Saturday, January 25, 2003

Because this is what the weather is like in Victoria today, we wait in the heat.
"We're looking down the barrel of another horror weekend with extreme weather conditions applying the blowtorch to bush that's dangerously dry…”
In the city anyway.To be hot in the city is a luxury, as the bush burns, or waits
Boynton is holed up in her Victorian cottage which is dark and cool for the time being. Best place to be - outside of a cinema maybe. Although she suspects any air conditioned diversion or suspension of disbelief would have its limits when there's a state of emergency unfolding around us.

She'll just have to be like a Victorian Lady and sit about planning a pink tea.

Friday, January 24, 2003

Boynton just found her dream house. Unfortunately it's only 1/4 " scale (via Pop Culture Junk Mail)
The original mini house can be seen here and one miniaturist explains the attraction. Perhaps though this is one way - the only way? - of realizing the home-ownership dream...Suddenly there seemed some logic to the plastic mini Scottie Boynton had somehow bought and kept for years only to have it chewed by small dog the other night...of course in her new mini moderne house, Boynton will substitute a more chic terrier for the unhip JRT. Not to mention the man about the mini house. Boynton browsed the catalogues (see Heidi Ott/Adult mini dolls)...and thought Basil man servant or Andrew man in white jacket sounded promising. After further investigation, she remains not entirley convinced of the exact gender however. Marco looks ok but after a while the unicycle in a small room would surely drive you crazy . Guess it'll just have to be James.

Update . These are some mini things Boynton really does covet. And Nora - isn't that your ideal man in the ski jumper?!

Thursday, January 23, 2003

off screen. Douglas had a bad couple of days. Boynton last paid homage to her dog 16/12 , and while she has his tacit P to P on all aspects of his life, she doesn’t think she’ll go there, when that happens. No blogs, no poetry. She won’t be quite like Enid Blyton, whom she vaguely recalls (ie can’t find a link to back up theory) kept writing a public journal featuring her dog long after he died. Doug is recovering from what was probably a minor ailment, an OD of what they call an unpalatable behavioural problem. But because he is getting on somewhat – (this is what he looks like) – his bad guts hits him very bad. Boynton has to keep resisting the urge to web diagnose –what a can of worms that is for the potential munchausen-by-proxy pet custodian

Wednesday, January 22, 2003

The bush fires are still breathing down on Canberra ... and indeed Victoria, as the weekend extreme-fire danger forecast looms.
In just a few hours, a third of Australia's world-class astronomy programme was wiped out as Mt Stromlo Observatory went up in flames
Last night travelling home Boynton saw two men leap from a tram, each wearing shorts and sandals. The first bloke was early 90’s homeboy and strode off as purposefully as he could in his vintage attire. The second man was central casting school principal in the costume of shorts, walking socks and sandals, with – it was observed – a pronounced limp. Just a casual moment of kerbside costume ballet.

Tuesday, January 21, 2003

"Somewhere in general" The country move has always been a bit of a contingency plan for Boynton. If all else fails. Is it time for contingencies? Has the Fall from a Different Level actually happened? Some days she can see herself living like this –( or should that be with this k9 Mr Right even if he is a Weimeraner) – the idyllic painterly lifestyle in the country. It’s not about downshifting for Boynton – alas that would imply a former material status to downsize. But perhaps it is about the dreaded escapist, sea-change thing that is converting hardware shops into cafes all along the coastlines of Victoria. However, reading so called geoblogs with the visible connection to place refuels the dream. Is it the old longing for an island somewhere? Is this crunch time? ...Maybe Plan C is to find the same connection in the urban bush , the suburban tracks, the places uncelebrated by TV. (Actually plan D - she really just needs a bit of space to pitch an easel).
This would have been a good godot link... (via Lindsay Marshall)

Monday, January 20, 2003

But can my dog still go to the bathroom in his lycra body suit?...(via anil's links)
The smoke woke Boynton this morning. She had to close windows and doors, and heard that the thick blanket enveloping Melbourne was only related smoke. From the bushfires in the north-east. Last night she viewed the harrowing stories of the Canberra firestorm, and then watched Waiting for Godot.
Was I sleeping while the others suffered? Am I sleeping now?
Related smoke is one of those “handful of dust” things. A proxy or a portent. Notes from a burnt butterfly.
Will the tennis ( tennis of all sorts) be affected?

Sunday, January 19, 2003

Late last night when Boynton got home she noticed a Ferris Wheel at the end of her street. Oh yes. It was the eve of the Vietnamese Lunar festival. Another perfect summer's day, she strolled down the road alone. Clusters of balloons soared away skywards. By daylight the Giant wheel spun too quickly – the big slide too big (but then all sideshows seem too extreme for Boynton – mini golf was the only temptation today – but a lone adult walking those fake greens would have seemed too eccentric even for a certifiable specimen) All the kids jumped in joyously. There was a great festival spirit about, as we followed the idle tram tracks past spring rolls, bubble tea, and endless tents of soft toys. Each tent tempted punters with a slightly different hand-eye skill; shooting, fishing for mackerel, throwing -in tub, in clown's mouths, at target, and fishing at pods of mini-winnies slowly floating round. Big soft tigers hung by their tails , while further up the street a real headless pig rotated away in the sun. When she reached Church street a singer and synthesiser performed a wonderful Quando Quando Quando, as a stand of firecrackers was ominously prepared within a witches-hat safety zone. She beat a retreat. The man on the ghost stall looked less animate than his brethren. Prominent councillors took photos of their tent, a child barked as he spun round on a helicopter, and Boynton refused a man handing out a smiley sticker. Back inside she can hear the karaoke and crackers, as another green balloon heads off into the blue. She may venture out again to catch a glimpse of the twilight Vietnamese opera. Or she might just open the window.