rusty

It's been awhile. Ages in fact. I keep realising that it's June and spluttering expletives. The calendar in my room is still on January, as mentally, that's where I'm at. This thesis writing is a slow business, and I'm the living proof. How can it be two in the afternoon and I've written a sentence? I mean, I've done other things, some of them productive, and even thesis related, but only one sentence has yet resulted. Gah and double gah. I hope my thesis weighs more than the weight that I've put on while writing it. It may need to be printed on vellum and bound in lead.

I have, and as a result of the thesis no less - and hence justifying this posting - become somewhat intrigued by T.S. Eliot. Specifically the Dry Salvages. An excerpt:

It seems, as one becomes older,
That the past has another pattern, and ceases to be a mere sequence—
Or even development: the latter a partial fallacy
Encouraged by superficial notions of evolution,
Which becomes, in the popular mind, a means of disowning the past.
The moments of happiness—not the sense of well-being,
Fruition, fulfilment, security or affection,
Or even a very good dinner, but the sudden illumination—
We had the experience but missed the meaning,
And approach to the meaning restores the experience
In a different form, beyond any meaning
We can assign to happiness. I have said before
That the past experience revived in the meaning
Is not the experience of one life only
But of many generations—not forgetting
Something that is probably quite ineffable:
The backward look behind the assurance
Of recorded history, the backward half-look
Over the shoulder, towards the primitive terror.


The whole thing is remarkable writing, and every time I read it there is something else, some other image, that emerges from it. Because I have a gnat-like concentration span, I tend to phase in and out of actually paying attention to what I'm reading, so each time I read that poem I seem to come across a different part of it, which on the previous occasion I had momentarily paused in my absorbtion to ponder some other vital subject, like whether my car registration has expired yet. Speaking of which...

me! me! me!

Right now I'm sitting in the foyer of the NLA, waiting for a coffee to arrive, nursing one sore ankle caused by my car and I not being ergonomically compatible, and another caused by the uneven paving outside NLA. Wandering in such a state of vaguenss from the carpark to the entrance that I neglected to note the pavers incorporate a drain and my ankle didn't see why it should offer any resistance. Which does make me ponder how nerded I have become that I cannot even exert the physical effort required to get into a library without doing myself an injury.

In happy happy other news I have a pleasing pile of books with details of who taught what in the Technical Colleges of Sydney in the years relevant to my research sitting on a desk inside the library. A certain amount of irony prevails in the detail that I scoured Sydney for this info and ultimately found it in Canberra. But, thems the breaks when you're a dolt.

I spent the last couple of days in Sydney, where, aside from sharing a serious dumplinapalooza and some well-needed hilarity with mine hosts, I went to the AGNSW library and the State Library; reading other accounts of art education in Sydney at the time, which was also useful. The tendency of teachers at ESTC to write extensive memoirs of their time there is really quite a useful one. While I was in the library my phone, all of ten days old, decided that it had had enough and killed itself. While sitting quietly on a desk, all on its own. In a manner that suggested that I had inflicted the damage and voided the warranty. I promptly ranted and moaned to all and sundry and well and truly attired myself in the grumpy pants. My ranting took me to the Optus shop this morning who politely offered me nothing, except the address for the Nokia shop, who happily agreed to fix it under the warranty, despite the screen not normally being covered. So I can start dismantling the mental voodoo dolls of the Nokia people, despite not entirely being in a state of gruntlement that this is the second Nokia phone in two weeks that has started behaving in varied fashions to which I desire to not become accustomed. I know the age of getting a phone with every new contract doesn't inspire the manufacturers to make phones that aren't disposable, but this is getting ridiculous.

I celebrated by going and getting a manicure. And whilst admitting that it was a very cheap one, I still want to know how, when I nodded my head in response to the question "You want square?" I managed to convey the idea that I would just love it if you filed several of my nails on particularly jaunty angles. Wow did she do a crap job. So I don't recommend New York spa and nails in the Canberra Centre.

Back to my desk!

tops weekend

On Saturday I drove to Sydney, for the engagement party of some friends of mine [just to clarify that I wasn't just crashing the party of some strangers?]. Unfortunately I couldn't work the dates to have some more time up there, so it was just an overnight visit, which is always a bit of a gamble - sometimes when I do the flying visit I end up being so tired that although it is lovely to see people, I can't quite form intelligible sentences, and so just perform the conversational equivalent of beating someone around the head with a large, dead fish. Happily this time was not like that, it was, in fact, tops. Naturally I started with a spot of research, as is my wont, at the State Library of NSW. I'm currently on a bit of a mission to find out everything that I can about the East Sydney Technical College/National Art School c.1956-1960 (should you have any info.... ) so I was chasing up a few bits and pieces in the collection there. Which, incidentally has some hilarious photos of people at the college in the 1950s, often wearing Buddy Holly glasses and enormous chefs hats. Admittedly that's possibly one of those things that's only truly amusing to someone compelled to research by wading through endless catalogue entries and is thus in search of any diversion. Unfortunately I didn't find anything of any real relevance to what I was looking for, but at least I can tick a few things of the list of what I need to look at. Then we repaired to my friend's house to prepare, via the Neutral Bay PS so she could vote. Which hilariously seems to have the school motto "Be a Player" - rare to find such honesty on the North Shore. Should, quel horreur, Malcolm Turnbull ever end up PM there will be a nice resonance for those casting their vote for him there. Because I know I always like to check the school mottos of whatever polling booth I may be entering... a connection that doesn't really offer any explanation for how the PS I attended had the motto "Learn Wisely Live Proudly" - and yet that electorate keeps sending Phillip Ruddock to parliament with resounding victories. The "Live Proudly" bit is particularly puzzling as they keep sending a member of the undead to parliament. So anyway....

We decided in view of our somewhat all-tuckered-out condition that we needed Redbull to get through the evening, which meant that we needed vodka, and I thought cranberry would also be a good idea. Which meant that we ended up drinking something that recreated the flavour sensation that is raspberry cough syrup. mmm. But did serve it's purpose of gearing us up while chilling us out.

Anyway, we eventually got ourselves off the sofa, and away to the party, where we walked in the door to the news that Howard had lost Bennelong. Much screeching ensued! I had already made the announcement that "I will probably get quite intoxicated tonight. If labor win, there will be champagne, if they lose, then there will be scotch. Lots of scotch." So corks began popping, and kept on popping all night. Despite the fact that channel 9 had called Bennelong about a week earlier than anyone else was prepared to. Nice to be in a crowd of people that seemed uniformly happy about the result (certainly provided a nice buffer zone for my kilowatt-level gloating), and it made for a great night. This was the first election that I've been old enough to vote for in which election night has been a positive experience, normally they've been a galling, horrifying "THREE MORE YEARS... !?" then weakly: "pass the scotch please". I had a profound sense of relief that labor did win, partly because I really didn't want to have to move to New Zealand, but I really would have been desparately sad for the state of this country if John Howard had been re-elected. Now one just hopes that the Labor party keep it together. [tip: try and remember that the opposition is across the aisle, not within the party.] It was great to be sharing such a happy event in the context of another happy event, with great friends.

The following day we went for breakfast in Darlinghurst, then I made my way back to Canberra for a Hen's afternoon, followed by the movies (Death at a funeral: don't rush to see it, but there are some funny bits). It was a great weekend of seeing people.

This week has been so strange; seeing the "Howard Government" in past tense gives me a buzz everytime, and the liberal party being in such a state of collapse is something I just can't find it within myself to be sympathetic towards considering the hubris they have demonstrated for so long. The sense of transformation is remarkable. And although it has obviously been coming for a long time, and the result wasn't a surprise, I was never prepared to let myself believe it, lest the depression of loss be entirely crushing, and so the change does seem quite sudden and fast. I really hope the new government are able to get some legislation up and running quickly so they don't lose that momentum. Not to mention finally, finally, apologising to Indigenous people!

Now all we need is for the liberal party to select Tony Abbott as their next leader and Labor should be guaranteed at least a couple of terms....