Binnsy's Hovel

As faithful readers will know, I have been following the career of John Brogden for quite some time. And I have no doubt that some readers will want me to turn my back on my favourite politician and denounce him for his actions. I will say it now and say it clear: You’ll get no such gratification from me.

Brogo’s actions a few weeks back were inexcusable, I don’t doubt it at all. But the one thing the media has never and will never understand is that people make mistakes. They stuff up. Then they try to recover and atone for what they’ve done. The past few days only proves that the mainstream media are a merciless pack of vultures who take no prisoners and make all the unilateral decisions they so desire.

I wrote to Mr. Brogden himself yesterday, expressing my disgust at the pressure under which he has been placed, and stating my supportive sentiments towards him personally. He did the right thing in stepping down, but developments lastnight, which clearly attest to his forced decline in rationality and mental strength, only further testify to the undue amount of strain this man is under.

Brogo always tried to portray himself as a family man, with values and an attitude sensitive to an ever-changing social and political community. I always saw him as a genuinely likeable bloke – the kind you’d invite round to have a barbie and watch the cricket.

This week, for a lot of people, that idyllic image has been shattered. But not for me. I never saw Brogo in terms of he said or did in the dirty political arena. I saw him for what he said and did for the community. For the people. And I saw him as a decent person of worth and integrity.

And that’s why I’m blogging for Brogo.

Until next time…

Whoa.

What a night.

Another mate’s 18th party.

Another good time.

Another almighty hangover.

I was also enlightened to one of the more unnerving effects of alcohol consumption. My mates were telling me I was doing stuff lastnight that I have no memory of doing at all. Nothing regrettable or terrible or anything (I think I was sitting outside with the dog for an hour or so for some reason), but it’s enough to make me stop and think about it. Even when, in the past, I have been inebriated, I have been completely 100% in control and aware of what I’ve been doing, no matter how random or stupid it might be. Upon reflection, this memory loss and zombification is probably telling me that perhaps that was a little too much.

Not to worry. It’s convinced me not to drink again until the holidays, and even then it will be in moderation. Silly alcohol. Whoever invented it was a nincompoop. Not really. I just wanted to say nincompoop. Besides, alcohol is a naturally-occurring phenomenon. Nobody invented it. Silly Binnsy.

Last week saw us Extension II students hand in our finished stories and sign off on their being sent away for marking. On the one hand I wasn’t really all that disappointed about getting rid of the stupid thing. Every time I opened Word to edit it I felt the dam of pure hatred and loathing breaking. But then again, this is something that I’ve been working on for the past twelve months, and a few of those were with a teacher whom I (and the rest of the Extension crew) absolutely adored, before he buggered off out west to chase cows in his ute (I think career opportunities may also have had something to do with it, but still). The story has seen me through some pretty tough times, and some not all that tough, and I’ve basically poured every scrap of my essence into its being. Hence it really was like giving a part of me away; for it to be torn apart, impartially scrutinised, categorised and churned out as a number out of 50. Not to worry. Not anymore. I think the part of me that wanted to get rid of it is finally overtaking the other sentimental bit. Hurrah.

There’s more info on the subtext of Queen’s “‘39″ here. Only the British…

On Thursday night I received my Silver Duke of Edinburgh’s Award, amidst having to organise hopeless teachers, write speeches, be part of the road crew (if Duke of Ed presentation nights were to have a road crew, that is) and compere the night. Suffice to say come late Thursday evening I was royally stuffed. But I got a cool pin.

This week sees me tackle Physics and Ancient History assessment tasks. Both of them are practically open-book tests, though, so they should be okay.

We’ve received most of our trial HSC marks back, and I really haven’t done all that bad. At least not as bad as I thought I would. English: 85/105, Maths: 60/120 (trust me, that’s good; I’m an English and Humanities sort of person), Physics: 62/99, English Extension I: 36/50, Religion: 46/50. I still have to get Ancient History back, but that shouldn’t be too bad. Except for that stupid bloody Amenhotep III question. Silly pharaoh.

In other news, yesterday morning I finished reading The Big Over Easy. That is, without a shadow of a doubt, one of the greatest books I have ever read. Not only is it absolutely ridiculous and side-splittingly funny, it’s incredibly intelligent and witty. The metafictional aspect of it and its allusions (sometimes blatantly obvious, others not so much) to other well-known books, plays, nursery rhymes and songs make it a very different and unique reading experience. I would highly recommend it to anybody. Not little children, though. The idea of Humpty Dumpty’s wife committing suicide by leaping into a cookie mixer might be a little weird for them. Give it at least until they’re of a mature and respectable age. I’d say about four and a half.

Until next time…

I think it’s over. Is it over? About two and a half odd weeks since my actual date of birth, all the random parties and celebrations and what-not are over, and my house is actually quiet and guest-free for an indefinite period of time. What freedom!

The last of the great 18th parties took place on Saturday night with a bunch of mates coming over for music, munchies and movies. Great stuff. And guess what they all pitched in and bought me?

It’s amazing, I think, that as we head forth through the murky waters of adolescence, that we continue trying to convince ourselves that we are maturing, that our personalities are becoming more complex, that we truly are growing up. Then, come our entry into adulthood, we take the greatest and most sincere of pleasures in the most juvenile of things.

Imagine then, if you will, my complete and utter delight when I beheld’st a great shaft of red light ignited upon my table on Saturday night. Yes – my mates bought me a lightsaber. A rather decent replica which lights up in sequence and has motion sensors so it hums and stuff. And it goes ‘tch’ when you hit something. Yay!

I also got a couple of great DVD’s, namely The Club and The Incompleat Shaun Micallef, and what may just be one of the best Queen albums ever, A Night at the Opera. And a mate burnt me a selection of Bowie songs, non-Portuguese, thank God. Great stuff.

So I think it’s all over. I’m 18, and now I move on…

On A Night at the Opera is the song “‘39″, a skiffle written by Brian May, which is a science-fiction song. Yes, a science-fiction song. It tells of twenty explorers who leave a dying Earth to find a new home. Then Einstein sticks his head in, and though only one year has passed on the spaceship, they return to Earth where a hundred years have gone. And it’s just really catchy too. I love it. And it’s Queen. So it’s even better. Little known it is that Brian May is actually an incredibly intelligent man. When Queen took off in the 70’s he abandoned a Doctorate to pursue his rockstar dreams. In 2002 he was awarded an Honorary Doctorate of Science by Hertfordshire University. Then earlier this year he was named a Commander of the British Empire for services to the music industry. That makes quite a significant number of initials: Brian May, B.Sc., Ph.D., C.B.E.

Impressive. And none more deserving.

Well, I’m all out of words…

Until next time…

Two days’ worth of “getting back in the swing of things” after exams are now done. A relatively short day tomorrow and a school spirit day on Friday means this week will have been relatively painless.

An all-round well done to the Aussies, fighting back to draw the third Ashes Test at Old Trafford. Top efforts by Punter, Warnie, Lee and Pidgeon and a great job done by all. England have worked hard to get their game back up to the competitive level, but Australia just keeps proving we’re still one up. That said, the next two games will be the big tests.

I was pleasantly surprised by the final episode of Doctor Who on Saturday night, and found Christopher Eccleston’s final performance and departure quite well done. The thing with the Doctor, of course, is that he never really ‘dies’ as such, he is just reincarnated as a different person (I think that was the producers’ way of dealing with casting issues in the 15-odd year period the show ran up until the 1980’s). The producers of the new show did well to ensure there was some nice emotional stuff with the farewells between Rose and Eccleston’s Doctor, but a spark of curiosity when David Tennant’s new Doctor showed up.

I take back what I said on Saturday about Tennant’s alleged desire to revert to the old Tom Baker look. He seems rather similar in character and personality to Eccleston, which probably will help to ease the transition for Eccleston fans. All in all, brilliant, and can’t wait for the next series.

What the hell is with this spate of airline crashes? First Greece, now Venezuela… what’s going on? Every day thousands of people (probably more like millions) commute by domestic and international airlines to various destinations. The amount of people who use the services for business and the like is testament not only to the necessity of the air travel industry, but also the faith that is placed in it by employers and employees alike. The same applies for holidayers and casual travellers. When two airliners crash in the space of a week, that trust – on which the success of the industry is based – falters a little, surely. Let’s just hope there’s no more in the immediate future.

While we’re talking about school (yes, I know we weren’t really; I’m just a big big fan of seamless segueways whilst writing), I have shot back up through the English ranks to settle at a respectable 4th out of the 45 Advanced English Students, which I think is quite admirable, even if I do say so myself. We got our English Trial exams back today, and I did very well in the Journeys paper (Paper I), and relatively well in Modules (Paper II). The Module ‘Telling the Truth’ is shitting me greatly, but I have time to get over that particular hurdle before the HSC, thank Christ.

I went book shopping on Sunday, and bought about ten or so decent pieces of reading material. I got the Excel Physics study guide, a little formula book for Maths, Belgarath the Sorcerer by David Eddings, Ice Station by Matthew Reilly, Dark Force Rising by Timothy Zahn, Century mini-edition, Goodbye Cobber, God Bless You by John Hamilton, The Rule of Four by Caldwell et al. and Plutarch’s On Sparta. I also acquired my current fictional foray, Jasper Fforde’s The Big Over Easy the other day. If you’re a fan of the completely random and ridiculous, the sarcastic, satiric and cynical, I can’t recommend this book highly enough. I’m only about a third of the way through, but I’ve never laughed out loud as much while reading a book as I have in the past few days. Get. Now.

I now have to be off to do Maths homework and Ancient History stuff and the like. Oh, and there’s also a Physics assignment and an Ancient History task to chop away at too. What fun. If you need something completely ridiculous to listen to whilst doing what you’re doing this evening, find The Timelords’ “Doctorin’ the Tardis”. I was met with an overwhelming desire to hack off my foot with a tennon saw upon hearing it for the first time. But it kind of grows on you after a while. Only the British…

Until next time…

Exams. Over. Now for doing nothingness.

Watch 24. It is good.

Until next time…

In lastnight’s post I was going to talk about gut instinct. But I forgot, so I’ll leave it to you to fill in the blanks there.

Well, well, well. The Aussies just can’t keep a good thing going at the moment when it comes to cricket. We’re now facing a possible follow-on and England could be walking away with a victory that would leave us one-down in the Ashes. I must, however, again commend Shane Warne on his 4/99 performance against a stalwart Brit batting line-up. But to have us two wickets down for less than a hundred on our first day at the crease… tsk, tsk, tsk.

I was a little surprised when reading the SMH’s online article concerning Warne’s milestone this morning, to find a link to this piece of multimedia gold:

Very nearly couldn’t stop laughing. If they absolutely must have an animation, couldn’t they have broken the actual camera footage down into separate frames? Perhaps not so much the 24 fps that makes up pure video, but at least maybe 6 or 10 fps for efficient download times and decent vision. Instead they sink to almost 1960’s-style animation techniques… Anybody seen those old news specials showing the spread of communism across Europe? Those days are not lost! Down with Hawkeye and Cyclops… let’s revert back to the good old days!

For a long time now I’ve been fascinated with ancient history. Though I take a certain interest in modern times, I find the political overtones a little confusing. Ancient history has a real essence to it, a humanity that’s uncomplicated by the scheming, subterfuge and circumstance of shifty powerplay and international monopoly. As can be seen to the right, I’m now reading an X-Files book called Ruins, by Kevin J. Anderson. Anderson is famous for his fictional forays into the Star Wars universe (I highly recommend the Jedi Academy Trilogy) and various fantasy novels. Ruins sees Agents Mulder and Scully – in the good old days of solving strange cases, before the whole soap opera super-baby and mega-government conspiracy subplots – journey to Xitaclan, a long-abandoned Mayan city, to investigate the disappearance of an American archaeological team working at the site. It’s a relatively short book (relative to the books I’ve been reading of late… I’ve been told you could get through Ruins in two hours if you didn’t stop reading) and so far it’s pretty good. I don’t want to launch into some omniscient, condescending review and analysis of the book, so I’ll just say that I’m enjoying it. As a closet X-phile it’s a welcome escape from the trials of Trials.

BYNZEKISTAN IS AT WAR!

Yes, I still play that dodgy webgame. It is rather fun and it is a nice little sadistic outlet. Today Bynzekistan celebrates its first birthday: it is exactly 365 days since I signed up for the game, and hence, 365 days since the nomadic tribes of Bynzekistan formed the great nation that it is today. And to celebrate, we are now in a state of civil and international war. Hurrah. This morning I was faced with this issue:

After a series of bloody wars between the nations of Maxtopia and North Bigtopia, fights have broken out in the streets between immigrants in Bynzekistan who came from the warring nations.

I then had to decide between a number of courses of government action. The first was to enslave all immigrants to Bynzekistan upon their setting foot on our shores. The second was to send them to rehab centres and educate children about racism. Another option was to stay out of the way and let things run their natural course. And, the last option, and the one I ultimately chose, just for a bit of fun, was this one:

“It’s not our war? It’s not our war?” cries (in)famous Bynzekistanian fascist Aaron Jong-Il. “Well maybe it’s time it became our war! Bynzekistan should take a more active, and by ‘active’ I mean ‘hostile’, role in international politics! This ethnic squabbling will be over when the war is over, and WE can end that war and purge the impure! Sieg Bynzekistan!”

Ah, the joys of power. Bring on the mid-terms, there’s no stoppin’ us now.

One big thing that happens tonight is the airing of the final episode of the first series of Doctor Who, and the last with Christopher Eccleston as the Doctor. It’ll be rather emotional – usually you don’t become attached to characters in such ways until a show’s been around for a few years, but knowing since the start of the season that Eccleston would only be doing one has bridged that gap a lot quicker, and I’m sure other fans feel the same way. He really did bring something new and unique to the show, and I’m a little peeved that his replacement, David Tennant, is choosing to revert back to the tried-and-true Tom Baker persona that I personally didn’t approve of very much. However, I can’t judge him until I’ve seen him in action at the helm of the TARDIS, so we’ll have to wait and see. Meanwhile, come 7:30 tonight, switch over to the ABC and witness some shortlived television history.

Until next time…

Politics is a funny thing. It can, at a stroke, corrupt, manipulate, inspire, confuse, befuddle, dismantle and then some. After watching the movie Thirteen Days about two and a half times in the past 48 hours (it’s amazing the things I’ll do when exams are over…), I am utterly confounded at the belligerence, dawdling and backpedalling that goes on in today’s halls of power. When is the last time that a politician has been completely 100% ready to move forward on a policy or course of action? Probably some time around the early 1960’s.

Bring out the Whitlam argument. Alright, so he didn’t really think things through, but at least he knew what he was going to do, and the only thing the Establishment could do to stop him was dissolve his administration. Whitlam was passionate. Those great Prime Ministers of old were decisive and determined. Take out allegiances, desires, visions, and you had a driven bunch of decent Aussie blokes who could choose a course of action and stick to it through hell or high water. Chifley, Curtin, Menzies. And I think Hawke and Keating were the stragglers come the dying years of the 20th century. And then you have Kennett, but everyone neglects him because he only ran a state.

Funnily enough, all the people I’ve mentioned copped their fair share of criticism. Seems the world can’t handle driven, determined politicians. Hey, I’m probably going to cop it for the implications of this post, but us bloggers learn to throw caution to the wind.

Why are people so obsessed with babies? What is the big deal? When it gets down to it, it’s just a very little human being, and it’s all shrivelled and ugly anyway. But I guess it’s the knowledge that us humans can make little versions of ourselves. The former cynicism will probably crumble when it comes time for me to look upon a mini-Binnsy. The miracle of birth: cynicism becomes obsolete in the face of nature’s glory. C’est la vie.

I’m off to spend my $210 worth of Dymocks vouchers tomorrow. Any suggestions?

Until next time…

I am a happy man. Why, may you ask? Well, let me show you the ways.

For starters, the worst of my Trial HSC exams are over. Physics this afternoon, and, though I don’t want to jinx the thing in any way, shape or form, I’m feeling a little less worried about it than I thought I might. Every question attempted, every question inundated with whatever scant knowledge of the relevant topic I found shoved away in some dark and damp recess of my now befrazzled and up-shriveled brain. With a bit of luck and the grace of God I may even pass.

Reason number two… well, there are very positive personal reasons that have been in cahoots for a number of months now and well, we’ll just leave it at that, shall we?

Thirdly, Alias started again tonight. Great show, if the format seems a little run-down. But I don’t care. It’s Jennifer Garner, it’s spy shit, and it’s grand. I really am liking Seven’s current blitz of movie-length episodes, although I’m scared that they might do to 24 and Alias what they’ve done to Lost and that pathetic housewife rubbish. You know, run for half a year, keep us ‘up-to-date’ with a jumbled-together ‘catch-up’ episode, delay the final episodes for weeks and then give away half the twists in the promotional material. Not to worry. Just don’t watch TV between episodes. Problem solved.

What number reason was I up to? Um, let’s try fifty-two: It’s one-all in the Ashes, and the third Test started today. And, after an absolute miracle recovery from a supposedly incapacitating ankle injury, our best fast bowler and all-round genuinely likeable bloke Glenn McGrath is back in the Australian side. Ooh aah. Right now it’s one for about 165 and it’s shaping up to be a good match. Vaughan and Trescothick are putting up quite a fight. And right now Warnie’s on the attack. Go Warnie. I love you, Warnie, even if you are a fuckface off the field.

Another reason: Next weekend I’m having a grand shindig for all my mates to celebrate my 18th. No bloggy gatecrashers, please.

And I have Muse pumping rather loudly through my headphones. Life couldn’t be better. So now I’m off to revel in it.

Until next time…

There comes a point during study where the intake of information abrubptly stops. Your brain can just not handle anything else. The only decent analogy I can come up with at the moment is a hose with water flowing through it. A rock becomes jammed in the hose, and all that’s left to flow is but a trickle. Well, my rock is perfectly round and stops anything from passing through. It might have something to do with the tediousness and high stupidity of the intricacies of Physics, and my English-brain’s copious lack of desire to incorporate formulae and theories and such. Or it could just be that it’s fast-approaching the end of this God-forsaken Trial HSC exam block, and my brain is now slowly smoldering in its cranial cradle. Who knows.

On a brighter note, I this morning finished David and Leigh Eddings’ Polgara the Sorceress. I found it to be an intriguing and absorbing insight into the history and stories behind The Belgariad, and found the Eddings’ storytelling capabilities more than satisfactory. The characters are genuinely likeable, and Polgara’s spin on things fits her character (as developed in the related two series, the aforementioned Belgariad and the pentamerous sequel The Malloreon) brilliantly. A great read, but I highly recommend reading the other books first. I as yet have not read The Malloreon, and there were a few threads that I found myself shaking my head at. They didn’t detract any from the story, but it would’ve been nice to know what was going on. Those little in-jokes help get a grasp of the big picture and maintain a certain sense of perspective and longevity.

God damnit Physics really shits me. It really does. This afternoon I was going through previous HSC papers and absolutely blitzing them. Then I come to the topic Motors & Generators and everything crumbles. Projectiles are not as bad as I thought they were, but give me a motor, generator or transformer and I’ll throw it back at you untouched faster than you can say ‘motor effect’. Hey, my Lord, there’s something I actually understand. A conductor in a magnetic field will experience a force.

Space is good. I like Space. Einstein’s theories I can finally understand. Basically everything is different to various observers in different reference frames except the speed of light. Conventional speed (i.e. of a moving object other than light), time and distance are relative, depending on from where you observe an event. There are a plethora of equations to determine how length and time are contracted and dilated, which I think I can finally twist my head around. And Michelson and Morley and their aether experiment is in there too. So Space is sweet.

Meh, I guess we’ll see tomorrow.

Until next time…

Five down, two to go. Ancient History today – not bad, although I found myself quite agitated with Section IV, which consisted of a 25-mark question on a topic we covered in class for a cumulative total of around thirty minutes concerning Amenhotep III. To Amenhotep III I say this: ‘Damn you, Accursed of all lands, Upper, Lower and In-Between Egypt! May your rest be eternally rampant with the frustration of having to get up to get glasses of water and go to the toilet and such!’ Actually, on reflection, it’s not really Amenhotep’s fault. I’m sure he was a decent ruler and a rather likeable and well-to-do sort of fellow, so I suppose I’d really better not take it out on him. That said, the rest of the exam, with varied questions on Sparta and two periods in New Kingdom Egypt, went rather well. A day off tomorrow, and then onto the greatness of Physics. Go go formula sheets (refer next paragraph).

In the midst of the blur of exams I find simple things so very amusing. Such as placing a tissue in the fireplace and setting fire to it, only to watch the white cloth become slowly enveloped by the flames. At once beautiful yet tragic. I also have developed a highly annoying habit of randomly coming out with ‘Go go [insert token word of the moment here]‘. For example, the other night whilst watching the great show that is 24, I was heard to utter ‘Go go black dude,’ for which I later thumped myself to within an inch of my life.

Thanks to all the random people who have left comments and emailed and SMS’ed me to send birthday wishes. I thank you all for your thoughts and regards on this milestone of life. May your breath always bring in fresh air, not that of mustiness, may your beer always be cold, and may your heart keep beating for a long time yet to come.

On Sunday the new Carlton Draught ad was aired for the first time on prime-time free-to-air TV, and I must say I was rolling about with laughter. Upon doing further research, I discovered that one of the brains behind the operation was none other than Aussie Andrew Lesnie, now famous for his work as cinematographer with the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

This got me thinking about Australian film culture. Australia hasn’t really had that much luck in the film industry. One look at The Nugget or Tempe Tip will prove that to you. But occasionally a film breaks through into the big time and captivates audiences in our great nation and around the world. One such brilliant example is The Castle, one of the most brilliantly funny and moving films ever made. Blame Sitch, Gleisner and the rest of the crew behind The Panel for that one. This was followed up by the almost-as-good and more internationally-acclaimed The Dish, the true story of life at a receiving station that transmitted pictures of the 1969 moon landings all over the world. Apart from The Kelly Gang and Picnic at Hanging Rock, few Aussie movies ever came close to matching the action, drama and romantic pizazz of Hollywood. Then came along a man, nay, a genius, by the name of Bruce Beresford, who was forever to change the face of Australian movies. He told stories the Aussie way, and painted rich and vivid pictures of Australian colours for the world to see. A simply brilliant and passionate adaptation of David Williamson’s play The Club, the captivating Breaker Morant and later Driving Miss Daisy, Paradise Road and Double Jeopardy cemented the Australian foot in the Hollywood door. So is the great story of Australian cinema. And yet so much have I not covered. C’est la vie, I suppose.

Until next time…