A kind of cyber-winter

There is a season for everything, or so says a wise man.

I've entered a season, which I'll awkwardly term a cyber-winter, during which I will no longer be posting blogs at this site. (You, perceptive reader, have probably noted that I've not been doing much of late anyway...)

The reason for my hibernation? In this season, my Lord, his people, my wife and my daughter have a greater call on my time.

Thanks to those who have sauntered with me over the last few years.

PS The picture above conveys how I feel about this cyber-winter.

Melbourne miniatures: No. 1

I just found the exercise book containing the scribbles I made during a holiday in Melbourne in June; so, here's my first word-picture from that trip.

It's 6:40 am and about 9 degrees outside. I'm sitting at a bench inside Macca's looking out at Elizabeth Street; drunk people are returning home from who-knows-where. The combination of these happy drunks (several wave and wish me well), the four doughnuts I've just downed, and, to someone of my generation, comfort music such as the Eurythmics, Here Comes the Rain, Huey Lewis and the News, Hip to Be Square, and U2, The Sweetest Thing, are buoying me -- at least for the moment.

Now, here's a surprise: just within my view, runners, seriously dressed runners (read: lycra, short-shorts, singlets, garish colours), have started started streaming down Flinders Street. Given the temperature, seriously under-dressed is perhaps a more apt description. Nevertheless, here they are, just after sparrow's fart on a cold Sunday morning, running! I hastily leave Macca's to investigate.

"It's 'Run Melbourne'," I'm told by a lime-green-vest-wearing official. I cheer a couple of runners, to feel like I'm part of the action. As I later discovered, Run Melbourne is community charity event in which people run and donate money -- over and above their entry fee, which, from $40 to $70 depending on whether you run 5 km through to a half-marathon, is not to be sneezed at -- to a charity of their choice. Some people actively fundraise for their chosen charity: one bloke raised over $8,000! (My wife, who thinks running for fun is the height of stupidity, would utterly scoff at the idea of running long distances and paying to do so and giving money to a charity for the privilege! "Write a cheque to the charity, pocket the entry fee -- or, better still, donate it to the charity too -- and stay at home with a cup of tea and a crumpet," she'd say. She's got a point.)

Photo: Justin McManus,
http://www.theage.com.au/photogallery/2008/06/22/1214073033685.html

Here's an excerpt from a report about Run Melbourne in The Age (23 June, 2008):

One first-timer, pharmacist Siew Dooley, 40, of Kew, said the atmosphere was very friendly. "We were all suffering together," she said. "We were all wet and cold and miserable, and that provided a sort of camaraderie."

A touch of levity was provided by one runner dressed as the Riddler, the Batman character, who jogged in a purple wig and a green outfit with question marks.

One half-marathon runner dispensed with clothes altogether, running naked except for running shoes. [Yee-ha!]

The man reached the half-way mark in the marathon before police stepped in, because, they said, "he was actually a good runner, and it was hard to pinpoint where he was". But they did, and arrested him.

I wonder which charity nudie-rudie runner donated to. Given the weather, the frost-bite recovery centre would've been appropriate.

The most shameless of plugs

I know a bloke who sells trees wholesale: flowering plums, a host of natives, lilly pillies, cottonwoods, ornamental pears, citrus trees -- you name it. The trees I bought from him are doing famously, and his prices were far, far cheaper than the nurseries'.

The guy's name is Matt Rutherford, and his business is called Treesearch. They're at 22 Wellerton St, Midland; ph: 9250 1074. Matt's got a sale starting next week, as he hasn't moved much stock over the past month (petrol prices, interest rates and all the usual things that bite household budgets). If you need a tree for your house, Matt's your man. Tell him I sent you, and you may get a good price -- perhaps even a set of steak knives ;).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In other news, I haven't been blogging lately -- not, as I read elsewhere, becuase I've lost my "blogging mojo", rather because of the normal pressures and vicissitudes of life.

I'm preaching a sermon on Sunday night, which, more or less, is about what it does and does not mean to be 'whole' in Jesus Christ. For those who pray, please ask God to speak clearly to the people listening to me.

In search of climate change science

By a strange series of events, last Monday I found myself listening to Ross Garnaut on the Perth leg of his Climate Change Roadshow. (A "strange series of events"? Let's just say at 9 am I was jogging in to the city with a friend, and soon after 10 am, having jogged from the Perth Town Hall back to Hyde Park, where my car was parked, and done a superman-like change into jeans and jumper, I found myself sitting in a room with a few-hundred suits listening to Professor G. wax lyrical -- if it's possible to wax lyrical about climate change and the global economy.)

Anyhow, the good professor impressed me. After 30 to 40 mins of his 'sell', about an hour was allocated for questions. "I wan't you to direct the discussion; take it into areas that are important to you," was, more or less, his invitation to questions from the audience.

The way he handled people's questions -- not to mention the everpresent axe-grind-thinly-disguised-as-a-question, of which there were far, far too many -- was also impressive. Here was a man who clearly had his head around the innumerable possible economic, social and political implications of this CC beast. I should also add that, as well as his answers being substantial, Garnaut was polite (perhaps even gracious).

For me, there was an elephant in the room. And, very early in his presentation, Garnaut showed us the elephant's trunk. The elephant? The science. To quote Chapter 3 of Garnaut's report:

Climate change policy must begin with the science. When people who have no
background in climate science seek to apply scientific perspectives to policy,
they are struck by the qualified and contested nature of the material with which
they have to work. Part of the uncertainty derives from the complexity of the
scientific issues. In the public discussion of the science, additional complexity
derives from the enormity of the possible consequences, which calls for a
millennial perspective. Part derives from the large effects of possible policy
responses on levels and distributions of income, inviting intense and focused
involvement in the discussion by those with vested interests.

The Review is not in a position to independently evaluate the considerable
body of scientific knowledge, and it is not the intent of this chapter to debate
the existence or extent of human-induced climate change.

In the terms introduced in Chapter 2, there is a great deal of uncertainty
about the magnitude of the effects of increased greenhouse gas emissions
on science.

I want to explore this mysterious pachyderm called the science of climate change.

Not being a scientist, I realise this will be a challenge. So, if any scientists reading this can explain the scientific issues involved, I'd be much obliged (plain English explanations preferred ;-]). Or, if anyone else, scientist or otherwise, knows of balanced and helpful stuff to read, please let the 'rest of us' know.

I have a preliminary list of hope-to-reads, which I will post soon.

PS Excuse the miniature font size of the quote!

... things I've recently read or thought

An oxymoron:
blogworthy.

A sign on a classroom wall:
An empty room doesn't need light.

Ludwig Wittgenstein on language:
'If a lion could talk, we could not understand it.'
For an explanation, watch this space.

Front-cover teaser for an article:

'What we need the assistance of the historian to understand
is why Departments of English ...
were ever called on to act as an
accrediting agency for entry into the middle class.'

J. M. Coetzee, Australian Book Review, May 2008.

Welcome to my world

This semester I've been taking a course to become a Teacher's Assistant. Above is a sample of the sort of stuff we make -- I think the technical term for them is felt story-boards. It's quite a change from editing theses!

Overheard

A boy, about eight years old, riding his bike, his mother riding behind him, bumped up over a raised and rather rough kerb on to the cycle path and came to a slow halt: "I'll talk to The Government about that!" he said to his mother in an earnest, adult-like tone. (In our neighbourhood, most of the other kerbs that lead to cycle paths are smooth, which the boy obviously knew.)

Mother, stopping behind him: "Yes, you'll have to write them a letter."

I couldn't see whether she was smiling wryly, but my wife and I had a great laugh.

Country Clips

Good Friday at my in-laws' farm in Blyth, South Australia:

The old tank had about 10 cms of concrete in its base, the remains of which ended up on the trailer (see above), and the new tank had to be carefully manouevred over my father-in-law's native shrubs (see below); for this we employed the leading-edge technolgy of old tyres, old cushions and dusty carpet squares.

Fairest-and-Best for the day went to fifty-five-year-old Ian Roberts, for his tireless efforts on the sledge-hammer and pole-driver-thingie; Coach's Award to Jeremy Kells, for his valiant and consistent work; and Most Improved (aka come-back-next-year-for-another-crack) to yours truly.

What causes wars

Today I was sitting outside a café musing on the causes of war, my thoughts fixed on the following sentences by Herbert Butterfield:

One can hardly fail to recognise the element of tragedy in many conflicts that take place between one half-right [person or group] that is perhaps too willful, and another half-right that is perhaps too proud. It is even possible that great wars should come about because idealists are too egotistical concerning their own plans of salvation for mankind, and because the self-righteous are stiff-necked (Christianity and History. p. 88).

I looked up and saw a late middle-aged man walking past. Well-tanned, sparsely whiskered, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, he carried a back-pack the ‘wrong’ way, so it bulged in front of his chest. I caught his eyes and smiled. He took this as an invitation:

“I never drink at this café,” he bellowed.
Pointing at the sign overhead, “Until they tell me what that crap Exomod [name of café] means, I never drink their coffee. Stupid.”

I said nothing and tried to look pleasant: he had a point about the name Exomod, but I didn’t want to encourage him.

“I have money in France, Switzerland, United States. But I not spend it here. Stupid. F#%! them.” He walked away, making hand gestures to reinforce his last two words and express his vehemence.

I went back to Butterfield, mindful of my strange object lesson in what causes wars.

Better to receive than give?

It's a boost when a Big Name says something that resembles a thought or hunch you've harboured for some time. Of course, the way they express and work out that thought is usually clearer or sexier than the inchoate blob sitting in your brain -- nevertheless, it's still reassuring to know you're not alone.

The other day I came across the following:

John Steinbeck eulogizes his recently deceased friend, Ed Ricketts:

I have tried to isolate and inspect the great talent that was in Ed Ricketts, that made him so loved and needed and makes him so missed now that he is dead. Certainly he was an interesting and charming man, but there was some other quality that far exceeded these. I have thought that it might be his ability to receive, to receive anything from anyone, to receive gracefully and thankfully, and to make the gift seem very fine. Because of this everyone felt good in giving to Ed—a present, a thought, anything.

Perhaps the most overrated virtue in our list of shoddy virtues is that of giving. Giving builds up the ego of the giver, makes him superior and higher and larger than the receiver...It is so easy to give, so exquisitely rewarding. Receiving, on the other hand, if it is well-done, requires a fine balance of self-knowledge and kindness. It requires humility and tact and great understanding of relationships. In receiving, you cannot appear, even to yourself, better or stronger or wiser than the giver, although you must be wiser to do it well.

It requires self-esteem to receive—not self-love but just a pleasant acquaintance and liking for oneself.

I don't go all the way with the second and third paragraphs, but I'm all for Steinbeck's general thrust that receiving is underrated and that giving can mask mixed motives.

By the way, I got this quote from delanceyplace, a service that provides a daily email extract from a non-fiction book. So far their material has been good.

Traffic Hazards

This is from my local paper (Guardian Express July 3 - 9):

"The other strange phenomenon I've observed is what I call The Bubble of Invincibility. This bubble can be observed any time of day on Bay View Terrace, Rokeby Road or Oxford Street. It appears to be a fashion accessory for blonde-haired women alighting from 4WD vehicles, but other pedestrians also possess it.

The Bubble of Invincibility allows you to walk on to the road without looking for oncoming traffic. With the bubble you never, ever check whether a car is about to run you over. Your wealth and perceived status have immunised you to the possibility of accident or fatal death through colliding with a motor vehicle. Caught up in shopping reveries, you are totally oblivious to your surroundings. While of great benefit to the conceited pedestrian, the bubble can cause untold stress to the poor driver who chooses to navigate down these boulevards of affluence."

Often, my wife and I wryly joke about taking out Invincibles at the knees.

Re-entry

In financial-world speak, I’ve had a blog-free quarter (Nov to Jan). I’m hoping to make a re-entry in the weeks ahead.

Speaking of re-entries, last week I was one of many Perth residents who got to see McNaught’s Comet. What a treat! [re-entry--comet--solar-system: it's a tenuous link; but have mercy, it's been a long time since I've blogged :-)]

On Friday night, we viewed it from floodlit Scarborough Beach. Rating: 8.5 out of 10. Saturday night, we were in a poorly-lit coastal town north of Perth. From this darker vantage point, Mr McNaught was far bigger and brighter – 9 out of 10, at least.

Seeing the comet reminded me of the last line of a poem by Les Murray.

Comete

Uphill in Melbourne on a beautiful day

a woman was walking ahead of her hair.

Like teak oiled soft to fracture and sway

it hung to her heels and seconded her

as a pencilled retinue, an unscrolling title

to a ploughland, edged with ripe rows of dress,

a sheathed wing that couldn’t fly her at all,

only herself, loosely, and her spirits.

A largesse

of life and self, brushed all calm and out,

its abstracted attempts on her mouth weren’t seen,

nor its showering, its tenting. Just the detail

that swam in its flow-lines, glossing about –

as she paced on, comet-like, face to the sun.

I’d like to see a woman with hair like that!

It's breeding obvious, mate

These excerpts from Mark Steyn's recent C. D. Kemp lecture to the Institute of Public Affairs (IPA) grabbed my attention. The lecture was published in The Australian (18/8/06) as "It's breeding obvious, mate: Australia and the US can avoid the bleak future awaiting dying old Europe".^*

None of these pillars of what we used to regard as conventional society [businessmen, bank managers, kindergarten teachers, even Anglican clerics] is quite as sturdy as it was, and most of them have collapsed. Many mainstream Protestant churches are, to one degree or another, post-Christian. If they no longer seem disposed to converting the unbelieving to Christ, they can at least convert them to the boggiest of soft-left political cliches. In this world, if Jesus were alive today he’'d most likely be a gay Anglican vicar in a committed relationship driving around in an environmentally- friendly car with an “Arms Are For Hugging” sticker on the way to an interfaith dialogue with a Wiccan and a couple of Wahhabi imams...

The next quote is a change of tack, but worth repeating.

In those 17 Europeans countries which have fallen into “lowest-low fertility” [i.e. 1.3 births per woman, the point at which you’re so far down the death spiral you can’t pull out], where are the children?

In a way, you’re looking at them: the guy sipping espresso at a sidewalk café listening to his iPod. Free citizens of advanced western democracies are increasingly the world’s wrinkliest teenagers: the state makes the grown-up decisions and we spend our pocket money on our record collection. Hilaire Belloc, incidentally, foresaw this very clearly in his book The Servile State in 1912, – before teenagers or record collections had been invented. He understood that the long-term cost of a softened state is the infantilization of the population. The populations of wealthy democratic societies expect to be able to choose from dozens of breakfast cereals at the supermarket, thousands of movies at the video store, and millions of porn sites on the Internet, yet think it perfectly to demand that the state take care of their elderly parents and their young children while they’re working – to, in effect, surrender what most previous societies would have regarded as all the responsibilities of adulthood.

What do you think of Steyn's comments? Too harsh? Or on the money?

^* (1) Thanks to Cameron for sending this article to me. I can't find a web version of it, but would be happy to email you a copy. (2) When I was studying undergraduate economics, I spent a summer 'working' at the IPA in Perth, which isn't, I'm sure, a conflict of interest.

158

On Saturday morning I recorded my highest score for a single turn in Scrabble -- a whopping 158! Let me share the glorious details. People who don't play or care about scrabble: stop reading now.

My 158-point word was muscling. The m and the g were on triple word scores, which, I found out after reading the rules, means that the point value of the tiles is multiplied by 3 and then by 3 again -- i.e. by 9. (So a word falling on two double word scores would be multiplied by 4). 9 times 12 equals 108.

Then, of course, there was the 50 bonus points for using all of my tiles in one turn. The final fillip was realising that the word is a nerb. 158-point nerb. It doesn't get much better :-)

There was one minor concession: I used two blanks. But, hey, 158 is 158. And, for that precious minority who care about such things, the game is still going and the score is 312 versus 226. Yes, I'm 312.