insight number one

With a tip of the cap to Jason, I now have a page tracking the movies I take in, briefly highlighting when I saw them and what I thought. You can find a link to said page on the sidebar to the right under the snappily titled section, Perma Lint.

film thoughts - Closer

I'm not going to donate a great deal of my time to dissecting this abomination. I really just want to warn you.

This would have to be one of the poorer excuses for screenwriting I have seen in years. This coupled with actors who should know better, who somewhere along the line realised they should have known better and consequently became incredibly self-conscious, made for a horrid viewing experience and a tangible rage at having paid to see it.

Jude Law, Natalie Portman and Clive Owen are all fine actors in their own ways, but they erred in their choice here. While a couple of times you noted moments they can walk away from this happy about, for the most part they just struggle with awkward, overly cute, laboured writing, and even they can't hide it.

The blandness which emanates from the largely interior-based shot list (which I'm sure Nichols would argue was deliberate, but I would put to you it was because they blew the budget on the talent) is mind numbing and the cinematography completely uninspired to the point of being robotic. While there was a uniqueness in the lack of soundtrack, this didn't help any either and smacked of cluelessness ("Let's keep it still and focus on the characters - no distractions."). Misfire.

Altogether, a real waste of time, and not remotely worthy of a trip to the cinema. I'm not even sure it's worth a rental once it hits the weekly section.

Harsh, but fair.

evening up

Referring to the post below, the way one copes with such dark and stormy periods is to think of the things that makes one's heart sing.

her giggle
agedashi dofu
the approach into a new city by air
pinot noir
appreciation
northerly winds in summer
laps in calm seas and bodysurfing in wild seas
Manhattan
photosynthesis
building without errors
smoking once-annual cigarettes in low-rent bars in Shibuya
most of what HBO has to offer
cooking for loved ones
witnessing kindness
finding like minds

A smile returns. Bedtime.

tick tock

I have had a day of extremely dark thoughts rushing through my mind at a million miles an hour. One of those days that I could not shake the terribly negative perspective that our direction, the world's direction, is inevitably fatal.

Fear is a powerful motivator for conservatism and self interest. I don't know whether the majority will ever understand that this equation has shaped, and will eventually destroy, their lives. Frustratingly, they continue to have the power to change it right up until the moment we step over the point of no return. This revolution is nowhere in sight, as evidenced by the encore performance of the cowboys in the Whitehouse.

We're all too busy buying DVD's and watching the value of our respective stockmarkets and dollars.

The world could be a better place and you know it.

maybe it's there for a reason

I note in the paper today that one can now subject themselves to an X, XX, XXX or XXXX Brazilian wax. I know, I'm just as gobsmacked as you are. For it is not every day that your long held belief that a Brazilian was a Brazilian was a Brazilian is shattered, that you realise there have been some serious advancements made in the field of hair removal and no one was so kind as to inform you.

But there are no answers provided, with this revelation. I've been left hanging like so many useless pubes. There are just so many questions. Can you get a half-hearted Brazilian now, as in a short back and sides? That logic you can understand - perhaps with an X they leave the landing strip and with the X+ we're talking a never-ending plain of flesh. But what about these in-between steps? I guess pubologists have to cater to all tastes today.

And how on earth do they roll out of bed each day with the prospect of waxing a dozen or so vulvas ahead of them? That's the bigger question, surely.

Go on, set me straight.

ride the king's highway, baby

Today is an interesting day, for it sees the deletion of my blog.daily folder in Mozilla. A folder that is around 6 years old and has, until today, held links to all the personal blogs that I have read frequently during that period.

In the beginning, as you may suspect, it was jam packed, taking the better part of a couple of hours to get through, digesting the happenings of many globally scattered individuals. But, as you have probably ascertained by now, I have the attention span of a gnat, so it won't surprise you to read that over time it retracted to next to nothing, and for the last 12 months it has contained but one blog, that of Claire R. a.k.a. Loobylu.

I've been reading Claire's blog for years now, and have always enjoyed her take on the world and how she finds her way through it. The illustrations, the photos, the how-tos, the wit and the storytelling have all been A-grade, and it's been fun to watch it all unfold, particularly the birth of her daughter, Amelia. However, the time has come to move on.

I don't have a negative word to say about Claire, I think she's a real treat, and genuine, which is a quality I admire above all. However, the reality is that I just can't relate to what she is writing about any more, that being crafts and generally her newfound fascinations relating to craft, so I'm taking this opportunity to clean house, close a chapter and polish up on my stocks of clichés.

If I was to be completely honest I would say that in addition to a need for moving on I also can no longer be a party to the audience of anonymous readers who drool over Claire's every word, living vicariously through her and her tales, but I'm not feeling that way inclined, so I'll leave that be.

So, cheers and goodbye to you Claire, and goodbye to a pastime that has provided me with lots of information and amusement over the years. For those of you new to the scene, welcome. Please press [CTRL]-[D] or [⌘/Apple]-[D] now and I'll see you tomorrow.

light pools

Andrew McConnell. Melbourne's best. This is my call and I stand by it.

Well, it's unfair to say best. Perhaps my favourite, is the better way to put it. Teage Ezard, the 3 muskateers at Becco, Michael Darmanin, Robert Castellani and Paul Wilson, they're certainly up there on my hit list of champions, to be sure.

McConnell, though. He's something else.

Consider the 'ography:

Diningroom 211
Mrs. Jones
Circa

Diningroom 211 was, when it was operating, for mine the best place to eat in Melbourne outside of Ondine. The Cookes were the only competition in my opinion and, as a brief aside, they too would be on my list if they were cooking here but Donovan's off in Hong Kong at the Jockey Club, I believe, and I don't know what Philippa is doing .

D211 was one of the coolest rooms in town, a real aesthetic innovation, and in a none-too commercially safe area for fine food, too, it should be pointed out. I think this helped in multiplying the cachet, truth be told - just like in Manhattan, for example, where the more remote, the more elite.

Service bars were raised, and so too was the food - right up there into the upper echelons of fine dining, but without being fussy. This is the knack of McConnell: extreme detail, incredible attention to taste and texture, but never to a point where you are overwhelmed or confronted. Just right. In fairness, Ezard does this just as well.

Mrs. Jones, then, was a logical offshoot for McConnell - of course I say this with hindsight, but there was no question of the boldness in making such a move. Mrs. Jones stepped aside from D211, going all super cool bistro in the prettiest part of North Carlton, tapping straight into the bloodline of people, well, just like me.

Mrs. Jones was, and still is, D211-lite, but in the nicest of ways, particularly when it comes to the bill. The food quality isn't sacrificed, the menu options are simply limited. The wine list isn't as extensive, but it's snappy and clever, and if you aren't happy with it (you'd have to be Parker to be upset with it, though, I might point out, and even then...) a BYO option is offered. The staff are just as good, and the ambience just as much of a hook, if not more casual, which is, after all, the intention. I visit perhaps once every 6-8 weeks, if that is to tell you anything.

And then there's Circa.

I finally got there on Saturday night, after more than a few false starts - going as far back as when Michael Lambie was cooking there.

In a word - outstanding.

Let's point out the obvious first. Superb room - up there with the greats for mine, and individual, as are all the best (Donovan's, Becco, Di Stasio, Vue de monde). Peerless service - you would expect it, but it still surprises; Eric, our waiter was faultless. Wine list that will bring you to tears, and a sommelier who wants you to ask for thoughts (I think I upset Chris by not consulting him, but I just couldn't help myself - kid in a candy shop and all that). Ambience and vibe that takes it to a whole other level: like kids brought to attention in class, no one is taking this experience for granted, so you will not receive the negative residue from other diners that can often take the shine off your night out.

As for the main event, well, words just don't seem to suffice. You recognise the McConnell signature but it's always a different pen with which he writes it. On this occasion I even tried to trip him up - what was I thinking? - by ordering what appeared to be a very simple fillet of wagyu beef, but alas, it was not to be. While Adrian Richardson of La Luna is typically the man to whom I turn for a steak, I have to deviate in loyalty here and admit this particular piece of meat was amongst the finest I have had. A thick fillet with an immaculately seared exterior cut to reveal a perfect, medium-rare interior which almost flaked off on the fork and certainly melted in the mouth. But this is McConnell, right?, it can't be just meat, so the fillet is crusted with anchovies, olives and bread crumbs - which I guess as it reads off the page sounds a little de rigeur, but it just so was not it isn't even funny.

My wonderful partner chose the duck dish which was slow cooked duck meat encased in a pasty brik. Those of you who have spent any time at Mrs. Jones may have tried something very similar and it was nice to see it here in its deluxe format. It was just delicious, and of course divinely theatrical, which gets those buds going before it even hits the mouth.

Entrees, rabbit terrine and tiger prawns w/ Spanish anchovy and gazpacho jelly, and desserts, pistachio marzipan cake and a deviously rich milk chocolate sorbet, were equally out of this world. By the end of it, both partner and I were sated into a whole other universe. This is not to overstate, believe me.

But as I hope I have explained well enough earlier in this piece, it's not all about the food. It's about the overall experience You would not come if the food was bad, but at the same time, the attention to detail concerning every aspect of your evening is just as important. This is where McConnell excels. He knows what he's doing and the 3 for 3 record validates the theory. John Lethlean, a food writer with The Age, the best paper we have here, nails it.

There is something new and exciting happening in the first-floor dining room of... The Prince, and it only goes to prove, once again, that a head chef is indeed a chief, a leader, a captain-coach whose influence goes a long way beyond the words on a menu and the food on a plate.

But don't take our word for it - get out there and see for yourself. Just don't forget which restaurant is which because the difference is missing a mortgage payment.

In the meantime, I raise my Riedel glass of Latour to the chef.

blink

Free music. Free music weblogs. Where have you been all my life?

This weekend, with the help of ipodlounge, Jeff Veen and wget I have gained access to, what I suspect is, terabytes of free, legal, music.

I can't believe I've napped through this revolution.

where champagne bottles dare

It was a lazy dog dangling kind of day today, so I broke the no-TV-during-the-day rule I often hold myself to and watched the tennis. Unfortunately, though, while the ballwork was great, I was to be punished for this indulgence.

At the end of the broadcast I was not fast enough off the mark to change the channel and avoid witnessing the opening headlines of the commercial news. One of said headlines, to paraphrase, was something along the lines of "Candidate for the opposition leadership challenge, Julia Gillard, makes a slip that could put her out of the contest."

It turns out that - hold on to your hats - Gillard said... "shit." I know, I know. Break out the state of emergency plans and sound the sirens.

Gillard was holding a press event at the time, seemingly in her backyard, and casually uttered the profanity after making some sort of error while blackening the carcasses on the barbecue.

For those not familiar with Australian culture, know that 99.95% of Australians would have done the same in that situation, and 80% of those would have said something more along the lines of "Goddam, you fucking maggot sausage, stay on the fucking grill!"

But to this particular network, the incident was worthy of an attempt at a character assassination via the beat-up of beat-ups. Obviously they didn't see the irony in them airing the word and thus somewhat deflating their own beat-up. If it's ok to air it, what, exactly, is, your, point?

Slow news day on a Right-friendly network. Recipe for disaster.

critical ass

I very briefly want to point out the obvious: not all cyclists are rule-flouting danger mice, and not all motorists are ignorant, aggressive robots. The problem is that on both sides there are seriously offensive individuals who make things very difficult for all of us.

Cyclists who break the road rules, fail to wear helmets and ride without lights at night, irritate motorists. This then very quickly escalates a common thinking amongst motorists that all cyclists are at best a nuisance and at worst something that is fair game to line up with your hood ornament.

Cyclists, in turn, are exposed to very poor judgement from drivers, which threatens their very life. Drivers, too, flout the law, they just do it at much higher speed in the ultimate deadly weapon. This behaviour also leads to a common thinking amongst cyclists that motorists are never to be trusted and a highly negative assumption that they will always put themselves and their vehicles ahead of the rider.

Can you see the problem here?

I'm a cyclist, but I empathise with both groups. This stance can be hard to maintain, to be sure, when at least once a week I am exposed to a near accident and once a month I'm involved in an incident which could, minus my experience, most likely kill me. However, I want a change in attitude across the board and I know this is not going to come by holding a grudge.

As I see it, the solution to this dilemma is very simple, and in 2 steps.

1. You must embrace and reconcile with yourself the fact that you will not be able to convert all cyclists and motorists to angels. Unhappy, aggressive people are that way for a reason, and pearls of wisdom will wash right over them while they are broken inside. They have some work to do on themselves before they are ready to listen.

2. Remember the obvious, that the world is made up of individuals and that a negative incident with one of those individuals does not make the entire group from which they derive guilty.

To stamp that point home, just remember the mantra:

This is but one individual, they are not indicative of the whole.

Write it down. Tape it to your helmet or centre console. Make the world a friendlier place and look after your blood pressure.


So - think we can effect some change here? You have no option but to hope that we can. If there isn't some positive movement forward here then what does it say about the bigger picture issues? This issue is a drop in the ocean compared to the ever-increasing distrust and lack of care amongst humans on a global scale. The good news is we can start to curb it with baby steps like these, but unchecked...

Well, it's your destiny to do with what you will.

but what about wind shear?

On a lighter note...

The Airbus A380 is, truly, a sublime aircraft. I can actually say I'm looking forward to sharing a long-haul flight with 800 odd other people. Well, that's not entirely the truth, I can only say I look forward to sharing the business class cabins with about a half dozen other people. Economy on this puppy will surely be something like being chained to a rack in the bowels of Babylon by the time QANTAS are done fitting it out.

Reviewing the official media launch I thought Chirac was very much struggling to look like he cared and/or that he was giving serious consideration to walking off the set citing the plane went against France's views on acceptable fuselage diameters.

bring out the gimp

For the 3 millionth time I have pressed the wrong key combination and wiped out a post, in this case a very long, eloquent piece on Australian politics. Blogger you're an angel, but, FUCK. How about some JavaScript that catches your keystrokes and warns you before you go backwards and lose your brain dump?

Anyway, I'm not writing it again. I've made a rule that if something doesn't seem to want to make it to the page, let it be. In any case, others have written this particular topic up a great deal better than I.

The abbreviated version, though, is as follows:

The ALP, as we remember it, is finished and I'm starting a new party to replace it. The ALP will become New Labor, but the letterhead will read New Right. Their first, magnificent achievement will be to set up a coast guard to deal with the awfully scary boat people/terrorists. The Coalition will herein go from strength to strength because they have harnessed the new world's greed and self-interest and know it better than anyone. They will be out for a term in this decade, but they will strengthen in opposition and be back, again and again.

I love you Australia, but the passion is starting to fade.

that indefinable something

What is it about the blogs that you visit regularly? Why do you return over and over? Can you define what interests you about the writing? Is it some kind of ritual? Are you living vicariously through the writer? Do you see undeniable commonalities between the two of you? Do you have a love-hate relationship?

From the perspective of this host, I am primarily producing this journal to exercise my writing mind, not to entertain or engage. This, altogether unique, format allows and encourages such self interest. It lets me remotely stimulate the other recesses of my mind that are responsible for, say, creating works bound for a more traditional readership and a grotesquely lucrative film deal. I do as I please, and I imagine if you have read a few posts you will see that this practice is a badge of honour for forthenthtime.

So is that why the only hits I receive come from referrers, or is it deeper than that? Most blogs are pure narcissism, just as this is, so why do some of them have Amazon wish lists being fulfilled by dewy-eyed strangers? Well, Timmy, it's just that some have got better at wrapping it up and passing it off as endearing, benign storytelling.

Apologies to the easily upset, or those with 300 links to endlessly happy bloggers in their bookmarks. I just refuse to sit idly by as the endless parade of manufactured bliss and emoticons troll by. It's why the world is what it is - veneer and subterfuge.

If they all just quit it and revealed how upset, frightened, unaware, outraged, disturbed, depressed, unsure, clueless, lost, drunk, hurt, broken, aimless, apathetic, manic, disillusioned, pained and blank they were - at least some of the time - we might start to make some headway towards a world that functions as it should.

Please let me know if you find someone kicking that off. In the mean time I'll do my best to keep spouting banal, but essentially honest, rubbish over here.

friable, red-brown, gravelly loam

I've been saying it for a while: Heathcote shiraz is the real deal.

Sure, the Barossa Valley - the big name in Shiraz for this country - produces some lovely wine, and I'm as guilty as the next for selling family members into indentured servitude for a bottle of Rockford Basket Press. But, for mine, the best comes from elsewhere.

My love for Heathcote shiraz germinated from a bottle of Occam's Razorsome 3 years ago. That particular session became one of those magical moments wine lovers refer to as The Perfect Match. That being when your meal and wine merge to create a wondrous experience that one does not forget. In that instance I was enjoying a particularly delectable char-grilled scotch fillet swimming in an equally divine jus and the shiraz and fillet (an obvious pairing, I know, but nevertheless) became an indescribable feast for the senses that quite simply made me hum with delight.

Since that point in time I have drunk a great deal of Heathcote shiraz and continue to be fascinated by its differences and consistencies. Unfortunately, the option to drink from this region occurs far less than I would like as sommeliers often cater to the safer, more obvious, choices and at other times the menu dictates a choice away from that section of the list (why have a great list of reds in a predominantly seafood based restaurant? Yes, Geoff Lindsay, I'm looking at you).

But even though the periods between bottles can fluctuate wildly, it's been quite a ride following the Heathcote trail, culminating in a fortuitous sitting with the very limited Wild Duck Creek, Duck Muck. This is arguably one of the best wines this country produces, but I won't elaborate as words do not really seem to serve it justice. Wallets do, though, if you believe price is the indicator.

But you don't need money to drink great Heathcote shiraz. Just head down to The Graham in Port Melbourne, let the Giannakis brothers treat you to some of the best service in the city, and order a bottle of their Shelmerdine to go with your steak or game. You won't be disappointed.

tramopoline!

Gelato. Summer. Cutest girls that you will ever see behind a counter. Iced Vovo and Violet Rumble. Chocolate fountain. Strangely erotic doof doof playing while aforementioned cute girls scoop for you. Complete satisfaction. Gold mine.

Trampoline - 381 Brunswick Street, Fitzroy, VIC, Australia.

on a rainy day in San Francisco

Macworld SF 2005. The rumour mills got it right. Amazing. Proves that my theory of journalists in these types of situations using 'an anonymous source' as a means to pad copy and collect their cheque is not always a given.

Seriously, if you're not using an Apple by the end of 2005, what's wrong with you? The very fact you're reading online journals indicates you are at least somewhat enlightened and very definitely curious, so you're pre-selected for ownership. Think different already. And now, Mac Mini, come on!

OS X really is the bees knees, and few can deny it. Working with an Apple is fun. Everything about them works. You are productive, again - just like when your Mum left you with half a dozen crayons and some paper when you were little. The Mac listens and makes it happen. OS X Tiger is going to be even better.

So let's revisit in six months and see how you are all going. In the meantime I am happy to field questions in the comments, unless you're just a niggling Windows zealot. I've got no time for you.

the money tree (was also washed away)

At the risk of experiencing immeasurable wrath, I have something controversial to put to you.

Society, or if I was to be incredibly cynical, civilised society, is giving so generously to Asia at the moment to appease their guilt about their own self-interest, greed and neglect of fellow humankind.

We know that we carefully craft our lives to benefit ourselves and our very immediate relationships only. We know that this is wrong and it disgusts us. We know the detrimental effect this has at a micro and macro level on our immediate and greater communities. We believe we can relegate all of this negativity if we release at appropriate points in time.

Thankfully a disaster like this comes along every now and then, admittedly not always at a scale that is so easy to buy into, and the ideal outlet is provided for us to repent and wipe our slate clean. The good news is, it works. For a while.

Whether or not people's motives are true in this case is largely irrelevant to me insofar as the ultimate good that will come from the money far surpasses the issue of guilt and the greater public's moral and emotional health. That said, it raises for me a much larger issue that does need addressing.

The world is clearly in need of help, continuously. Whether it is plain old famine and disease, impossibly damaged infrastructures, or debt from under which poorer countries can not climb out, a lot of people need greater help than is currently given for them to have a shot at a bearable life. Not a life of Mercedes' and roe, a life where they can just be, in peace and good health.

We, the privileged few, can make this happen - this Tsunami has shown how. If we all, consistently, contributed $100 p.a. to organised charity, the problems of the world would very quickly move from being insurmountable to considerable and from there into a state we can actually process. It would take, presumably, decades, but right now the timeline doesn't even have a start point.

However, donations from individuals is one thing, donations from groups that profit from us all, churning out millions and billions of revenue, year after year, that's another. At an individual level it's very human to take care of your immediate needs, and necessary at times. To the corporation, though, who does not have children to feed and the rigidity of highly stacked consumer finance, what's your excuse?

I find it a wretchworthy experience to watch companies competing with each other at the moment to show who has the biggest wallet. Some of them, hopefully the majority, are donating because they care. Some of them are engaging in a highly cynical public relations exercise, and this is just plain fucking psychotic, to paraphrase the excellent The Corporation.

The point here is that if they can do it now, why not regularly? More specifically, corporations should be legally bound to investing in the nations from which they profit. Nike should, for example, be giving an absolute container-load of cash to Thailand right now. They have raped their citizens for so long that the very least they can do is help them rebuild the meagre lives they already had. Maybe they are, though I'd be shocked into a near death state to find this was the case.

The whole concept of the corporation coming into a country that is alien to them, where they are the guest, and just taking, without ever giving, is grotesque, and demonstrates the inherent sickness of our society. We let this happen - we're the shareholders. How about a percentage of your profits go to charity - would it really be that bad? I think everyone would sleep a lot easier at night if we did so.



The solutions to the problem of an inequitable world are many, and some hijack this fact and use it to obfuscate progressing change. But we need not complicate issues immediately. We're talking about money here. Some of the ideas I have advanced require more than money, to be sure, but money is a start, and something you can get on today. If you put away $2/week for a year, and hand it over every January, you've gone a very long way to making a better place for everyone.

Do it. Pass it on.

do law R.C.M

Steve Jobs, what are you pulling out of your hat hey presto today? Has a brush with death pushed you to a greatness beyond your usual, almost-boundless, vision and now is the time to unveil the bi-product?

I'm all up for a little flash iPod, Sir. I can't quite justify the bigger brother HD based pods, but a small, cheap outlet for my Pixies and Miles Davis would be just so right. Not to mention it would be a heller nifty way to transport files to and fro.

***

Yes, there's a minor interest in tech. While I am predominantly a participant [in the more agreeable and all-welcoming elements] of high culture - for want of a better term - I do dig on the tech. Don't always buy it, mind you - the sensible part of the brain usually steps in before the credit card swings into action.

After all, a trip to France is preferable to a 32 speaker surround setup.

being everywhere at the same time

Webcams that beam realtime images from locations around the world often bring about feelings of great sadness in me. Sadness because I want to be here, there and everywhere else, NOW.

This is an, at best, ridiculous and, at worst, grossly unfair response to have when one considers that with continued good fortune, and the world remaining in a reasonable state of balance, I will get to wherever I want to at some point in my life.

I am in command of good health, have no disabilities, a sound brain and the means to eventually get to the places I would like and then accommodate myself in a fashion which is agreeable to me. To be unjustifiably sad, when so many simply do not have these opportunities, where they may lack just one of the attributes I have described above and because of it will struggle to fulfill such ambition, is, I believe, typical of a selfish, privileged, contemporary Westerner, and I want to shrug it.

Ergo, as each day goes by I try to become more aware of my place in the world, and how I have a responsibility to be a contributor, not a user. I have always liked to think of myself as a contributor, and actions have been taken, always, to go some way to justifying that claim, but clearly I have some distance to cover.

Thankfully the company will be putting me on a plane sometime soon. Nothing like a Melbourne > Los Angeles > Melbourne haul to nip that travel bug in the ass for a while.

how to honour your catch

1 fresh fillet of fish
1-2 cloves of garlic, sliced into 1-2mm discs
2-3cm piece of fresh ginger, sliced into discs
1 tbsp spring onion (green shallot) sliced diagonally

sauce
2 tbsp light soy
1 tsp palm or brown sugar
splash of sesame oil

(this sauce can easily be substituted for a good fish sauce from your Asian grocer. When I say fish sauce I don't mean Thai fish sauce, but a specific sauce that is used to pour over your steamed fish. Ask the shopkeeper, they should know what you are talking about.)

1. Pour enough water into the bottom of your wok such that when you place your steamer on top there is around 4-5 cm of clearance from the water to your steaming platform. Bring to the boil on highest heat with the steamer on top making the seal.
   
2. Lightly oil a plate that fits in your steamer comfortably and place the fish on it.
3. Gently make incisions approximately 3cm from each other all the way down the length of the fillet.
4. Stuff a couple of garlic and ginger discs in each of the incisions. If you have any of the garlic or ginger left over place it on top of the fish.
5. When the water is boiling and there is a generous amount of steam swirling around inside your steamer, carefully place the plate inside the steamer and replace the lid.
6. Leave the fish to steam. A piece of fish that is 2cm thick at it's thickest point will take about 5 minutes, a 6 cm thick piece will take around 10 minutes. If your fillet is somewhere inbetween obviously just do a best guess and check in on your fish once during cooking to see how it is going. Always underestimate the time, though - overcooked fish is terrible and an insult to the critter that gave its life for your meal.
7. Carefully remove the plate from the steamer and pour the accumulated liquid off. Don't let your fillet slide off and into the sink!
8. Briefly heat the soy in your microwave until warm. Add the sugar and sesame oil and stir.
9. Remove the garlic and ginger from the fish and pour the liquid over the top. Scatter the spring onions over the top, et voila. Serve with white or brown rice and some steamed greens.
   

If you have really fresh fish, preferably line-caught from your favourite spot, this is the only way to eat, and honour, your catch. Simplicity reigns supreme. Enjoy.

salty throat

There may be few things more invigorating than a dip in the salty expanse of a natural body of water. Partner and self have a pact this summer to head down to the water whenever the temperature is remotely near warm. Today was just such a day.

I love to bob up and down with the chop that comes off the bay with the blusterly afternoon southerly. There's something unbeatably meditative about treading water for a couple of hours rising up and down with the waves.

I am not altogether unaware, nor do I take for granted, that I am lucky enough to live so close to a beach. This is the benefit of living in any coastal town or city in this fine country of mine, but for those of you in so many parts of Europe, Asia, the US etcetera, you just can't do this. I'm very sorry.

The bath can suffice sometimes. Just prime your imagination with a glass or three of your favourite elixir and then float, occasionally kicking for effect and splashback. I did this in Arizona a while back and it worked for me.

very brief, very tired

I just wrote a snappy little bite on Un long dimanche de fiançailles and through some bizarre set of keystrokes managed to wipe it out. The problem you see, is that at my place of employment I use Windows and at home I use Mac - the control key on those machines do very separate things.

Alas, no thoughts on the latest delectable Tautou/Jeunet rise and fall heartstring-puller. Four stars from me, though, maybe that gives you some idea.

Technology is a wonderful thing, at times. Other times I yearn for and recede to the Mont Blanc for a little analog action.

the stuff of success

The reason my past experiences in blogging have not succeeded, I believe, is simply because it can be a lonely pursuit and that when that is the case, eventually, the returning silence drowns you. You're one of millions in a world where everyone wants to be heard, and you're no more special than the next. The chances of you pulling in a regular crowd lessen as each day passes by and Blogger signs up another thousand.

Many writers jump up and down and state that it doesn't matter whether you are heard, that the blog is for you only, but surely this is just plain bullshit. Why are you writing online if not to be listened to? - to try and draw in a like mind and empathise for even but a brief moment. This is why we do it.

This blog, like all the others I have written over the many years I have been doing this, is potentially doomed for the lack of the above - the empathetic reader. The moment I get that sense I am sitting alone in a field of grass that extends in all directions as far as the eye can see my brain will switch off and so will this. The question is perhaps whether that is more healthy than flogging away in the hope someone will come to love you and revere every line that spurts from your qwerty.

Given the nature of this medium and how it propogates you may well be a blogger, just like me, or you are at least considering it, so this post is aimed partially at you. Why do you read what you do? Do you stick with something for the long term or move on quickly? How many blogs do you read on a daily basis? Are you addicted? Do you ever contact the people whose work you read?

I'm not asking these questions for a response, I really don't have time to return anyway, but I guess I am pro-introspection, and particularly so when it comes to a medium that is so raw and telling. At the moment I myself wonder why I can't stick with any given blog for more than a year, why most blogs get 1, maybe 2, reads from me before I never return, and why for the last couple of months I seem to be riveted to the hapless exploits of very funny gay bloggers when I myself am an intense, driven straight man.

Ask yourself some questions. Don't lose sleep over it, though.

the brown bunny

I'm usually pretty quick on these things, but I just wasn't paying attention to the hubbub regarding Chloe Sevigny gobbling up Vincent Gallo's babymaker on film. Typically the way I came to realise the gravity of this situation was via stumbling into a series of images of said scene.

You can not tell me that Gallo did not have a driving desire to get Sevigny on her knees and deliberately went about making it happen. Why Sevigny would step up to such a debasing exercise is quite beyond me - for mine there does seem to be something behind the shutters, at least as an actor. Then again, you can only hold that opinion if you don't listen to the gossip at gawker.com.

I remember my days at university, the whole wanting to shock syndrome that was a core part of your young, everyday life. But they, Gallo and Sevigny, are [nearly] 43 and 30 respectively, come on. Attempting to manufacture shock is so appallingly passe anyway. Iraq is shocking. Tsunamis are shocking. Gallo's dick and Sevigny's technique, is not shocking, it's just plain weak.

But then, these days everyone wants to be filmed sucking dick, eating pussy, taking it up the ass, screwing your workmate etcetera, so I guess we should expect nothing less from egomaniacal directors.

I just have no idea what Polly Jean was thinking.

simplicity

Just keeps getting easier and easier to publish your thoughts, doesn't it? I guess with that comes a whole lot of thoughts that don't need to be heard, perhaps. Perhaps I will be part of that mess.

I believe it took me all of 3 minutes to set up this site. Boy.

Now, what to write.

celluloid consumption

(ratings are based on the simple 5 star system, with a hypen for no score)

Hollywood Ending
March 2005
*½

Bride and Prejudice
March 2005
**

Vera Drake
March 2005
****½

Aviator, The
February 2005
****

Sideways
February 2005
****

Un long dimanche de fiançailles (A Very Long Engagement)
January 2005
****½

Garden State
January 2005
****

Incredibles, The
January 2005
****

Closer
January 2005
*