Deja vu and Bad Ideas

You would think that déjà vu would operate to assist people in avoiding bad ideas, or at least in helping people making good decisions about bad ideas.  This is the same sort of logic that suggests that written history serves to protect people from repeating previous mistakes.  But then would where Darwinism fit?  Perhaps the answer is more complicated, like supply and demand.  (Ok, not really that complicated.)  As ones penchant for making bad decisions rises, ones chances for assisting in continuing the species diminishes.  Perhaps you can even envision the graph with the lines intersecting with the little box around it that my Econ Professor tried to explain the meaning of.  In this case, it's the approaching the "no odds" point and then anything beyond that predicts that you'll die a premature and likely horrible death because of a bad decision, or conversely you'll continue well into your Golden Years having never uttered the phrase "What's the worst that could happen?”  Isn't this how déjà vu should work?

The Moon Under the Story Bridge

But here we are heading into our 2^nd Aussie winter; shocked and incredulous that the weather is turning “not warm” again.  Part of this, I suppose, is that the summer wasn’t as hot as we had expected.  This is probably good a thing as the few hot and humid days that we did have were tough.  As you might imagine, sleep was disturbed and often required a fan running through the night. 

The heat was tough enough to face without frustration, but unfortunatley we also had to manage our tempers due to the fact that our landlord refused to acknowledge that the Air Conditioner (AC) wasn’t working.  “Maybe you just need to change the batteries on the remote, mate.” I'll backup on this story.

Some things that you need to first understand:

Our landlord has hired a property management company to handle these types of things, but prefers us to raise issues with him first.  Bad. 

The landlord, who I’ll call Dirtbag Greg, insists on being involved in all matters.  He is thusly named, not for any sort of literary value but because his name really is Greg and he is really a dirtbag.  Dirtbag Greg claims to be an expert at most things and undertook to both design and supervise the construction of the units (duplex in Canadian).  Worse.  

Oh yeah, did I mention that he’s also the neighbor?  Unmitigated disaster.

So Dirtbag Greg fancies himself as "The Man", so you can almost imagine how this goes.  

“Greg, we’ve noticed that the tiles on the main floor are loose.”  

“No, that’s impossible, those tiles can’t be loose.”  

Impossible?  Infallible tiles?  You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that you don’t use “impossible, infallible and tiles in the same sentence since 1 February 2003.[1]  Similarly, while I’m not an electric engineer I can predict with some degree of certainty that putting new batteries in the remote control will not change the fact that the AC blows hot (well, tepid) air.  But as you might have anticipated, that’s not all there is to this story.  When directly asked, Dirtbag Greg openly admits “Well I don’t really know mate, I’ve never turned it (the AC) on.” 

Right, this guy is so tough, so cool and so switched on, that in spite of fact that the prior year had some of the hottest days on record (a series of days >40C) he never used his AC.  Not ever, not once.  This is a "tough bloke" as they say here.  

“Wow, Greg, that’s unbelievable.  So are you really telling me that you’re impervious to the heat that you don't require AC at 40C and 95% humidity, or rather that you have such lack of regard for the construction project that you “supervised” that you couldn’t be bothered to even turn on the appliances?”  I’m seething.  I close my eyes to retain some modicum of composure, I visualise the tropical weather we love here, beaches, waves, I hear Spencer playing in the sand.  I'm trying to find calmness.  I see acts of violence.  Violence that wouldn't be contemplated by Scorsese, Coppola or Tarantino.  When I open my eyes again, it becomes clear that my eyes have betrayed my emotion.  I sound calm but I can see Dirtbag Greg starting to recoil. 

“Well, ah…” his retreating voice has abandoned his bravado and his willingness to have this conversation is quickly following.

“Right, either that you have no business with these types of projects or you know damn well that the AC has never worked.”  So it's proven, like Dirtbag Greg, our AC blows hot air.  Well not really hot, more like tepid. 

But now that the heat has abated, we have another problem, as these same units supply the only source of heat.  So tepid air remains a nuisance and doesn’t help even now that summer has passed.  This is proof positive that if it’s not one thing it’s another.  However, the landlord’s agent is supposed to have someone fix it today, which would be great.  But like a feeling of déjà vu, this is the fourth attempt.[2]  I’ll spare you the minutiae.

Civic Church At Dusk

And so it goes, we’ve now been here over a year and have started making the transition from “recently arrived” to “established resident” with “knowledgeable local” firmly in our sights and objectives.  This transition is an experience in itself. 

We’ve met a bunch of people, some who have become friends, a few acquaintances and then simply others that you smile and nod to whilst dropping of kids, waiting for coffee or riding the lifts (elevators).  All of this seems pretty civilized and of course part of the adventure.  This experience also brings along a sense déjà vu. 

Not only have we become more familiar with Brisbane over the last year, but as you might also expect, Spencer has grown.  (A fact that is only remarkable because I’ve been cooking more again.)  This of course means that she is outgrowing things such as clothes, shoes, and most recently, her crib.  Fortunately consumer goods are expensive here (as compared to Canada) and so the items that we brought over fetch a decent bounty off of eBay.  This is a less fortunate fact when the things that we have brought over need to be replaced locally, but that's a story for another time.   But ultimately we post Spencer's crib on eBay.

At the conclusion of the auction, I received a text on my mobile (cell phone) as everyone texts here (I never really did back in Canada).  Turns out that the buyers live down the street and want to drop over and pick up their spoils, sure.  That works, Sunday night, get a wad of cash to start the week, pretty good outcome.  Spencer is now in bed and I'm procrastinating because Nicole is away working.  

Now Imagine a FULL beard!

Shortly after the exchange of details, a bear appears at my door.  A bear?  No, not in Australia, anything but, right?  Well, ok, not a real bear but a man (I know you had this figured out) but with a huge presence and a beard that makes Fidel Castro (in his prime) look like a pubescent teenager experimenting with facial growth for the first time. 

But there’s something else.  A familiarity.  A sense of knowing, but out of context.  James?  Davies?  Bruce, why not everyone’s Bruce here, right?  “Hey, it's Bruce right?”

“Ah, no Filip.  With an ‘F’”.

“Right, sorry, perhaps we met when I was out with Brucie?” I quickly back peddle.  But there is still something else.  Filip carries himself with a confidence and style that is striking.  His manner is at once compelling and comforting.  You see within his eyes an understanding and you sense that he’s listening attentively to you.  At once you understand the concept, not the word, but the concept of charisma.  

So we visit and comfortably chat about the small bits while I ask he and his wife about their pending baby and I pull the crib apart so as to accommodate putting it into their “sedan”[3].  As things are moving along with a familiar ease, the conversation turns to, as it must, but without haste, the pending payment.  In particular, Filip inquires about the additional bedding that wasn’t part of the auction, but is also available.  We don’t talk as friends but as people of a common experience.  Some how connected in an inexplicable manner, as though we had traveled extensively together, worked through the nights on a common goal or simply just known each other for years.

“How much do you want for it?” Filip asks in his suave manner.

“Look, we’re taking offers but we’ve got it up for $150 and it’s in really good shape.” I reply, wishing I had an ounce of this guy’s charm but knowing it’s just not in the cards. Scaring the crap out of Dirtbag Greg by showing restraint when he knows I don't really want to is one thing, being cool with this Polar Bear in loafers is a world apart.

“Do you like coffee?” He asks.  “I see that you have a stove top espresso machine, a sign of a true fancier” he adds flatteringly.

Puzzled by the seemingly random departure in the conversation, “of course” I reply.  “I’m no expert but I thoroughly enjoy it.  It's been one of the really great discoveries about coming to OZ.”

“I run a custom coffee shop in South Bank, why don’t I roast and grind you a bag and we call it even?”

Suddenly it’s clear to me – I’ve never met Filip before; I’ve never even seen Filip before.  The sense of déjà vu is based exclusively on his personal charisma.  It's now as clear as mountain air at -30 how a subsistence farmer abandons their plowshares and raise arms to become revolutionaries.  I wonder, is it the beard?  “Really, that would be great!”  That’s right; I just agreed to forego roughly $150 cash for a vague promise of coffee.  Panic starts to set in: from a contractual basis what was offered?  What was agreed?  When did the parties become ad idem?  How am I going to explain this to Nicole?  Nevertheless, he had me at “coffee” and in that word I find ease. 

Skipping ahead, I told Nicole (from the safe distances that Skype provides) that the auction had concluded and the buyers came and picked up the crib and the bedding.  Obviously attempting to gloss over the payment bits for the bedding, I asked how her travels and meetings in Canada were going.

Again, déjà vu rears

“You did what?” Nicole inquires, her confusion obviously, yes even from the other side of the planet.  This isn’t the first time I’ve been on this ride.

“Yeah but the coffee is supposed to be really good…” I trail off.

“Ok, but how much coffee,” Nicole asks, genuinely interested?

“A bag,” you can only imagine how meekly I responded.  "Did I tell you about the conversation with Dirgbag Greg regarding the AC?"

“A bag?  Really, does the ‘bag’ have a size?” Nicole is now starting to sound incredulous.  This isn’t the first time she's been on this ride either, as I've never been one to shy away from a bad decision.

“Yeah, I imagine there is a specific size…but we sort of came out a little light on details.  Like none.  Truth be told my contracts professor; my principle; and any other lawyer I’ve known will be disappointed.”  All the while I’m trying to explain Fair Trade coffee, the passion of roasters, Kalashnikov’s in the hands of peasants and anything else that might support my unparalleled lack of judgment.

“A little light on details?  You don’t say.  Oh honey, it’s ok” Nicole says now with palpable sarcasm, “you’ll get your coffee and plus, you’re a revolutionary now.  Right?  That’s better than actual cash for our daughter’s first possessions” implying now that I’m a truant father just because of my pursuit of dubious decisions. 

And here is where you’d think that déjà vu would help a guy out and that I should really know better.  Now I’m feeling trapped in the conversation like Steve Austin in the opening sequence of Six Million Dollar Man, <<She's breaking up, She's brea…>>  I need Divine, or at least a monumental intervention to save me now.   I hit the eject button.  Deploy the shear rams.  Burn my boats.  I blurt out “It’s your fault if you weren’t in Canada leaving me all along looking after everything here this would have never happened.”  Right.  Great move, after all I’m not really responsible for the bad decisions I make. 

I suppose that this also explains how Hitler marched in Napoleon’s footsteps to lay siege upon the Russians in winter, only to have his armies perish in retreat in spring. 

Hopefully Nicole will just be happy to be back home to see us and have the fresh smell of coffee in the house and all will be overlooked. 

At any rate, I’ve yet to receive my coffee, perhaps it will be waiting for me when I get home.  Alternatively, it may be just another déjà vu day of hopes and expectations that ends without additional coffee supplies.  When (if) I do get the coffee I’ll let you know.  Maybe I’ll visit Filip’s shop and that will become an update of its own.  Looking at his website, there is certainly potential for that.  http://www.paladarfumiorsalon.com/Bienvenido.html

A final thought on déjà vu?  Below is an excerpt from the Trusts Act 1973 (Queensland)

S. 59 Trustee may sue himself or herself in a different capacity

Notwithstanding any rule of law or practice to the contrary, a trustee of any property in that capacity may sue, and be sued by, himself or herself in any other capacity whatsoever, including the trustee's personal capacity; but in every such case the trustee shall obtain the directions of the court in which the proceedings are taken as to the manner in which differing interests are to be represented.

This is awesome.  Actually relevant to my current employment but more entertainingly this evokes images of a dog chasing its own tail, catching it and then biting it until it bleeds, gets infected and falls off.  Then of course, being compensated for the loss of his tail.  This is so awesome, it's like having enough Kryptonite to make Superman your bitch.

I may have to reconsider private practice.  There is obviously an opportunity for me to become the Trustee of my own estate, run it into the ground, retain myself as counsel and then sue for damages.  Conceivably, whilst the client would be the difficult to work for (because he obviously lack judgment), I could charge whatever fees I wanted and then even sue later for the recovery of them.  I wonder if this provision would allow me to retain myself as an expert. 

This could start a process and series of litigation that will make Memento appear straight forward.  Can you imagine the litigation?  “Haven’t we requested this disclosure from the party?”  “Yeah, but he claims that he can’t find the documents.”  “Don’t believe him, he’s a deadbeat.”  Well maybe not a deadbeat but certainly one for a penchant at not knowing better. 

Enjoy.

---

[1] The Space Shuttle Columbia disaster occurred on February 1, 2003, in which one of the causes was found to be damage to the protective tiles on the bottom of the spacecraft. 

[2] Note: the fourth attempt to repair the AC failed as moving the unit requires two men to lift it.  A fact that apparently couldn’t have been discerned the first three times the “Tradies” attended to affect the repairs.  Some things really are universal.

[3] The modestly self-described “sedan” turns out to be a vintage Benz.  

iPhone Crazy

iPhone Crazy

I’ve had a few requests to provide photos of various things in Brisbane, places that I’ve visited throughout Australia, or more specifically, evidence to support the comments that I’ve made regarding the (lack of) dress among women here.  The idea, while generally laudable, seems to suffer on a couple of fronts.  The first is that any of the photos that I send seem to feel like my own personal account which would get boring quickly, or in the case of the short skirts, the idea of me taking photos of random women on the street seems really creepy.  This idea seems worse yet, given the fact that I’m usually with either Nicole or Spencer, or both.  

At one point I thought that maybe having a zoom lens for the camera would help, but unfortunately, like so many of my other predictions, I was wrong.  In fact, it turns out that the idea of using zoom lens to take photos of random women wearing short gauzy skirts is even more creepy than using an iPhone.

However, from the ashes of a bad idea came a significantly less bad idea, which was to take photos of some of the other crazy things that I’ve seen during our time here, thus far.  The title will make more sense as you enjoy the photos, but I freely admit, to those photographic purists of you, that not all of the photos are from my iPhone.  However, they are all candid shots and in some way, depict something crazy, or at least uniquely Ozstralian.

So, without further delay, I’ll give you a short photo blog, that I’ve called “iPhone Crazy”.   If you like it, let me know and I'll stitch up more.

The Man who stands up to
 The Man (aka “Mr Hooper”)

There is always someone claiming a conspiracy or to have been wronged by "The Man".  This guy, who I refer to as Mr. Hooper (the grocer from Sesame Street) stands on a busy street corner, sometimes in his navy three piece (four piece if you count the brown grocery bag), and patiently waits for the pedestrians to start crossing.

If you could hear his address you’d hear him welcome the pedestrians to a police state in which the Attorney General allegedly studied law in the former Soviet Union and continues to implement gulag tactics intended solely to repress poor Mr Hooper.

I’m always surprised when someone who wears a grocery bag in public and can’t find legal representation, claims not to be heard by the Courts.  Do you think this failing is a result of the education of the AG, the appointment process of the judiciary or something else?  I'll leave you with that...

South of Brisbane is an area called the “Gold Coast” (affectionately called “Goldie” by the locals) and within the Goldie environ, a town called Surfer’s Paradise exists.  Of course the town wasn’t always called Surfer’s Paradise, (now simply just “Surfer’s” to the locals) but was changed to thus in order to make it sound like a more desirable destination.  Fair enough “Surfer’s Paradise” provides a more evocative experience than its predecessor, “Elston”.

Ok, so it’s a good idea to attract a segment of society that is water logged, broke, and more or less just drifters who like to party.  Not really commercial tourism at its finest hour.  As you might imagine, surfers came in droves.  Thus then need for cheap accommodation, party spots and beach clean-up squads.  Arising around this need Goldie became SE Queensland’s answer to Las Vegas.

Inevitably the flux of people correlated closely with the increase in vehicle traffic, local government and municipal by-laws and ordinances.  Above all of this became the bane of western civilization and the perfect illustration of Economics 101 played out along the glistening beaches and crashing waves.  Of course, I’m referring to the scarcity of available parking and the by-law officers doing their level best to keep the value of said parking high. 

This is a coveted job.  Really.

Soon the parking crisis became a real and present danger to tourism in the area and many businesses pleaded for relief claiming to be too big to fail, without dire repercussions for the economy.  An idea was hatched to deploy an ace squad of talented young Australians to fight this municipal threat and thus the Gold Coast Meter Maid program was born. 

Still today the Meter Maids grace the streets of Goldie keeping people's parking meters satiated and lives organized.  How do they achieve the second function?  Funny you should ask, they provide anyone who wishes to stop and have a photo with them, a Meter Maid calendar of their very own (shown in photo).  You may not wish to ask the girls what day it is, unless of course you’re satisfied with a giggle and “today silly” as your answer. 

This picture is of real girls doing a real job.  Probably being paid more than a guy would get for the same thing.  I suppose this is progress.

If you don’t believe that the truth is stranger than fiction I encourage you to check out:

www.metermaids.com

Irony or Lies?

Ok, the sign reads "Free Energy from the sun That feels good".  However, the person depicted is jumping up towards an incandescent light.  We also know that nothing is really free, right? Unless you’re a plant and have developed chlorophyll to convert sunlight into energy then you need some type of infrastructure to process solar power and make it usable.  Therefore solar energy isn’t really free because you need the panels, then the engineer has to make sure they're certified, then you need approval to be off the grid, and then some lawyer somewhere will talk to your neighbor who will then complain about the panels being an eyesore, or that you're a communist or a vegetarian, or they had plans or whatever.....

So, is this advertisement ironic or simply wrong?

Beyond the Carbolic Smokeball type of discussion, an interesting implication is that the Corporations Act has a provision for “misleading or deceptive conduct” in a consumer protection context.  The real question of course is, "who should I sue?"  

Looking For A Place to Happen

This is a great photo from a night in Sydney.  Here I am with the iPhone on a busy corner with this spectacle before me.  What else could I do but take a photo.  In fact there was almost a series of photos taken of these two subjects.  Obviously the busker who's playing the guitar whilst balancing a skateboard on his forehead and being harangued by White Dreddy is a good one.  Crazy enough for me.  

However, I thought that White Dreddy was going to be in a subsequent photo (or photos), but it didn’t happen.  The opportunity that I thought was going to present itself was a result of White Dreddy being so messed up (even more than his choice of hair styles would suggest).  This clown was such a mess that his pants were falling off and he was staggering along the sidewalk with his mates.  I could virtually guarantee (perhaps only a surfer’s guarantee) that he would a) fall into traffic and get splattered; b) fall afoul with a local skin head and get splattered; or c) A & B.  Whilst that would probably resulted in an award winning photo, it would have also resulted in having to file a witness statement and probably being required at trial.  So I left well enough alone and sacrificed my contribution to the art world.  

From Tim Burton With...

Bats.  Flying foxes.  Whatever.  I thought these things were supposed to be nocturnal.  This one doesn't seem to be.  In fact, from where I was having breakfast the trees immediately surrounding me were full with hundreds of these creatures that look like they've been conjured up in a Tim Burton drug induced nightmare and then built with sheets of neoprene and chopsticks.

When we first moved here they creeped me out, but now the flying foxes are pretty cool.  Oh yeah, I've seen them with a wingspan of 1m (3 feet).   Ok, still sort of creepy.  

“Do I miss the snow?”  No.  

Do They Even Know It's Christmas?

“Is Christmas ok without the snow?”  Yes, because it's really warm.  

“Isn't it strange to have Christmas without snow?”  Well, given that I'm from Calgary and we haven't always had snow at Christmas, I'll stick with "no".

However, what is strange is the collection of blow-up dancing Santa things that line the Darling Harbor in Sydney.  Not only do they look like the blow up attention seekers in front of a tire shop, but there had to be a hundred Santas glowing and gyrating and pink.  

It's just seems wrong.  

Art Is Where You Find It

One of the really cool things about Australia is that there appears to be a lot of public art.   Canberra is full of art, seemingly on every street corner.  Why or what facilitates this I’m unsure, but I do like that it occurs. 

This above photo is from Sydney and appears to be a crushed soft drink can, that was affixed to the payment and painted silver with something illegible.  These types of exhibits should be an inspiration for all of us who want be artists but think such goals are beyond our reach. 

Brisbane and Sydney have "heaps" of public art.  I love it.

Explanation Required

I'm sure there is an explanation.  But what?  Photo taken downtown Sydney.  I've never seen a zebra there.  Maybe the new crossing will facilitate more frequent sightings.  I'll keep you posted, although I’m not sure how to tell a new zebra from any other ones.  Perhaps I’ll just know when I see one.

The piece d’resistance to this posting is actually a photo that hasn’t been captured, or at least to my knowledge.  It may be just as well, as it’s probably so far fetched that you’ll think it’s staged.  Unfortunately, I can assure you the photo is not staged.  I will provide an explanation, hoping to do the sight justice.

Along the river pathway there is a man, dressed in casual shorts and light shirt.  He looks to be dressed this way to accommodate his daily commute to and from work.  This man, is walking slowly, as you might expect, as he is carrying a full pack on his back, pushing a stroller (or pram) and walking with a small child.  A girl.

So far pretty ordinary, right?  Ok, but then as you get closer you notice that the pram is larger, much like the jogging strollers that are so popular in North American cities and towns where active people are seen with their children.  Not only is this stroller large, but it appears to have a compartment of its own that is teeming with extra clothes and food for the little girl.  Practical things.  Unsurprisingly, because this ordinary looking man appears to be practical, there is also an umbrella.  After all Brisbane is prone to rain and in particular flash rains.

As one gets closer still you hear the little girl say, “Daddy I want the umbrella please.”  The daddy retrieves the umbrella and presents it to his daughter.  “Open it please daddy.”  “But its not raining honey,” he protests, perhaps knowing where things are heading.  “Please daddy, open.” As he dutifully opens the umbrella, which turns out to be in the shape of a ladybug (“lady beetle” in Oz) the little girl then starts to giggle and says “put it on your shoulder”.  

Now, clearly defeated, he abides.  “Spin it daddy.”  So, the picture that I haven’t been able to take is of this grown man walking down the street, twirling a lady beetle umbrella on his shoulder.  Aside from the little girl who seems to think this is great, everyone else gives him a very, very wide berth.  

I’d like to say that I’ve been afraid to get close enough to take this photo, but as you may suspect there is a different reason preventing me.  

Perhaps not everything that appears crazy really is.  Maybe it's just a trick that the Mommy has taught the little girl to keep other girls away from the Daddy when she's out of town drilling wells.  Then again, if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks…..