Since I set off the bug bombs last week, I’ve found no live cockroaches in the house, save for one that stowed away from the mailbox in a pile of junkmail.

A few dead ones have been found, mostly outside the back door, perhaps trying to escape. And last night I found a dead hairy spider on the livingroom floor, covered in ants. Yeuch.

Still, 9 days cockroach-free. Touch wood.

Yesterday afternoon, reminiscing at ACMI’s Hits of the 80s video game exhibit — free at Melbourne’s Federation Square until May. While most of the games were running on Spectrum or C64 emulators, this copy of Way Of The Exploding Fist was running on a genuine machine. And just as it was back then, one of the joysticks was quite frustrating to use.

We also had a go at The Hobbit. They had a cheat-sheet beside the computer, but it only took you as far as the trolls’ dungeon, and I couldn’t remember how to get out. Move the sand? Smash the trap door? It reminded me of why I sometimes found text adventure games just a tad annoying, unless one had a cheat-sheet.

They also a display of some of the Horace games (I was never a great fan) and a separate exhibit of more recent Astro Boy games. And just like in a more conventional gallery, an attendant would wander around explaining things to visitors — including how to progress in the level you were playing, if you looked stuck. (How does one get a gig like that?)

Well worth a look.

One of the funniest things I’ve ever read on the blogosphere was Kathryn, who smokes, ranting about non-smokers. Others must have found it amusing too, as it was nominated for the Best Post on an Australian Blog for that year.

But… I hate smoking.

I know the chemicals in tobacco make smoking incredibly addictive for many people. Having seen people I know try (and fail in some cases) to quit, it can obviously be very difficult.

And I know that most people who smoke are genuinely considerate of others when they do so, and try and avoid getting their smoke everywhere.

But it’s still a disgusting smelly filthy dangerous habit.

Inevitably the God damn smoke gets everywhere, fouling up the air on the footpaths. I don’t want the bloody stuff in my lungs.

And omigod the stink. Do smokers have any idea how feckin’ bad their breath smells? No wonder smokers don’t usually date non-smokers. It’s gross, and it’s not just in the vicinity — the smell from a heavy smoker is like an aura. They get into a lift and the whole thing stinks. Everybody within metres gets the whiff.

Even a quick drink in the pub means your clothes and your hair all have to be washed. And al fresco dining is inevitably accompanied by a smoky haze.

It wouldn’t be so bad if it could be contained. How about the smokers put bags over their heads or something, to stop it going everywhere, and spraying air freshener to cover up the smell? (Heath Robinson drew a cartoon portraying this, but I can’t find a copy of it right now.)

But even if they were just giving themselves lung cancer, why should the huge majority (around 77%) of non-smokers subsidise the humungous cost of lung cancer? Pushing smokers down the surgery priority list? Absolutely! Tax the crap out of them? Yes! Taxes on cigarettes don’t come close to paying the costs. (Old figures: revenue A$3.5b, costs A$6b/year; newer figures show up to A$21b/year costs.) Private health insurance charges higher premiums for smokers — maybe the Medicare levy should be higher too.

I know that most smokers do so because their parents smoked. I suppose I’m lucky mine didn’t.

For anybody who’s trying to quit, I honestly wish you the best of luck.

This is the nature strip outside my house. I leave it alone apart from organising to get it mowed every so often. All it gets is (comparatively rare) rain water. It’s lush and green. I don’t know why.

This is my front lawn. It gets some greywater, and a regular mowing, but is otherwise left alone. It’s a little grizzled, but surviving okay. One patch has a fresh growth of new grass.

And this is my back lawn. It gets lots of greywater (from the youngest’s bath) several days a week, and I’ve even tried putting new seed on it to get it kickstarted again. It used to be lush and green, but is now mostly barren, apart from a thin strip along one side. I think it was instant turf stuff, laid by the previous owners when the house was for sale, to look good at the time. I’ve just about given up on growing anything other than dirt on it (at least until autumn, when I’ll dig it all up and put new seed and soil on it). Maybe I should start a dirt farm.

We don’t have the Village Green anymore, but many Australian suburbs do have this: a local cricket oval.

In summer the local cricket club will be in residence. About every fortnight there’ll be a game on. I’m not skilled enough to tell who are the locals and who are the visitors, but they frequently show just as much enthusiasm as their well-paid counterparts playing international matches. (”Howzaaaaaaaat?!”)

At some point in the autumn they’ll vacate to let the footy club move in — there might be some overlap in the players. (They seem to have left the football goals in place over summer here.)

I assume in rugby-playing states they have a more equal balance of rugby pitches and cricket ovals, though even here in AFL-loving Victoria, there’s a few rectangular pitches for rugby and soccer around.

The Daily Show has vanished off SBS again. It’s still on Foxtel’s Comedy Channel (9:30pm nightly). Damn. Given my inherent laziness (I don’t want to bother with torrents), do I have to shell out for Foxtel to be able to watch it? I really don’t want to do that, given the tiny amount of television I watch.

The West Wing has moved over to Saturday nights for the final season. I noticed on Saturday night that the “Available in HD” logo appeared at the start — the first time I remember seeing that on the ABC (though maybe I wasn’t paying attention), and more significantly the first time I remember seeing it show up on any channel on a programme that I really like. I don’t have an HD TV, but given it’s my favourite show on TV at the moment, I might take a look and see how glorious it looks via my computer and its HD tuner.

Speaking of political drama, Ian Richardson passed away over the weekend. As two Usenet commentators mused: “He was a really great actor.” “You might think that. I couldn’t possibly comment.”

On Saturday I set off bug bombs around the house. Five of them, one in each major room. Hopefully it would spell armageddon for the cockroaches.

Once set, I went for a wander for a couple of hours. Along the way I noted Zagarelli’s, the crap restaurant I once dined at, which then changed its name, has now shut down completely. No loss to the local cuisine.

Returning after the requisite two hours to open up the house and let fresh oxygen in, I found two dead cockroaches (one on the floor, one upside down in a glass of water — euch). Since then another two have been found. Hopefully that’s put paid to them, at least for a little while.

On a completely separate note, Jeremy turns 9 today. We celebrated with family on Sunday.

I won’t claim it seems like yesterday, but certainly it’s not too long ago that he was just a small pink crying baby. Time flies, does it not.

One of my presents to him was a copy of the latest Guinness Book of Records. At his age, I had a 1970s edition — it might have been 1974. In my teens I upgraded to a 1987 edition. As many people do, I gradually lost interest as I grew older, and eventually got rid of it in 2003, but having a read of Jeremy’s shiny new copy, it is surprisingly interesting. I wouldn’t read it from cover to cover, but there’s enough to just dip into it — and both the kids seem fascinated by it, just as I was back in the day.

PS. 9am. The Technical Bookshop, latterly of the super-inconvenient Latrobe Street location, has closed its doors for the last time. Vale Tech Books, 1941-2007. (Tip-off: Paul D.)

I mean, okay, maybe you need the truck to do whatever work you’re doing in the adjacent shop. But why completely block the footpath with it, forcing people onto the street to get around it? How about finding an actual spot on the street?

Irritating enough for able-bodied pedestrians like me. Doubly irritating for people with kids and heavy shopping. Triple for prams, wheelchairs, the blind.