Pleasant Weather

This morning Sydney had the kind of pleasant weather that is common in Santa Barbara. The ocean is still fairly cool. Overnight, a marine layer developed, and so the sunrise was muffled by a layer of cool clouds. At nine a.m. there are patches of blue showing through as the sun slowly dissipates this cool layer. This is a contrast to the past week, which had no soft morning marine layer - as soon as the sun rose the air immediately began warming and the sun quickly became sweltering.

Dried up

When I was in the US, I started getting a lot of Google surveys again. Now that I'm back in Australia, they've stopped. The US economy is like the Australian economy on steroids. It's really hard to tell how much is smoke and mirrors. It's a weird thing going from giant empty grocery stores (after hours - open 24/7) with a zillion strange products (many of which you'd be ill-advised to consume regularly), to my neighborhood IGA in Australia, where for some reason, there's currently not even grape juice on the shelf. Did Australia make all of its grapes into wine? What the hell is with this country?!

Broken, painful system

Readers may have noticed, I spent the last two months in Indiana. It was not related to the highly contested Senate seat of Democrat Joe Donnelly; it was due to the death of my father. Of course the television was on during much of my time in Indiana, up until the 3:45 a.m. viewing of Fox News while waiting for the airport shuttle to ferry me out of Trumpistan.

The first hint that I was in a political battleground didn't come through The Tube, but via YouTube. Apparently the location detectors of my devices indicated I had entered a zone flush with advertising revenue, and so it began. Prior to my visit, I didn't know that Indiana had a Democratic Senator whose name was Joe Donnelly. My last update of Indiana politics was around 2013 when long-time Republican Senator and Obama mentor Richard Lugar was thrown out of office in favor of someone from the Tea Party. That'll teach anyone with political experience to mentor a young (black?) Senator from a neighboring state. Look where that went?!

And so, as if political ads weren't already abundant enough, the Supreme Court had ruled in Citizens United v. FEC that even more money should be available for political speech. Imagine: you're sitting in your easy chair, watching news about the latest shootings, home invasions, freakish weather, and foreign threats, and you're eagerly waiting for the commercial break so you can learn about a new medication for depression or better adult diapers to replace the uncomfortable ones you've been wearing. Oh, and those delicious menu items - the crunchy lettuce, tasty tomatoes, and 100% American beef that's piping hot and ready to be cooked on demand just up the street. Ah, domestic bliss.

But no. No commercials about depression; no adult diapers; no crunchy lettuce and juicy ripe tomatoes floating in space ready to land on a succulent burger. No, no, no. What you get is an ad for candidate A - CANDIDATE A! CANDIDATE A!!!! No. No time to think - with micro-second precision, you jump to the ad for candidate B - CANDIDATE B! CANDIDATE B!!! And just as you start to think, "huh - Candidate A says, but Candidate B says" NO! Another ad. CANDIDATE A IS UNAMERICAN!!! And another... CANDIDATE B BEATS HIS WIFE! - commercial breaks seem to be long enough for four - two on each side because... fair!

Does the hammering of FOUR carefully engineered, emotional political ads enamor you with either candidate? While initially amusing and falsely illuminating, carry that forward to every commercial break for two months and what do you have? Wow - candidates sure need a lot of money these days to bludgeon the voter into thinking that democracy is awfully smelly. Come election day we have a citizenry that holds its nose, voting at emotional gunpoint, and longing for commercials about the latest depression medication and adult diapers. Please. PLEASE NO MORE POLITICAL ADS!!! I'll vote! I'll do anything - JUST MAKE THEM STOP!!!

Breath - the movie.

Per Fay's choice, saw the movie Breath last night. It is a) a surf film and b) a male adolescent coming of age story.
Unlike some other surf films I've seen, this one gives you a lot more feeling of being in the water - not as a heroic conquerer, but more being tossed at the mercy of the forces of nature and "do I really want to get into that roiling mess?" The time spent in that ambivalence is greater than the time spent showing someone gracefully carving a wave. There was a point where Fay said "I can't watch this" and that wasn't about someone wiping out on a wave, but someone deciding to jump into water where they could very well drown.

The cinematography and Australian scenery are classically stunning; the water is displayed in more moods than most surf films. The scenes could have been anywhere along the coast, but happened to be around Peaceful Bay Western Australia; turf of author Tim Winton. The coming of age part is described by Junkee's review as "...A Movie Made For Middle-Aged White Guys And Literally No One Else" Awww... it wasn't that bad, but as a slightly post-middle-age White Guy, it's hard for me to judge. I was a bit disturbed at the inclusion of a dangerous sex kink, but it did help fill out the melancholic depth of one of the characters, as well as the overall sometimes sadness of life.

I was wondering how much was actually in the book; Variety says "...the sexual initiation feels a tad formulaic in narrative terms, even if Winton labors a bit too hard to avoid cliche, introducing a kinky aspect to Eva’s neediness that perhaps introduces more grown-up mess than this story really needs." Although since Winton wrote both the book and contributed to the screenplay, that still doesn't reveal whether the book has a more integrated plotline. In spite of the film being set somewhere radically different from my youth, the interplay of characters was very familiar and, yes for an, um, older white guy, provoked reminiscing. I had to explain to Fay what BB guns were (not from the movie; from my childhood). Sidenote: I think the Junkee review was written by someone who has no appreciation for water.

Noticing the invisible

I just hung up from a phone call, and a few seconds later, thought "wait a minute! That person didn't have an Australian accent?!" When I lived in the United States, I'd notice if someone had a strong regional accent. Now that I've been in Australia for five years, when I run into someone who might have an American or Canadian accent, it doesn't even hit my consciousness until later. My doctor doesn't have an Austalian accent. Her name is Indian, and she's mentioned relatives in the UK, but her accent isn't British either (and I haven't even thought to ask). On my last visit, she used a word or two that had a tiny hint of Australian, but not enough to indicate immersion from birth. There's a guy I met through volunteering who grew up in the same Sydney neighborhood as my wife, but his Australian accent is so thick I frequently have to ask him to repeat himself. My wife's parents spoke Greek, but her accent isn't Greek, it's only mildly Australian.

A chance to feel human again

I was not looking forward to visiting my parents in the US. On one visit my father had tried to hit me in anger ⏤ a 70+ year old man trying to hit his 40+ year-old son. Old habits die hard. I deflected the blow, and it didn't earn him any respect. My attitude towards my mother has softened; her image evolving into someone trapped in a 1950's role who was not mentally up for the challenge of raising three boys (and finally, a girl). But I always felt my father had less excuse for taking frustrations out on his children. He was upholding tradition.

Until my late 20's, I was convinced that parents who helped their children with homework were spoiling them; not preparing them for the real world where no one would hold your hand. Ours was definitely a "spare the rod, spoil the child" family. Working class tough. My siblings seem to have less anger. I'm not sure if they were less targeted; there were occasions when we would watch one being belted while dreadfully awaiting our turn. Other times I can remember our father explicitly saying "You want to know what's fair?" as he hit each one of us "that's fair."

My anger towards my parents extends to unjust authoritarians and those who rely on violence and intimidation for power. So with the ascension of Trump, I was not looking forward to visiting the belly of the beast. I knew my parents were having health problems, and my wife pushed the visit.

My father is now frail enough that he does not waste his energy arguing. His condition is partly due to mistrust of doctors; his stubbornness regarding his own sometimes internet-based theories on treatment; and sometimes covering up the fact that he accidentally dropped his medication on the floor and couldn't find it or was worried if he bent down he wouldn't be able to get back up. He has refused treatment that would extend his life. At one point I saw him pale and shaking and thought he could die within hours. Finally. The beast no longer has fangs. Yes, I had sympathy, as I would have for anyone who is looking death so closely in the eye. A weight was partially lifted, but circumstances of the end remain hanging. Will it be an automobile accident where my mother is taken with him? I leave some of these issues to my siblings; distant partners in familial resolution.

Seeing my father pale and shaking helped reframe him as human rather than monster. And being in the United States was refreshing, after reading and watching so much news about the stumbling giant supposedly in need of being great again. I remarked to a friend in San Francisco, "It's good to see; seems everyone is getting on with their lives." His reply, "Well, there is so much structure that remains in place and can continue on autopilot as the foundation is destroyed from beneath." Outsiders forget what a huge, diverse population exists within the borders of that section of the New World. Some Australians even lump two continents together as "America" though they reserve nationalist scorn or sibling rivalry for the 50 states that are united.

The truth is Americans are getting on with their lives because they have little choice; unlike my life in Australia, which seems to be on perpetual hold. First I was not a permanent resident; now I am still not a citizen. But none of that matters because the Australian workforce seems to have no use for me at age 57, and my encounter with an educational institution was brutal - administration insisted on calling me a liar for what I insisted on calling authoritarian incompetence. I had too much pride - not yet sufficiently humbled as all immigrants should be. Now I am humbled, feeling old and useless to Australia. Sure, I'm an adequate; not exemplary househusband. Washing clothes and dishes isn't beneath me, but there are no children to take care of and... welcome to the world of unpaid and under-appreciated value.

One of the more wonderful moments? Visiting my old workplace. Five years after leaving, I was still greeted warmly and given hugs. I am human after all; I have a history and was a productive member of society! Since leaving that workplace I have encountered two situations where I was treated with suspicion and felt scapegoated. These experiences have made me wonder if I'm getting too old. In the United States, I would be in the prime of my career. The joys of privilege; the hazards of being an immigrant.

St. Patrick's Day with the team :-)

Laws are for suckers

Members of the Australian Parliament have recently demonstrated the degree of attention and respect paid to the law by its ruling elite. It seems quite a few are not actually eligible to be members of Parliament due to having dual citizenship.

Meanwhile, I've been in this country for five years and every time I turn around I am asked to procure another certificate for this or that from various agencies to prove that I am not a criminal. I once tried to volunteer for a position and was told I would need a new certificate proving I had a clean police record - a certificate I had already provided. "This certificate expires in May and since the volunteer position runs until the end of the year, you'll need a new certificate." Clearly I am not going about this the right way.

To be fair, the law was poorly written. A bit of digging reveals that the ten wealthiest members of Parliament could very easily purchase citizenship in a number of other countries. And the law says "under any acknowledgement of allegiance, obedience, or adherence to a foreign power, or is a subject or a citizen or entitled to the rights or privileges of a subject or a citizen of a foreign power." So technically, they are probably "entitled to the rights or privileges of a subject or a citizen of a foreign power" whether or not they would choose to purchase those rights.

See my comments on this page: How a dual citizenship row ensnared Australian MPs and caused headaches for PM Turnbull