Monday, October 25

Back in Adelaide after a not so smooth flight from Surfer's.

I'm not sure if it was the flight or the baggage handlers that busted two or three of the stubbies I foolishly decided to stow in my bag (it seemed like a good idea this morning). There was a good side though; laundry soaked with beer can't beer differentiated from clothes that weren't.

The programmed highlight at Indy was to be a night on the town at a titties bar. Shooters was chosen based on apparent popularity and a perception of being not too sleazy to visit with the father-in-law in tow. The dress code required me to return with trousers instead of shorts and because of the delay, we all copped the door charge.

From 9.30 to 11.30 the club had nada nudity. The knob(disk)-jockey, who obviously couldn't count backwards, announced only two tracks 'til the girls come out. Half an hour later, just before midnight a short dance by several fully clad girls lasted two songs and took a break.
Give me a break!

The real highlight turned out to be meeting Paul Bickford. Fortunately the Australian Bloggers Alliance screening process ensured compatibility (or maybe it was the beerstall crawl from one end of the track to the other). A friendly man who knows a shitload about lots of stuff and drinks like a fish. (The Grinder's own in depth critical analysis)

Overall the Gold Coast proved a fantastic destination. A tour of Dick Johnson Racing, good company, the pies at Yatala Bakery, the apartment pool, SuperCars without pitstops and lots of eyecandy were just what the good doctor prescribed.

Rumour, Gossip & Scandal

The 'plastic fantastic' from Idol, Anthony, may in time, prove to break the hearts of his SMSing tweenie fans, well the female ones anyway. "Not that there's anything wrong with that".
You heard it here.


Tuesday, October 19

It's time

Gold Coast here we come. Al and I are shirking our domestic and work responsibilities to partake in the festivities of Indy 2004.

I'd apologise in advance for a lack of posts, but

a) I don't care and am not fooling myself that I have any more readers than contacts in my address book;
b) I don't post frequently enough for anyone to notice; or
c) I'm just gloating about going on holiday and don't really care what you do.

PS If your reading this Paul, we'll catch you there (got your number).

Oooh

Something big and loud with an afterburner in its tail just rumbled over these parts.

This might be one for Political Correctness Watch.

Former CEO of the Attorney-General's Department in South Australia, Kate Lennon, has resigned following revelations she hid money from treasury.

Sounds sinister doesn't it. Well, first it's worth considering how budgeting works in the SA government. Treasury allocate a budget to each department. The budget period is fixed at one year. Anything not spent is retained by Treasury and is also deducted from the next year's budget.

It is a major disincentive to disclose any surplus, and there is no easy way of carrying money over to the next budget period for delayed projects and the like.

A detailed audit revealed Kate Lennon transferred the money to a trust account held by the Crown Solicitors Office. It was apparent the purpose of which was to avoid disclosure of the surplus in order to carry the money into the next year's budget.

She did not steal the money, it didn't even leave the department. In fact she was trying to maximise the capacity of the Attorney-General's Department's budget.

I have good reason to believe other departments eliminate excess funds by madly spending on quick purchases as the financial year comes to a close. This is hardly responsible, yet it is the CEO who tried to manage a budget and carry money over that has to fall on their sword.


Excitement

The Grinder household is on edge. According to ABC News tonight, the Kingston electorate is 9 votes short of falling into Liberal candidate Kym Richardson's hands.

I can't find this exact result anywhere else, but according to the AEC, 92% of the vote has been counted and Kymbo has 40,048 votes while David Cox has 40,106 (2PP).

If only I'd voted more often. Sure I'd be fined to buggery, but they'd never know which ones to deduct. Hehehehe.

Sunday, October 17

If you don't have lamb, try some dog.

The Grinder clan took a trip to the beach today. The Grindlings were suitably excited and were dropping not so subtle hints about wanting to have a water fight with their father.

My secret to a successful trip away from the workshop is to simply keep it short. As a kid, time moves much slower; a couple of hours is very much like a whole day in kid time. (Sometimes this true for parents, but for different reasons).

It's the little things that make a difference. Grindling #2 is now toilet trained. No more filthy nappies and no multiple changes of the sand (and our rubbish bins smells sweet compared with when it used to ooze vapours of 7-day-old, soiled and sun-baked nappies).

It's also little things that can blow up in to big things. Like the numerous unleashed dogs left to run free-range while their owners stroll a hundred metres of so behind. Normally harmless enough, most dogs are just socially inquisitive; a quick sniff of the kids and they're off to chase some seagulls.

The problem starts with a small matter of Mrs G being terrified of dogs she doesn't know. The kids are a little better. Generally it's just easier these days to avoid going near dogs, and fortunately most metro beaches have laws requiring dogs to be properly restrained. Therefore we should be able to use the beach without worrying where the next dog is going to come from.

Its not like we sat ourselves next to others with dogs. We drove out of our way to find a section of beach where there weren't any. Unsurprisingly it didn't take long before a steady flow of unleashed dogs and their owners with she'll-be-right attitudes came by to take the gloss of an enjoyable family outing.

Sure, nothing happened as each dog passed. But the anxiety of being approached by unleased dogs detracts the relaxing benefits of a family seaside visit.

I wonder if the same dog owners would be happy for me to line up their four-legged friend in the sights of the old man's 222 hornet as it neared my family. Of course there'd only be a small chance that I pull the trigger. But then it's much the same gamble they are taking with my kids. There's a law against pointing a gun around a public beach I'm sure, but the same applies with not leashing dogs on the beach.

I say, "Don't license the dogs - license the owners instead."


The test for applicants would be simple:

1. When taking rover out for a walk, you should:

a) Let the dog run free, and tell it off with a stern warning after with fighting other dogs, (its always the other dog that started it anyway)
b) Leave the dog at home to bark at moving trees
c) Put it on a leash and take it for mafia style walk to the nearest forest
d) Not give a toss, because its your god given right to do as you please with no regard for others

2. Rover has been busting to take a crap all day. His hind legs are turned inward, the tail is up and his anus is pouting; you know he'll let it all go when its walkies time. Do you:

a) Tie a plastic bag to your leash to make it look like you intend to clean up the putrid warm goo that is about to be born
b) Keep the dog home until it leaves a landmine somewhere that only the next visitor's kid's shoe will find.
c) Head south to the nearest kids playground or housing trust area and hope Rover can hold on long enough.
d) Do what every one else does and make Rover do it on the cement footpath in such a way that prams will have to steer on to the road to avoid it.

3. People have politely mentioned that your dog must get lonely when you're out. That is, he barks ceaselessly! You;

a) Thank them for letting you know and book Rover in to obedience training.
b) Tell them to mind their own business and head on your way for a weekend at the shack, leaving Rover to fend for himself.
c) Deny it could be your dog because it's so well behaved when you're home.

Assicons (emoticons of the arse)

(_!_) a regular ass


(__!__) a fat ass

(!) a tight ass


(_*_) a sore ass




{_!_} a swishy ass


(_o_) an ass that's been around


(_x_) kiss my ass


(_X_) leave my ass alone


(_zzz_) a tired ass


(_E=mc2_) a smart ass


(_$_) Money coming out of his ass


(_?_) Dumb Ass

Thursday, October 14

Blog Guilt

Only three days of work until the Grinder sets course for the Gold Coast. The paracetamol, berocca, coffee and promite are awaiting the company of yesteryear's shorts, t-shirts and thongs that will constitute my luggage in its entirety (give or take some toiletries).

Everything is moving along nicely, the caseload is manageable and not too much of my spare time is being spent thinking through (read: worrying about) how I could be better managing work.

In fact things are going pretty well. I've even made the effort to visit Grinder Senior and his new wife on Saturday to view their wedding video taken a couple of weeks back.

But I have guilt. The euphoria has killed my bile and with no bile and have no urge to bitch and whinge. Hence there's little blogging going on.

I am really hoping there's a first floor balcony overlooking a main pedestrian thoroughfare at this apartment in Queensland. I have these visions of settling in on day one and accumulating an overflow of empties around where I sit over the next four days.

Of course it's been that long since the last session of self abuse (back in May), I'll probably pass out before breaking a second six pack. There's a good chance I'll even forget to even go to the Indy track.

Sunday, October 10

Snackfood good, Hmmmm

When it comes to dietary choices, my thought patterns would best match that of someone with a bi-polar disorder. It takes less than a nanosecond to switch from guilt to disregard and back to guilt again.

Be advised, the new variety of sweet chilli and sour cream cheezels are evil. I am like Pavlov's dog even as I post this.

Arnott's Snackfoods doesn't appear to exist on the web, so no useful link is available.

One last piece of advice, don't sniff the packet before trying them. The smell is like nylon socks after they've spent a long hot day in cheap synthetic sneakers.

Polling tips

On the walk up to the polling booths yesterday there were all the usual suspects proffering how to vote slips.

The greens representative saw the kids in tow handed Mrs G a how to vote card and said, "You need this to vote green so your kids can breath clean air".

As I passed I responded politely "No thank you, clean air will make them hyperactive."

What next? Pure rainwater rather than fanta and cola drinks! Organic and unprocessed foods are for wimps. My kids are going to be tough and fully acclimatised to all the additives that food scientists can throw at a budget burger value meal.


Life is good

A good election result, motor racing, cricket and a holiday at Indy to catch up with mates (now less than two weeks away).

I’m not sure I can handle it – I think I’m going to cry.

The Blogs are alive

It's a beautiful day outside and what am I doing here?

Actually I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go. Mrs G had the family up and ready at 9 this morning for a fundraising photo session at the childcare centre. We looked like a regular carload of churchgoers for sure.

No that it's over; I could not resist logging on and having a gander.

Some of my favourites:

Chief Bastard
9.07 pm - Senator Andrew Bartlett, Leader of the Democrats, now only a Senate party, is sad that the Libs appear to have picked up half the seats in the Senate. Therefore, no relevance for the Democrats re: balance of power issues. He should have a drink to commiserate. Go on Andy, take a running jump off that wagon."


"The whole concept of voter free will doesn't appear to be sinking in to the opposition"

And comments about voter free will being a concept beyond the ALP rings true with the post mortem on the box this morning. There was another sour grapes comment about Latham not being able to pull people around. Just face it Latham just didn't have the balls to pull it off.

[I would have to agree with the ALP whinges about it being a negative campaign. I was not proud of the interest rates claim made by the Libs, it was childish and they deserve some flack for it.]

And he doesnt win the title of chief bastard for nothing (not in context to the election but I wanted to paste it in anyway)

"You won, but your still disabled. Hey! You were thinking it too!"


Good news as it is, I am however a little troubled by this development

Moron
Family First federal leader Andrea Mason said the party would not support selling off the remaining stake of the government majority-owned telecommunications giant."

Thankfully I've heard the coalition have control in the senate too. Phew.

And after spending the night at a bbq with apologist work colleagues (ironically held in Alexander Downer's electorate), this piece from the Gnu also rates a mention.

The Gnu
The ALP should not blame its woes on Tampa, a scare campaign, the stupidity of the Australian people, or the trickiness of the naughty Mr Howard. Instead, they must proffer policies that will make us want to vote for them.


Monday, October 4

He said it

Labour voters are paedophiles?

Word of the day

Jericho adjective 1. regularly changing direction, wandering, adrift.
example:
‘Grinder found it difficult to keep his links up to date because some blogs had gone Jericho.’
Or
‘Somewhat despondent with the blogosphere after his site was attacked, the author became Jericho and took on a series of names as he sought his supreme identity.’

Groan

Well that's that. The wedding has come and gone. Two years after my mum took her last breath, Dad has hitched up with someone else.

I've resolved not to be selfish about the whole thing. Dad is much happier than he would have been if he were to continue as a widower.

The wedding was a little like a duck paddling; well orchestrated from the outside, meanwhile panic ridden behind the scenes.

An hour before the ceremony, neither bride nor groom could be found. Being a true DIY man, the groom was still at the yacht club setting up his stereo and microphone. The bride was still having her hair done.

Charged with the responsibility of best man and photographer my day was guaranteed to be hectic. The wedding was held across the road from my parents' house in the park that has a view north over the Adelaide coastline.

The groom turned up with 20 minutes to spare and jumps in to his suit. The ribbons are yet to be put on the cars. The bride hasn't returned from the hairdressers yet.

With ten minutes to go, the groomsmen (including aforementioned 'close relative') are lined up in front of 130 or so well wishers.

The bride motored past with five minutes left to get changed.

I don't know how she did it in time (practice I suppose), but the bride was walking up the park being led by a kilt wearing bagpipe player and the bridesmaid. I took some photos and put the camera away to assume my other role.

The celebrant read all sorts of stuff about love, friendship and commitment. Most of my energy was focussed on smiling and looking positive. Then I remembered I was supposed to have the rings. Bummer.

Exit stage right to retrieve the rings as discretely as can be done in front of 100 or so onlookers.

More words about cherishing this that and the other, signing of a piece of paper and the guests were directed to the yacht club.

Resuming as photographer, I took more pictures as the bride went to the car. The car is an old 50's Mercedes that was made for wearing a white ribbon. At one stage it used to be my Mum's car.

I don't really believe all that spiritual reincarnate stuff, but it made me reflect for a moment when the bride caught her dress on the exhaust and smeared it with greasy soot.

The reception went well, most people were merry and even those of us who couldn't help thinking about mum kept the tears at bay.

The MC did her bit and eventually it was time to do my last bit, the speech.

Other than getting the shakes, I had the full attention and appreciation of the guests. Thankfully I think I hit the right note and my efforts paid off.



I was hoping I'd feel better after it was all over. It took about an hour to recover from the ordeal of public speaking.

Why is it that when there's a tab at the bar, it's the distant rellies and their friends who are the only ones seen ordering booze by the bottle or jug. In one case, towards the end of the show, four jugs were piled up near a likely bunch of lads on the balcony.

By 5 o'clock, the kids were getting ratty and I was too washed out to stick around for more. Mrs G dropped me back at my parents' house to change out of the suit and pick of the other car.

Unfortunately I'd left my car keys in the wedding car. After changing, I walked back to the reception, got my keys, and walked back to my car.

Today I woke up with a raw throat and a head full of snot. So I've dedicated today to moping in my own misery. I figure it's a good way to get it out of the system and start fresh tomorrow - with the assistance of some Panadol and Sudafed (scary that spell checker both recognised and capitalised those two brands of medicine) .