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Friday, November 6, 2009

DETROIT: “Edsel could have any colour toy he wanted, as long as it was black,” says Payton L. Inkletter, “like the many choices given the married man”

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

06th November 2009:

Friday: At last some relief from the heat of the past two days! It was not until about three hours after dawn that I joined the ravishing rodomontader in the cot, and this slumber of mine was fairly deep until she got me up about four in the afternoon, cracking a mean whip, for there was a floor to mop before the Chocsons arrived for a surreptitious din dins with us, ALONE. Given that when I had hit the sack I had slept but an hour in the previous forty eight, I both needed the sleep and looked little better for it.

Before my shower in readiness for our treasured friends, I grappled with the misbehaving Bosch Water Wizard 600 instaneous gas water heater, but did not get it to stop its off again on again burning malfunctions, plunging us into cold water after hot, whenever it feels the urge.

Not long after six the Chocsons arrived, with Reeve’s virus serious of the past three weeks or so very diminished, but poor Chocci was coughing a lot through the evening, at a stage of progression that both of we Inkletter’s recall well. And so began the second delightful evening in a week with a rare pair of the finest of friends; we enjoyed Janny’s culinary creations, from a cauliflower and leek soup through to a pasta and salad second course, later rounded off by a pavlova to, if not kill for, at least to kidnap for. Later we boys had our legendary cocoa that you could step out and walk on, cheered along with an assortment of chocolate, among which were to be found Lindt chilli and Janny’s homemade Locky Load, as well as Cadbury’s Lum ’n’ Laisin and a raspberry number. Our occasions with the Chocsons form a priceless storehouse of lifegiving memories, to reminisce upon as with a feast, to draw strength from past pleasant experiences in times of present challenges.

I missed Lateline, but not to worry, for there’s always iView! After our treasured guests left Janny and I chatted while listening to a John Denver album, and after I put the waning wayfarer to bed I set to to do some writing, and researching, before embarking on a walk at half two, on this still moonlit humid cool night.

Once back home I settled into my desk chair, with six pears and a slab of matured cheddar, and watched Lateline on iView, voraciously devouring a huge slab of my paltry 30 Gb Optus monthly allowance, this sizeable slab (half a gig) due much, I assume, to my constant rewinds of the interviews to catch what my mind and clapped out cochlear doodle doo dahs missed the first time: The (Leigh) Sales Graph: From the outset I was impressed that we the viewers were in for a special Lateline, merely due the overwhelmingly radiant presence of Ms Sales: she positively glowed, and not only because of how femininely delightfully she had turned herself out, (yet also as professional looking as all get out as well – the two in no way are intrinsically at odds), but as well if not largely due to those inimitably smiling eyes; I think a major plus for a television presenter is genuineness, if the person is so blessed, and Ms Sales has it in spades; it is a rarer commodity than it should be, sadly, but in those that have it it is a priceless asset: throw in sincerity, intelligence, and naturalness – that is, spontaneous leakage of the inner person – and you have a contagious benign and exquisite mix on your hands; all this was to be our serving this evening, and her vivacious glow from the outset was indeed a herald of good things to come.

Oh, what of the apparel did I hear you ask?: Ms Sales was enhanced by the most beguiling choice of a green shaded chiffon overblouse with a black camisole, reddened lips, no jewellery but for tiny earrings, subtle effect make-up, and concaving loose hanging hair, with a slight Marilyn Monroe effect near her right eye. The bulletin began with some sad sad and bad bad news, as well as some politics, but the interviews Aunty provides us are always the top of my agenda for interest.

I was not expecting tonight’s long interview, with Matt Weiner, to interest me much, having seen neither ‘The Sopranos’ nor ‘Mad Men’ (well, I did catch snippets of the latter show, to be honest); how wrong I was, for we were treated to a marvellous and relatively profound exploration of the ingredients that have made these series so successful. Ms Sales was the ideal interviewer for this scoop of an interlocution: she clearly has followed the series they discussed, which was transparently illustrated by her pertinent questions and comments. She was also obviously grateful to be the spoilt ABC journo to have scored this interview, and she took full justifiable advantage of the opportunity to connect with Mr Weiner, drawing out gems and jewels from the fellow, and her pleasure at the chance given her was catchingly evident.

I could carry on for ages on the details of the insights and wisdom drawn from Mr Weiner – who dressed uber casually by the way, in what appeared to be a black jumper and open necked striped shirt, but in a rare pardon from me, that was fine – by Ms Sales’ thoughtful negotiation of this almost 18 minutes with the highly talented writer, director, producer, as I said, I could wax long if I had the time; I don’t, more’s the pity. He can only be rather chuffed at the great run he was given in this exchange to share his views and insights, and he expressed his appreciation most directly at interview’s end thus: Leigh Sales: “Matt Weiner it was a pleasure to have you on the program, thank you very much”; Matt Weiner: “Well thanks, thank you, it’s a pleasure to talk to you Leigh, those were great… great questions”: it must have been very satisfying for Ms Sales to have such immediate, direct, and honest validation, and deservedly so – because they were great questions – by her interviewee. Ms Sales, Mr Weiner, it was an exquisite pleasure to be part of your intersection this evening; thank you both so much.

The treats weren’t over yet, for hot on the heels of that sweetmeat was a witty and ambient weekly wind up of things that go clink in the piggy bank, with economics correspondent Stephen Long, whose mother refused to watch tonight, for he’d been shorn of his delightsome curls, but undoubtedly missing the scented soap and brilliantine and smelling like a whore: The (Stephen) Long and Short of It: in addition to having endured the clicks of the shears, Mr Long looked spruce and unnicked in a dark jacket, white with grey stripes shirt, and a dazzling tie of a persimmon shading, which, never mind his need of shades for the bright economic future for Australia heralded by Glenn Stevens of the Reserve Bank, this tie was borderline illegal, at least on the street, lest drivers or even airline pilots be momentarily blinded.

Ms Sales introduced Mr Long, with abundant good humour by way of the segue, as a lone madman, and one at that still stalking the grimy and darkened streets of Ultimo at eleven fifteen, killing time till his three minutes of glory under studio lights. He went on to demonstrate why the wise hats at the top of the ABC should cancel all leave of his for the next fifty years, and insist that he give an economics report, if not nightly, then definitely weekly, here on Lateline; the high end of cool and controlled yet catalytic chemistry with Ms Sales is always a revelation and an uplist, so if it’s to be but weekly please make it on Ms Sales’ watch. I for one cannot get enough of his wisdom and astute observations, and tonight was overflowing with them.

The point on which he waxed philosophical this evening that resonated the most for me was his observation and lamentation, upon Ms Sales’ initiation, of the missing real capital, an indisputably valid and commensurate commonwealth, at the end of the last and recent prolonged resources boom, and his hope that after the next one, in addition to the phalanx of new empty holes in the ground, that there’ll be some significant real and lasting Australian commonwealth to show for it across the range from infrastructure, citizen development, and national progress in general; good on him for his charge, in passing, of the wasted vote buying that so much of the nation’s increase was squandered on (are you listening John Howard?); may your forays for information and understanding in the arcane halls of money wallpaper and bullion flooring be long and satisfying Stephen, and not only to the end of keeping us, if not ahead, then abreast of the games our ‘leaders’ play.

I managed, well after dawn, a kitchen clean up, and some research back at the computer about the latest low power AMD CPUs and motherboards to match, for I must act soon if possible on deciding upon a system to replace this computer, a box of silicon and metal that’s struggling along on speed and in an iron lung, and giving me the heebie-jeebies almost every day, if not causing me to actually touch cloth, when it collapses and needs drastic jolts from the paddles to revive it.

My distantly devoted dollface, in the throes of an acute nausea episode the echo of her early days on Byetta, put me to bed about half eleven, morning that is.


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