Tintin In America (1932): A comic with a message. Page 29 - within hours of oil being discovered, the local native Americans are booted out and an entire city is built.

There is a bit of Tintin in America where the discovery of oil sees the development of an entire city overnight.

The QV project (Queen Victoria, after the former hospital that was on the site) hasn’t quite sprung up overnight. It’s been a few years in the making, but until earlier this month maintained the look of your average (well okay, humungous) building site. Dirt, big machines and lots of men in hard hats running around.

Just in the last few weeks it’s started to change from being a building site to buildings. Suddenly the scaffolding came away and the new BHP Billiton HQ appeared on Lonsdale Street, all gleaming metal and glass, with revolving doors, a massive entrance hallway, a big enquiries desk and security checkpoint leading to unknown treasures beyond.

And this week, underground elsewhere in the centre, a Safeway and a Big W have opened, bringing a hitherto suburban shopping experience into the heart of the city. In an idle half hour I decided to take a look. Friendly staff pointed the way through a series of uncompleted arcades, down escalators, and suddenly there they were. Woolworths’ prize double - a fully stocked Safeway supermarket and Big W discount department store.

The lunchtime mob of curious besuited office workers made Big W’s patrons look more affluent than ever before. I wandered in, the huge DVD sign directly down from the entrance pulling me in like a magnet. Sadly the DVD collection was just like that of any other Big W store - wholly unimpressive, big on blockbusters but lacking in anything interesting, and not as cheap as they might be either. I looked around, decided it was just like any other Big W store, and made for the exit.

As I walked out a family came down the escalator, and went straight back up again. Either they were employed by QV to make the place look busier than it was, or they didn’t like what they saw at the bottom. No matter. A variety of food outlets are open, or just about to open (can I just take a geek moment at this point to mention that the Mrs Fields web site uses cookies?) and as the rest of the development gets running, it promises to bring more variety and vitality to the city centre, which is surely a good thing.

Someone must have told them about daylight saving - they woke me again at 5:30 this morning, even though it wasn’t light. Grrr.

Ford… and Trillian let off steam. Yeah the pictures are a bit naff. That’s ‘cos they come from some obscure BBC archive video, and ‘cos time and energy are lacking so I snapped them off the TV rather than wrestle with the DVD screen capture software.

The whole world of swear words is just one of many ongoing challenges for parents. I value free speech and artistic impression (and in particular the right for people to use whatever words they want to express themselves). I swear. Not a lot, but I do. Generally I save it for special occasions - to make an impact in what I’m saying, to add emphasis to my expression of anger or disappointment, or for humour. And only to an appropriate audience. What I don’t do is litter my speech with four letter words, like some people fucking do.

Ahem.

But I cringe at the idea of my kids picking these words up and using them inappropriately. Thankfully as they grow older and more mature, they are starting to appreciate that some words they hear in the school yard should not be used in company, and if used at all, should be used sparingly.

The boys’ education in the world of fine arts continued over the past week, with them seeing a classic: Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy. They’ve now watched the
DVD of the TV series, and although a lot of it went straight over their heads, they loved it. The various robots, spaceships and that cool frood with the two heads is enough to keep any kids interested. I know that when I was first exposed to it when aged 10 or 11, I didn’t get much of it, but have appreciated more and more as time has gone on.

The DVD is rated G. Which is most appropriate. Until you put in the extras disc. One feature on it, a collection of out-takes, is littered with swearing, so I decided not to let the kids watch it. What I’d forgotten was that a fascinating hour-long "Making of" on the disc also includes bits of the out-takes.

So this morning, while the kids and I munched on breakfast, we watched the Making Of. With the subtitles turned on - something fairly common in our house because it helps the kids with their reading practice. And suddenly I noticed David Dixon (Ford) and Sandra Dickinson (Trillian), on-screen saying "Fuck! I can’t remember the fucking line!" and "Sorry… shit", accompanied of course by the word-for-word subtitles.

Shit indeed. But to my surprise, the kids didn’t bat an eyelid. Perhaps:

• they weren’t paying attention
• they were being cool about it
• they didn’t recognise "fuck" because it has not penetrated the primary school playground with sufficient frequency to become known (I know they know about - as they call it - the "S" word. Frankly I don’t want to know if they know about the "C" word.)
• they thought they’d better not say anything to me about it because they might get into trouble

Well, I did say something. I stammered something about this programme including swear words, and that I hoped they wouldn’t be repeating them ad nauseum and/or in inappropriate situations. Like, on the phone to their grandmother or something.

The kids seemed more interested in the spaceships and monsters and explanations of how the computer-looking graphics weren’t actually computer graphics, anyway. So rather than draw any more attention to the issue, I left it at that, turned off the subtitles and left the DVD running.

The Making Of concluded, and the credits rolled. With the credits were more out-takes, and suddenly a litany of fucks and shits from Ford and Zaphod emanated from the TV. Okay, too much. It was almost time to go to school anyway, so I shut it off and away we went.

Hmm.

So what happened at theOFLC? I don’t know. Searching their database, it shows that the video releases of the TV show got a G rating, but the Making Of got an M rating. I can only assume that they gave the DVD release a rating based on the videos of the TV show, and didn’t actually look at the content of the extras disc.

I’m not so concerned about this particular case. It’s only language. The boys are at a stage where they probably know most of the swear words available to speakers of English, and seem to know not to repeat them inappropriately. Were it sex scenes or violence that had slipped into G rating, however, it would be a worry.

Argh. Damn tax. Here we are, the 28th of October, and my tax return is due in 3 days. This would normally not be so much of a problem, but after having moved, I fear the relevant paperwork is strewn in various obscure locations right around the house. Okay so maybe I’m worrying too much and by some miracle I correctly filed it all as it arrived. Dunno, I start hunting tonight.

The second complication is that, being a big fat cat capitalist contractor that I am, I have an accountant who normally does a lot of the form-filling. This is okay in theory, but in fact I have always found finding the paperwork to be the tricky bit, not filling in the form. No matter. But it adds the complication that I have to arrange to drop in the paperwork with him once I’ve found it.

I think I’m just going to have to resign myself to the fact that (gasp) my tax won’t be in on time this year. I don’t suppose for a minute that this will result in the ATO bursting through my door, guns blazing at 4am on Saturday morning, nor that I’m going to be the only one in the country who fails to put in their return by the deadline, but this won’t stop me feeling guilty about it until it’s done.

Instant movie review:
Intolerable Cruelty. Didn’t seem as deep and complex as, say,O Brother, but very enjoyable, some great dialogue, some great laughs.

Black vs. silver

The topic of the colour of home entertainment equipment came up at Tony’s on Saturday. (Along with some other topics, including an innuendo-laden comment Tony would rather everybody forgot he made, concerning his secret of the prickless sausage).

Anyway the dialogue went something like this:

Tony: I wish to raise a motion for the consideration of the house on the topic of colour schemes of hi fi gear, and point out that some of the equipment installed at this location is black, and is therefore beyond its useful age.

Rae: As effective financial controller, I hereby veto the motion.

heh. Okay so I made that up completely, but that was the gist of it.

It certainly seems to be true that every few years silver will be in the "in" colour, then it’ll flip back to black again - in fact doing a brief search in my own diary archives I found an entry from 1996 where I mention something old being silver, and the new stuff being black.

But now silver is the new black.

Thinking about it, I recall that Josh and I have discussed this in the past, and I think I agree with him: that I prefer black. Because if you’re going to the full effort of trying to watch a movie in the most cinematic-like surrounds possible - with the lights turned off, the TV pumped up loud, it and the DVD player switched into 16:9 mode, and possibly even a comfy chair dragged into a position directly in front of the TV - the last thing you want intruding is some bloody bit of silver apparatus below the TV reflecting a stray beam of light that’s snuck in from another room.

Not to worry, even if silver is the fashion, you can still get some gear in black. The most recent home entertainment gadget I bought was the lovely new TV last year, which is black. Ditto the DVD player. The newer of the VCRs is the odd one out - it’s silver.

Which do you prefer, silver or black?

My sister says she was sitting at home in West London on Friday when she saw
three Concorde fly past. That would be a sight to see.

Warning: gardening in progress

Okay, to business. Apart from ENJOYING myself this weekend, I also need to do the following:

• mow the front garden and nature strip (in geek terms known as organic systems maintenance)- man that was hard work. I’ve definitely earned second breakfast today
• laundry, ironing, dishes, all that good stuff
• do my tax (x2 - this month’s BAS and my tax from the last fin year)
• buy a black pen, so I can fill in these tax forms (where have all my black pens gone?! And why do the ATO insist on black pens anyway?)- found one that’ll do the job. Even better, when passing the supermarket later on the way to Tony’s bizarre auction barbecue, I found a packet of two. Now I can fill in ATO forms to my heart’s content.
• put the new rego sticker on the car so I don’t get pulled over and strip searched by the cops next week
• continue the relentless tidying up that I hope will one day in the distant future see the house without a single box out in the rooms
• write to relatives to thank them for the birthday cards they sent two months ago
• post that package of stuff to Iris in Israel
• find those Gold Class cinema tickets I got given last Christmas, and check the expiry date on them- 31st December. Excellent.
• start reading some of those novels my dad lent me written by
  people he
  knows
• take my VCR to be repaired (no, it isn’t as continually unreliable as the one I destroyed)

and most importantly,

• stop writing this damn diary now and go get started on all this stuff

I’ll tick them off as I go.

Why is it that as I’m doing one thing, I’ll think of two more that need to be done?

Sunday 10:30pm. Managed to make a dent in the list, but still a fair bit to go. Too tired now to do more. Will continue in my copious (ha!) spare time during the week.

This morning I did the direct action human pop-up thang, helping to hand out brochures at Melbourne Central about the impending closure of the station’s busiest exit, so they can detour people around via the shops - the greedy money grabbers!

Reactions from passing commuters included:

• indifference (understandable when you’re the third person to try and hand something to them, after the jewellers’ junk mail and Safeway handing out apples)
• sorry, in too much of a hurry sprinting up the stairs to take anything (of course these people will be worst affected by the change)
• avoidance because saying something about Melbourne Central planning to close their busiest exit is obviously the ranting of a delusional madman (which is why it helps to hand them out in groups - the chances of multiple madmen printing brochures and converging at one location are minimal)
• paying attention - "What?! That’s a crazy idea! Ooh, yes I’ll take a leaflet, thank you"
• taking it just because you’re nice enough to be standing there holding them out. Probably the same people who take the dozens of "How To Vote" cards when going into a polling place
• "Oh, I heard about this - how stupid"
• "Thanks I already got a leaflet" and perhaps "I’ve rung up/e-mailed/complained/good onya"

There’s a certain momentum to it. If a bunch of people are coming up the stairs, and a couple of them take your brochure, the others probably will too because they figure if their peers are taking them, they must be worth taking.

After about half an hour the stack of brochures were gone, and my voice was hoarse. What happens if a bunch of people wanting the brochure arrive when you only have one left?… and how much of a dipstick do you feel promoting your brochure when you only have one to give away?

Having given the last one away, wondering how odd and suspicious I looked, walked casually from the scene, down Swanston Street towards work.

For the rest of the day I was on the other side, passing Amnesty people collecting for Candle Day on most intersections. Great cause, but I kept on walking, feeling guilty that I didn’t have the time to stop and say "ummm, sorry I’m not giving you any money… no really, I support the cause… I hate being tortured… I haven’t got any change… The orange sticker you’re giving people doesn’t match my tie… I give every month by direct debit, honest!"

Well I didn’t get invited to Howard & Bush’s barbie, so I went to work today instead. (Still,
it doesn’t sound like a real Australian barbecue - no mention of snags fried to a blackened crisp).

Funny weather. Initially out this morning, it was drizzly. Then stopped back past home, just cloudy. Left for work, and it was sunny. Got to work, still sunny. A little later, pissing down rain. Then a gap in the clouds when I went to run a lunchtime errand. Shortly after, I am told, it once again poured down. Then back to just cloudy for pretty much the rest of the day.

Tonight as I walked home from the station, the local vicar, done up in his dog collar, was putting out the bins. He gave me a wave, even though I’m not Anglican and have never met him. I smiled and nodded back. Neighbourly friendliness and all that. Perhaps I am destined forevermore to live down the road from Anglican churches with cheerful vicars.