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The window was high and narrow, thickly barred, and ensconced firmly in the stone. More like a marionette with its strings cut than a person, Jerry lay sprawled where he had been thrown against the wall, bleeding into his clothing. The fading footsteps of Punch and Judy on their patrol carried into his cell. The trickle of moonlight that lanced deep into his cell began to slowly dry up as the weather turned the clouds back on him. Jerry began the slow process of pulling himself together before the curtain fell over his sight. He managed to hoist one eye completely open to take stock of himself, but it was short-lived as his gasp of dismay caught his ribs again. Little but scraps and scuffed shoes remained of his former, dapper sophistication. It was not that, after he had been caught, they had gone to great pains to take care of him— that was in fact completely backwards, as their care had been extremely painful. His tuxedo was shredded where they had violently searched him for weapons; they had found them all of course, and had returned him injury for each puppet they had stolen. They had instantly taken the hand puppets at his sides, and he marked time now with the grating of his ribs. Tearing back his sleeves, they had found the concealed finger puppets and had broken his fingers. Even his backup piece, the collapsable ventriloquist's dummy. Well, they had broken his jaw for that one. "Gottle of geer," they had shrieked over him, laughing like hyenas. The sharp end to his patter had hurt almost as much as the injury. The memory brought him to the bring of outrage, and for a second time, his unswollen eye parted. In the distance, the footsteps paused for just a moment at their apogee. He needed a weapon. He needed his puppets. Taken from him. The moonlight, almost gone, receded over his toes and his imagination began to turn. His body jerked sharply under his direction, as his training took over. Once again, he became the operator, not the inhabitant, and the pain of stiff joints and the ghastly squeal of crepitus were managed, as one would manage an unoiled doll. With a gentle inevitability he reached for his shoelaces with ruined hands. 'A puppet—' thought Jerry, 'any puppet.' He prised off his shoe. Tags: the plan
How: confused
What: Shoujo Kakumei Utena OST 5 - Hana no Nai Bara
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Wet 'n' Wild was on the cards yesterday, but postponed with weather. We went to the Gold Coast instead and trawled Pacific Fair for a while. If you're ever around Surfers Paradise at lunchtime, consider eating at the Beach Club at the Q1 tower. Their steak and fish and chips are second to none; their sauces, elegance and satisfaction. Good eating. The dog ate palm fronds and made herself sick. Online veterinarians (and random lectures in the past) suggest it's a good idea to hold off feeding her for twenty-four hours, with an eye on her water bowl. I've been concerned with how much I've lately been giving her to eat — a generous amount, or not? — so I'm no more at ease. Not good eating here. Cat is fine, tipping over portable fans, etc. No dead wildlife left in plain sight recently. Egads, her litter to mess requirements are astronomical. At least she's showing signs of coming to terms with losing some weight. Good eating again. We've had some odd weather for summer. It's been alternately hot, overcast and mild, threatening rain. Yesterday we had some strong winds, and I have decided that they are the enemy of gardens. There is some knotting, pot-tipping and spot destruction, but no less so than the scrub turkey chicks in among the bromeliads. Three of four azaleas are doing okay. I still don't know where the bay leaves are. Not so great eating. Heading to ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) windwalkr's place now for some iPhone dev. It's been a while. Good eating, all. Tags: edible, garden, meteorological, pets
How: contemplative
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Small things amuse small minds, I suppose. Cooking this evening was like that for me, small excitements built up into a minor adventure. We'd meant to mix grasshoppers on New Year's Eve (to use up the Crème de Menthe and Crème de Cacao remaining from the last time we'd had the idea) but with the draining heat and the astonishingly drinkable double-margaritas it had never come to pass, leaving me once again with a full set of the ingredients. The grasshopper recipe calls for fresh cream and on my own — the rest of the household away holidaying — I've put off coming to terms with the two cartons of fresh whipping cream as long as I've been able. After tonight, every time I reach into the fridge for it the expiration date will damn me. I love food, I love cream, I love rich food, I love desserts. However, it's bloody hot, and Queensland summer weather doesn't lend itself to rich foods. Having indulged in pasta this week I'm less inclined to make a cabonara. Having made scones I'm still left with most of a bowl of whipped cream. Fresh out of fruit pies. Nothing to eat with mushroom sauce. With an hour before raid time I was left with few options, so I'm quite pleased of what I managed. Firstly, a potato bake of victory to go with dinner: a dawn mosaic of orange and white slices. Lastly, a miniature crème brûlée. (Here, I was quite proud of the yolk and double-saucepan action. It's sitting in a ziplock-bagged teacup in the fridge, waiting for a morning bake.) I'm now down to a modest third of a carton of cream, looking forward to dessert for breakfast. It was a success enough to offset any blues after realising I had rolled my chicken pieces (stuffed with parmesan, mushroom, dijon, ham and thyme) in psyllium instead of bread crumbs. It had been in the oven some time, but I stripped and recrumbed it anyway. I just couldn't bring myself to look at it as real food when I had been sprinkling it on the dog's meal a minute before to keep her regular. Tags: culinary
How: tired
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The bin was a living sea of putrescence. Scraps of colourful junk mail riddled by a pool of innumerable, pasty, white, seething bodies, both shallow and vile (in some detached, artistic corner of my mind, just describing the scene makes me think of The Garden of Earthly Delights). Lovecraft dispensed with maggots in a single line, the bastard, obviously unnerved by them enough not to draw it out. Never mind it was my own fault for cleaning out the fridge a week before garbage day, as I purged that mess I felt responsible for the fate of the entire world. All in all, I'm kind of hungry, now. Happy new year, people. Clean responsibly and remember: recycle heavy jars to prevent burst bags or risk spawning an army of darkness. Tags: the seam in the cloth
How: hungry
What: Sting - Seven Days
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There seems to be some sort of nonsense happening in the US. At first it looked like they were unhappy that their ship didn't win the Melbourne Cup, but a quick survey of the entire world 1 suggests that there is in fact an election. Many have been inspired to take excitedly to the streets, blocking every doorway, kissing babies. In principle, I'm against gathering too much impotence in one spot in case it learns to reproduce, but without exception, all of the faces on the news look so grateful they're getting another shot at this now, four years later, I can't help but not think about it so harshly. Apparently you can only cast one vote this year. This is in sharp contrast to recent elections in which, on the strength of the value of your current vote, you could additionally borrow your vote for the next election and reuse the interest on your last vote, a practice no longer allowed. Fraud saps the worth of every commodity, I guess. On the bright side, with the cost of purchasing votes right down, people are reluctant to trade in them. We can only hope no one thinks to float suffrage on the free market. In the meantime, I'm relieved that I'm not alone on this issue, editorialised in the Guardian. I've been comparing the two for most of the year with barely a half-hearted snicker of support. For the sake of completeness, there is an alternate theory proposed here by Chris Palmer and on this page of 429truth that is more alien in nature. 1Entire world not to scale. Tags: political
What: The Whitlams - The Road Is Lost (feat. Torcha and TQO)
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In Sydney, avoid the Ibis Hotel at Darling Harbour. It earned its stars playing Mario.
Here we are in the deep south for TechEd 2008, which is a junket (claims A) for he and jelashke to further dissect What This SharePoint Stuff Is Anyway. On their review, the talks seem pretty bland, especially when compared with the pre-conference training, but there are dinners and there is swag and there are people to catch up with. I'm not actually part of this, but now have a pass to the party tomorrow night, so I'll not be left in the cold.
Like I was last night during the Guitar Hero competitions, alone, cold, drinking in an unfamiliar city, constantly refreshing iPhone for any response to my forum plea for real life social contact. Queue queue.
On that note, I've spent about five times as much iPhone bandwidth in the last four days than I have in the last month. With extended use the grand amalgam of all flaw in the most useful iPhone programs -- foremost, Safari and Maps -- becomes apparent, a mixture that is the product of a shocking recipe of instability and missing functionality. I've been treating it as a laptop substitute, on the street, in coffee shops, in conversations when there's a third person present, etc.
( iPhone log )
The last few days, in brief.
The Jet Cafe in the QVB building retains my fond recollection as a purveyor of sorbets.
Ryans Bar on George St earns the award for the most approachable yuppy piazza to serve a ten dollar steak on a Tuesday night.
Kinokuniyain TGV is still our most fondly remembered bookstore.
Right next to Kinokuniya is Ichiban Boshi, which serves pretty decent tempura udon, unagi-ji and is the first Australian restaurant I've stumbled upon to serve okonomiyaki, that food of kings.
Google has also released a browser, supplanting Firefox on Windows for me.
The rest of the week seems to be full of people. Maybe not Friday-daytime, yet. Looking forward to seeing annege and B on Friday for the first time in year(s). Tags: edible, hotel, phone, sharepoint, software
Where: Hotel Ibis, Darling Harbour, Sydney
How: jotting
What: The Whitlams -- Thank you (for loving me at my worst)
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Saturday, the eventful highlight of the weekend was a bit rushed but highly enjoyable. Complex social machinations had us on the road immediately after The Mikado let us out of its very-modernised pop-Savoy experience, for windwalkr's pre-birthday party up north. Out of this, I can now recommend King Ludwig's for its excellent desserts and highly respectful attitude to serving beer and drinks. Seeing jelashke drinking ginger beer from a glass boot (and being able to order her another "in a boot", and have that transcribed precisely to our bill) was almost worth alone the long drive to Melaney.
I'll sneak in quick notes on Simon Gallaher's production ofThe Mikado. Donaldson, Gould and Anthony brought their usual sparkle to the theatre but it was a mistake to pit a contestant from So You Think You Can Dance in a leading role against real vocalists. Colin Lane proved that not all comedians can sing and I didn't really think his blunt style was necessary (the humour of the piece is sharp as knives). The outstanding performance was David Collins who nailed his role as Ko-ko, leading the show with a very fine voice among a group of professionals.
We drew in our Netball game last night. I think I've broken a lung, but that was the price I paid in order to shoot a couple of the thirteen goals myself.
In further academic news, I have unearthed from my not-quite-so-abandoned desk, a victorious instant scratchie $2-win and various forms of nearly/very-expired medication. Tags: beer, birthday, desk, theatre
What: The Mikado - The Criminal Cried
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I'm kind of glad we wiped it up in BT last night, given how much better I feel with even an hour of sleep more.
catelina likes to say that moving out of your comfort zone helps concentration (she studies at the dining table by the heater, so I don't know how that works). I'm on campus trying this on for size. My old key still works, my old swipecard still works.
My old desk is here, two years later. Another PC has been shoved onto one corner of it to share the place (the room is built up with flexible partitions) but it's otherwise untouched.
All sorts of random cruft I'd left is still here; Kensington lock, oversized novelty kaleido-pen, complaints, letters, broken mugs. Heartfelt pieces of origami from someone special.
And pinned to the wall beside the monitor of my old PC, a photo of jelashke looking so beautiful. Tags: academy, desk, reminiscence
How: reflective
What: Missy Higgins - The Special Two
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We spent most of the weekend on the road. On Friday afternoon we drove north-west from Brisbane to Kenilworth for a family birthday dinner at L'escapade, a charming, remote, half-fixed up restaurant. For kicks, we'd borrowed jelashke's family's GPS system and spent most of the trip with one eye on the continual recalculation caused by our mish-mash alternate route. It probably wouldn't have been necessary (iPhones!) but when we left to head home at 10pm, after having navigated cows and unlit winding mountain roads to get to my aunt's place, we were pretty glad to be directed back out again. All day Saturday was spent killing time at shops until the night rolled around and were watching Wanted and Mamma Mia! at the drive-in theatre at Yatala for another birthday. It was a freezing night, even through the blankets and (mostly) wound car windows, and when we'd crane our heads around, The Dark Knight would be right behind us, large as a building. The movies weren't bad at all, though I cringed a lot through Mamma Mia. Wanted is a flick that makes little pretence of being anything other than fast, furious, bold and dramatic action, edited precisely so as to deflect any attention that might otherwise interrupt your suspension of disbelief. Sunday we spent in the good company of windwalkr, T, RD and pancaex. (Have the markets at Eagle St gotten smaller?) Tags: car, cinema, pancaex
What: Red Hot Chili Peppers - Under the bridge
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Story time!
I got my iPhone today at 2:45pm, after 2.5 weeks of Optus' "rain check policy." (Their RCP == "You don't get it, but we'll bill you right away. And charge you termination fees.") I took it home and, with their instructions in mind, connected it to itunes, registered and updated it.
I inserted the 3g sim card that has been lying idle for 2.5 weeks sans iPhone while I've gone on with life on my old L6 handset with my old 2g sim card.
I took the iPhone and its 3g sim card into town, and it had no service, wtf.
I waited half an hour in line at the Queen St Optus store, leading to, "No service outage, we have nfi what's wrong." Testing the sim card in another phone, they deduce it's the iphone, not the (working) sim card. Then they took my shiny, new, 3 hours-old iPhone, to send to Apple's service desk.
I got home and, having been told the sim card works fine, stuck it in my old phone.
Unregistered sim
WTF
I broke out the old sim (which works fine), got India out of bed.
Very helpfully, they listen to me wind down, have me throw the new 3g sim in another handset, and tell me that "sim card not registered" means it's a faulty sim. Or something else that's Optus' fault. Nothing that's wrong with the iPhone.
(On a side note, jelashke's iPhone is working fine: same batch, same collection time, same setup process, 100% less failure.)
Now, I'm damned pissed that it looks like there's no good reason for them to have made me wait half an hour in line before stealing my iPhone, only to have Apple send it straight back with a green tick in every box.
Tomorrow morning, I'll be camping outside their store, and hoping they were too damn lazy to send it via the 6pm post. Then I'll be on their case like a knife to their packing tape. I'm going to burst the nodules on the bubble wrap of their day, one by one.
Three things I'm glad of now. jelashke's iPhone. Beer. And Elijah. That hits the spot. Tags: phone
What: Mendelssohn - Aber der Herr sieht es nicht
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We have tickets for The Mikado on the 16th. Their function is particularly vital (hee hee). I did my best to push an envelope at Optus yesterday, to hasten our iPhones. It didn't work, and Optus had another major network outage in the afternoon, just to spite us. Not very impressed. We checked out two places yesterday afternoon, which didn't really impress us. The first was a large, flat family home with lived-in damage long ignored, miles off the freeway in Runcorn; the second, a dark town house in a beautiful part of Eight Mile Plains, almost refurbished on the interior but unappreciated on the exterior, with pet and cigarette damage and that had too high a price to justify too little living space on too much land. Dinner at Sunnybank Oriental — a clay pot rice meal with chicken and Chinese sausage — was superb and as always, terribly filling. Somehow, I ended up raiding Black Temple last night. No, I don't know how. Yes, it was fun. No, I didn't get anything. Yes, I did fine, as it's pretty easy when you get questions answered (we only cleared past Shade, though). Tags: edible, home, phone, theatre, wow
How: deferent
What: The Mikado - Taken from a county jail
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Retreat
