Category: Diary Page 27 of 47

Work and stories
I’ve been thinking about work a lot lately, perhaps because I’m now back in a mental space where I can focus a bit more on where I want to go with my job. I’ve had a few months where I’ve turned up to work, done my job, come home again … and nothing more than that. I’ve been lucky that I have a job that allows me to do that.

Now, however, I’m starting to see that the same flexibility that allowed me to take a back seat has come at a price: I’ve, predictably, not advanced in any way over the course of the year. In fact, I’m feeling that I’ve taken a few steps backwards. I’m not complaining: I would not have been able to give my job 100% over the last few months, and the fact that I’ve been allowed some space to drop down to 80-90% suggests that my management value me enough that they’ll accept 80-90% from me for a while.

Inevitably, I’ve also been thinking about my career in general. Is this a job I want to be doing for the rest of my life? Is it what I’ve spent my life working towards? Well, I’m lucky that I have a good job that I enjoy doing, but it’s no way my dream job.  I doubt there are many people who can truly say they have their dream job. (Mine would be to write full time, but the chances of that happening are infinitesimal. Even if I had my work published regularly, I would have to sell a LOT of books in order to make a living out of it.)

It is, however, probably the best, most ideal job I could have in the real world. So, I will carry on doing what most people do: I’ll turn up to work, find inspiration wherever I can, and do the best work I can do for 7 or so hours a day.

After that, I get to come home and do all the stuff that having a good job lets me do: such as caring for the kinderbesten, writing stories, watching Netflix and playing with my Bluetooth light bulbs.

I’ve once again been pondering the Marriage Equality Survey, and the tsunami of side effects that its very existence has unleashed. Forefront in my mind today is the business with Margaret Court being dumped from her tennis club, because her tennis club have rightly decided that being associated with a famous homophobic bigot is not their best look.

Then, elsewhere on the internet, someone posted words to the effect of: “you wouldn’t be celebrating if she’d been ditched for being homosexual.”

No. No, I wouldn’t.

This got me thinking because there’s potentially a problem there. For a while I didn’t know how to articulate why ditching one person on account of their views and preferences (i.e. a homophobe) is correct and appropriate and good, but ditching another (i.e. a homosexual) would be a terrible thing.

Then I realised it’s because these arguments are not the equivalent of each other. People who seek to deny rights to others frequently try to introduce equivalence where none exists. It’s how they keep you distracted while they work the con. It comes down to the paradox of tolerance (something that has recently been doing the rounds on Facebook … I can’t imagine why) which tells us that in order to be a tolerant society we must be intolerant of intolerance.

A tolerant society is once that embraces diversity. Intolerance is the opposite of that, therefore it does not deserve tolerance.

The argument in favour of equal marriage rights is entirely about tolerance and acceptance. Simply put, we believe that all other people should have the same rights that most of us already do: to be treated as equal human beings. The argument against equal marriage is exactly the opposite of that: it’s seeking to deny equal rights to specific people based on arbitrary characteristics (and by arbitrary, I don’t mean inconsequential: I mean characteristics that should have no impact on a person’s place as a member of society).

Opposite does not mean equivalent. Taking something away is not the equivalent of giving something.

In other words, Margaret Court wasn’t ditched because she wanted to vote a particular way, or because she’s a Christian. She was ditched because she believes certain people should be treated as lesser citizens and have fewer rights–and, most significantly, she actively campaigns for it. It’s not just a private opinion on her part: it’s an action that has tangible and detrimental effects on others.

Freedom of speech, as bigots often forget, does not mean freedom from consequence or criticism: it simply means the government won’t arrest you for criticising their policies. You can say what you like, but your peers will hear you and judge you and act accordingly. Court wasn’t ditched simply because she ‘believes differently’; she was ditched because she supports intolerance, and we cannot and should not tolerate that.

Every fourth Sunday (or every second #childfree Sunday, if you like) I leave the house to go and play Pathfinder with several of my dearest friends. As a rule, I leave the house with great reluctance: after all, leaving the house is usually caused by going to work, or otherwise going where other people are. Nuff said.

The game itself is a wilderness to me. My head can contain detailed references of CSS rules, grammatical no-nos, Doctor Who continuity, plot structures for my various short stories, and the general principles of staying alive. It can’t, however, cope with the rules of Pathfinder. I turn up, I roll my dice, and occasionally I’ll do something useful. But it’s ok: I’m surrounded by people who know what they’re doing. More importantly, I’m surrounded by people who I enjoy being surrounded by.

I like to think of it as a forced excused for socialising. Because sometimes you need an excuse, otherwise you might end up never leaving the house.

Today I did battle with blinds.

Spotlight had one of their semi-regular sales in which blinds were half-price, and I’ve wanted to replace the roller blind in the kitchen pretty much as long as I’ve lived in the house. The one thing that has stopped me is not being able to buy an off-the-shelf blind that would fit my odd-sized window bay, and either being too lazy to cut one to size, or too tight to pay for a custom blind. Spotlight, however, offered a ‘cut to size’ service …

… which they knew nothing about when I went into my local store this morning for my shiny new blinds. I deliberated for a bit, then decided that for $35 I’d get the blind that was slightly too narrow and come up with some stunningly genius idea for filling the 5cm gap on each side.

I had a nice/unpleasant surprise when I took the old blind down: the top of the window bay is plasterboard. This is good because it means NO DRILLING!!! But it’s also not good because I have no idea if plasterboard is strong enough to hold up a 160cm wide blind.

Well, we’re going to find out.

• Taking the old blind down: 2 minutes.
• Putting up the fittings for the new blinds: 5 minutes
• Actually getting the new blinds into the fittings: 1+ hours

Yep, the blinds are meant to slot into the brackets, then you slide a slidy thing over to lock them in place. There were a number of problems encountered during this phase, the most significant being the obstinate refusal of the blinds to fit into the fittings that they were iffing well designed to fit into. Supplementary problems included there being three fittings and my only having the two hands; and the fact that it’s damn turing having to continually lift a 160cm blind over your head while crouching precariously over the kitchen sink.

Eventually I solved the problem by using my pliers to widen the fittings just enough for the blinds to slip comfortably in. Now that I phrase it that way, I perhaps could have tried some form of lubricant …

Anyway, the new kitchen blind looks fantastic and transforms the kitchen in a wholly unexpected way. For the gaps at the side, I cut out some strips from the old roller blind and taped them to the window–far from the ideal (or permanent) solution, but good enough for now.

The moral of the story? A combination of persistence, creative thinking and utter cheapskatery can really pay off sometimes.

Tonight for Fridate Horror (or whatever I’ve been calling it) we watched Near Dark.

This is a film I watched a tonne back in my late teens. Along with The Breakfast Club, it was a staple part of my cultural diet in those latter formative years. I watched it again a few years back and still loved it. Once I learned that my Fridate friend, Seb, had never seen it, it became a natural choice for Friday Horror Night.

I was excited–because I love the film–and also nervous–because who knows whether it would hold up under the lens of Friday Evening Horror Movie Time.

I gotta say it was like getting to see the film for the first time all over again. All the beats and scenes I loved so much were there, but it had been long enough since my last viewing that seeing how they all fitted together was like a new journey. Firstly, the film is gorgeous: I remember loving the way it looked, but I grew up watching it on VHS (and in pan-and-scan, for that matter). It also sounds great: I was worried the Tangerine Dream score would have locked it solidly in the eighties, but it still holds up – and sounds distinct enough from typical horror movie soundtracks that I’m not sure it’ll ever age.

I’ve still never seen a film quite like it: one that combines a strong sense of place as well as genre; that provides almost all of the key elements for a horror movie, but confidently circumvents the cliches; and that complete satisfies you but leave you wanting more. Needless to say I fell in love with it all over again.

I had an awesome idea for a fiction-based podcast several weeks ago. I wrote some scenes and recorded some voice samples … and quickly decided that my voice was in no way right for the project. I don’t particularly like listening to my voice as a rule, so perhaps it was always doomed to failure. I consequently submitted the project to the back burner of oblivion.

And then I remembered that I have a friend who has a most excellent voice who might be interested in collaborating on this idea. I emailed that friend, and today that friend emailed back to say he would indeed be interested.

And, just like that: the project lives!

More, hopefully, on this project later …

Today I went to see IT, which is one of the films I’ve been most excited about seeing this year. I love the book, and have read it several times. I don’t love the miniseries, although it probably is worth watching purely for Tim Curry.

It was quite a ride. We arrived early, but it was Gold Lounge which meant we could relax with a glass of wine while we waited to take our seats. Then we had food brought to our luxury recliner seats at the start of the film. It’s really the only way to do it.

I found myself not completely loving the film for about the first half, which was disappointing. It was perfectly good–excellent, even–just not awesome. Then things started to pick up. By the end of the film I was fully sold. The young cast were excellent. Pennywise was excellent. Some of the visuals were properly disturbing, and even managed to seem fresh and original.  Everything had come together …

My only reservation as I walked out was the feeling that I’d not seen a complete story. Obviously I know the film only adapts half of the novel; but what they did adapt had a perfectly solid beginning, middle, and end … but it still felt as if something was missing. Maybe the story of IT needs both halves to be properly told, or maybe I was bringing too much baggage from the books into the cinema. Either way, I am SOOOO excited for Chapter 2!

I dreamed about London last night. When I lived in (read: near) London I would often head into the city on my days off and spend some quality time browsing in HMV and the Virgin Megastore, tempting myself with CDs, DVDs and anything else I could potentially waste my money on.

And that’s exactly what I dreamed about last night. I even woke up thinking: “great, I can head into town on my day off and grab those CDs I’ve been after.”

About 20 seconds later I remembered that I don’t live in London any more, and all we have here is JB Hifi, and even that’s not as good as it used to be. And then I realised that HMV went bust, and the Virgin Megastore long ago wrapped up its London business. And then I realised that I was subconsciously reminiscing about stuff I was doing almost thirty years ago, which made me realise that I’m really, really old now.

And then I thought: “fuck this shit,” and went to make myself some coffee …

This is a brief return to almost-normal service to illustrate the fact that Fucken Monday rests for no one. This was my first Monday back at work after my week off, so of course it was extra Fucken.

Things started off well enough: no one died at the breakfast table, for instance. The Elderbeast asked if we were going to the gas station. As regular readers will now, the Monday Morning Trip To The Gas Station is part of the Monday routine now … and yet I had manage to complete forget about this in the space of a week. This necessitated getting ready to leave the house a few minutes early. Meanwhile, the Kinderbeast had a trip to the zoo today–for which he needed to be at school by 8:45am–so we needed to get even more ready a few minutes early than usual.

Normally getting the Kinderbeast to school for 8:45am would not be a problem. Normally …

I get the lunches ready, then remember that I’m supposed to pack the Kinderbeast’s lunch in a disposable plastic bag, which I assume means that all of his lunch needs to be in disposable packaging. So I take everything out of the tupperware and repack it. We’re now just a few minutes later than usual, but still relatively early so all is well. We get to the gas station and there’s no queue, so we drive right up to a pump, which is all good.

I’ve promised the Elderbeast a traditional Monday Morning Hot Chocolate, so I pay for the petrol and for a hot chocolate. We then turn to the hot drinks dispenser. There’s a guy in front of me, and in front of him is another guy who is making a coffee. He finishes, and then makes another coffee. The way it works is that you pick your cup, you put it under the spout, you select your drink, and the machine pours it out. Then you retrieve your cup, you put the lid on, and you get the hell on with the rest of your life so the person behind you can make their own drink.

Not this guy.

This guy makes FOUR–that’s one, two three and, then, four–coffees. He has the little cardboard trays ready for all of them. I’m standing there realising that there’s now a very good chance we might be late for the Kinderbeast’s bus because this guy at the front of the queue has decided to make all of the coffee in the known world using this one, insignificant, gas station drinks dispensers.

I then notice there’s a car waiting behind mine at the pump. I step out the door to see if I can move my car anywhere, but all the parking spaces are taken. I have no choice but to leave the car where it is for now. I step back inside and someone else has taken my place in the queue, and I’m too British to say anything about it.

Naturally, the machine also runs out of milk, since this one guy is making every single coffee that can possibly be made. So we have to wait while the assistant refills the machine. Finally he’s done. He puts his coffees in their little paper trays and carries them around to the counter, because it turns out he hasn’t even paid for them yet. Then, proving that karma can be a beautiful little shit when it wants to be, he ends up spilling half of it down his shirt–because carrying four gas station coffees in little paper trays isn’t something that any human was ever designed to do.

The two people in front of me make a perfectly acceptable number of drinks: that being one each, and we’re finally done. I get back to the car and find the poor Kinderbeast crying because he “missed us”, and we’ve obviously been gone seventeen years in five-year-old time. I give him hugs and tell him he can come in with us next time and we’re on our way.

We get to school with a healthy five minutes to spare (and, in case you were worried, the Kinderbeast is fully recovered from his trauma at this point). Then I realise, with all the lunch shenanigans, that I’ve forgotten to pack the Kinderbeast’s water bottle. There’s nothing I can do about it now: I don’t even have time to go to the shop over the road and buy him a bottle of water. I explain this to the teacher, and she asks if he has his hat.

Ooops.

Luckily they have spare hats. I kiss the Kinderbeast goodbye and tell him I hope he has fun at the zoo. And we’re done.

Except Monday has still got a little bit of Fucken left for me. I’m going round the roundabout, turning right onto the main road. A car pulls out at the second exit, into the outside lane. I’m on the inside lane, ready to the take the next exit. I figure the car is heading to the same exit as me: there are two lanes, one for each of us; it’s all good. Except, no–this car is actually taking the next exit and does it by cutting riiiiiight in front of my lane. Luckily I trust no one on a Perth roundabout, so I’m already keeping well away from the driver. Nevertheless, whoever it is still gets treated to an extended earful of my car’s horn.

And, I’m glad to say, that seemed to be all the Fucken that this particular Monday had for me.

Today my thoughts are on the impending marriage equality survey. And I’ve finally worked out exactly what it is that troubles me about the whole thing … it’s the fact that it exists at all. By existing in the first place, this survey is legitimising the option of a ‘no’ vote. It’s saying to people: you are allowed have a choice on whether some people should be denied the same rights and privileges as other people. It’s basically handing Australians a government-mandated right to be a bigot. It’s saying: it’s okay if you believe that not everyone deserves the same rights–we’ll give you that option and, if you vote for it, we’ll support that option.

We should never have to vote on whether one member of the human race should be afforded the same rights and privileges as other members of the human race. The answer is always a resounding yes. It’s such a vast, gargantuan, and universal failure of our political leadership to hand this decision over to the populace that it’s sometimes hard to see the sheer scale of the moral vacuum that has allowed this to happen.

There’s a reason we call people leaders: it’s because they’re meant to lead us, not hide behind us. They’re meant to guide us. They’re meant to ensure we don’t go down the wrong path: the one that leads to the abyss instead of the field. Deciding that one person doesn’t have the same rights as another is the path to the abyss. Let’s choose another path.