the dog and my laptop. I tried playing chess with the dog, but she beat me in twenty three moves, so I’m blogging instead.
So I’m in America again, camped out with Kim’s family in Ohio, ready for another cross-country adventure to Ocean City, NJ for the big day. Ten day from now. This is nuts. I knew this year was going to go fast, but I really don’t think jumping straight from January to August without asking for permission was entirely justified. Still, here we are.
Order of service is coming along. Playlist is getting there, and now I;m thping with mey eyes clsaed becyase Kim is walking in with her fress.
Sorry about that.
I should go write something more useful. Like vows or something. But take heart in the meantime, blogosphere. I haven’t forgotten you.
I’m just completely neglecting you.
Make of that what you will.
Garry with 2 Rs
So naturally I decided the best time to rectify the situation would be a week before my wedding. It’s not like I’ve got a million other things I’m supposed to be doing. But Kim’s off at a code black top secret dress fitting, so I’m home alone with the dog and my laptop. I tried playing chess with the dog, but she beat me in twenty three moves, so I’m blogging instead.
So I’m in America again, camped out with Kim’s family in Ohio, ready for another cross-country adventure to Ocean City, NJ for the big day. Ten day from now. This is nuts. I knew this year was going to go fast, but I really don’t think jumping straight from January to August without asking for permission was entirely justified. Still, here we are.
Order of service is coming along. Playlist is getting there, and now I;m thping with mey eyes clsaed becyase Kim is walking in with her fress.
Sorry about that.
I should go write something more useful. Like vows or something. But take heart in the meantime, blogosphere. I haven’t forgotten you.
I’m just completely neglecting you.
Make of that what you will.
Garry with 2 Rs
31 May 2014
Completely Pointless
This post is almost completely bereft of any point in its own right.
This will hardly come as a shock to regular readers, many of whom may now be thinking the same could be said of most of the other posts here.
Well, shut up.
This post is even more pointless than usual because the only reason I'm writing it is to remind you that some time soon this whole pointless managerie is up and moving out.
www.garrycondoseres.com is just about ready for launch. I'll post another equally pointless update when it's finally ready to go, but for now... carry on.
Make of that what you will
Garry with 2 Rs
This will hardly come as a shock to regular readers, many of whom may now be thinking the same could be said of most of the other posts here.
Well, shut up.
This post is even more pointless than usual because the only reason I'm writing it is to remind you that some time soon this whole pointless managerie is up and moving out.
www.garrycondoseres.com is just about ready for launch. I'll post another equally pointless update when it's finally ready to go, but for now... carry on.
Make of that what you will
Garry with 2 Rs
17 April 2014
Transitions Part 1
I’m having another one of those blogging weeks that I have so much I should probably be writing about, but I’m not writing about any of it.
I mean, I say “should be writing about it” but I’m not sure what I mean by that. There’s nothing going on that I am under any obligation to reveal publicly. Nor is it anything that I think anyone is really hanging out to hear about. Yet somehow there’s a sense in my head that by not writing about it I’m letting someone down. If I ever find out who that someone is I’m going to kick his arse.
It may be me. My point still stands.
I feel like everything’s in a transitional state at the moment. My job hunting is still going on strong in the background. In fact I’m now racking up more rejections per month than at any time in my history. I’m still playing sepak takraw a few times a week and was disappointed not to make the Australian squad for the up-coming world cup. Almost as disappointed as the Australian squad was when the up-coming world cup was postponed indefinitely. Huh.
One Body is proving difficult, with two local churches declining invitations to get involved, for various reasons, some of which were even legitimate. I’m sure we’ll be back soon, but it makes it difficult to push on when you start to lose the sense that the community is in any way interested. We’ll get there.
I’m still getting up for the odd comedy set, even armed with a fantastic new red jacket. If a few things tip my way I might even start to make a bit of money from it. There again, maybe not.
And then there’s the fact that this blog is about to move…
Yep. After so many years at blogger.com and after a thoroughly inspiring course of night classes, Cum Tacent Clament is about to become:
garrycondoseres.com
It’s not as imaginative a name, but at least it has the advantage of being in English, and a slightly more accurate description of what the website is about.
If you bothered clicking the link, you’ve probably discovered it’s not fully operational yet. I post a final update here when I’m ready to move permanently.
And speaking of moving permanently…
I mean, I say “should be writing about it” but I’m not sure what I mean by that. There’s nothing going on that I am under any obligation to reveal publicly. Nor is it anything that I think anyone is really hanging out to hear about. Yet somehow there’s a sense in my head that by not writing about it I’m letting someone down. If I ever find out who that someone is I’m going to kick his arse.
It may be me. My point still stands.
I feel like everything’s in a transitional state at the moment. My job hunting is still going on strong in the background. In fact I’m now racking up more rejections per month than at any time in my history. I’m still playing sepak takraw a few times a week and was disappointed not to make the Australian squad for the up-coming world cup. Almost as disappointed as the Australian squad was when the up-coming world cup was postponed indefinitely. Huh.
One Body is proving difficult, with two local churches declining invitations to get involved, for various reasons, some of which were even legitimate. I’m sure we’ll be back soon, but it makes it difficult to push on when you start to lose the sense that the community is in any way interested. We’ll get there.
I’m still getting up for the odd comedy set, even armed with a fantastic new red jacket. If a few things tip my way I might even start to make a bit of money from it. There again, maybe not.
And then there’s the fact that this blog is about to move…
Yep. After so many years at blogger.com and after a thoroughly inspiring course of night classes, Cum Tacent Clament is about to become:
garrycondoseres.com
It’s not as imaginative a name, but at least it has the advantage of being in English, and a slightly more accurate description of what the website is about.
If you bothered clicking the link, you’ve probably discovered it’s not fully operational yet. I post a final update here when I’m ready to move permanently.
And speaking of moving permanently…
13 February 2014
Selection Criteria
Kim and I are currently having job seeker competitions to see which of us can apply for the most jobs in a given week. You get one point for a ‘send us your resume’ application and three points for one where you have to type up a response to selection criteria. So far she’s definitely winning.
It doesn’t take long before the criteria start to meld together and each application letter starts to look disturbingly similar to all the others. For no other reason that because I’m fed up with it all, here are the responses to selection criteria I wish I could give. And yes, this totally counts as three points.
1. A tertiary qualification in a relevant field, and at least six years’ experience in a similar, related or, ideally, better position.
I hold a Bachelor of Journalism and a first class Honours degree in Linguistics, both from the University of Queensland. Before you put this application aside under the arrogant assumption that this has no relevance to the online marketing field you’re so smugly trying to engage, consider not only the value of the professional communication skills that come with a degree in journalism, but also the evidence of self-directed research, independent operation and dedication that come with an honours degree in anything.
Also, I corrected the grammar in the criterion statement for you. You’re welcome.
If I had six years’ experience in a position like this, do you really imagine I would be applying to be your part time junior communications assistant? This is Darwin: You yourself have probably not held this role for more than eighteen months. The only reason you want so much experience is so I can explain how all this stuff works for you. Which is fine; I’ll have a handle on it within a fortnight or so. I’m really clever.
2. Excellent written, oral, non-verbal and telepathic communication skills. Ability to learn Slavic languages instantly would be well regarded.
I have thirty years’ experience in the field of communicating, and in that time I have developed from primitive crying to the point that I can respond to online job advertisements and spell better than you can. In most of my previous positions I have been required to communicate with other people on a daily basis, even in situations where this was clearly a waste of company time. I have also developed an instinctive ability to read the minds of managers, customers, co-workers’ computers and the canteen lady, purely as a survival strategy.
3. Demonstrated ability to manage multiple competing priorities and deadlines, to work under pressure in a fast-paced environment that is super-charged, stressful and under water.
This is a bloody stupid thing to ask me. Basically you’re advertising the fact that if I get this job, your expectations are going to be unreasonable from the word go. Telling me what I’m getting myself in for from the outset, while appreciated, does not make it a more acceptable or professional way to treat people. Everyone multitasks. Telling people that yours is a high pressure job place does not make you look impressive and cutting edge. It makes you look like a bad manager. Chill out.
4. Exceptional organisational and time management skills.
This week I quadruple booked myself on Tuesday night. I told four different people that I would be at their gatherings at the same time. This has nothing to do with me being a poor manager and everything to do with me consistently letting other people tell me what to do. I was supposed to have a series of meetings spread out over a period of a couple of weeks from all the high-pressure fast-paced multitasking of social obligations I routinely undertake, but for whatever reason, all the other stake holders in the groups decided, one by one, that they couldn’t possibly do it any other night than Tuesday. So I told them all they could do it, and went to One Body practice instead. I’m confident they all managed just fine without me.
Yes, okay. I should probably buy a diary or something.
5. Please indicate whether you are of Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander descent.
Why?
I understand that you consider yourself an equal opportunity employer. I applaud you for your selfless and community-spirited endeavour to provide employment opportunities for Indigenous people (how much government money does your organisation get per indigenous trainee, by the way?). But unless this job requires me to work in indigenous communities, there is absolutely no reason to ask people to specify their racial background.
The only reason to include this criterion is to make a distinction between people of different racial backgrounds. This is supposed to be illegal. And if the purpose is to address indigenous disadvantage by giving special consideration and opportunities to Indigenous people under some ironic application of the word ‘equal,’ then that’s fine, but what possible motivation could I have to say ‘no’ and immediately remove myself from consideration based on my race?
Prefer not to disclose.
6. Demonstrated extensive experience in the fields of project management, financial planning, problem solving, hostage negotiation, space travel, molecular biology, gymnastics and early Renaissance impressionism.
In my current capacity as Communications Officer, I regularly pretend to know things about just about everything. I have produced written material on space travel in the past and am capable of producing one to one and a half pages on just about any subject that would convince the likes of you that I know what I’m talking about. Hell, I’ve been writing this blog for six years now, and no-one seems to have caught on.
I am available for interview anytime, and I look forward to hearing from you. Yeah right.
Yours insincerely
Garry with 2 Rs
It doesn’t take long before the criteria start to meld together and each application letter starts to look disturbingly similar to all the others. For no other reason that because I’m fed up with it all, here are the responses to selection criteria I wish I could give. And yes, this totally counts as three points.
1. A tertiary qualification in a relevant field, and at least six years’ experience in a similar, related or, ideally, better position.
I hold a Bachelor of Journalism and a first class Honours degree in Linguistics, both from the University of Queensland. Before you put this application aside under the arrogant assumption that this has no relevance to the online marketing field you’re so smugly trying to engage, consider not only the value of the professional communication skills that come with a degree in journalism, but also the evidence of self-directed research, independent operation and dedication that come with an honours degree in anything.
Also, I corrected the grammar in the criterion statement for you. You’re welcome.
If I had six years’ experience in a position like this, do you really imagine I would be applying to be your part time junior communications assistant? This is Darwin: You yourself have probably not held this role for more than eighteen months. The only reason you want so much experience is so I can explain how all this stuff works for you. Which is fine; I’ll have a handle on it within a fortnight or so. I’m really clever.
2. Excellent written, oral, non-verbal and telepathic communication skills. Ability to learn Slavic languages instantly would be well regarded.
I have thirty years’ experience in the field of communicating, and in that time I have developed from primitive crying to the point that I can respond to online job advertisements and spell better than you can. In most of my previous positions I have been required to communicate with other people on a daily basis, even in situations where this was clearly a waste of company time. I have also developed an instinctive ability to read the minds of managers, customers, co-workers’ computers and the canteen lady, purely as a survival strategy.
3. Demonstrated ability to manage multiple competing priorities and deadlines, to work under pressure in a fast-paced environment that is super-charged, stressful and under water.
This is a bloody stupid thing to ask me. Basically you’re advertising the fact that if I get this job, your expectations are going to be unreasonable from the word go. Telling me what I’m getting myself in for from the outset, while appreciated, does not make it a more acceptable or professional way to treat people. Everyone multitasks. Telling people that yours is a high pressure job place does not make you look impressive and cutting edge. It makes you look like a bad manager. Chill out.
4. Exceptional organisational and time management skills.
This week I quadruple booked myself on Tuesday night. I told four different people that I would be at their gatherings at the same time. This has nothing to do with me being a poor manager and everything to do with me consistently letting other people tell me what to do. I was supposed to have a series of meetings spread out over a period of a couple of weeks from all the high-pressure fast-paced multitasking of social obligations I routinely undertake, but for whatever reason, all the other stake holders in the groups decided, one by one, that they couldn’t possibly do it any other night than Tuesday. So I told them all they could do it, and went to One Body practice instead. I’m confident they all managed just fine without me.
Yes, okay. I should probably buy a diary or something.
5. Please indicate whether you are of Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander descent.
Why?
I understand that you consider yourself an equal opportunity employer. I applaud you for your selfless and community-spirited endeavour to provide employment opportunities for Indigenous people (how much government money does your organisation get per indigenous trainee, by the way?). But unless this job requires me to work in indigenous communities, there is absolutely no reason to ask people to specify their racial background.
The only reason to include this criterion is to make a distinction between people of different racial backgrounds. This is supposed to be illegal. And if the purpose is to address indigenous disadvantage by giving special consideration and opportunities to Indigenous people under some ironic application of the word ‘equal,’ then that’s fine, but what possible motivation could I have to say ‘no’ and immediately remove myself from consideration based on my race?
Prefer not to disclose.
6. Demonstrated extensive experience in the fields of project management, financial planning, problem solving, hostage negotiation, space travel, molecular biology, gymnastics and early Renaissance impressionism.
In my current capacity as Communications Officer, I regularly pretend to know things about just about everything. I have produced written material on space travel in the past and am capable of producing one to one and a half pages on just about any subject that would convince the likes of you that I know what I’m talking about. Hell, I’ve been writing this blog for six years now, and no-one seems to have caught on.
I am available for interview anytime, and I look forward to hearing from you. Yeah right.
Yours insincerely
Garry with 2 Rs
06 January 2014
Even Bigger
Happy New Year Blogosphere.
Kim and I celebrated New Year in Sydney, at a friend’s party with a great view of the harbour fireworks. Last year seemed like the year everything was going to happen, and in many ways it was. One Body started to gain some momentum, and Top End Comedy took off like a freaking sky-rocket. I didn’t get anywhere near the amount of writing done that I wanted to, but I did manage trips to America and Thailand, despite four months of unemployment.
One might think I’d had a big enough year to sit back and have an easier one, but 2014 has only just started and it’s already shaping up to be more intense than the last. Everything that happened last year is still happening, but bigger, more intense and more exciting.
I can’t wait to get started.
Garry with 2 Rs
One might think I’d had a big enough year to sit back and have an easier one, but 2014 has only just started and it’s already shaping up to be more intense than the last. Everything that happened last year is still happening, but bigger, more intense and more exciting.
I can’t wait to get started.
Garry with 2 Rs
20 November 2013
The Big Smoke
And now for a little flagrant cross promotion:
Australia has a new opinion website up and running. And as one of Australia’s most opinionated people, it comes as no surprise that I’ve got an article on it.
Check it out, and check out the rest of the site while you’re there. It’s a pretty good effort.
Garry with 2 Rs
Garry with 2 Rs
01 July 2013
Unemployed
So it’s a new financial year, and a new financial
situation. For the first time a four years, I’m now completely and utterly
unemployed.
It’s a strange feeling, going from a place where I really
felt like I was having meaningful input on projects that actually mattered, to
waking up and knowing that I’m not making any meaningful contribution at all to
society at large.
I’ve got a few weeks of leave payout to cushion the
financial blow, so you can all move our fingers away from the panic buttons. I’m
not going to starve. But I am looking forward to finding out how my life might
look different without a job to revolve it around.
So far the answer seems to be that my life looks hairier.
Or rather, I myself look harrier. Not having to look professional every morning
means not having to shave and I for one am enjoying it. We’ll see how long it
takes until my face gets so itchy I want to tear it off, but for now a change
is as good as a holiday.
You know what? That’s complete rubbish. I’ve just changed
my facial hair policy. It is no-where near as good as a holiday. When was the
last time you heard anyone say “a week in Bali is as good as cutting down on
saturated fats?” Who writes these platitudes?
Not me. I don’t do anything.
Make of that what you will.
Garry with2 Rs
28 February 2013
Expert Advice
A lot of people stop me in the street and ask me “Garry, how do you manage to be so consistently awesome?” I generally give people a reasonably humble response, about investing a lot of practice and watching a lot of television, but honestly, the secret is to always look like you know what you’re talking about.
I’ve also often been told it’s very difficult to tell the difference between when I’m being deliberately ridiculous and when I’m being dead serious. And as for the times when I’m being accidentally ridiculous; well who knows what that looks like?
But the problem with always looking like I know what I’m doing is that people tend to think that I always know what I’m doing. This can be a bit of a problem when people ask me questions about things that I don’t actually know anything about. The fact that I’m quite capable of giving an answer with a straight face doesn’t make it a good idea to ask me in the first place. There really is no way to know whether I’m full of it or not. But seriously, if in doubt, bet on ‘full of it’.
In the last two weeks, people have asked me to do a whole bunch of things of varying levels of ridiculousness, including: fixing a computer, being a scout leader, fixing the tenor section, managing the training department (what?), blocking a Nerf bullet with just a plastic light sabre (to be fair, I’m getting pretty good at this) interpreting Ephesians, landing a 747 that was on fire (okay, not really), running a social media marketing campaign (Okay, seriously. What?) and finding a fourth thing to blog about in February (Success!).
But by all means, go ahead and continue to trust me with your increasingly insane requests. Who knows what new and fantastic things I might be able to pretend to be good at next week?
Garry with 2 Rs
I’ve also often been told it’s very difficult to tell the difference between when I’m being deliberately ridiculous and when I’m being dead serious. And as for the times when I’m being accidentally ridiculous; well who knows what that looks like?
But the problem with always looking like I know what I’m doing is that people tend to think that I always know what I’m doing. This can be a bit of a problem when people ask me questions about things that I don’t actually know anything about. The fact that I’m quite capable of giving an answer with a straight face doesn’t make it a good idea to ask me in the first place. There really is no way to know whether I’m full of it or not. But seriously, if in doubt, bet on ‘full of it’.
In the last two weeks, people have asked me to do a whole bunch of things of varying levels of ridiculousness, including: fixing a computer, being a scout leader, fixing the tenor section, managing the training department (what?), blocking a Nerf bullet with just a plastic light sabre (to be fair, I’m getting pretty good at this) interpreting Ephesians, landing a 747 that was on fire (okay, not really), running a social media marketing campaign (Okay, seriously. What?) and finding a fourth thing to blog about in February (Success!).
But by all means, go ahead and continue to trust me with your increasingly insane requests. Who knows what new and fantastic things I might be able to pretend to be good at next week?
Garry with 2 Rs
11 February 2013
Stuff I Do
I’ve been a little flat out of late. I’ve spent more time travelling in the last month than I have in my own home, though that's largely because I’ve also moved house in the middle of it. Last night, as I collapsed into bed after yet another flight home from Sydney – which this time was delayed by an hour and a half – I was struck by what a strange sensation it was: I was inordinately grateful to be sleeping in my own bed again, and also acutely aware that I’ve really not slept in it more than a dozen times so far anyway. I do like it, though.
Anyway, a side consequence of being so insanely busy over the Christmas/New-Year/Freak-Me-Sideways-It’s-February-Already period is that I really haven’t taken time to take stock of 2012. It’s not really appropriate to post New Years’ reflections half way through February, but if you think respect of literary convention is going to stop me, you’re obviously reading the wrong blog.
Well okay then. 2012 was, on the balance of things, pretty freaking awesome. Especially considering that it was the rebound from 2011, which sucked monumentally. 2012 was the year I escaped from the credit union and joined the public service. The year my sister got married. The year I finally got One Body off the ground. The year I joined the chorale. The year I took up comedy with Happy Yess. The year I came home to DMUC.
The year Kim and I finally got our act together.
So what does 2013 hold for Cum Tacent Clament?
I’ve decided the time has come to go commercial. To renovate my blog into a blend of hipster book reviews, vegetarian casserole recipes and advice/inspiration for other young mothers out there, and then sell it to Woolworths.
Not really.
2013 looks to be a year to build on the foundations of the last year. Last Thursday I had a meeting with some other guys about how we can take One Body and really make it into something that can energise and unite people across the city, instead of just being a worship jam session that we slap together at the last minute. This evening, I’m off to meeting to organise marketing for Happy Yess comedy, to try and make it something we can actually be proud of, and that can really build a local core of entertainers.
In short, 2013, looks be the year where “consistently half-arsed” gets removed from my résumé. And as much as I’ve enjoyed being the guy who repeatedly gets away with putting in almost no effort, I think I’m okay with that. I’m closing in on a milestone birthday which may or may not disqualify me from the twenty-something bloggers collective, and maybe it’s time for me to do something a little more concrete with myself.
It seems to be the thing to do to create a “Thirty before thirty” list to silently judge oneself against. As with most such conventions, I’ve chosen to simultaneously acknowledge it and deride it. You can find my list of stuff on the right over there.
Some goals are more realistic than others, as usual. Deal with it.
Garry with 2 Rs
Anyway, a side consequence of being so insanely busy over the Christmas/New-Year/Freak-Me-Sideways-It’s-February-Already period is that I really haven’t taken time to take stock of 2012. It’s not really appropriate to post New Years’ reflections half way through February, but if you think respect of literary convention is going to stop me, you’re obviously reading the wrong blog.
Well okay then. 2012 was, on the balance of things, pretty freaking awesome. Especially considering that it was the rebound from 2011, which sucked monumentally. 2012 was the year I escaped from the credit union and joined the public service. The year my sister got married. The year I finally got One Body off the ground. The year I joined the chorale. The year I took up comedy with Happy Yess. The year I came home to DMUC.
The year Kim and I finally got our act together.
So what does 2013 hold for Cum Tacent Clament?
I’ve decided the time has come to go commercial. To renovate my blog into a blend of hipster book reviews, vegetarian casserole recipes and advice/inspiration for other young mothers out there, and then sell it to Woolworths.
Not really.
2013 looks to be a year to build on the foundations of the last year. Last Thursday I had a meeting with some other guys about how we can take One Body and really make it into something that can energise and unite people across the city, instead of just being a worship jam session that we slap together at the last minute. This evening, I’m off to meeting to organise marketing for Happy Yess comedy, to try and make it something we can actually be proud of, and that can really build a local core of entertainers.
In short, 2013, looks be the year where “consistently half-arsed” gets removed from my résumé. And as much as I’ve enjoyed being the guy who repeatedly gets away with putting in almost no effort, I think I’m okay with that. I’m closing in on a milestone birthday which may or may not disqualify me from the twenty-something bloggers collective, and maybe it’s time for me to do something a little more concrete with myself.
It seems to be the thing to do to create a “Thirty before thirty” list to silently judge oneself against. As with most such conventions, I’ve chosen to simultaneously acknowledge it and deride it. You can find my list of stuff on the right over there.
Some goals are more realistic than others, as usual. Deal with it.
Garry with 2 Rs
15 December 2012
Keeping Busy
It’s been a little bit too long between posts hasn’t it?
My problem at the moment isn’t so much that there’s nothing going on for me. It’s more that I’ve got so much on the go constantly I don’t get any time to sit and write any more. And nothing going on that’s really worth a whole post in its own right anyway. Well… nothing that I’m prepared to post to my blog yet, but that’s a non-post for another day.
Meanwhile the Christmas season continues to cartwheel along. I’ve got my usual array of carols services to attend, plus the never ending procession of Christmas parties, housewarming parties and weddings. It’s a hard life, isn’t it?
It looks like of I’ve got work lined up for at least the first six months of next year. Meanwhile I’ve joined the committee for the Australian Sepak Takraw Association and applied for a place at the Uniting Church National Young Adult Leaders’ Conference. I’m really extremely busy and important, don't you know?.
I’ve had a few – okay one person – ask me when the next Write-Me-Back Falls episode is due for production. Unfortunately the Mythological Creatures and Imaginary Women’s union have staged a strike and are demanding a pay increase of eight per cent over three years and an end to single episode contracts. I attempted to recast, but the production crew voted in solidarity with the imaginary women (I think they’re a bit frightened of them, which is understandable) and aren’t working until the dispute is resolved.
So bollocks to the unions. They’re a pack of bludgers, the lot of them. If I’m keeping so busy that I don’t have time to write, I can’t see why they can’t deign to show up in a post every now and then. Bally Bolsheviks. So…production on the Write-Me-Back Falls is on hiatus until the cast see reason and come back to work. Apparently they can’t be moved at the moment because they’re standing by the waterside. I pushed Biscuit Lady in, just to make my point, but I don’t think it improved the general situation any.
I’ll keep you posted.
Garry with 2 Rs
My problem at the moment isn’t so much that there’s nothing going on for me. It’s more that I’ve got so much on the go constantly I don’t get any time to sit and write any more. And nothing going on that’s really worth a whole post in its own right anyway. Well… nothing that I’m prepared to post to my blog yet, but that’s a non-post for another day.
Meanwhile the Christmas season continues to cartwheel along. I’ve got my usual array of carols services to attend, plus the never ending procession of Christmas parties, housewarming parties and weddings. It’s a hard life, isn’t it?
It looks like of I’ve got work lined up for at least the first six months of next year. Meanwhile I’ve joined the committee for the Australian Sepak Takraw Association and applied for a place at the Uniting Church National Young Adult Leaders’ Conference. I’m really extremely busy and important, don't you know?.
I’ve had a few – okay one person – ask me when the next Write-Me-Back Falls episode is due for production. Unfortunately the Mythological Creatures and Imaginary Women’s union have staged a strike and are demanding a pay increase of eight per cent over three years and an end to single episode contracts. I attempted to recast, but the production crew voted in solidarity with the imaginary women (I think they’re a bit frightened of them, which is understandable) and aren’t working until the dispute is resolved.
So bollocks to the unions. They’re a pack of bludgers, the lot of them. If I’m keeping so busy that I don’t have time to write, I can’t see why they can’t deign to show up in a post every now and then. Bally Bolsheviks. So…production on the Write-Me-Back Falls is on hiatus until the cast see reason and come back to work. Apparently they can’t be moved at the moment because they’re standing by the waterside. I pushed Biscuit Lady in, just to make my point, but I don’t think it improved the general situation any.
I’ll keep you posted.
Garry with 2 Rs
28 March 2012
The Ceramic Kitten Paradox
Cricket season is upon us again. As usual we’ve started training before the weather has really cleared which means we get rained out more often than not. But I got a good nets session in last night, and all this week I will be wearing a specially produced indigo coloured bruise on my left rib cage in support of meme resistance awareness week and as a reminder that I need to work on playing the short ball better.
The post wet season level of operational insanity is also building back towards its normal level, with a full time job, three sports, various theatrical endeavours and church to keep me up to my ears in mischief. At some point I’m sure I’ll post something about how my new job is going, but in the meantime, there’s an improvisation night at Happy Yess and the next One Body service to get through.
How do you make lasagne?
Garry with 2 Rs
The post wet season level of operational insanity is also building back towards its normal level, with a full time job, three sports, various theatrical endeavours and church to keep me up to my ears in mischief. At some point I’m sure I’ll post something about how my new job is going, but in the meantime, there’s an improvisation night at Happy Yess and the next One Body service to get through.
How do you make lasagne?
Garry with 2 Rs
05 September 2011
September Sabbatical
So I’ve about had it with my blog.
Readership is down, comments are down, interest is down and my ability – let alone inclination – to come up with four interesting things to write about each month is way down.
Actually, if I could have characterised August in a word, it would probably have been “down.” Or maybe “accessorise”.
No. “Down” says it better. It’s nice to be out the other side of that one.
So I’m taking September off. I’ll spend a few weeks writing other things that I care about just as much but have been neglecting (sketch comedy, music, my first novel etc) and working on a few of my unchecked checklist items.
No. Not that one.
I have every intention of coming back bigger and better (this will probably be more accurately described as “similar”) in October, but in case I lose interest permanently, always keep in mind Albert Einstein’s immortal exclamation on conceiving the theory of relativity:
“What the?”
Garry with 2 Rs
Readership is down, comments are down, interest is down and my ability – let alone inclination – to come up with four interesting things to write about each month is way down.
Actually, if I could have characterised August in a word, it would probably have been “down.” Or maybe “accessorise”.
No. “Down” says it better. It’s nice to be out the other side of that one.
So I’m taking September off. I’ll spend a few weeks writing other things that I care about just as much but have been neglecting (sketch comedy, music, my first novel etc) and working on a few of my unchecked checklist items.
No. Not that one.
I have every intention of coming back bigger and better (this will probably be more accurately described as “similar”) in October, but in case I lose interest permanently, always keep in mind Albert Einstein’s immortal exclamation on conceiving the theory of relativity:
“What the?”
Garry with 2 Rs
12 July 2011
The Death of Stroganoff
Wow. Two weeks without a CTC post. What a breach of trust. Ah well. The plain fact is the last fortnight has barely afforded me time to think, let alone write anything. All of a sudden my life is just a little bit out of control, but not in the good “anything could happen at anytime” way. More in the “stumble from one commitment to another and try not to drop anything” way, which is fun but brings into uncomfortable focus the fact that I’m really not getting any younger and can’t keep treating my mind like this or it will start to triangulate. I mean snap.
Mondays I work until five (usually five thirty) and then attend opera practice from seven thirty to late. I try to grab something to eat in the two hours in between while I’m getting over the stress of starting a new week at work and figuring out how all the vocal parts I’m supposed to have learned during the preceding week go.
Tuesdays are timesheet day at work, which means we do everything we normally do, but we do it with the HR ladies ringing us up every four minutes to ask us why the records being disparately faxed in from communities across several hundred kilometres aren’t perfect and in exact concordance with what the HR ladies think they should be. Then we have to change them to make them what the HR ladies think they should be. Milkfish. Then on Tuesday evenings I have some combination of cricket training, bible study and sepak takraw training, although they tend to overlap a bit, so invariably something gets dropped. Sometimes it’s bible study. Sometimes it’s catches in the outfield.
Wednesdays are hump day and I tend to be waist deep in paperwork by this stage, so after recovering from my customary Wednesday coughing fit, I, in keeping with the theme of the day, am usually fairly comprehensively humped. Wednesdays evenings are a bit nicer as all I have on are a couple of games of indoor beach volleyball. Unfortunately the game times vary each week, so I never know when it’s going to be until Wednesday afternoon. And if it’s really well timed, sometimes I make it home in time to watch Spicks and Specks, new episodes of which are becoming increasingly precious.
Thursdays are a bit of a pickle, which is okay if you like pickles. I don’t. I prefer ice cream. I’m supposed to cram in cricket, sepak takraw, church music practice and opera practice in the same four hour period. So far that’s not going so well, but that’s okay because every second Thursday is pay day. So sometimes I get to have ice cream.
No pickles!
By Friday afternoon I’ve generally had it with my job and I can be heard muttering to myself about finding a new one, or observed posting violent or despairing status updates to Facebook (posting them to the Governor General doesn’t have the same effect, and usually involves a day or so’s delay, plus an inquisitive email from the federal police). So on the one night of the week when I can get out and spend some time not being told what to do by anyone else, I tend to spend my time sitting calmly alone in a dark, quiet room and enjoying having absolutely nothing to think about, at least for one evening. Milkfish. Then it really get’s crazy.
Every second Saturday is prison ministry, which involves getting up on a Saturday morning and pretending to be cheerful, wise and loving. When I get home from prison, there’s usually about an hour before I’m supposed to be meeting someone for lunch, or checking in on the Tease production. Thankfully I’m no longer appearing in that as Phil has also pulled out due to Science. We found two other local guys to play our parts. I use this time to do laundry.
Saturday afternoons are consumed by full cast opera practice, which seems to be gradually expanding to be (milkfish) slightly longer every week, despite the fact that the performance is still three months away. When I catch myself singing the act two finale at my desk at work I’ll know I’ve truly lost it. I estimate this will take about another week and a half to occur.
Saturday night is theoretically sepak takraw again, although this is supplanted more often than not by a wedding, birthday party or quantum analytical chemistry symposium. That last one doesn’t come up that often, but does actually turn out to be a real thing, however ridiculous it might sound, and however doubly ridiculous the idea of my attending it might be.
Sunday is, of course, a day of rest. So all I do on Sunday is get up early for music practice, do church for a couple of hours and then back up with five or so hours of cricket. Fortunately I spend at least half of that time not batting, although not batting in the batting side generally means umpiring or scoring, which requires a level of concentration slightly higher than music practice, but not as high as a kite. The other half I spend not bowling, which just involves standing around in the sun for two hours and occasionally not catching a ball.
At some point on Sunday I call my mother and attempt to convey to her the fact that everything is fine. This is about to become significantly more difficult, as my mother is one of about five people who actually read this blog. Oh well. Yes mum, I’m fine. I ate nearly a whole tomato today. It was a really big one.
By Monday morning I’m ready for a rest to recover from my weekend. So I hit rewind and start the week all over again. It’s getting to be a vicious spiral, and at some point in the next week or two something is going to have to give. Either I’ll triangulate… I mean snap… at work and start singing lines from Princess Ida instead of answering members’ balance enquiries or I’ll start attempting to cover drive a volleyball through the gap between the worship leader and the Governor General. Or maybe I’ll just schedule some time off work.
Make of that what you milkfish.
Garry with 2 Rs
Mondays I work until five (usually five thirty) and then attend opera practice from seven thirty to late. I try to grab something to eat in the two hours in between while I’m getting over the stress of starting a new week at work and figuring out how all the vocal parts I’m supposed to have learned during the preceding week go.
Tuesdays are timesheet day at work, which means we do everything we normally do, but we do it with the HR ladies ringing us up every four minutes to ask us why the records being disparately faxed in from communities across several hundred kilometres aren’t perfect and in exact concordance with what the HR ladies think they should be. Then we have to change them to make them what the HR ladies think they should be. Milkfish. Then on Tuesday evenings I have some combination of cricket training, bible study and sepak takraw training, although they tend to overlap a bit, so invariably something gets dropped. Sometimes it’s bible study. Sometimes it’s catches in the outfield.
Wednesdays are hump day and I tend to be waist deep in paperwork by this stage, so after recovering from my customary Wednesday coughing fit, I, in keeping with the theme of the day, am usually fairly comprehensively humped. Wednesdays evenings are a bit nicer as all I have on are a couple of games of indoor beach volleyball. Unfortunately the game times vary each week, so I never know when it’s going to be until Wednesday afternoon. And if it’s really well timed, sometimes I make it home in time to watch Spicks and Specks, new episodes of which are becoming increasingly precious.
Thursdays are a bit of a pickle, which is okay if you like pickles. I don’t. I prefer ice cream. I’m supposed to cram in cricket, sepak takraw, church music practice and opera practice in the same four hour period. So far that’s not going so well, but that’s okay because every second Thursday is pay day. So sometimes I get to have ice cream.
No pickles!
By Friday afternoon I’ve generally had it with my job and I can be heard muttering to myself about finding a new one, or observed posting violent or despairing status updates to Facebook (posting them to the Governor General doesn’t have the same effect, and usually involves a day or so’s delay, plus an inquisitive email from the federal police). So on the one night of the week when I can get out and spend some time not being told what to do by anyone else, I tend to spend my time sitting calmly alone in a dark, quiet room and enjoying having absolutely nothing to think about, at least for one evening. Milkfish. Then it really get’s crazy.
Every second Saturday is prison ministry, which involves getting up on a Saturday morning and pretending to be cheerful, wise and loving. When I get home from prison, there’s usually about an hour before I’m supposed to be meeting someone for lunch, or checking in on the Tease production. Thankfully I’m no longer appearing in that as Phil has also pulled out due to Science. We found two other local guys to play our parts. I use this time to do laundry.
Saturday afternoons are consumed by full cast opera practice, which seems to be gradually expanding to be (milkfish) slightly longer every week, despite the fact that the performance is still three months away. When I catch myself singing the act two finale at my desk at work I’ll know I’ve truly lost it. I estimate this will take about another week and a half to occur.
Saturday night is theoretically sepak takraw again, although this is supplanted more often than not by a wedding, birthday party or quantum analytical chemistry symposium. That last one doesn’t come up that often, but does actually turn out to be a real thing, however ridiculous it might sound, and however doubly ridiculous the idea of my attending it might be.
Sunday is, of course, a day of rest. So all I do on Sunday is get up early for music practice, do church for a couple of hours and then back up with five or so hours of cricket. Fortunately I spend at least half of that time not batting, although not batting in the batting side generally means umpiring or scoring, which requires a level of concentration slightly higher than music practice, but not as high as a kite. The other half I spend not bowling, which just involves standing around in the sun for two hours and occasionally not catching a ball.
At some point on Sunday I call my mother and attempt to convey to her the fact that everything is fine. This is about to become significantly more difficult, as my mother is one of about five people who actually read this blog. Oh well. Yes mum, I’m fine. I ate nearly a whole tomato today. It was a really big one.
By Monday morning I’m ready for a rest to recover from my weekend. So I hit rewind and start the week all over again. It’s getting to be a vicious spiral, and at some point in the next week or two something is going to have to give. Either I’ll triangulate… I mean snap… at work and start singing lines from Princess Ida instead of answering members’ balance enquiries or I’ll start attempting to cover drive a volleyball through the gap between the worship leader and the Governor General. Or maybe I’ll just schedule some time off work.
Make of that what you milkfish.
Garry with 2 Rs
30 May 2011
Home
My parents sent me a very strange link this week. It’s a real estate listing for our old family house.
Background? Sure!
My parents bought the house when they were first married and lived in it until they moved to Adelaide about six years ago. I was born in Royal Darwin Hospital and from the time my parents bought me home to the time I set off for university some eighteen and a half years later, 22 Kailis St was the centre of the known universe, at least as far as I was concerned. I knew every corner of the garden and was partially responsible for the destruction of a decent portion of it. I knew where to sit after school so as not to let the glare from the afternoon sun disrupt my view of the television. As I got older I learned which step not to tread on when I was coming home late because it went “clunk” and woke up the whole house (I later learned that my mother would lie awake at night waiting for the clunk so she’d know I was home safe). I also knew how close I could get to the motion sensitive light before it would go off, and how fast I could get away with moving once I was in range. I could get up in the morning, walk from my bed to the lounge room, pull out the stool, plug in the headphones and start piano practice without necessarily having to open my eyes first.
I can still remember the incomparable feeling of dislocation I felt the night my parents told me over the phone that they were selling the house and moving to South Australia. I was in my room at St. John's College in Brisbane, amongst close friends I had known for three and a half years by that stage, and yet I suddenly felt completely adrift. An image of Morpheus watching the destruction of the Nebuchadnezzar comes to mind. Thank God my friends, possibly in response to the far away look in my eyes, had the sense to declare an emergency late night pancake run.
There is something frighteningly powerful about the fact that, since that night almost six years ago, I haven’t held any one residential address for more than a year. Even now that I’m back “home” in Darwin, I’ve still managed three separate addresses in eighteen months.
It would be a fantastic story of coming full circle if I could walk into the real estate agent’s office tomorrow and put down an offer too good to refuse. Unfortunately there’s the small matter of “offers of five hundred and seventy thousand dollars or more” to contend with. I’ve done the maths on the bank website's loan calculation wizards. In my current financial situation I could get pre-approval for a home loan of just over eighty thousand, which might buy me half a parking space in Mandorah.
Besides, the current owners have completely remodelled the interior. It looks amazing, but nothing like what I remember, possibly due to most of the walls being missing. They’ve repaved the driveway, added air-conditioning, laid down polished floorboards instead of carpet and changed all the window fittings and … just about everything else. So it wouldn’t really be like living in my old home again. Those days are irrevocably gone. Plus, as my friend pointed out, while I could be the owner of the house, I wouldn’t actually be able to move into the master bedroom, because that’s my parents’ room. That would just be too weird.
No. I’ll just watch with interest to see how the sale goes, and then go back to walking along the street every so often and remembering one of the best upbringings a boy could have. And then I'll reach the end of the street and turn once again towards either the future or Tracy Village Sports Club, depending on whether we’re being literal or whimsical. And, as the great man once said:
“The future hasn’t been written yet. So make it a good one. Both of you.”
…
Garry with 2 Rs
20 May 2011
A Collective Sigh of Resignation
I’ve recently received a revelation about what I’m doing wrong when it comes to getting people to read my blog. The penny began to drop when I noticed my sister had been asked to guest post on someone’s blog. Something about being an Australian in Canada or something, on a blog about female geeks or some such. The drop was complete and made that irritatingly unsatisfying “ping” sound on the concrete of my consciousness when Jess, who is basically my brother from another mother, (or to use the feminine, my sister from a … a blistered … twister? Never mind) started joining up with a network of blogging mums. I realised what my blogging experience is missing: a collective!
The problem is… what the hell kind of messed up collective could I possibly get away with joining? Jess suggested joining the blogging mums’ society and crying to the sexism police if I was refused membership. It sounds like great fun, except for the part where I piss off a whole social network full of pregnant and/or post-natal women. Maybe later.
I’m not sure there really exists a network that CTC would slot into naturally, as the whole point of tacently clamenting is that there’s probably no other place in the cyberverse where I could get away with it. If we did form a cranky, cynical, independent, socially awkward writers’ network, I can only see it lasting a month or so before some prawn decides he’s too cool for the collective, takes his cricket bat and goes home.
There’s a reasonable chance that prawn would be me.
A week or so ago, Laurie over at Hipstercrite republished an old piece listing tips for generating higher blog readership. It’s full of great advice that I’ll probably never follow, but it also recommends an online network known as Twenty Something Bloggers. To qualify for that network you just have to be twenty-something years old and have a blog. Being of the ripe old age of twenty-mumble, I decided to sign up.
It took them a few days to verify the account, but now I have a shiny new 20sb profile. It’s a bit like Facebook, but only for writers. Now the quest is on to find user groups for topics I’m interested in. Having decided to raise the bar for myself, I’ve typed in searches for ‘religion’, ‘philosophy’, ‘linguistics’ and ‘cricket’. There aren’t any groups for those. Can you believe it? Most of the groups were focussed on acquiring followers for their own sake, which seems a little bit wanky to me. Everyone wants more followers, but who wants followers that are only following you because you’re following them? Join the collective and we’ll all go round in circles!
In the end I joined two groups: the Australian Bloggers group (17 members, which might explain a lot) and the “I support Velociraptors” group (37 members). Most of the other interest groups centred on regions of the US or on what colour hair leads a woman to have the most sex. And as tempting as it might have been to join the ‘fashionistas’ group (763 members?) I think I might just keep my blog tucked away quietly in the obscure corners of the internet for a little while yet. The blogosphere, it seems, is still not ready for blogs by men from Australia who haven’t even read Twilight (Seriously! A 20-somethings’ network with a Twilight fan group (173 members) How does that even happen?).
Actually, blogs by men full stop seem a little difficult to come by. There’s a group for us (129 members) but I’m not really sure I could bring myself to join a group called ‘boys’ club’. Especially when we’re outnumbered by the ‘chick-lit lovers’ (363 members) by almost three to one.
Nope. I think I’m just going to have to generate readership the old fashioned way.
Osama, while planking a Harry Potter Fan Fic conspiracy theory, could cover-up the evolution of Dancing With The Stars in the Middle East. Boobs!
Google to the rescue. Make of that what you will.
Garry with 2 Rs
10 May 2011
Kicking It Old School
The Arafura Games are with us once again. The city is full of lost looking athletes with ID badges on, and helpful looking volunteers in green shirts. The restaurants, souvenir shops and nightclubs are all rubbing their hands together with glee and the traffic around Marrara Stadium is above average, but not too bad.
Also, apparently there’s lots of sport on.
Last night I went to watch the sepak takraw. It was a double banger for me, because not only did I get to watch my mates playing for the NT team, I got to watch some of the really good players with the Malaysian and Thai teams. It’s pretty amazing watching those guys hanging upside down in the air and still kicking the ball with so much power.
The NT side? Not so much, but it was still awesome to see them out there representing the Territory and showing what they could do, which was a darn sight more than most people. Once again it made me feel nostalgic for the old days when I used to be able to do that. I went looking for my old NT sepak jersey, but I think it might be in the pile of stuff still in the cupboard at my parents’ house with my scout uniforms, astronomy books and various other pieces of evidence of things I used be good at. Come to think of it, I don’t know how I managed to get through high school without getting beaten up every other week. I’d love to get myself back up to that level, but somehow it seems consigned to the past almost as comprehensively as my maths competition certificates.
As if to punctuate the point, today I’ve been off work nursing a bung ankle. The mild post-viral arthropathy I get from time to time decided that this week is the week (probably due to the rapid onset of the dry season) to not be quite so mild and I’ve been having trouble walking, let alone turning back flips. I have it all under control, with a large dose of rest and an even larger dose of ibuprofen, but I can’t for the life of me figure out when I stopped being the guy out there doing cool stuff and turned into the guy sitting at home taking pills and whingeing about how the weather makes his joints ache. I’m only twenty-mumble years old for heaven’s sake.
What I should really do is stop whinging to my computer and get up and do something about it. Unfortunately my ankle is still having none of that so I guess it’s DVD o’clock. Now let’s see, will I go with Evita, or Four Weddings and a Funeral?
Yes okay, forget high school. I don’t know how I get from here to the weekend without getting beaten up.
Shove it
Garry with 2 Rs
07 July 2010
The On-Coming Storm
A few posts ago I mentioned an unshakable feeling that there was a lifestyle change coming, but that I wasn’t quite sure what it was. Now, I’d like to pretend I had some sort of premonition regarding the ascension of Prime Minister Gillard, or that I could offer some reason as to why it’s currently raining in Darwin in July. And given the lack of specific details in my posts, I think I could probably get away with it. Whether or not I could convince anyone that I was for real is another matter entirely.
What I have just undergone is a lifestyle change of a geographic nature: I’ve moved out of the unit in Palmerston to make way for my landlord’s sister. I’m now living with two randoms from an internet ad. in a three bedroom unit in Coconut Grove. It’s much closer to work, church and pretty much everything except my cricket club, which I chose based entirely on how convenient it was while I was living in Palmerston. Ironic? Yes. Problematic? Not really, so in the overall scheme of things the whole situation is basically a win.
A win that is, in hind sight. In the middle of it, attempting to work full time, act part time, have a cold and move house all during the same week was, on the balance of it, not a my best idea ever. Consequently my new and exciting life in the Grove seems to be positively pedestrian by comparison. Not to worry. I'll soon find some way to throw things out of control again.
Now that Midsummers is done, my next trick is to get moving on a short film to be shot on location in Darwin. And one of these days I really am going to sit down and get some serious writing done. Probably straight after I get over spamming out self-indulgent rubbish on my blog all the time.
…
Garry with 2 Rs
What I have just undergone is a lifestyle change of a geographic nature: I’ve moved out of the unit in Palmerston to make way for my landlord’s sister. I’m now living with two randoms from an internet ad. in a three bedroom unit in Coconut Grove. It’s much closer to work, church and pretty much everything except my cricket club, which I chose based entirely on how convenient it was while I was living in Palmerston. Ironic? Yes. Problematic? Not really, so in the overall scheme of things the whole situation is basically a win.
A win that is, in hind sight. In the middle of it, attempting to work full time, act part time, have a cold and move house all during the same week was, on the balance of it, not a my best idea ever. Consequently my new and exciting life in the Grove seems to be positively pedestrian by comparison. Not to worry. I'll soon find some way to throw things out of control again.
Now that Midsummers is done, my next trick is to get moving on a short film to be shot on location in Darwin. And one of these days I really am going to sit down and get some serious writing done. Probably straight after I get over spamming out self-indulgent rubbish on my blog all the time.
…
Garry with 2 Rs
21 June 2010
Milestones
Well, it’s been a while since I posted a piece on how awesome I am.
Okay, it’s been about three weeks. But this time I’ve actually got something worth bragging about. Sort of. This is my one hundredth Far From Home/Cum Tacent Clament post.
“There’s a roar from the crowd and a grateful acknowledgement from the members. 100 posts in three and a half years, on two different websites and on four different continents. A superb innings in difficult conditions. Your thoughts, Richie?”
“Yes it’s been a marvellous display this. There’s been some stiff opposition at times from the combined pace attacks of England and Adelaide as well as an entertaining battle with the off-spin of AAMI insurance company. But it’s definitely Garry’s aggressive and off-beat approach that has won the day, thanks in no small part to some excellent support at the other end.”
“Yes, that’s right. I thought the partnership before lunch with Oxfam Girl was particularly good. It wasn’t the most elegant or conventional display we’ve seen, but there was no denying the sheer brute power of Oxfam Girl. When she hits them, they stay hit.”
“Yes, but all the attention was at the other end, of course, where Garry with 2 Rs has treated us all to an impressive demonstration of loquacious stroke play. He was seeing the ball as clear as a bell and large as a beach ball, and settled in early to play his natural game.”
“Yes. Now, if you’ll have a look on this replay here, you can see that Hillsong is clearly offside as she launches a cut-out pass to Samantha who backhands it down the line towards deep forward pocket for a birdie. That’s a home run in any pool in Australia.”
“The really interesting thing about it is… wait. … what?”
“Sorry, I think something’s gone wrong with the metaphor generator”.
“Ah crap. Cut to classic catches while the tech guys sort it out.”
…
Meanwhile I’ve passed a couple of other milestones lately. I’ve reached ten runs for the season for Palmerston (unusual), brought my net debt to the bank to under $30,000 (unimpressive) and turned twenty seven (unprecedented). Also, the cool change I mentioned a couple of posts ago is looming like the edge of a monsoonal trough. But more on that anon.
I was hoping to be able to coincide my one hundredth post with my one thousandth hit since installing my hit counter, but I actually passed that back in April sometime, and I’m coming up on twelve hundred now. And I think only about half of them are my mother. The rest are probably me and Kirribilli Kim, but it’s still an achievement, right?
More importantly, the time has come to stop borrowing sign-off lines from other people. This has less to do with passing a milestone than it does with the fact that I’ve pretty much run out of ideas, but that’s beside the point.
Rehearsals for A Midsummer Night’s Dream are going well, and we’re into production week now. When I say well, I mean that the director and stage manager are starting to get a little desperate, but so far it hasn’t exceeded my normal day-to-day operational level of desperation, so I feel like I’m keeping up okay. I might even be slightly ahead. Either way, since the show opens this weekend it could be a while before I have enough spare time to post again, but you can expect a full update on all the goings on backstage, including all the juicy gossip about how many cast members managed not to fall hopelessly in love with Phil Denson.
Once the play is done and dusted, I’ve got a month full of family visits coming up. This means getting my house looking presentable and making sure my car is serviced and spotless before my father gets his hands on it. And somewhere in there, we’re still planning on shooting a short film. So yes, life continues at its normal operational level of desperation.
And just a brief reminder: this post will not feature a carefully selected borrowed sign-off line.
…
Garry with 2 Rs
Okay, it’s been about three weeks. But this time I’ve actually got something worth bragging about. Sort of. This is my one hundredth Far From Home/Cum Tacent Clament post.
“There’s a roar from the crowd and a grateful acknowledgement from the members. 100 posts in three and a half years, on two different websites and on four different continents. A superb innings in difficult conditions. Your thoughts, Richie?”
“Yes it’s been a marvellous display this. There’s been some stiff opposition at times from the combined pace attacks of England and Adelaide as well as an entertaining battle with the off-spin of AAMI insurance company. But it’s definitely Garry’s aggressive and off-beat approach that has won the day, thanks in no small part to some excellent support at the other end.”
“Yes, that’s right. I thought the partnership before lunch with Oxfam Girl was particularly good. It wasn’t the most elegant or conventional display we’ve seen, but there was no denying the sheer brute power of Oxfam Girl. When she hits them, they stay hit.”
“Yes, but all the attention was at the other end, of course, where Garry with 2 Rs has treated us all to an impressive demonstration of loquacious stroke play. He was seeing the ball as clear as a bell and large as a beach ball, and settled in early to play his natural game.”
“Yes. Now, if you’ll have a look on this replay here, you can see that Hillsong is clearly offside as she launches a cut-out pass to Samantha who backhands it down the line towards deep forward pocket for a birdie. That’s a home run in any pool in Australia.”
“The really interesting thing about it is… wait. … what?”
“Sorry, I think something’s gone wrong with the metaphor generator”.
“Ah crap. Cut to classic catches while the tech guys sort it out.”
…
Meanwhile I’ve passed a couple of other milestones lately. I’ve reached ten runs for the season for Palmerston (unusual), brought my net debt to the bank to under $30,000 (unimpressive) and turned twenty seven (unprecedented). Also, the cool change I mentioned a couple of posts ago is looming like the edge of a monsoonal trough. But more on that anon.
I was hoping to be able to coincide my one hundredth post with my one thousandth hit since installing my hit counter, but I actually passed that back in April sometime, and I’m coming up on twelve hundred now. And I think only about half of them are my mother. The rest are probably me and Kirribilli Kim, but it’s still an achievement, right?
More importantly, the time has come to stop borrowing sign-off lines from other people. This has less to do with passing a milestone than it does with the fact that I’ve pretty much run out of ideas, but that’s beside the point.
Rehearsals for A Midsummer Night’s Dream are going well, and we’re into production week now. When I say well, I mean that the director and stage manager are starting to get a little desperate, but so far it hasn’t exceeded my normal day-to-day operational level of desperation, so I feel like I’m keeping up okay. I might even be slightly ahead. Either way, since the show opens this weekend it could be a while before I have enough spare time to post again, but you can expect a full update on all the goings on backstage, including all the juicy gossip about how many cast members managed not to fall hopelessly in love with Phil Denson.
Once the play is done and dusted, I’ve got a month full of family visits coming up. This means getting my house looking presentable and making sure my car is serviced and spotless before my father gets his hands on it. And somewhere in there, we’re still planning on shooting a short film. So yes, life continues at its normal operational level of desperation.
And just a brief reminder: this post will not feature a carefully selected borrowed sign-off line.
…
Garry with 2 Rs
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