I went fishing today. It's not something I'd ever tried before, for a couple of reasons (short attention span, no friends) but I had a chance to take my sons fishing and they were keen to try, so we got up early and went out on the river by Hoi An, with anther father and son, a guide and a cheerful boatman with leathery skin and bright yellow teeth who at first glance appeared ancient but was probably about my age (which varies, of course, as some of you know).
We motored out along the river into the estuary, cast anchor, then the guide and the boatman baited our hooks and showed us how to cast. I got my line into the water, then, predictably, after about a minute could feel myself getting restless. What happens now, I asked, and the response was that just sit there for a couple of hours and maybe we'll get a fish. It reminded me of why I've never been keen to go fishing. I have acquaintances who do it, and they always say that the whole point of it is precisely that it's so boring. It gives you an excuse to do nothing, that sort of thing.
This is just plain ridiculous. I don't need an excuse to do nothing; I'm already very good at it. And if I'm going to spend some time doing nothing I'm much more likely to do it in on my couch with a magazine and the tv on, rather than on a small smelly boat halfway up the Hoi estuary on a hot sunday morning.
We didn't get any fish either, but that's not the point.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
I'm finding it very hard to log on to this site (ozsleepy.blogspot.com) from Vietnam, and I'm wondering whether it's because there's something wrong with the site (which is unlikely, it's run by google), or whether... the government of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam doesn't like its citizens reading blogs. Sure, I were running a Leninist political system (which, luckily for you, I'm not) I wouldn't let people read stuff that might destabilise the regime, but this blog? Funny signs, food, oblique references to my complex private life?
We're in Hue, which is nice and quiet after Hanoi but - because we've come from Hanoi - seems a bit underdone. Yesterday we all got on motobikes (as passengers) and went off to see a whole bunch of tombs and whatnot. Aparently when you do this the manly way is to hang on to the back of the motorbike, hands behind you. The alternative is to wrap your arms around the rider, but I get the impression that that's a bit girly. The other Dads (we are three families traveling together) did it the manly way. But because I'd already showed my colors as a complete coward by being unable to jump off the roof of the boat a couple of days earlier I figured I had nothing to lose, so I did the wrap-around one. They're not sure what to make of me. I eat a lot, I'm not physically brave, I'm good with numbers and I can give the stock market run-down every morning.
The hotel in Hue has this interesting feature where the two machines that have internet access are in a little corridor off the lobby (a stout frenchman shouted at me here yesterday because my sons were using both machines). The corridor must be above a stagnant pond because sitting here means being attacked by mosquitoes. Perhaps this is a way of rationing the time? I remind myself that Malaria's rare this close to the coast.
In the Army Museum in Hanoi there's quite a bit of stuff about Dien Ben Phu, including a picture, which is, according to the caption, 10,000 french soldiers surrendering. Which gave me a bit of a giggle in a how-many-men-does-it-take-to-defend-Paris sort of way.
(Answer: Noone knows, they've never tried.)
We're in Hue, which is nice and quiet after Hanoi but - because we've come from Hanoi - seems a bit underdone. Yesterday we all got on motobikes (as passengers) and went off to see a whole bunch of tombs and whatnot. Aparently when you do this the manly way is to hang on to the back of the motorbike, hands behind you. The alternative is to wrap your arms around the rider, but I get the impression that that's a bit girly. The other Dads (we are three families traveling together) did it the manly way. But because I'd already showed my colors as a complete coward by being unable to jump off the roof of the boat a couple of days earlier I figured I had nothing to lose, so I did the wrap-around one. They're not sure what to make of me. I eat a lot, I'm not physically brave, I'm good with numbers and I can give the stock market run-down every morning.
The hotel in Hue has this interesting feature where the two machines that have internet access are in a little corridor off the lobby (a stout frenchman shouted at me here yesterday because my sons were using both machines). The corridor must be above a stagnant pond because sitting here means being attacked by mosquitoes. Perhaps this is a way of rationing the time? I remind myself that Malaria's rare this close to the coast.
In the Army Museum in Hanoi there's quite a bit of stuff about Dien Ben Phu, including a picture, which is, according to the caption, 10,000 french soldiers surrendering. Which gave me a bit of a giggle in a how-many-men-does-it-take-to-defend-Paris sort of way.
(Answer: Noone knows, they've never tried.)
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Phone
I didn't bring my usual phone with me to Vietnam; instead I have my old Nokia. First night I was here, in a fit of boredom, I went through all the old text messages on the phone. It's a little time capsule, my social life preserved in minute detail.
Most of the messages were from around a year ago, Easter least year, when I was having an awful time in Melbourne and then ended up meeting A. Who, strangely enough, I got a text from today.
It's like that fun thing at work when they give you a phone that used to belong to someone else and the first thing you do - or should do - is to go through it and scour all the text messages saved on the phone for incriminating detail. I learned to text this way - when I started a new job in Singapore in 2001 I was given a phone that had belonged to someone else, and it turned out that despite being married he had carried on a fairly hectic social life, most of which was organised via text messages. As the new holder of the phone I ended up getting the messages (but not his social life). I learned how to text people back.
A year or so later I met him when I was on a business trip to London. I told him I'd inherited his phone and that I'd received lots of interesting messages. He went pale.
Most of the messages were from around a year ago, Easter least year, when I was having an awful time in Melbourne and then ended up meeting A. Who, strangely enough, I got a text from today.
It's like that fun thing at work when they give you a phone that used to belong to someone else and the first thing you do - or should do - is to go through it and scour all the text messages saved on the phone for incriminating detail. I learned to text this way - when I started a new job in Singapore in 2001 I was given a phone that had belonged to someone else, and it turned out that despite being married he had carried on a fairly hectic social life, most of which was organised via text messages. As the new holder of the phone I ended up getting the messages (but not his social life). I learned how to text people back.
A year or so later I met him when I was on a business trip to London. I told him I'd inherited his phone and that I'd received lots of interesting messages. He went pale.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Vn
The first morning we were in Hanoi we were at the top of the lake, by the Old Quarter, and we were approached by 4 shy young women, who explained in halting but well-structured english that they were university students, and that as part of a class project they had to approach foreigers in the street and ask them questions. Fair enough, I thought, after a split-second of scepticism. (It's Hanoi, not Bangkok. And even if was a scam I couldn't see how they'd work it, and most of those things rely on people being too polite to say 'no'. I don't have that problem.)
They produced a tape recorder and asked us where we were from, how old the boys were, how long we'd been in Vietnam (about 12 hours at thgat point), what we liked and what we didn't like. It was quite fun, and predictably, I liked the attention. But in case anyone from the Vietnamese government is montoring this, here's my two suggestions for making Vietnam better:
1) stop all the racket
2) get some decent coffee
Other than that, I think it's great here.
They produced a tape recorder and asked us where we were from, how old the boys were, how long we'd been in Vietnam (about 12 hours at thgat point), what we liked and what we didn't like. It was quite fun, and predictably, I liked the attention. But in case anyone from the Vietnamese government is montoring this, here's my two suggestions for making Vietnam better:
1) stop all the racket
2) get some decent coffee
Other than that, I think it's great here.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Culture Shock, Hanoi
We had a moment of profound heart-in-mouth culture shock yesterday in Hanoi. We went down to breakfast yesterday in our hotel, and as we were busy chowing down on our rice porridge and noodles, I noticed to my horror that the people at the next table (Spanish? French?) were enjoying a leisurely cigarette. In a confined space. At 7am.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
BKK
I had my experience yesterday of the new Bangkok airport, and about the only nice thing I can say about it is that it makes the old Bangkok airport look good.
It's massive in scale, but it has that not-quite-finished look you often get Thailand. Exposed wiring, wall panels that don't quite join up, that sort of thing. And nothing quite works, of course, but in the old Bangkok airport you expected it: it had low ceilings and a vaguely makeshift 50s aesthetic. The new one, on the other hands, screams modern, or at least until you want to do something that's actually modern, like, say checking your emails. We had to go from one arm of the beast to the other, which seemed to be about a mile.
The other thing I miss (apart from the bizarre touch of having people playing golf between the runways, or was I just imagining that?) was the delightfully named Terminal Restaurant, where you could get uncompromising Thai food. It was the first place I ever experienced that thing they do with the baby eggplants, which I had never heard about before and thought may have been mutant leathery peas.
The food situation at the new BKK airport? Well, there are any number of places that will do antipasto, or sushi, or even gourmet hotdogs. But thai food? No! Is there some cultural cringe at work? Is this something to do with the fact that in Stockholm every restaurant is a Thai restaurant and it's actually quite hard to find swedish food? (I did however have a sublime lunch at the Riksmusuem. Herring with mustard; potatoes with dill. I felt very Scandy.)
The airport did remind me of something. Its doomed hubristic scale, and the way that it'll never be finished.. it reminded me of the Pyongyang pyramid. "Mr Lee, what's that huge building over there, it must be over 100 stories high.." "Err.. what building, Mr James?" (It doesn't officially exist, so we were supposed to ignore it. I must write more about my visit to the DPRK.)
It's massive in scale, but it has that not-quite-finished look you often get Thailand. Exposed wiring, wall panels that don't quite join up, that sort of thing. And nothing quite works, of course, but in the old Bangkok airport you expected it: it had low ceilings and a vaguely makeshift 50s aesthetic. The new one, on the other hands, screams modern, or at least until you want to do something that's actually modern, like, say checking your emails. We had to go from one arm of the beast to the other, which seemed to be about a mile.
The other thing I miss (apart from the bizarre touch of having people playing golf between the runways, or was I just imagining that?) was the delightfully named Terminal Restaurant, where you could get uncompromising Thai food. It was the first place I ever experienced that thing they do with the baby eggplants, which I had never heard about before and thought may have been mutant leathery peas.
The food situation at the new BKK airport? Well, there are any number of places that will do antipasto, or sushi, or even gourmet hotdogs. But thai food? No! Is there some cultural cringe at work? Is this something to do with the fact that in Stockholm every restaurant is a Thai restaurant and it's actually quite hard to find swedish food? (I did however have a sublime lunch at the Riksmusuem. Herring with mustard; potatoes with dill. I felt very Scandy.)
The airport did remind me of something. Its doomed hubristic scale, and the way that it'll never be finished.. it reminded me of the Pyongyang pyramid. "Mr Lee, what's that huge building over there, it must be over 100 stories high.." "Err.. what building, Mr James?" (It doesn't officially exist, so we were supposed to ignore it. I must write more about my visit to the DPRK.)
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
EP
I saw that Anthony Minghella, who directed 'The English Patient', died. For some spooky reason I was thinking about this movie the other day, and I rememered a line from King of the Hill, where Hank says:
"You don't have to be English to watch this film, but you sure as hell have to be patient."
Needless to say, I didn't actually see the movie.
"You don't have to be English to watch this film, but you sure as hell have to be patient."
Needless to say, I didn't actually see the movie.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Wrong way.
Late night; mild hangover. I noticed that someone found this blog by googling:
wrong way to deal with life crisis
wrong way to deal with life crisis
Friday, March 14, 2008
Theater.
I went with a friend to a preview of a play tonight, she had free tickets. It was "The Kid", an early 80s piece by Michael Gow (and no, I hadn't heard of it - or him - either). Edgy, controversial and whatnot.
I didn't get it. And when I talked with my friend afterwards, we agreed that the problem with theater generally is that it's so... well, theatrical.
I didn't get it. And when I talked with my friend afterwards, we agreed that the problem with theater generally is that it's so... well, theatrical.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
DJ895
There was a young man on the flight sitting next to me this evening who was wearing a baseball cap AND who called me 'bro', which normally would have set me off into my usual silent frenzy of disdain, but he was quite polite (and a south african) and I was just grateful to be on the flight, having realised halfway through the afternoon that I had, in fact, booked for the wrong day and was scheduled to fly tomorrow instead of today. Which then cost me to more to change than it had cost to buy the ticket in the first place. I consoled myself by buying a can of diet coke for $2.50 which, when you think about it, is actually a pretty good price. In midair.
All other things being equal, I tend to fly Virgin Blue rather than Qantas for a couple of reasons: 1) DJ have a slightly better on-time departure and arrival record than QF, 2) I do like that thing where you can board and disembark using the rear stairs, which involves walking along the tarmac and seeing all the planes up close, which in turn appeals to my inner 9 year-old and has a vague Beatles-at-Idlewild thing going, and 3) Qantas is Telstra-with-wings in some respects.
All other things being equal, I tend to fly Virgin Blue rather than Qantas for a couple of reasons: 1) DJ have a slightly better on-time departure and arrival record than QF, 2) I do like that thing where you can board and disembark using the rear stairs, which involves walking along the tarmac and seeing all the planes up close, which in turn appeals to my inner 9 year-old and has a vague Beatles-at-Idlewild thing going, and 3) Qantas is Telstra-with-wings in some respects.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Russian
I was watching television today with my kids (I'm a very lazy parent) and there was an ad for Domino's pizza. They were advertising, among other things, a 'Russian' pizza. The voiceover was a woman with a Boris-and-Natasha russian accent. The selling point for this pizza? It had lots of tomato, and various other things, none of which were remotely russian. If you don't believe me, here's a link.
I've been to Russia and there was hardly any food there at all, as far as could see. But a 'russian' pizza, if you were to make such a thing (why? why on earth?) would have... well, caviar, vodka, more vodka, borscht, cabbage, black bread. When I was in Russia in the early 90s the people looked as though they'd be happy to eat the bark off trees. So maybe you could throw that on as well.
Extra: as I was writing this I had a flashback to a fantastical menu item they had at Domino's for a while last year, the 'Meat Pie Pizza'. It's no longer available, but you can see a picture of it here. This is wrong in so many ways I can't even begin to start but at the same time it has a certain exuberant charm.
I've been to Russia and there was hardly any food there at all, as far as could see. But a 'russian' pizza, if you were to make such a thing (why? why on earth?) would have... well, caviar, vodka, more vodka, borscht, cabbage, black bread. When I was in Russia in the early 90s the people looked as though they'd be happy to eat the bark off trees. So maybe you could throw that on as well.
Extra: as I was writing this I had a flashback to a fantastical menu item they had at Domino's for a while last year, the 'Meat Pie Pizza'. It's no longer available, but you can see a picture of it here. This is wrong in so many ways I can't even begin to start but at the same time it has a certain exuberant charm.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Busted
In Melbourne this morning, I crossed Spencer Street against the lights, on foot (of course). There was a break in traffic and I went half-way across, as one does, and waited for another break in traffic to go all the way across. I was thinking at the time how very Melbourne-y it all was; trams, slate-grey sky, a bit of wind and rain, agreeably chilly and whatnot. The light changed, I continued crossing the road.
As I got to the other side a policeman approached me with an 'excuse me'. I wasn't anxious or upset, I quite welcomed the interruption. The last encounter I'd had with cops had been at a very convivial barbeque where there was a lot of discussion about various LACs and PQDs (or PDQ? Pretty Damn Quick?).
He said that I'd crossed against the lights, but that it was good that I hadn't in fact crossed all the way, and that I'd waited for the lights to continue my crossing (which was only because there were cars galore). I tried to look contrite. He told me I'd get away with a warning, and that I should watch out if I'm in the city around Grand Prix time, as they were planning on having a blitz on jaywalking. He was friendly, almost apologetic so I tried to make it as easy for both of us as possible. He then asked for my name and address (maybe he was a bit like the cops at Tony's bbq after all? I can never tell) which I gave, and while it ocurred to me at the time that I could just make up something "John W Howard, Wollstoncraft"). I was also wondering whether I really did have to give my details at all but I figured I wasn't really in a position to make a big deal of it, and he was quite polite about the whole thing.
As I got to the other side a policeman approached me with an 'excuse me'. I wasn't anxious or upset, I quite welcomed the interruption. The last encounter I'd had with cops had been at a very convivial barbeque where there was a lot of discussion about various LACs and PQDs (or PDQ? Pretty Damn Quick?).
He said that I'd crossed against the lights, but that it was good that I hadn't in fact crossed all the way, and that I'd waited for the lights to continue my crossing (which was only because there were cars galore). I tried to look contrite. He told me I'd get away with a warning, and that I should watch out if I'm in the city around Grand Prix time, as they were planning on having a blitz on jaywalking. He was friendly, almost apologetic so I tried to make it as easy for both of us as possible. He then asked for my name and address (maybe he was a bit like the cops at Tony's bbq after all? I can never tell) which I gave, and while it ocurred to me at the time that I could just make up something "John W Howard, Wollstoncraft"). I was also wondering whether I really did have to give my details at all but I figured I wasn't really in a position to make a big deal of it, and he was quite polite about the whole thing.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
I really don't want this blog to degenerate into one of those grumpy-old-men whinges about how everything was better and more authentic when I was a kid and whatnot, but what's the deal with Rogue Traders? It's painful to watch; she's a soap opera actress who's playing a rock chick and it has this prefabricated quality to it. Wear these clothes, Natalie, pout like this, growl when you sing etc. It's like those ads where they get chimpanzees to pretend they're at a tea party, and just as dreadful. I was especially perturbed they were at the Mardi Gras party (Rogue Traders, not the tea-drinking chimps. Although that's possible too, you just never know).
Partner
The good news is that I beat my new tennis partner, Dan, 6-3 today. I was exceptionally studly about it too. And yes, I know he had a hangover, and he at one point got all twisted up when he was doing a backhand and managed to whack himself in the head with his racquet so hard that he was bleeding, but a win is a win. And it's not like I hit him with the racquet to make him bleed; you could even argue that he only did it to himself because of my superb shot-making, so in that sense it's an integral (even though seldom-seen) part of the game.
The bad news is that he announced he's just bought a round-the-world air ticket and is leaving on Tuesday. Aaargh! I finally find someone I can beat and he skips the country! I have to say, if I see him anywhere around town in the next couple of weeks I really am going to hit him with my racquet. I'm slightly suspicious that he only mentioned this "ticket" after we'd played out the set and I was basking in glory, but in a fairly restrained and dignified way (I thought).
The bad news is that he announced he's just bought a round-the-world air ticket and is leaving on Tuesday. Aaargh! I finally find someone I can beat and he skips the country! I have to say, if I see him anywhere around town in the next couple of weeks I really am going to hit him with my racquet. I'm slightly suspicious that he only mentioned this "ticket" after we'd played out the set and I was basking in glory, but in a fairly restrained and dignified way (I thought).
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Celtic.
Recently I was talking to a friend, a woman who has two children, and she told me that she was thinking of getting a tattoo. The tattoo would have her two children's names, done in a fairly stylised way and in celtic lettering (well it would be, wouldn't it? Why not helvetica? Times New Roman?). She was planning on getting this on her upper back, behind her shoulder. This, apparently, isn't unusual.
So far so good. I couldn't resist though, I had to ask "why?". As I expected, she said it was to commemorate them, to give her something on her body to remember them by. I let this go, of course, but on reflection this just sounds all wrong. Without putting too fine a point on it, she already has some reminders on her body, and, for another thing, what's the risk that at some point she'll somehow forget she has children? And if she does, she's not going to be able to see this tattoo anyway, it's behind her shoulder. The only chance is that she's walking down the street and someone says to her "that's an interesting tatt, what does it mean?", at which point she'll presumably slap her forehead, d'oh!.
So far so good. I couldn't resist though, I had to ask "why?". As I expected, she said it was to commemorate them, to give her something on her body to remember them by. I let this go, of course, but on reflection this just sounds all wrong. Without putting too fine a point on it, she already has some reminders on her body, and, for another thing, what's the risk that at some point she'll somehow forget she has children? And if she does, she's not going to be able to see this tattoo anyway, it's behind her shoulder. The only chance is that she's walking down the street and someone says to her "that's an interesting tatt, what does it mean?", at which point she'll presumably slap her forehead, d'oh!.
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