Gaby and Katya are both not home right now, so I have crawled out of my room with a roll of copperwire between my teeth, and in the blink of an eye this old computer recognises the rest of the world again.
If I wasn't such a slacker I'd find the time to call a broadband provider, and buy a wireless router—and through sacrificing a few hundred dollars and enduring the endless bureaucracy that bizarrely accompanies our "competitive" ISP market down here I could be happily, permanently connected to the twenty-first century in the usual fashion, like I'm used to.
Something nonetheless stays my hand, and I am beginning to think it is neither the palpitations of my wallet nerve, nor my well-founded and regularly-reinforced dread of red tape, nor even my natural tendencies towards putting things off. I think I am liking the freedom of this enforced separation from what overpaid Arts lecturers would call my digital or cyberspatial identity.
Anyway it's not going to last, and this present intermittence will soon be replaced with that odd kind of regularity for which the 'dotto is reknown.
Meantime, I'm going to give you what's known in the wider blogosphere as an "update". Take it or leave it, you know the drill.
My two fish have become six fish, not because of any procreative phenomena, but because I went back to the pet shop and bought some more. Murk is still murky, but Harrow has gone a black-gold colour and I'm a little worried. They've been joined by Laurel, Coral and Oral, who scoot around at the top of the pond and in spite of being tiny are bossy as hell — you know the type — and Reed, who is everyone's favourite little guy. Named after Reed Richards and if you don't know who that is, well, you probably don't know who Ben Grimm is either.
If you were somewhere between Collingwood and the outer reaches of Watsonia on Saturday morning, and you saw a wee Datson ute spouting vast white clouds of smoke, don't worry. That was me and Kelly on our way to Meredith. Seriously, the exhaust was pumping torrents of thick fog; it was SPECTACULAR. Kelly was embarassed, and of course I was a bit worried about the environment, but still it was SPECTACULAR.
Anyway, we got to Meredith and had the best time ever. I didn't see anyone in a Pandagate t-shirt, but then I didn't know to look. Is it just me, or does it seem like Marieke Hardy is a steam-train bearing down on you at a million miles an hour? I'm not saying I'm scared but. Meredith. Meredith rocked, starting (for me) with M Ward's wild strumming styles, Dallas Crane a little later, moving onto Hilltop Hoods (certified!), and through to Dirty Three (unlike everyone else, I was too close to the stage and mistook the lightning for camera flashes, but so what, I was close to the stage and digging the Dirty Three—fucking brilliant). After that I headed back to the chairs and kept Kelly's housemates company while she danced to Combo La Revelacion, which is to say I was dancing on the outskirts. I haven't shook my hips so much probably ever, which is disconcerting in retrospect. It continued through to Rocket Science — but look, if you weren't there, I don't want to make you jealous. Just drop me an email if you're camping with us next year.
I'm still sick. It's a different virus every day though, so it keeps me on my toes. People keep telling me to go to one of those weird techno-shamans you call "doctors" but do they take me for a fool? I can smell a charlatan a mile off. I'll be fine in a couple days.
Joseph | 16 Dec 2004