Yuletide rising

I've just come from Glebe where I watched and listened to Emma Ayres busk in the park in support of the flood relief fund. I knew already that she was a butch bikie chic but even I was taken aback by her masculinity. She's more like a bloke than the entire Australian cricket team, a slightly large bum being her only feminine attribute. Tattoos up her bowing arm, ethnic band at bicep, red headed buzzard, maybe Woody Woodpecker at elbow and barb wire with bat at wrist. Her viola was no match for traffic noise at the busy intersection of Glebe Point and Bridge Roads let alone the parrot life in the Morten Bay she shaded under. It's a great tribute to her auditory charm that her viola case was stuffed with bills, many of them fifties, to which I contributed a few coins for weight in case of a sudden gust. Certainly for many of my peers, who made up 99% of the audience, including a couple from Oberon down just for this event, witnessing the flesh for the first time must have been another lesson in preconceptions.

Prior to this I had dined at The Court House Hotel at Newtown where prominent on the bar were two great plastic buckets of money, much of it paper and much of a yellow hue. Contributions to the flood appeal that immediately set my mind racing. Where's the security? Where's the auditor? Should we assume a larger percentage of honesty? Dishonesty? What percentile of dishonesty will rot the barrel? Have I grown too cynical? Have I always been too gullible? Of course the Court House is just up the street from its namesake and its accompanying, some would say partner in crime, police station but does this settle these nerves that could lead to indigestion. No question the milieu of Newtown is vastly more affluent than it was thirty years ago, go ask Domaine. But does this affluence equal honesty or are these just richer crooks? Doesn't matter anyway because these tubs of loot are going to be snatched by people of middle eastern appearance from Greenacre (look out for people with turbans) or of islander appearance from Guildford (look out for guys the size of trucks with Nomads tattooed across their lips). In every breath of praise from Anna Bligh and Julia Gaillard for the solidarity (I've never heard them use that word despite its absolute accuracy in describing what they want to say) of the Aussie response, I can't help but detect the element of self interest. I wonder do the rotten apples corrupt better from the top or bottom of the barrel? Probably the best of this situation is the complete absence of Tony Abbott from our air waves.

That's probably more than enough harangue for now. I'll see if I can't find some happy snap to lighten the tone

Aunty

Theres something about Matt that says I expect to be photographed



One of these lithe creatures will soon give birth



Well who wouldn't



Some memories in this landscape, Eh Hugh, You listening

Hollidays

Shattered Dreams of the holliday season





If you cant print it the next best way to make money is to have a vending machine. They really are the highway robbers of the twenty first century. Insert your cash or credit for their always overpriced low quality product and wait anxiously as it decides whether to deliver the coffee, the chocolate or stare blankly back as it digests its ill gotten gains. This anxious situation is likely to kill the appetite of all but serial users of these machines who have steely constitutions to match their gamblers psyche and could comfortably drink an arsenic and razor punch.

Not me though. I would not be the least bit surprised If one of these machines were to beat me with a cudgel as it picked my pocket. What Fagin might have done with them is beyond imagination. The best thing about my new ING (thanks Billy) account is the refunded service charge for using other than ING ATM's (ING don't have any) This means that for no added expense I can go to the pub cash machine and never let go of my card. I was reminded of this comfort by the machine at the Kings Cross parking station this morning. The speed with which it wholly devoured my card combined with my breathless anticipation of its equally fast dispatch, thirty dollars lighter for which no non digital argument would be abided, would have been breathtaking were there breath left.

That would have been enough breathlessness for one day but when I set out this afternoon to pick up Jack and Alice from the domestic air terminal I would need oxygen if not amyl nitrate to see me through. Wylie enough by now to recognise that this experience would always be different I contented myself with a practise run, or two. On the first pass I recognised the one or two spaces where a punter might pick up a domestic arrival and continued on for a second circuit. I took note that all the cross lanes between inward and outward traffic had now been made one way, to outward, well servicing those who had not intended the airport as their destination. I just noticed the only holdback cleverly disguised by the signs saying taxis only and an imitation median strip come speed hump that distracted most, myself included from any opportunity for another crack at it. Criminal, Illegal, vandal or terrorist, whatever you want to call me I made an illegal u-turn (yes at threat of double demerit) at the next lights to give it another good old Aussie go.

This time I saw the sign for the 'ten minute ***FREE*** passenger pick' up bay and thought "why not". Well here's why not. If there were not a continuous fence around this bay broken only by the in and out boom gates, it would be a three minute walk for one unencumbered with luggage to the arrival terminal. I made it in three, athlete that I am, and after a quick scrutiny of the luggage carousels bolted back with three minutes of my ten to spare. Stuck my card face up, arrows forward into the machine and waited. No result. I stared at the screen but the usually 'illegible without drugs' digital LED screen was half obliterated by a fog of steam from its leaky envelope. Two or three more card passes proved useless not just to me but to the queue behind who also missed their time limits. Luckily only a fence climb away was a ticket validation machine that worked perfectly and was pleased to deduct seven dollars from my card for this useless learning experience.

It's really not that different to my experience getting through Coney Island at Lunar Park as a kid except there they charged admittance and gave you a stamped medallion for having jumped through all the hoops to get out. Perhaps if these machines were to acknowledge you with a little more, maybe a 'Congratulations *BOB* you survived the passenger pick up' instead of just a debit to your account it might be more bearable.

INTERVAL

Now that Cristina's puppet masters have finally sold off state electric to commercial interests I'm wondering if I might be able to invest my remaining super on a couple of power poles. I've always been intrigued by the ownership of these much maligned though uncomplaining mast heads of community support. There the stand sentinel, in support of electricity (State Electricity?), telephone (Telstra?), Entertainment (Foxtel and that other one?)and street lighting (RTA and local councils?). Surely in an ownership obsessed society like ours only one of these can own and all others rent? There are maintenance issues after all and who's going to pay for that if not an owner?

Whadd'ya think? am I on to something? Imagine the look on the face of the convener down at the local electoral office when I present my bill for his bosses election poster. Better still when I come to the garage sale with my bill, 'yes of course we can deal'. The gig promoters, the share accomodationers, the 'make money from home' computer thieves, and the Commando get fit cult, well yes, I imagine we might be more accommodating with them.

If news elements starts a campaign of harassment (as they do) I can come back with evidence of how many innocent lives have been saved by these stalwart logs sacrificed themselves to save poor pedestrian children cowering from villainous police pursuits. If that doesn't work I'll go for the beauty of these statuesque, stalwart, eucalypt poles with their myriad of equally eucalypt 3x3 (7.5x7.5 cm) cross brace support and separation branches for electric and communication insulators. Who could not be entranced by that. The mere mention of Eucalypt in Australia is worth a hundred points though I may need PR support to condense this into a single phrase like Eucalypt Lifesavers or Communities Silent Stanchions.

Yes I know I've gone to far...again, but it's in the nature of this stuff that it reach a deadline or loose all significance, so I must publish. Perhaps a few photos will save me but it's doubtful.

Happy new year to all

Em-ar- Aunty I suppose

PS. I would be more than happy to enumerate and score the families achievements for this year just as I failed to do last year. Trouble is that as much as Kelly likes this there is a great deal of work involved in compiling statistics and responsibility in making judgements.

If all contenders could present a list, no matter how exaggerated, of achievements in the past year, to this blog site or if they desire more anonymity to acaraok@tpg.com.au I would be pleased to analyse (why can't I write that word without the image of a finger in a bum) and score on your behalf.

To this end I present this list of possible attributes and the range of possible points to accompany them:
Adventures; Local 2-3, International 3-5
Degrees accumulated 1-2
Citizenship rites 1
Baccalaureates 1
Desk Jobs 0
Expecting.16
Turn Eighty 80
Get Married 18
Visit unique foreign parts 7
Visit common foreign parts 4
Be egged 4
Get shitfaced embarrassingly (must be fully explained) 21
Give birth 50
Turn two 2
Turn sixty five 65 he-he
Be caught in a devastating flood 24
Narrowly escape a major transport meltdown (or freeze up) 24