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Tuesday, June 2, 2009

WOLLONDILLY: “I googled ‘shirt-fronted’ for ages, couldn’t find a definition, so I asked Alby Schultz,” admits Payton L. Inkletter in his Chesty Bonds

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

02nd June 2009:

Tuesday: As usual, the new alarm clock frightened the crap out of me, it’s so loud, but all previous ones have been whisper quiet, so much so that we have slept through them, so what am I complaining about? That this clock doesn’t allow me to select my preferred volume, that what; or, a gradual lift in volume once it goes off – now that would be nice; ease me in gently, and save unnecessary underwear changes.

As dry as a bloody bone again today, though there was a spit or two last night. It’s so damn warm, and it’s the start of winter; grrrrhhh…

It was midday when said alarm shocked me into wakefulness, and I set about trying to feel alive, with little success: I needed at least another four hours’ sleep I reckon. I wanted to phone Solar Clear and get that show on the road, but first I needed some information from Synergy about fitting a bi-directional power meter. As per usual, the bird there suggested that I needed to phone Western Power, and I let her know that I’d been bandied back and forth already the usual couple of times, for it’s the same old paradoxical story the world over: never go to the officials for information about their specialty; you either have to work it out yourself, or get it indirectly; there is no horse’s mouth when it comes to officialdom; they haven’t got a clue about how their patch integrates with anything else, nor usually much about their patch in and of itself. So I eventually got her to agree to send me an application form for what I needed.

The entire afternoon ended up being swallowed up with organising the finishing touches to the paperwork, and a couple more phone calls to the helpful staff at Solar Clear; this and some health problems which took their bite of time also. I was approaching considering showering and walking the C4 sized envelope to the mail box, when the delectable dilettante phoned. Returning the call to Balingup for reasons the regular among my billions of daily readers will know, we chatted for ages, maybe 45 minutes – yes, that gal can still talk the back leg off an Outaouais Arcott while pinching its farmer’s feta. And so my planned walk for the badly needed exercise – given that while she’s 250 kilometres away she’s not able to thrash me in the cot to burn the calories and tone the moosels – was shelved, and I drove instead, just getting the letter in on time to the local Dewsons’ mail box.

I delivered vittles to Pa pree next, and showed him a couple more tricks on his poota.

During the late afternoon I paid for the solar photovolataic system by credit card over the phone, to lock it in, the discount and our place in the very long government approval and installation queue: it’s not impossible that it won’t even get installed this year! Now it’s a fine tuning juggle to get paid from our work with Bob in time to pay off the Mastercard before it’ll be due in mid July. Anyway, when it’s finally done, in theory we’ll be cooking on photons; well, by my calculations it’ll only save us 20% of our current electricity usage, for I’ve just learned we are power guzzlers; there are some unusual and mitigating circumstances for a lot of that, including health problem management challenges. Nevertheless, the final out of pocket expenses after the eventual cash back after installation I estimate we’ll pay for by power bill savings in less than three years, after which it is all pure savings; this is the hope, expectation, faith…

I had my vittles watching My Beloved and then Kezza the Great’s 7.30 Report, with particular interest in the General Motors’ bankruptcy and the Balibo killings stories. I dashed to the poota to discover that ‘BullKoala’ had left a comment at the Visitors’ Book suggesting we tango; this is what you get for removing the comments moderation setting but a couple of day’s back! Then before I knew which way was up, Gladys Hobson, bless her fishnets showing below her apron, had posted a motherly advice comment in reference to BullKoala’s prurient suggestions, and so, after dashing back to watch SBS’ disturbing but very telling documentary ‘Pakistan's Taliban Generation’ by Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy. I could say a million things about the issues raised in this doco, but due the lack of time, I’ll just comment on the rocking technique that the ‘teacher’ of young children later into the program engaged in while answering Obaid-Chinoy’s questions certainly does induce trance, in fact, these rhythmic movements employed by many religious, including the Ultra Orthodox Jews, act to move the brain into the alpha state, and attenuate the reasoning filter of the beta mental state, or normal waking consciousness. Reasoning is the great enemy of all fundamentalism, and thus numerous techniques are employed, often by the dupes themselves in unawareness, to attenuate its functioning.

Again a rush back to the poota, to do a reply to the latest comments at the Visitors’ Book, then a rush back to catch Tony Jones’ Lateline. The report on the ageing of the Japanese population by Mark Willacy was compelling; shite, a million centenarians for that nation mid century!

As per usual, when Ali Moore appeared after SilverToes left, for her Lateline Business, I was spellbound, and while her hair was less chick and more lady tonight, wow, what a lady! Va va varrrrrrooommmmm!…. Now to her stories tonight… oh heck, what the hell, she looked a treat, bugger tonight’s stories! (Leigh Sales, a friendly nudge: note how Ali Moore continues to dress SO elegantly and professionally for almost 100% of her anchorings.)

Letterman had Bill Cosby on, and he proved he’s still got it! And what a talent, fabulous voice, that Melody Gardot has! And a lass who was badly injured when hit by a car, cognitively as well as physically! More power to her.

I tore myself away from the Box after Letterman, and after a bit of kitchen clean up dabbling, and not a jot more – the alabaster dragon is away remember – I returned to the poota to write and research. I don’t know what I would do without instant internet research and queries on a million and one things, I truly don’t. It would feel like going back to the stone age. But where does the time go to? Hours fly by when I’m writing and researching.

And don’t ask me how, but the wee small hours evaporated, and I didn’t hit the sack till about five in the marnin. The night was helped by white comforters easing some of my headache, but of course they didn’t help the other health problems. No walkies, and not for ages either. As per usual of late, I went to bed without the frivolous frisson seeing as she left me… … … … with the plan to return on Wednesday next week (I will be driving to Balingup Monday, pashing on – doubtlessly, lamb that am I am (“Put your hand there Payton, rub that, that’s a good boy…”) – with the delectable dilettante for two days in God’s countryside, then we head back north towards the pure unadulterated smog of Perth city; oh, we won’t be alone: the rudderless ruin will not be far away).


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