Waiting for the Aliens

Miss Loquacity and I have some plans for this place - some garden beds in the front yard, and some slight modifications around the house. The most significant plan though involves getting a lamb in the spring, using it to mow the house-yard through the summer, and then barbecuing it around Easter. I’ve harboured such ambitions for a while now. But never had the yard, the amenable landlord or the agreeable co-resident to go along with it. But I bounced the idea of the landlady today, and not only did she think it a grand plan, she offered us one of her sheep (well, technically her *only* sheep).
It’s the best of both worlds though, because now Molly, the sheep, can wander the larger property, but come the spring, we can have her in the house-yard as a pet. At least until we cook her anyway.

Because it’s lease-renewal time though, we decided to check out some places in The Village so we knew what was out there. One in particular caught our eye, so we went to inspect today. Check it out! I wanted to move there, put up a sign at the door about The Village Pastafarian church. I reckon it’d be cool. $300 a week for rent would have been great, but it’s for sale, so it’d be only a short term thing. And short term isn’t desirable right now.

Within myself
There are a million things
Spilling over
Falling out into the silent springs

In the early noughties (I am still disappointed that name for the current decade didn’t catch on), I managed a few bands. Small time pop bands that unfortunately never went as far as they should have. For those who’ve never tried it, managing bands is all about thinking up new ideas on how to promote them, on a budget of about three cents, a shiny rock and a pointy stick.

At the time therefore, my mind was full of odd little plans for how to gain exposure, and somehow make the venture turn a profit. Along the way, because it’s kind of related, I had plenty of embryonic ideas about micro-businesses. I obviously didn’t follow through on them because I had enough to do (I was a fulltime parent back then too).

Now though, with the move to The Village imminent, I’ve begun to once again bounce concepts around in my head of “I wonder if this would work” and “Maybe this is worth a try?” Today for example, I had a chat with a chap about some of my thoughts, and for a brief moment, some of them even seemed feasible, seemed not so crazy as most of my ideas often do.

Last year, Indi (one of the finest bloggers there ever was, and I dearly hope he finds the inspiration to take up his keyboard again before too long) asked the question “What would you do if you were not afraid?” If you’re reading this at all Indi, know that your question’s stuck with me for almost a year. And I may soon find an answer.

Moving to the country
Gunna eat a lot of peaches

Living one suburb from work, and one suburb from Lucius has been nice for the last almost-a-year. But circumstances have conspired (in a good way) to change that now. I’m about to move out near The Village, to live with Miss Loquacity. Once that’s done, I’ll search for more local employment, so I’ll not have to do a 50km commute every day. Or maybe find some way of working from home. Anyone know much about that? Telecommuting? Throw some ideas up? Cheers

It was suggested recently there should be a blog-meet.

Then it was proposed such an event should wait a month or two. Until an auspicious occasion. Or until after it anyway. One which is apparently secret.

So I said nothing.

So I was chatting to a friend of mine yesterday. She got back from a holiday recently to the news that her live-in boyfriend of more than a year was dumping her.
I spoke to her for a while, and one of the things she said stunned me. She thought that he’d ditched her because she didn’t keep a tidy enough house, that she’d been a bit slack with housework.

What. The. F*ck?

Do women really think like this? I was shocked. Here’s an intelligent, attractive girl with a good job, who is very good company. And when she gets dumped, she thinks it’s because she was a bit tardy on the vacuuming.

Blokes: have you ever ditched a girl for housework? Coz it seems from some discussions I have had that women seem to think this is a logical assumption.

I was in a bookstore on the weekend - Miss Loquacity and I decided to venture out more into the village - and the bookstore owner was so entranced with Miss L that he offered me 40 goats for her. Later, as she and he discussed his first editions and other rare literary treats, he upped his offer to 91 goats.

I am still wondering if it is too late to take up his offer?

Lucius told me I should have. Since then, a lot of my friends have agreed. She’s a quality girlfriend, but hey, 91 goats is 91 goats!

I wonder what the exchange rate is for goats to sheep? Because that’s really what I want.

I’m high on the hill, looking over the bridge to the MCG
And way up on high, the clock on the silo says eleven degrees

Last month, I took Lucius to Sydney to see his first AFL game - Swans & Bombers. We took his best mate, Henricus, along for the trip too.

They loved it. Even though their team got done by 15 goals. The crowd experience. The food. The day out. The chance to meet my cousin for the first time in about 5 years, and his girlfriend and her daughter. Lucius even won a bet I made with him about what the final scoring shot of the game would be (a Swans goal). They loved every aspect of it.

I’m taking him to his second next weekend - Swans/Demons at Manuka. He’ll cheer for the Demons, because his father loves the Swans. And he’ll lose again. But he’ll probably have just as much fun.

Next year, we’re considering a trip to the ‘G for the Anzac Day game - if he liked a footy game with 20,000 fans, he’ll love one with 90,000.

I went to Thredbo for the weekend.
Not because I wanted to.
Well, actually, I did want to. But only because Miss Loquacity was going there.
And it wasn’t as pretentious as I thought it would be.
Since I thought the whole place would be pretentious, and we found one or two places that weren’t. Everywhere else was.
But even the places that weren’t pretentious were incredibly expensive.