Waiting for the Aliens

But burning in my heart
The memory smoulders on
Of the gunner’s dying words on the intercom

I was listening to Pink Floyd’s The Final Cut on the weekend.

In one song, The Hero’s Return, as it fades into the next, there is a brief recording of some voices in a WW2 bomber. There’s calm back-and-forth. It’s terribly garbled, but it’s easy to work out what’s happening. “.. (unintelligible) .. starboard high .. (unintelligible) .. power control .. (unintelligible) ..”

Then there’s the sound of a massive explosion. The engines go from a low drone to a high-pitched whine. Voices between the crew are suddenly yelling and frantic. There’s a thumping. The voices and the engine fade and the sound of wind rises.

The plane is diving. The crew are dying. Either from fire or they’ll die when the plane hits the ground.

It’s a scene I’ve been thinking about for a few days. Moments when our life’s plodding along on one path. Then, in an instant, something happens and nothing will ever be the same again.

I’ve never known anyone who’s died suddenly. Just as well. My attitudes toward life and death are screwy enough as it is already.

The current theme is the only one I can get to work.

Yes, it’s horrid. But in the coming weeks, I will fix it. I’ve been talking to some experts. And they’ll help me out.

Cheers

Ever since I have been using WordPress, altering themes has been the thing I have hated the most about it. So if you know anything about WordPress theme editing, then please drop me a line to m.f.aurelius at gmail.com? Cheers.
Until then, everyone else just has to put up with the fact this page will keep changing while I figure out what the hell is going on. And it’s pissing me right off.

Is it bad when I’m sitting in an ALP meeting and wishing I was at home watching The West Wing?

Reality in focus, eh?

Yesterday, a gathering. My cousin’s engagement party. So Miss Loquacity & I took Lucius & T to Sydney for a big family party.

When I was a kid, in Newcastle, my clan used to gather at one of my father’s cousin’s homes for family events. They were big parties, with at least a few dozen kids and at least as many adults. Saturday’s party was like that. At least a hundred of Marquis & Chris’ family, friends and others. Animals on spits. Salads and croquembouche galore. Several beers on tap. I dread to think how much they spent, and it was only an engagement party, so next year they’ll probably have another for their wedding. Some guests speculated Marquis would whip out a celebrant mid-party and formalise the occasion.

It was one of the best parties I’d been to in a long time. Almost all our clan were there. Only Antony & Gemma were absent (he in Brisbane with a new baby, and she in Disneyland). My grandparents were there. My mother. Marquis’ parents (with their respective new partners) and his sisters. Loi Loi & Bub. Loi Loi’s two eldest weren’t there, because of work commitments. Some of my clan hadn’t seen Lucius in a long time, probably since my father’s funeral. Marquis’ whole tribe hadn’t met Miss Loquacity and T before.

It’s often thought I don’t regard my clan very well. But yesterday, I was reminded both that I do and why I do. It’s easy sitting down to dinner next to an aunt who has known me my whole life with whom I can completely be myself. Or with cousins who I met visiting the hospital the day they were born. There’s no pretense, no bullshit.

Since arriving in the Village, I’ve been looking at ways to integrate myself here. To meet new people. With that in mind, I joined the Bush Fire Brigade tonight. Well, I haven’t joined I guess until I fill in the forms and get everything approved. But tonight I went along and attended my first meeting.

Friday night meetings are all about taking the trucks out of the shed, and testing lights, hoses, pumps. Then checking the supplies on the trucks are all filled up. And the equipment’s all in place.

I got to drive the biggest fire-truck though. Cool eh?

Today is International Talk Like a Pirate Day. I wont be participating.

Because it’s become a cancer charity fundraising event. And I don’t support cancer fundraisers.

How disappointing.

I have held the opinion for many years that local government in this country is rotten to the core. Small ponds, big fish. Small entities like councils, with small workforces of long-time employees who rely too heavily on patronage. Too much money tied up in real estate developments. Too little expertise at the local level. It all brews a culture very prone to corruption. In turn, corruption creates bad governance that extends decades or centuries into the future.
In the 1850s for example, the colonial government were building a railway. It headed south-west from Sydney, and eventually went all the way to Albury. But there is a small section of the railway (near Picton I believe) where the railway’s best path was neglected and instead the line travels many kilometres out of its way unnecessarily. Why did they do it? Because the owner of a quarry bribed the relevant officials to alter the railway’s route so it went closer to his quarry. Now, a century and a half later, rail travel between Sydney and Goulburn, Canberra and Melbourne is much less efficient than road travel, because of this bribe in the mid 19th century.

So even leaving aside my own experience with corrupt officials (dating back to problems my father had with the Goulburn police in the late 1980s), I am rabidly against the stench of dodgy deals that go against the wider public interest.

You can imagine my delight therefore when, in my first week of snooping around the Village looking for some good background information, I discovered the local council is employing a chap who is guilty of corruption, perverting the course of justice, and perjury. I was terribly excited. I delved into the ICAC investigation report, and read almost all of its 78 pages. All because someone told me “Google this bloke’s name, and see what you find”.

The Village isn’t the sleepy nook I’d first assumed. This could be fun.

I have a new monitor.

The last one was a 15″ CRT monitor that was so dark, when I watched The West Wing on it last year, I thought all the scenes were set at night, because I could hardly see anyone. The new one though is way bright and ultra sharp. I could cut tomatoes with these screen images.

I started watching The West Wing again. I’m still only up to the early ones in Season 6. Maybe 40 or so episodes to go for the whole show. With a bit of luck, I might be watching the end by the time the Americans have their election for real.

In 2003/04, I lived with a housemate, Kylie. As far as housemates go, she was one of the better ones. Unusually for an otherwise quite girly girl, Kylie was into rally-driving. So when some of my mates came to visit to go spectate at a rally, Kylie went along and soon was dating one of my friends.

Months pass, Kylie moves to Wollongong, and I later hear she’s married Sieben. Then I hear they were pregnant. I was pleased everything was going well for them. Sadly though, Kylie delivered extremely premature, and baby Nathan was not destined to stay. I think he survived two days.

In April, I finally caught up with Sieben & Kylie, in a park in Shellharbour where we gathered with some friends for fish and chips. Kylie was pregnant again, approaching the same stage where she had lost her son. She was clearly terrified of it all happening again.

But last week, I got an email to tell me Kylie and Sieben had a new baby daughter. Charlotte is well, and from the photos, Kylie looks well, although exhausted. I guess all new mothers would be.

Kylie and Sieben are the only couple I’ve ever introduced to each other. I’d call that one a success.