Move your bloomin' arse! For once, the weather was crappy leading up to the weekend, then turned beautiful: not the other way around. We just went city exploring, like we hadn't done in a long while. Me in shorts.

Late in the afternoon, we headed back to a bar just across from Flinders Street station, which is in the very heart of town, to watch people come back from the races. It's great stuff, and we can't wait to do it up ourselves next year when we have more disposable income. It's rather like Ascot opening day in My Fair Lady, except that everyone is like Eliza instead of the snobby rich people. Ladies in fancy dress and big hats with feathers; men in suits or tuxes; everyone drinking a lot. Monday (and maybe Tuesday, I haven't quite figured it out) is a work holiday here in Melbourne, just for the Melbourne Cup, which all the other races have been leading up to. Of course, being paid hourly, there's no real motivation for me to take a holiday.

Marjorie had an interview the other day that sounds like it went really well. We'll keep our fingers crossed. That'll be a good one to check off the list.

Happy birthday, Mom!

The dog continues to provide comic relief. Now she's taken to attacking her tail. Not chasing it, but actually catching it.

I'm fascinated by the race of hobbit people that have been unearthed. I'm sure the scientists are cringing about them being called "hobbits" everywhere. The significance of this find can't be overstated. I mean, the reason you've heard about neanderthals is because they used to be considered our nearest neighbor in the evolutionary tree. Now we have a new closest relative. Wild stuff.

Marjorie had an interview the other day that sounds like it went really well. We'll keep our fingers crossed. That'll be a good one to check off the list.

Happy birthday, Mom!

The dog continues to provide comic relief. Now she's taken to attacking her tail. Not chasing it, but actually catching it.

I'm fascinated by the race of hobbit people that have been unearthed. I'm sure the scientists are cringing about them being called "hobbits" everywhere. The significance of this find can't be overstated. I mean, the reason you've heard about neanderthals is because they used to be considered our nearest neighbor in the evolutionary tree. Now we have a new closest relative. Wild stuff.

Everyone seems to know a list of celebrities that they share a birthday with. More interesting to me is the list of people who were born the same year as me. I came across just a list. A few of the notables:

Troy Aikman - Rick Astley - Stephen Baldwin - Halle Berry - Edie Brickell - Jeff Buckley - Cindy Crawford - John Daly - Stefan Edberg - Jon Favreau - Ben Folds - Samantha Fox - C. Thomas Howell - Janet Jackson - Paula Jones - Sinead O'Connor - Luke Perry - Andy Richter - Chris Robinson - David Schwimmer - Matthew Sweet - Mike Tyson.

What a graduating class that would be.

When I was a kid I remember occasional visits to relatives where, after dinner, I would be made to sit at the dinner table while the adults talked, when what I really, really wanted to do was to go play. How could these adults want to just sit here and talk? There's all these great toys, right over there!

That, I think, is what the life of a dog is like. In my efforts to empathise with the new dog, that's the example that keeps coming back into my head. There is nothing she wants more than to be out on walkies. Her tail starts wagging every time one of us walks in the direction of the front door.

But, too often, she's stuck at the dinner table while the grownups talk. She's definitely settling in, and has already learned to manipulate us with sad looks, especially when she thinks she's about to be left alone. She's also testing her limits a bit at the dog park and the beach, not coming when she's called. She's a very silly girl, though, and is continually providing us comic relief.

Look Ma, no cord! With the help of a downloaded patch, our wireless internet connection now works, and I'm blogging from bed. Sweet!

We tried a new Mexican restaurant tonight, Los Amates in Fitzroy. It was just okay. We think the problem may be getting the necessary ingredients imported into a country with very tight agricultural import restrictions. Poblano peppers are just nowhere to be had on this continent.

Atlanta, 1996. The Olympics are in town. At a neighborhood restaurant I end up dining at the next table over from Pierre Salinger. This is a year before his ignominious exit from ABC news.

Wow, those are some eyebrows.

I mention it only because now it seems he has died.

I love articles like this: Endangered species: US programmers. To quote in part:

Since the dotcom bust in 2000-2001, nearly a quarter of California technology workers have taken nontech jobs, according to a study of 1 million workers released last week by Sphere Institute, a San Francisco Bay Area public policy group. The jobs they took often paid less.

What they don't realize is that the quarter of the programmers they said were forced to take other jobs were the quarter who didn't belong there in the first place. The business was overrun by people from other fields who had no business or aptitude for the subject, but just wanted their piece of the pie in the dotcom boom. At my old job we rejected hundreds if not thousands of applicants.

Anyway, I really do love articles like that, because they tend to discourage other career opportunists. And as for offshoring, I know a lot of companies that have tried it once, but not many that have tried it twice.

My job here seems to be going exceedingly well, all in all. It's a good bunch of people, and they seem to be really happy with the work I'm doing. I've gotten my groove back, and have also discovered the key to happiness at work, for me: stop screwing around on the net. I've had jobs in the past with free reign to surf at will, and it's a dangerous lure. Without it I'm considerably more productive, and more content as a result.

This new work philosophy comes at a price, though; in idle moments where formerly I would wander out on the web, I now take to biting my nails. It got bad for a while, but I'm stepping up the battle -- I mark up my hangnails with a ballpoint pen so I don't bite them, and have even taken to covering them with band-aids.

I love articles like this: Endangered species: US programmers. To quote in part:

Since the dotcom bust in 2000-2001, nearly a quarter of California technology workers have taken nontech jobs, according to a study of 1 million workers released last week by Sphere Institute, a San Francisco Bay Area public policy group. The jobs they took often paid less.

What they don't realize is that the quarter of the programmers they said were forced to take other jobs were the quarter who didn't belong there in the first place. The business was overrun by people from other fields who had no business or aptitude for the subject, but just wanted their piece of the pie in the dotcom boom. At my old job we rejected hundreds if not thousands of applicants.

Anyway, I really do love articles like that, because they tend to discourage other career opportunists. And as for offshoring, I know a lot of companies that have tried it once, but not many that have tried it twice.

My job here seems to be going exceedingly well, all in all. It's a good bunch of people, and they seem to be really happy with the work I'm doing. I've gotten my groove back, and have also discovered the key to happiness at work, for me: stop screwing around on the net. I've had jobs in the past with free reign to surf at will, and it's a dangerous lure. Without it I'm considerably more productive, and more content as a result.

This new work philosophy comes at a price, though; in idle moments where formerly I would wander out on the web, I now take to biting my nails. It got bad for a while, but I'm stepping up the battle -- I mark up my hangnails with a ballpoint pen so I don't bite them, and have even taken to covering them with band-aids.

Speed. Hoorah! Just got our DSL connection going. The hardware was delivered this morning, and Marjorie got it set up all by herself (almost). Speed is good. We also got the wireless modem, but are just wired in at the moment. Will try to get the wireless working tomorrow, which will be nice.

Yesterday at the dog park Laika noticed for the first time a metal statue of a dog that sits off to one side. It was hilarious -- she started by barking at it, then circling around it growling with her teeth bared and hackles raised. She was totally freaked out by it.

We're getting to know everyone who goes to the dog park regularly. The people we talk to, but no one knows each other's names, just the names of everyone else's dogs. Funny how that works.

"Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read." (Groucho Marx)

Laika had her first trip into the Albert Park Library today. Yes, into. I tied her up outside -- her first time being left like this -- and went in to get something to read. I was well inside when she broke her leash and came bounding into the library after me. Apparently she has some abandonment issues.

She's a funny girl. She keeps grabbing the side of her bed and dragging it and flipping it over, or sometimes just holding it, or thrashing it around.

All in all, though, not many behavior issues. She nips at you if she's excited by play, and pulls a little on the leash, but for a pound dog, if those are the only problems, that's pretty good. Even those problems should be fixed with the help of obedience class in a few weeks.

Meet Laika, our new canine. She's a little unsure about her new home, but she seems very sweet and playful. And a wee bit gassy.

TV. We have satellite here now. We're not disappointed; many of our favorite shows are in heavy rotation. At any given time, the Simpsons, Frazier, or Seinfeld are on. Marjorie gets a lot of her shows which I don't like; I get a lot of the sports and such that she doesn't (NFL football, English Premier League soccer, etc.).

There's only one Australian show we've latched onto -- Kath and Kim. We actually discovered it while in Singapore though.

Weeknights at 11:30 we get The Naked News, in which women newscasters read the news while they take off their clothes. Full frontal. The news seems to be two weeks old, at least, but no one seems to be complaining. It's actually the least sexy thing you could imagine. Especially when they cover US election news.

For the second time in a month, I am wigging from an intense episode of Six Feet Under. It was the one where David helps the guy who runs out of gas. I had bad dreams about it all last night, and couldn't get it out of my head all day. Is this the best show on TV? Definitely the best acted.

Our new dog--

...is still out there somewhere. We visited the no-kill pound and the RSPCA today, but came home dogless. In a big city like this you'd think there'd be hundreds of dogs available, but there were maybe 20 combined at both places, and none of them were our dog. One at the first place almost was -- a very sweet black lab that was a little gimpy in his hind legs, they think from being crated too long as a puppy. We left to think about it, and later they called us and told us that they decided our living situation wasn't right for the dog, so there you go. We were kind of glad that they resolved it for us.

Vernacular. I've started incorporating some local phrases in my daily speech patterns. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes unconciously. A brief rundown of the more common ones:

"No worries." (Translation: "No problem" or "That's okay" or "You're welcome") Probably the most commonly used Aussie phrase. I've fully assimilated this now, and use it without thinking.

"How are you going?" (Translation: "How are you doing?" or "How is it going?") I say this now pretty commonly too. (Marjorie wondered aloud the other day why the remaining permutation, "How is it doing?" is never used anywhere. Maybe we can start a trend.)

"G'day." (Translation: "Hello") Relatively common. I've never been able to say this.

"Ta." (Translation: "Thank you") I've tried this a few times, but it always feels like I'm saying goodbye, as I think it means in England. It feels almost dismissive to say, especially when you're trying to thank somebody.

"Nice" (Translation: "Good") This still seems odd to me; I'm used to "nice" meaning "friendly". It's odd to be asked if the lunch you had was "nice". To pronounce it in true Kath-and-Kim Aussie style, say "noice".

"Haitch" (Translation: "Aitch", i.e. the letter H) I was advised that this is "low" Australian, but I have yet to encounter an Australian who DOESN'T say it this way.

"Mate" (Translation: "Friend") Marjorie doesn't like this one. I do, but I can't seem to describe my friends as my "mates". It sounds too British to me.

"Good on ya." (Translation: "Well done") I think I've used this a few times.

"Crook" (Translation: "Sick", as in "Mary is crook and will not be in today.") A more obscure one, that I've never used.

One other note about the cold house --

When Marjorie was gone, I found the perfect antidote to sitting around a old, cold, drafty, half-empty house, feeling a little bit lonely: Tom Waits. Specifically, "Alice". The last five songs had me just staring at a wall; I haven't been captivated like that in a while.

Internet at last. Dialup, at least. We got our phone line connected, at last.

The house is still quite lacking in soft edges. Hardwood and tile floors, wooden chairs, and still only an air mattress (we're still waiting for our bed to be delivered). It had never before occurred to me that cushions are a modern necessity.

Last night we escaped up to the bar at the Albert Park to play trivia. Marjorie nailed a bonus question before the whole rest of the bar (Announcer: "Who am I? I was born in 1967 in Smyrna, Georgia..." Marjorie: "Oy! Julia Roberts." The prize: three CDs of DJ mixes of songs by artists we've never heard of.) We did only average overall, but I met a couple of guys who play soccer in the area. The season doesn't start until March, but they might be doing a pick-up game or two soon.

There will be some new softness in the house very soon -- on Saturday we're getting a dog. Marjorie wanted to get this one until she realized that it's in a totally different area of the country. I have no doubt, though, that we'll walk out of the dog adoption place with the dog with the biggest ears.

Where we've been. No internet access at home means no regular updates. We'll have it hooked up soon, though, I hope.

We're just trying to set up house at the moment. It'll be another two months before our stuff arrives from the states, but in the meanwhile, we have to make the place more livable. It's a great house in a great neighborhood.

Job is going exceedingly well. I've managed to solve some problems that had been plaguing them for weeks, and it looks like there's every chance I'll be hired on at the end of it. We're building an application that ambulance drivers ("ambos", in the local parlance) will run on their tablet computers to enter all the information about the vital signs, treatments, and procedures followed for each case.

I had a good Friday night happy hour last week with about thirty people from work, and chatted with just about everybody. Good buncha folk.

Today the AFL (footy) Grand Final is going on, which is the equivalent of Super Bowl Sunday back home. Strange, but they only had about an hour of pre-game shows. Still, it is quite obvious a HUGE deal here. The town was overrun with people from Adelaide and Brisbane, all wearing their colors. I suppose we should have watched, just as part of our cultural indoctrination.

Spent last night in the new place. It was BITTER COLD.

Of course, it was (I think) the coldest night of the year. I couldn't get the main heater to work, so I only had a small little space heater. And I'm sleeping on an air mattress on the floor. I woke up at about 2:30am, just from the cold. I draped my blankets over the heater, so it was blowing directly underneath, and after five minutes, the heater STOPPED. Panic. Luckily, it came back on after five minutes. But I was still cold. I thrashed around and cocooned myself for a bit, then began to realize that whatever part of me was against the bed was what was getting cold. So if I was lying on my left hip, my left hip would get cold. Strange. I finally figured it out, that, being on (hardwood) floor, my left hip was basically three inches from the bitter-cold crawlspace. I made an effort to spread out my weight, and everything was okay. I need to lay down a layer of insulation or something though.

Today I bought a fridge and a washing machine, all by myself. I'm a big boy!

Frances. The family is okay, apparently, but no word yet on how the houses in Cocoa Beach and Cape Canaveral fared.

Was glad to see that they have Six Feet Under here on regular TV. Totally unedited, too. I am still wigging from last night's episode.

The bulk of our packages mailed from Singapore have arrive, after nine weeks. They promised five to seven, but we're more relieved than angry. Still three more on the way. There are now twenty-seven boxes in this little studio rathole apartment I'm staying in until the end of the week. Then I get to move them all myself. What fun.