northbysoutheast

No pollie in this country can out-weasle PM Howard. There's no point really, but perhaps his despatching the troopship after the phone conversation with his leader, Prez Shrub (don't we love the way Bushisms pepper Howard's prattle after these little talks?) gives us a clue as to when we can expect curtain-up on Gulf War II. Now how long does it take to steam from Garden Island to the other side of this planet?

Meanwhile the Horrible Houseguest has gone. Sometime in the past 24 he packed up most of his stuff and vanished. No note, phonecall, nix. The only traces left: a can of that nasty fizzy-booze mix hanging from a hook in the porch by the front door, and the tradey trash that still litters the carport. Oh and as a final insult—nasty bong water poured down the kitchen sink. Come to think of it...nah he's not bright enough for such symbolism.

Over the past couple of days another two portions of the new year resolve enter the mouth for predigestion. Every step begins with a thousand indecisions. The participation on the board of the Community Group was okay on Tuesday and the first meeting with the local Greens was fine last night. Both meetings were occasions where I sat there and wondered just how things get done: the CG moves from apparent chaotic administration towards rather defined systems and procedures. The Greens have the procedural stuff on paper, but a lot of that embraces a consensual openness that presents as a kind of anarchy. Then yesterday, unable to catch HH for a face-to-face I wrote a formal but simple letter giving him a couple of weeks to leave my humble dump.
Funny how my activities with the Community Group slam into those of the Party in relation to my conflicted approach to dealing with the HH. On one hand there's the bit about compassion, benefit of the doubt, empathy, while on the other is a demand for a reasonable attempt to minimise consumer impact, taking personal responsibility, planning for a sustainable future.
I'm glad I'm astride the continuum model otherwise this poor head would be banging on the extreme of one polarity and zooming through the ether to crash messily into the other.

Now US President Bush says that he's sick of waiting for the Europeans to fall in behind his lust for war with Iraq: "It's like a rerun of a bad movie." How sad that this is both the level of rhetoric to which this man has descended as well as being a tragically apt description of his administration's foreign policy. If we must have life imitating art (well Hollywood's version of art) couldn't it be of a slightly better standard: Where's Leo McGarry and Jeb Bartlett when you need them?

Behond comparison #1: Wilson Tuckey MP who's only on Howard's team because it's better having him in the tent pissing out (you know the rest) and Senator Bob Brown, reputed secular saint and one of the only politicians in the country who represents what he actually believes.

The bleedin' obvious thing about middle age is the likelihood of hearing about the death of relatives, friends, contemporaries. Today's event was a road accident that wiped out a high school chum and one of his young kids. I haven't kept up contact with him but it's oddly affecting in the way that I keep finding each time I hear about these things. The bizarre thoughts...inappropriate things... for me the event I remember most was after our biology class had been scrapping around the rocks at low tide looking for specimens and how impressed I was later in the change rooms when this guy peeled off his swimmers. I had seen real grown ups before, but this was the first time I recalled seeing one and instantly knowing what I wanted to do with him. And oddly, that look on his face that he felt the same. Of course nothing came of it, but many years later I learned that he had once dated my sister. That one's wide open for all kinds of speculation, but for now and for the record, he did marry rather late in life.

O how hard is it to be hard? I keep letting the opportunities to kick out the Horror Houseguest slide. And making lame excuses to myself. Yesterday it was a visit to my Louch Friend Ms J which turned into a knocked together gourmet feast ("Some of my made over left overs are better than the meals before") or something passably tasty anyway. Then an invigorating bike ride along the full moonlit treelined bike track and smutty chat with Anak di Sandakan above the equator. Didn't get to sleep until 4am -- I'm too old for this stuff -- and waking up these mornings with a chocolate hangover and grubby sheets.

Still hot from the tawdry online eroticism and wanting to come down gently, stumble upon this courtesy of Matt which made me chortle. The last par describes HH (see above) to a knot. And Joe's boys which alludes to the surprising existence of a cuddly heart somewhere in there. Who'd have thunk it?
Surprised to see how different Joe looks from my mental picture of him built up over the years of haphazard browsing. Far more accessible than I had assumed. Pity about the size business though.