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The bits
of stuff that fall in the cracks between Life, Music and outrageous
fortune. |
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| February |
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Close
this window to return to Mike Rudd & Bill Putt's Stop Press |
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Dan, Ann the Dux and Chris |
The
life of Riley
26.2.06 - My sister
Ann, (well, technically my half-sister),
and her husband Dan (Riley) flew into town yesterday on
their way to Tassie. They paused long enough to host Mary,
Chris and I for brekkie at their plush Southgate hotel.
Very recently, Ann won dux of Australasia in her Financial
Advisor exams. If we needed it, there's proof positive
she's not from our side of the family - the Rudds' expertise
with money is confined to frittering it away..
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1)
Worth mulling over - and the compass is handy too |
Signage
24.2.06 - Or simply 'signs' as we
used to call them. The first one (left) is a
bit of graffiti that I encounter when I'm walking Dylan
the dog, and it's down a little graffiti-intensive right
of way that is used exclusively by the immediate residents,
and so is unseen by most of the civilised world. If it's
an original thought I'd almost pay it.
The other two banalities are well in the public gaze,
and somebody should've got their money back at the very
least. But, you know, I don't think anybody noticed, and
if they did, they just didn't care. I wouldn't mind betting
that computers were involved in their creation. How difficult
is it to turn on spell check? This is exactly the sort
of stuff that pillories and stocks should be dusted off
for. |
2)
The Chocolate Box Renovations - or During 3) This is near
the Victoria Market - but it's still unforgivable |
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1)
A film noir moment on the Lexus stand 2) The Show's standout
- Holden's rad Efijy |
Car
show
17.2.06 - It's been too hot to work
in the studio, so I thought I'd share a few moments with
you from this year's Car Show at Jeff's Shed. Most of
the exhibits were fairly conservative - the Japanese have
gone for uninviting exteriors filled with the latest technology
- and the highlight for me was the Holden Efijy. |
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A
serious Mike and a sceptical Richard refuse to say 'cheese'
for the camera |
Going
down #2
10.2.06 - It started in the morning
with a chat to rock scribe Ed Nimmervoll over a long macchiato
at Babble. We were talking politics - a large dollop of
disillusion with just a hint of revolution thrown in -
when Ed suggested a second coffee. I declined on the grounds
(hah!) that I'd had a coffee every day this week, and
anyway I was |
meeting Richard for lunch and
another coffee was de rigeur there. I don't know
if it's the daily coffees, but I haven't been sleeping
well lately, so I thought it prudent not to recklessly
escalate to three coffees
Politics dominated the conversation again. Richard and
I (pic) idly chatted about creating a niche
publishing house to publish the subversive rantings of
disaffectd academics as our contribution to the otherwise
barren political landscape, a minor objective for sure,
but as with all of our other lunchtime schemes, likely
never to be realised.
We ordered cheese to go with our coffees, but this proved
beyond the kitchen to produce on any given day, particularly
this one, so our coffees were conceded gratis,
which eased the pain and suffering we had endured - in
fact, it produced a kind of euphoria which wafted me all
the way home. Or was it just that Richard had paid the
entire bill?
Anyway, home I was, and by evening I was looking forward
to the first Super 14 match of the year. I'd finished
my no-thinking tuna and pasta dish over the opening stanza
of the Blues v. Hurricanes stoush and had settled back
to enjoy the rest of the match, when I noticed that my
heart was quite insistently doing its fibrillating thing.
I anticipated / hoped that it might go away in a few minutes,
but it was still there and hardly diminished at the end
of the match nearly two hours later, so I thought I might
as well tootle on down to Box Hill Hospital and get it
checked out.
I got there about 7.30, and it seems it was a quiet night
at the Box Hill ER, (do they call it an ER here? - I suspect
not), and was descended upon by a veritable bevy of nurses
of every persuasion, plugging me in and interrogating
me about my medical history. The battery of machines I
was plugged into responded to my system's every nuance,
and I felt like I was trapped in some hospital video game,
with monitors conspicuously pinging and bleeping every
second or so.
A doctor soon materialised and we chatted at length about
my errant heart and the effects of caffeine on our metabolisms
- it seems he had also had a brush with arrhythmia, also
apparently as a result of coffee over-consumption. I had
blood taken and tested and oxygen administered, but the
net result was that, after three hours relaxing in Emergency
pointedly reading Long Way 'Til You Drop, I was
sent home with a note from the hospital to my doctor,
and with a quiet word to 'moderate my coffee intake' -
advice I shall happily heed. As much as I enjoy coffee,
I don't necessarily love it to death.. |
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You want me to sign your what, young lady? |
Going
down..
7.2.06 - Pam sent me the accompanying
pic - I don't believe I've seen it before, but that's no guarantee
of its novelty. Trouble is, we're all a bit like laughing
boy - we're all with Stupid. Unless he's older than he looks,
the lad didn't vote for anybody at the last election, let
alone the jumped up accountant next to whom he's standing.
By the looks of things it's a standard teen-age set-up, to
which the old duffer is as oblivious as he claims to be ignorant
of the dealings of the Average White Band with Sad Sack Hussein.
I think Johnny will be thinking more seriously about retirement
right now. When you choose to stand behind the biggest guy
on the block to claim the moral high ground, that's not just
egg you get on your face.
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