Moony’s Musings

Firstly, I apologise profusely for the title of the post. It’s a joke. Sometimes, in those long, lonely nights, when the cold winds howl, you might give a broken, hollow chuckle at it, before lapsing back into the dark, shadowy depths of your tortured soul.

Secondly, my friend Ben wants to point out he has a 50% stake in the ideas developed in this post. Regrettably, this is perfectly true.

Thirdly, I hope my opening sentence has actually beaten “It was a dark and stormy night” to the purple prose award.

And now, the actual post:

Stormtroopers. They were the main, in fact the only, en masse fighting force of the Empire in the Star Wars franchise. Sure, we had those grey-uniformed Imperial Officers (or was it a kind of sea blue? Perhaps the pallid light of the Death Stars gave them that colour). But they were inept, ugly, and often unarmed. Sure, we had The Emperor and his trusty aide, Darth Vader. But they didn’t actually do much in the way of fighting and more in the way of standing around looking impressive and having, between them, a good deal of frog impersonations and asthma attacks. And we had a contingent of bounty hunters, but the whole point of bounty hunters was that they only followed orders which would bring them good prey and lots of money - so, not really an army. So, in fact, the Stormtroopers were the Empire’s only reliable ground-based weapon.

To cut a long story (three films and a good deal of Extended Universe literature) short, the Empire lost the war. Funny, that, since the Rebellion was a smaller force by far. Of course, considering the huge events like Luke becoming a Jedi, Darth Vader’s treachery, the Battle of Yavin and the Battle of Endor, the victory doesn’t seem so unlikely, yet still there’s that little niggling thought: not all the Stormtroopers were on the Death Stars. For a start, there were military bases on Coruscant. And while the Coruscant Rebellion was quashed at first, they eventually and without much trouble beat the Imperial army. The same thing was repeated all over the galaxy, which personally strikes me as more than a little odd. Clearly, as the main brunt of the Imperial force, the Stormtroopers are supposed to be a hardy force. But, given the limited footage of them that we have, let’s take a moment to analyse:

Stormtrooper armour is visibly bulky and clumsy, slows its wearer down, probably hampers vision, and makes loud tell-tale clattering noises.

Stormtrooper armour does not hinder or deflect lasers. In fact, it seems to conduct them. How do I come to this reasoning? When you shoot a Stormtrooper, he just dies. And the only thing on the armour will be a small blackened mark. The mark is clearly from the heat of the laser bolt, but a dose of heat in one place, however strong, won’t kill you. Heat strong enough to kill a man from that would also probably be melting the walls around the laser bolt. So, with no mortal heat damage, and the beam not even going through the armour, why do they die so readily? Well, clearly, the electrical energy from the plasma of the laser, which is obviously its killing power, is somehow conducted instantly through the armour. It’s the only real explanation.

Stormtrooper armour is bright, very distinctive, and coloured white. The only place such armour was useful was Hoth. In all other cases, together with the conductive properties, cumbersomeness and loudness, Stormtrooper armour is basically a huge Imperial ‘KILL ME’ sign.

So, what’s the reason for this patently idiotic statement on the Empire’s part - making their only fighting force as vulnerable as fish out of the water? Fish out of the water WEARING CONDUCTIVE CLANKING WHITE ARMOUR? Well, I’ve got three ideas. The first is that the Kaminoans, the original creators of the original Clone Troopers who fought for the Republic before being defeated and turned into Stormtroopers, weren’t particularly bright when it came to tactics. But they did very, very well at aesthetically pleasing design. I mean, they’re beautiful and graceful in themselves, their cities are wonderful pieces of architecture, even their clone vats are works of simple elegance. So clearly they designed soldiers that would look good over functioning well. This makes Clone Troopers the first Apple-designed military force in the Galaxy.

The second idea links into that one, and stems from the question of why didn’t the Emperor fix this obvious flaw when he took control of the troopers? My answer to this is that the man very obviously had a death wish. He was, in fact, suicidal. The entire end sequence of Return of the Jedi was orchestrated by him, in a brilliant and genial masterstroke. He planned for Vader to betray him and for Luke to not turn. He even planned that Luke would take down the Empire and become a Jedi, by letting him rescue Leia, then showing him holograms of Obi-Wan in his delirious state on Hoth. For all we know, actually, Yoda was some kind of Empire-controlled puppet, and not even real! I BET HE WAS VOICED BY FRANK OZ, ON THE PAYROLL OF THE EMPIRE. And last, but not least - the Emperor’s force lightning. Think about it. Force lightning. Metal Death Star. Luke, Vader and the Emperor probably had rubber soles on the shoes. But all the Stormtroopers? Conductive armour, remember? Genius.

The third theory is a little saner (read: less awesome), but still a conspiracy. What if, instead of being hoplessly inept at miliary matters, the Kaminoans were actually the greatest masterminds in the Galaxy? What if they had planned for the Republic, and then the Empire, to fall, to make way for a better, more perfect, less corrupt order? After all, the Republic fell with the Clone Troopers as their military base, and the Empire fell with the Stormtroopers - and the New Republic stopped using that armour entirely. Clearly, Kaminoans are some kind of mighty Master Race, watching over the fate of the Galaxy for all eternity. When current ruling systems are not to their liking, they, with offers of help, provide them a gun to the head. It keeps the galaxy clean, uncorrupt, and fun!

To conclude, I motion that (thanks to Ben for the name) Stormtroopers be renamed as Gentle Breeze Troopers.

…So there I was, sitting on the computer, having just finished my Buffy episode, quit MSN and IRC and prepared all my torrents to download overnight.

So there I was, sitting.

Just like that. Clicking from tab to tab on two forums, refreshing for new posts.

I had nothing to do.

And it suddenly stuck me that I do this often - I go “Ooh, I’m going to have an early night!”, and then I sit for a good half hour, doing nearly nothing, then finally starting on some late-night Photoshop project or YouTube spree which carries me happily over to 1am. Then the next day I’m dead as dead can be at school, and no wonder!

So now I’m going to bed.

P.S. Is it worrying at all that I buy pens based on their resistatnce to chewing? (Papermate Kilometricos are the best. Really sturdy.)

…that would make for a fantastic indie album or song name.

Anyway, this blog post came about from a complex grouping of events, namely a particularly witty night in IRC chat, a particularly onerous and procrastination-inducing assignment for school (it’s not actually onerous, I was just dying to use that word and am very happy now that I have, twice), and an itch to babble on the blog. So, without further ado, I present the babbling.

We were discussing in IRC (IRC is Internet Relay Chat, it’s like MSN for people who have a sociopathic feeling towards graphics and/or want to feel they still live in the 90s, when the Internet was a frightening user-unfriendly beast and everyone on it was an intellectual) about copyright law and how it’s silly and doesn’t make much sense, at least in the way we understand it. Of course as uneducated plebians, we probably shouldn’t be holding discussions about copyright law, which is why I’m so glad the conversation quickly moved into the field of zombies, which is much easier to be an expert in. But the main problem with copyright law we found was:

Why is it illegal to share music for no profit when it’s perfectly legal to sell on music for 100% profit to yourself?

We may be wrong and that may be illegal, too, but we don’t think it is because why would Ebay and Amazon especially allow it? Obviously selling music for 100% personal gain and sharing it ends up with an identical result for the music industry/artists - no revenue. So why is sharing illegal? Is it that dirty unwholesome feeling lawyers get when they see stuff happening with absolutely no exchange of money whatsoever? I bet it is.

After roundly berating copyright law, the conversation drifted into the waters of why we should live in a Communist society. It was here that I had the brilliant idea of a zombie communism. Observe:

1. A bunch of clever souls sets off a zombie virus, then retreat to the total safety of concrete bunkers deep under the Antarctic ice (or somewhere, possibly Brighton). The zombie virus awakens the dead, who eat most of the human population and turn the rest into zombies. The world is, after a brief period of violence and bloodshed, ruled by zombies. Compare this with step 5 of Marx’s theory of history, Socialism or the Dictatorship of the Proletariat. Here the Proletariat is, of course, zombies. But everything is correct - a bloody overthrow, a period of instability, and a temporary class-based society.

2. This class-based society is, of course, the huge majority of zombies, who between themselves are all equal, and the remaining humans. The next step in Marx’s system is Communism, when the class system is completely abolished and everyone is equal. Of course in the USSR this hit the patently predictable snag that people in power don’t want to be equal, but in the new zombie society, this is easily fixed. The human ‘class’ will, during an unspecified period, be eaten and zombiefied due to accidents, carelessness and misplaced courage. Eventually everyone is a zombie. The class system is abolished.

3. In the new Communist society, everything is completely equal because all the zombies shamble at the same speed and all want one thing equally - brains. Of course, here we hit the snag that zombies need human brains to eat. But this too is relatable to communism! Remember, in USSR communism, there was mass starvation! IT ALL WORKS OUT. The zombie society, like many utopias, is perfect and short-lived.

Corollary: If we follow the zombie theory whereby zombies can eat each other’s brains to survive, the society prospers for a short time before also collapsing. The zombie society is therefore a perfect self-replicating self-destroying society. I suppose it’s extremely useful for clearing out planets.

Corollary 2: If the zombies don’t actually need brains to survive (here we follow the ‘100% undead’ theory of zombies, while I prefer the ‘Initially undead-cum-infected but alive’ theory or the ‘100% infected’ theory), the society is eternal. Perfect communism, no problems here. It all depends on what theory you want to subscribe to.

Note: This also brings up the point that cannibalism is the only true survival path for a communist society. Everyone has to be equal - if humans feed on each other, they all have an equal (on average) chance of being eaten, hence equality is upheld. If we eat animals or plants who have little to no chance of eating us, the equality is destroyed. This is also known as Grotesque Truth Communism. It works with Triffids, too.

Corollary 3: The Vegetarian Corollary. If the zombies turn vegetarian, moaning for “Graaaaaaains”, the entire system becomes a kind of scary capitalism. Either they all become vegetarian, and have to learn to farm to avoid death, creating a society where the farming zombies feed the non-farming ones; or they don’t learn to farm, all dying; or only some become vegetarian and are hunted down and beaten to a slimy pulp by the rest.

Corollary 4: The Marie Antoinette Corollary, as suggested by Sophie. “Let them eat cake.” We’ll let this one speak for itself.

So there we go, the Zombie System of Communism, also known as Why Zombies Should Rule The World. Feel free to request being added to the list of people saved from the zombies at first. We’ll be opening our Brighton bunker as soon as we develop the zombie virus. But remember, you’re setting yourself up for being eventually eaten to further the true cause!

I confirmed two very interesting things today which I had suspected for a while: one, some thumbnail pictures, such as the ones you can see in folders in thumbnail view, are part of some full-size pictures (i.e. the OS does not generate them depending on what the picture looks like, the actual picture manages it), and two, these certain thumbnails often don’t ever reflect any changes made to the original image.

This may be a Mac-specific bug or feature or whatever you want to call it, and I suspect it affects (note the some) only photos taken with certain digital cameras (don’t quote me on this), but all the same it provides a wonderful and fascinating view into the secret lives of images, such as what an image originally looked like.

It’s easier to see this in an example. At some point I had copied comics from xkcd to my desktop to print them off and stick them on my wall. One of these was the surreal Malaria Party comic, which looks like this:

I started today on one of my monthly desktop cleanups (My desktop fits 152 icons, and when the space runs out, which happens quickly - I come from the drag-to-desktop school of computer use - new icons will move to the top right corner of the screen. One on top of another. Soon a little solid block of text will form where the labels overlap, and I will know it’s time to clean up).

As I was deleting and moving in a Finder window (not on the Desktop itself, where this picture’s thumbnail is just a Xee filler thumbnail (by the by, if you have a Mac, get Xee. It owns Preview)), I noticed that the comic’s thumbnail looks, fascinatingly, like this:

!!!

What can we deduce from this?

1. This is one of the early xkcds. Randall didn’t scan this comic, he took a photo of it. I have no idea why. Low budget? In a hurry? In a hurry to increase budget? We can only wonder.

2. The comic in its original format is surrounded by some equations! How delightfully geeky. Can anyone figure out what they are? Maybe it’s a secret proof for Fermat’s Last Theorem!

(And yes, that is the maximum size of the thumbnail, 128px. I tried increasing the thumbnail size via the Terminal but it just pixellated. Is that a verb?)

Anyhow, I wonder how many other images on the internet can reveal their stories to us via the curious, overlooked world of thumbnails. And I’d love it if someone could do some research into the specifics of this feature/bug - does it work on Windows or Linux? Does it have anything to do with a digital camera taking the photo? Where is this thumbnail stored and what stops the OS from overwriting it with a current one?

I got a job today! It’s shiny and pretty and in all other ways good. Well - it is so far, in the sense that I haven’t actually had a single day working yet and have not, actually, signed the forms to accept the job. Psh, details.

So, what getting a job was like for me. First my friend Rhiannon decided to hand in her resume to Blockbuster (a video rental store, as I’m sure everyone is aware.) That is what happened first. Then I found out that Video Ezy, the other (and better) video rental store in the vicinity, was closing for good and had sold all its stock to Blockbuster. This got me thinking that surely, they’d need new workers if something so major was occurring. That is what happened second. Then, I went in to hand in my resume and, through pure luck, the store manager (a lovely intelligent woman) was there and told me to come on Friday for an interview. That is what happened third. Yes. Oh how the mighty have fallen. Blockbuster, eh, Ralphie. Eh. Eh.

Fourth, I was wracked for a week by intense guilt as Blockbuster miserably failed to ring Rhiannon, who had applied earlier than me and really in all ways deserved a job much more. But nothing could be done - I promised her I’d ask them about her wayward resume when I was there on Friday and that was all I could do.

Then came the interview. During the week I hadn’t been around, they had managed to change the shape of the front desk, put in new shelves, remove the office, put a glass… thing in a corner, and repaint the windows. This was all to accomodate the huge Video Ezy collection. I still have no idea how it’s going to fit. The manager led me to a door in the back of the store, which opened up on a very small, strange-smelling corridor which could only really be described as a broom closet. I suddenly got an interesting and slightly worrying recollection of Rita Skeeter and Harry Potter. The recollection was much intensified when she explained that potentially they have chairs somewhere but really it would be easier to find a piece of floor and sit there. So we did. The recollection was further strengthened when she got a piece of paper and a pen - at least it didn’t write by itself.

The questions started quite innocently, along the lines of ‘tell me about your prior work experience’ and ‘what is your favourite movie’ (Donnie Darko and Casablanca). Then, suddenly, we were on scary unfamiliar psychoanalysis ground and I realised that this was actually a real honest-to-God job interview, I hadn’t prepared any answers, was incredibly nervous, and babbling. ‘If you were me, would you hire yourself and why?’ really stumped me, for starters. And remember, kids, the most important person in the store is not the manager, as I so readily provided, but the customer. Of course that makes sense after the scary interview was over but at the time, the world was fuzzy and forgetful and full of ums. I recall I was also fiddling with three random pieces of plastic rubbish - I must’ve looked quite a sight. But then suddenly the interview was over and apparently, for all intents and purposes, I had gotten the job. Apparently I did well. I was vaguely astonished. I didn’t think I did well, I think I made about as much sense during the interview as a very excited daschund. As for Rhiannon’s resume, the manager had apparently never gotten it. So with luck she’ll resubmit it and also get a job. Remember, Rhi. CUSTOMER not MANAGER. And make sure you know your favourite movie, nobody should have to think about that for longer than three seconds.

I was wondering of late (as, I’m sure, any completely insane person with much better things to do would wonder) about the phrase ‘curiosity killed the cat’. I, after some thought on the matter, came to the conclusion that the phrase really is quite ridiculous. Out of my gallant nature, I even let the cats themselves show their views:

I mean, let’s think about this logically. What are the main characteristics of cats? They are:

1. Lazy
2. Cuddleable and cute
3. Have an amazing ability to be as annoying as possible (sit on your lap when you’re trying to read a book; weave between your legs when you’re going down the stairs; miaow at you when you’re cooking dinner, then when you finally concede them a piece of the meal, stare at you in utter amazement as if they would never even contemplate eating something like that) but still remain loved and adored
4. Lazy
5. Apathetic
6. Lazy
7. Much more independent, haughty and self-serving than, say, dogs. Dogs are Windows XP. Cats are the bash prompt. They don’t make it easy. (Vista would be some kind of constipated elephant, possibly with rabies.)

Now, you tell me, where in those characteristics is even the tiniest suggestion of curiosity? In their independence, maybe, but that’s more very specific business-like intentions of knowing exactly where, when and why they’re going than a jumping-up-and-down-on-the-spot doglike curiosity. Dogs love walks because they’re eternally curious (and stupid) and have no idea what they’re going to see on the walk today even though they’ve done the exact same walk for the last three years. Cats know what they’re going to find. And if something is new, it will be treated with a haughty this-is-below-me indifference - certainly not curiosity. Cats are also quite cautious, that doesn’t lend itself to curiosity either.

Really, I suspect that the whole ‘curiosity killed the cat’ affair was created for a much simpler reason, and some research on Wikipedia seems to support my argument (the original phrase was ‘care killed the cat’, in the sense of worry, and it may have been invented or popularised by playwrights.) Look at the two phrases. Curiosity didn’t kill the cat, alliteration did. Kuriosity Killed the Kat. Simple. Blame the English language for the metaphorical deaths of hundreds of innocent kitties. That or playwrights. God knows how many crimes Shakespeare has had to atone to in the last 400 years, but this may well be another one of them.

Oh, and also, Schroedinger killed the cat.

Maybe.

The world’s preoccupation with packaging is reaching an alarming level. Today I finally knew that humanity is doomed. Doomed to a doom of easy-open packets INSIDE easy-open packets. In a box. In a bigger box. In a bag. To prove my point, I present this photo-post.

I purchased this delicious box of Milo cereal (as in, the Milo cereal was delicious. Not the box. The box was made of cardboard. It would be delicious for people who like cardboard, I assume.) I like Milo cereal, it comes in cute little flakes the shape of which is very hard to explain… they’re like small bowls. Yeah. Milo is a chocolate/malt milk drink and an Australian icon, by the way, and it is even more delicious than Vegemite. (Gasp!) I guess it is a bit like Ovaltine. Anyway, the cereal is Milo-flavoured. Notice the free footbag I will be receiving in this box. I don’t know what a footbag is. I imagine it is a bag you put on your foot.

I open the Milo box because I am craving cereal. As always, the cereal is packaged in a reflective aluminium bag. I assume this is to defend it from the evil influence of alien mind-reading devices. As always, the bag is half-filled. ‘This product is packaged by weight, not volume. Some settling of contents [read: mysterious disappearance of half the weight] may occur during shipping. Bitches.‘ Yeah, they’ve settled, all right. SETTLED IN PARAGUAY TO BRING UP A FAMILY! *maniacal laughter* Anyway:

Current number of packaging pieces: 2. This is the standard for cereal. But remember! This cereal has a footbag. The footbag turns out to be a hacky sack of some kind. A really shoddy hacky sack. There isn’t much hacky in it, I bet. But I don’t expect much more from a cereal freebie. Gone are the days when we got decent, awesome toys in our cereal. Oh. Wait. That’s right. Gone are the days when a hacky sack counted as a decent, awesome toy. If cereal companies want to keep children happy now, they’ll have to at least package a GameBoy in there. Anyway, the… footbag. It was lying under the bag of cereal. It was wrapped:

See that quality package? Wait, no. See those two quality packages? Current number of packaging pieces: 4. That’s new. Now, let’s work through this slowly. What is packaging used for? Basically put, to stop one thing touching another thing. It touches the packaging instead. This is why using flayed human skin as packaging is not recommended. Okay, so the cereal is packaged so it doesn’t touch the box. This is quite reasonable, since what happens if the box breaks open during shipping? Whoomph, cereal disaster. Now, why is the hacky sack packaged? So it doesn’t touch the box, I assume. Why? No bloody clue. Will it contract cardboard plague? I doubt it. But that’s just normal insanity. How about explaning why the hacky sack is packaged twice? Just in case the outer plastic spontaneously catches fire? I thought about this for a very long time. Finally I thought, the second package is much smaller. The hacky sack is compressed and takes up less space during packaging. That’s never bad. But then I remembered, the pack is in another pack. Which is filled with air. Never mind. Insanity rules. *Runs around dancing and gibbering*.

P.S. It appears the hacky sack I got was the most stupid of the four designs. I assume it’s supposed to be a vague representation of a basketball. It looks like a deflated mandarin.

…and also a crazy invention I came up with. That’s down the page.

Today I decided to go to City (which is both the and the only place to be in Canberra, on account of us having a population of 100 people and a bunch of kangaroos - sort of like that theoretical village which represents everyone on Earth but real.) Yesterday I got $20 for services rendered to one of my mum’s friends - namely, showing how how to burn a CD; this money, I decided, was sufficient reason to make a trip to City and do some lightweight window-shopping.

The window shopping went very well. I looked into Impact Comics, who were advertising a new comic book series based on Serenity, touchingly named Better Days. I’m sure this’ll be of interest to the friends of mine who dabble in the other side of Joss Whedon. Then I went to Borders, who sadly only had one of the three component parts of the His Dark Materials trilogy in hardcover (HDM is my favourite work of literature and rightly so.) Then it came to me that seeing as I had some money and a Credit Card, one of those mystical things spoken of in hushed and reverent whispers (for much, much more on credit cards, see below), I should look into buying one of the things I really, really want to buy. The things I really, really want to buy are as follows:

• A zeppelin (intangible and tantalising)
• A record player (tangible and tantalising)
• An iPod Touch (tangible and godly)
• A Mac Mini purely to run a webserver on (tangible and totally useless)
• Sticker paper and a Sharpie (very tangible, very cheap and quite tantalising, just I never get around to getting them).

I shall not say what I want the sticker paper and Sharpie for. That is for me to know and eventually blog about, after which you will undoubtedly find out. Anyway, today I decided that I might try my luck at crossing off item 2 on my list, the record player. I decided I really, really want a record player for my room after we housesitted (sic?) for some very rich, lovely friends of ours who happened to have one. Along with New Order, Beatles and Simon and Garfunkel records. Let me tell you, I was in heaven. Record players, I decided like a true musical snob, give the warmest, most pleasant sound of any medium, and that’s on top of being really, really awesome. It’s just a happy delightful feeling: using a record player, lining up the needle, hearing that first warm crackle as the record spins, and the unique noise if you stop the turntable without lifting the needle.

JB Hifi was my first port of call. They had turntables, indeed. All the staff also clearly had better things to do than help me, and the cheapest turntable I could find was $120 and was disgusting and shiny and new. Surely the point of a turntable is that it doesn’t look new. Alas.

My second port of call was Big W (a major department store), who didn’t have anything in the way of turntables. I was also browsing for some new clothes (by the by, you understand), and as usual their jeans sizes started at a happy 107cm. I think I’m 80cm or something, so as I wasn’t particularly fond of resembling MC Hammer, I pressed on.

The third store I went to was Dick Smith Electronics, which is considered the best electronics store in Australia. Their new Powerhouse (read: really big store) had opened in the revamped part of Canberra Centre, the shopping center in City, so I headed over there. On the way I bumped into Freya, a Frenchie who goes to Narrabundah College with me (and with her being a Frenchie, we don’t see each other much.) Frenchies are the French-streamers of Telopea High School (my previous school), which, being a binational school, is divided into two learning streams. The English-streamers dislike the French-streamers for snobbishness, better fashion sense and cooler social groups (and just because, y’know, they’re Frenchies). By year 10 I had gotten to be good friends with a number of them, though, so meeting Freya was a pleasant surprise. Then, continuing on, I met Khoi and Co. in ALDI. I love ALDI. It is a happy little bundle of cheap producty goodness. I was thirsty and found some obscure Austrian energy drink which costs about a third as much as Red Bull and tastes the same. I can only assume it gives me less energy, on account of the Austrians enjoying sausages and fattening delicacies and not needing any extra energy. I love you, Austrians! Really I do! My third-favourite TV show is Inspector Rex, that’s how much I love you! I wonder if Inspector Rex drinks Austrian energy drinks. I wonder if thats why he’s so smart. I shall have to look into this matter. Saying Hello, Goodbye to Khoi and Co., I finally got to Dick Smith. I appear to be making this into an epic journey. Believe me, it was. Dick Smith also purveyed turntables. Here the cheapest one cost $100 and looked even glitzier than the one in JB Hifi. Also I saw the Macbook Air. It is thin. That is what it is. I have no further thoughts on the matter. I squeed a lot more about the Asus (sq)eeePC, though, and added ‘Kawaii desu ne’ to an OpenOffice Writer document someone had opened to type ‘Wow it’s so small!!!!!!!’ (yes, I counted the damn exclamation marks.) However, despairing about ever owning a record player, I walked out. Here it struck me that the last place I should check is Target, who are unlikely to purvey record players but worth a shot anyway.

Target is a department store, mainly specialising in clothing, much like Big W. About two years ago, they were the worst department stores in Australia, with not nearly enough staff, little product choice and constant customer complaints. At some point afterwards, they went through a complete facelift (possibly new management, I don’t know) and have since today become my favourite department store ever, as I suddenly saw the immediate effects of said facelift.

First in Target I went to the clothing section. It was big. Really big. Bigger than Big W’s by far. And - OMFG &c., they had clothing starting at normal human sizes! This was a shock I was not ready for. Neither, I regret to say, was my Credit Card [sweeping majestic music as befits the wonder of a Credit Card]. Having happily ransacked every aisle in men’s clothing, I came out $50 poorer and with new pants (of my size ) and a very awesome new jacket perfect for winter. Also, their changerooms have that cool mirror arrangement where you can see yourself from all sides. First thought: bejeesus I have a big nose. Second thought: heh, the back of my head looks like everyone else’s. Third thought: bejeesus I have a big nose. Fourth thought: I have never seen my arse before and I assume God designed us unable to see them for specifically that reason. Fifth thought: bejeesus I have a big Adam’s apple. And nose.

After clothing myself up, I headed to Target’s Other Random Goods We Can’t Come Up With A Good Name For Section (also known as Homewares, I believe). It was here that I saw my baby. I then, after some dilly-dallying, bought said baby, for a mere (mere!) $79. The baby is more or less the most amazing and most perfect (for me) thing I have ever seen. It’s an antique-style combined CD player, radio and record turntable. You are now free to gasp in awe and amazement. It looks, in fact, like this: http://target.dynamiccatalogue.com.au/portal/offerdetails/base_cdradioturntable/1185719525772?Ns=1Price|1&N=4294966379 (from Target’s catalogue) or like this, from my own camera:

…which is heaps cooler, if only because of the xkcd corner and my D&D miniatures. I must blog about the xkcd corner at some point. I must point out that in the photo the center dial, which is the tuner setting, is lit up by tasteful lamps, although the flash seems to cancel them out. As you can see, the entire thing is very very tasteful. In terms of quality, the tuner is a little crap, I might consider opening it up and inserting a better one if I can, although I suspect it won’t end well considering it’ll be wired to the dial in the middle. So never mind. The CD player, which is also old-fashioned (well, as old-fashioned as a CD player can be, the faceplate is a kind of dappled coppery-black and fits perfectly with the colour of the wood), required a few hits with my palm before it stopped skipping. Which… is a little odd, actually, considering they skip when they’re jolted. I haven’t tested the turntable yet, as I don’t have any records, but I shall start buying them from second-hand stores as soon as I am able. And the speakers are lovely and loud. All in all, this is an absolute treasure.

And now, credit cards. Credit cards are little plastic wondrous things and should be venerated as gods. This is especially when the credit card in question is in my name, but connected to Mum’s account. It’s like a magical pot of money that just doesn’t end! So, who else can’t see this ending anything but badly? The only thing is that my signature on the card was really badly done and my signature on everything else seems to have somehow changed mysteriously, so I always get a little (probably unreasonable) jolt of apprehension whenever I approach the cash registers.

And now, finally, my crazy invention - it’s extremely simple. I have a 2GB iPod nano (annoyingly small, since my music collection is 7GB), and on top of that I once dropped it into a sand dune after which it never really recovered, especially the earphones. I used another pair after that but of late, a connection in the jack part seems to have worn lose and it only plays out of both ears when the cord coming out of the jack is at a very specific angle. So, I was in the grocery store today (yes, I managed to fit that in as well, aren’t I amazing?) and just as I was coming up to the cashiers, the cord twisted and cut out most of the sound. That way I didn’t even have to take my phones out of my ears, and usually it’s enough to give the cashier a warm hello for them to figure out that you can hear them. Anyway, the point is, this gave me an idea for a very simple invention, a simple on-off switch for iPod earphones. It would be a little device which plugs into the iPod on one side and has a hole for the earphone jack on the other, and a simple circuit breaker button. That way, if your iPod is sticking out of your pocket like it is for me (I hold it in the little cash pocket on my jeans), all you need to do is press a button and the sound cuts out while you talk to someone. Sure, it may seem rude at first, but all you have to do is show them this cool gadget you built and it’ll all be dandy. Of course, if you want to actually pause your music, it’s a different matter, but I tend to have tracks on single repeat anyway so play location doesn’t really matter.

I’ll try to construct such a device by cannibalising (I have nothing against cannibals, please don’t eat me!) an audio cord extension cord I’ve had lying around for ages without using it once. Of course, as soon as I cut it up, I bet I’ll need to use it for something.

I’ve decided, in lieu of actual normal posts about actual normal things, to do some track-by-track reviews of albums that I’ve heard recently. This will be the first such review, and I’m going to start small: with a lovely EP by the Oxford band A Silent Film. The Projectionist is their first EP, and I can safely say that they’re well on the way to becoming a very popular indie band. Popular indie band… is that some kind of paradox? I don’t know.

The EP is just four songs long. I found it through the trailer for the indie film being made of Philip Pullman’s book The Butterfly Tattoo (or The White Mercedes, depending on which part of the world you buy it in). The trailer is on YouTube, and certainly worth a look: The Butterfly Tattoo trailer, for the music obviously but also for the artistry of the trailer itself. The film looks like it’s going to be a wonderful indie production. After finding out from a friend (thanks, Jess) the band’s name and their MySpace, I had a listen on their player, and liking what I heard, I bought the EP (from 7digital, who seem to be legitimate - I guess I’ll only find out in a while when I get my credit card bill back. :P) Anyway, that’s the dull backstory, now on with the review.

1. The Lamplight

The opening track of A Silent Film’s EP starts of quiet, then blossoms out into a rich rock tapestry. The music swells and fades with Robert Stevenson’s voice, and the entire track is a wonderful echoing opener to the EP. At just 3:44, it’s the shortest track on the album (in fact bizzarely the tracks are arranged by length, probably not on purpose though), and it ends abruptly, leaving a feeling that not everything had been said in the simple lyrics. That is, until the second track starts…

2. Six Feet Of Rope And Revenge

Six Feet Of Rope And Revenge, the track featured in The Butterfly Tattoo trailer, is arguably the finest on the EP. It starts off with the same rhythm and nearly the same overall sound as The Lamplight, making it a sort of elegant continuation of The Lamplight’s lyrics and feel. For a few seconds, one feels that they accidentally left iTunes on ‘repeat track’, but then the punchy piano mixes with a clacketty percussion and Robert Stevenson’s refreshingly original singing voice - and the song is magnificent, a sort of swan song of a man condemmed to be hung. The story of the song is beguiling and, on the background of the piano, a lone electric guitar and echo effects accentuate certain points wonderfully. Six Feet of Rope and Revenge is over much too fast, but goes out with a stylish guitar solo, the distant sound of seagulls and, again, ends abruptly, moving straight into the third song of the EP.

3. Sleeping Pills

In what seems to be a definite pattern for A Silent Film, Sleeping Pills starts of quiet before the main instruments and louder percussion is introduced. In my opinion, Sleeping Pills is the weakest song of the EP, possibly because the quiet-then-loud pattern has been overused. Again, though, the lyrics and singing stand out, and the rich musical tapestry is continued as it was in the previous two songs, complimented (again, as in the two previous songs) with lots of echoing and clacketty percussion. To be fair, Sleeping Pills ends with a nice fade-out. Original!

4. Chromatic Eyes

In a word, Chromatic Eyes is anthemic. It provides the perfect song to end A Silent Film’s debut EP. In the silence between tracks, a triangle sounds, then the lull of voices, cheering and clapping, which thins out into a single rhythmic clapping beat. Chromatic Eyes just begs to be tapped along to. The musical feeling it weaves is perfect. Interesting sound effects at the end of lines lend it an unimstakable air of originality (cracking, a cymbal clash), and then by the end it turns into a discordant shriek of electric guitars and clapping. Certainly quite a way to end the EP.

The Projectionist is a great, rich musical masterpiece. The 4 track are sure to see in a bright future for A Silent Film. 4 out of 5 stars.

Halfway through writing this entry, I realised that it’s going to sound incredibly dull to anyone but, well, me, because travel writing is an art in that one has to transmit the excitement one feels while travelling to readers who might never see those places. I clearly can’t. So, read the entry by all means but don’t go complaining about how boring it is. You’ve been warned.

January 4th - Still Launceston
Today was a quieter day, to my relief - blogging does take a considerable amount of time, I’ll have you know. Just as I had hoped, due to the closed window my cold had all but gone in the morning. After breakfast we headed out on the river cruise we had planned to do yesterday. Our vessel, the Lady Launceston, was a lovely small ship in Victorian pleasure boat style with a quiet electric motor. First it took us a little way down the Tamar (in the direction of Bass Strait and sea), where the skipper, who was clearly contractually obliged to talk without stopping the entire journey, gave us a very detailed overview of the real estate situation in Launceston and the full life story of a number of rusting barges docked along the riverbank. Somehow, with the warm sun and fresh wind around us, dozens of hungry gulls plying the waters, and the gentle chug-chug-chug on the electric motor, the talk turned out to be interesting. The skipper also gave some (again, I’d imagine contractually required) advertising of a few local restaurants which offered a discount on showing our cruise tickets, and told us a little about the history of the local waterways. The Tamar and its tributaries give water to a significant part of Tasmania, and the river is the longest tidal river in the world. Due to the tides, heavy rainfall, and the damming of the Tamar further upstream, it experiences yearly floods, with monster floods happening every century or so. The Great Flood of 1929 washed away many buildings and inspired Launceston to build a levy system to protect it from future deluges. However, the system hasn’t yet been tested - and what’s more, was based on the New Orleans levies. And we all know what happened to New Orleans.
After viewing some more prime waterfront property (again with riveting commentary), we turned around, past our dock and upstream into the gorge. We passed under the beautiful Industrial Revolution-style red and white Kingsbridge, which was built in 1840 in England, then a few years later transported piece-by-piece to Launceston where it stands to this day. Launceston boys dive off it (it is believed that many even survive, although I sadly have not been able to verify this claim and this ‘living to tell the tale’ affair may be nothing more than an urban myth.) Past the bridge began the steep cliff sides of the gorge, covered in brave (or unlucky) plants and eucalypts, with a narrow path running along the right side. The cost of making this path was so large that a tollhouse was built at the start and anyone entering the gorge had to pay a penny (or two and you got some chocolate to help you along). Eventually the toll was scrapped, the gorge made free, and the tollhouse (this is charming) repossessed by the government and converted into a rent-free cottage for writers, artists and other bohemians. Just negotiate with the government and you get free accommodation and a heap of inspiration - just give some of your work to the city when you leave. I think it’s a delightful idea and I will definitely use it in the future.
The ship turned around when the gorge got too narrow and the water too shallow, and took us back to the dock. From here, we hearkened to the advertising and went for lunch in a fish-and-chips restaurant on the water’s edge, which was lovely, then spent another hour or so wandering around Launceston. It seems that any city in the world, whatever the size, is more cosmopolitan, more provided for, more exciting, and just generally more than Canberra. Maybe it just seems that way to a Canberran but Launceston certainly gives me that impression.
After the cruise, Irina drove us home and we simply lazed around for a few hours until dinner. I hid from the heat (yes, I hid from the heat in Tasmania) in my room, read books on Antarctica (which I suspect has become a new obsession of mine) and just lay around listening to The Beatles and Snow Patrol. In fact, to feed the new obsession I asked for some suggestions on what to read from Irina - and she gave me a map and a bunch of magazines and booklets, which simplifies my job somewhat. I’m determined to go to Antarctica and stay in one of the bases for at least a month. The place seems amazing. The last hostile barely conquered place in the world, it is so romantic authors have obsessed about it in countless books. Also, the penguins help.
After dinner, Olya, her husband and baby Katya came over, and we went for a walk at the other end of the gorge (first a drive, actually), which seems to be Launceston’s equivalent of a beach. There was a huge natural basin about 100 meters deep, periodically full of swimmers and divers, two smallish waterfalls, an awesome suspension bridge and the longest unsupported stretch of chairlift in the world. Which, funnily enough, wasn’t very long. Lessons we have learnt from this, children: supports are there for a reason (along with the ubiquitous Gravity Is Not Your Friend). Apart from the basin there was a pool and some nice lawn which apparently gets flooded every year. What fun. From the basin, water trickles down the rocky bed of the gorge and eventually meets the place where the Lady Launceston turned around. We meandered along nature paths which weaved up and down the slopes around the basin and the bridge, seeing many peacocks (Biology fact #16 or something: Peacocks nest in trees and look ridiculous while doing it) a wallaby, and a very tame possum. Then, back home to write this up. And damn, it looks like it’s turned out monstrously huge in the end anyway.