Thus laden, he went And now for Jimbo Mieville
If it weren't for your impotent phone lines, I'd want to move into your place too. The kitchen! The ponds!
By Anonymous, at
3:42 PM
Our impotent phone lines are a source of burning shame and humiliation for me. But luckily it doesn't matter, because WoW works just fine over dialup ('cept when they wake up in the States)...
Never mind browsing left leaning "stuff" - I want sarcasm and ridicule about stuff in my blog!
C'mon Dave, Marco is pleading for sarcasm and ridicule- it would be cruel not to!
Yes. Yes it would.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Alastair’s desperately overloaded car dragged an even more desperately overloaded trailer out the driveway and off to Adelaide this morning. While it remains to be seen whether said vehicle will ever make it to The Promised Land, I don’t think it’s too far from the mark to say that Al will probably be better off out of Canberra. His past few years here, since moving back from Melbourne, have been pretty hard for him, and despite being close to his sisters, the proximity of family hasn’t done much to help move him out of his funk. Nor, admittedly, has he done a lot to help himself, but that’s how depression works, robbing you of the impetus to change your circumstances while dropping constant sadistic reminders that things could be better with just a little effort or luck. I’d like to think that Adelaide will be the turning point that he was hoping Canberra would be.
I also hope there’s enough space at his new place for all his stuff– he’s left several tonnes of boxes behind, and he was still carrying enough to furnish a decent-sized mansion…
I missed the showdown, but apparently Jimbo has won the dubious privilege of moving in with us and taking Al’s vacated room. Kate is no doubt sobbing with disappointment. There’s a pretty good chance that he’ll start jamming some stuff in there (possibly including himself) by Saturday, which I suppose means that we’ll be spending Friday night clearing the detritus and spraying chemical products on everything else.
Unfortunately Fiona can’t bear to live with cats, so it looks like I still will not be reunited with my beloved kitten (now 10+ years old, I guess) Printy and her vile monster-sib Manson. I will miss out on her delightfully cute drool attacks and concrete writhing, but also his frequent infections and tactical urination. Swings and roundabouts, I guess.
There’s an Australian collaborative blog site called Crooked Timber, the defining theme of which I have never been able to precisely determine; sometimes literary, often political and generally social issues seem to crop up for discussion, which makes for a pleasantly eclectic collection of largely left-wing views suited to my preferred stance as a committed casual browser of Stuff. Of interest however to you, Dear Reader, or you, Jimbo, is this collection of essays on China Mieville’s The Iron Council. I wouldn’t know for sure, because I haven’t read that book, so nor have I read the avowedly spoileriffic essays, but as Mieville provides a response to the essays with one of his own, it’s probably worth at least looking if you’re a fan. And if you’re not, you should start reading Perdido Street Station right now and not stop until you have finished or your eyes have exploded.
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Speaking of, fantastical fish adventures this weekend? Call me, call my people (my people will soon become your people).
And your comments about the compared virtues of Printy and Manson would have made me snort my drink out of my nose if I were the sort of person who does that sort of thing when they read something they find very amusing.
The cats are a mixed blessing (as always), but at least the urination situation is far more pleasant since My Kitty departed to whizz on greener pastures. Emily is increasingly using sonar to navigate. Sigh.
But ever-cute Printy dragged one of my socks into the living room the other day. (She does love me!)
linbot
I missed any pond discussions. Are we ponding up soon?
