Anthony Eaton's Blog: Musings from an Outer-Spiral-Arm , page 22
May 18, 2009
19th May, 2009: Oh Where, Oh Where has My Water Bottle Gone...
...actually, I know exactly where it is. The cleaners have thrown it out. Just like the seven or so water bottles that I've left on my desk before it.
I like to have a bottle of water on my desk when I work. Hydration is important, you know? (Especially when you drink the amount of coffee that I subject my poor body to...)
But if I forget to lock the bottle in my filing cabinet, (I am not, sadly, making this up) then the cleaners, inevitably, relentlessly, throw it out.
Last week I put an enormous sticker over the label on the bottle, with the following written on it in thick, red Artline texta:
Dear cleaners, PLEASE DON'T REMOVE THIS BOTTLE.
They left it the first night.
Then they threw it out.
Sure, they might miss the enormous dust-bunny under my bookshelves, and sure, there's a layer of dust just a little under four feet thick on top of the other desk in here, but by God, when it comes to waterbottle disposal, they're second to none.
I know what you're thinking: Tony: get a life.
And, for the most part, until this morning, I'd have agreed with you.
But this one was almost full! Barely two mouthfuls taken from it. And even when empty, we have one of those funky water purifier/chiller tap thingies down the hall, so that I can refill it, which I usually do.
All of this leads me to suspect that either:
a) The cleaners here at Uni are very, very thirsty or,
b) The cleaners here at Uni, for some reason best known only to themselves, are messing with my head.
Either way, I'm now fighting the temptation to superglue my next bottle to my desk. Sure, I won't be able to drink from it, but at least it'll probably still be there the following morning.
Or they'll just chuck out my desk.
Actually, that's not a bad short story premise.
Thanks, cleaners.
I like to have a bottle of water on my desk when I work. Hydration is important, you know? (Especially when you drink the amount of coffee that I subject my poor body to...)
But if I forget to lock the bottle in my filing cabinet, (I am not, sadly, making this up) then the cleaners, inevitably, relentlessly, throw it out.
Last week I put an enormous sticker over the label on the bottle, with the following written on it in thick, red Artline texta:
Dear cleaners, PLEASE DON'T REMOVE THIS BOTTLE.
They left it the first night.
Then they threw it out.
Sure, they might miss the enormous dust-bunny under my bookshelves, and sure, there's a layer of dust just a little under four feet thick on top of the other desk in here, but by God, when it comes to waterbottle disposal, they're second to none.
I know what you're thinking: Tony: get a life.
And, for the most part, until this morning, I'd have agreed with you.
But this one was almost full! Barely two mouthfuls taken from it. And even when empty, we have one of those funky water purifier/chiller tap thingies down the hall, so that I can refill it, which I usually do.
All of this leads me to suspect that either:
a) The cleaners here at Uni are very, very thirsty or,
b) The cleaners here at Uni, for some reason best known only to themselves, are messing with my head.
Either way, I'm now fighting the temptation to superglue my next bottle to my desk. Sure, I won't be able to drink from it, but at least it'll probably still be there the following morning.
Or they'll just chuck out my desk.
Actually, that's not a bad short story premise.
Thanks, cleaners.
May 6, 2009
7th May, 2009. Caution. Self Indulgence to Follow...
It’s my birthday, today.
Yay.
Happy birthday to me and all that…
Now, I’m not telling you this (‘you’ in this case being Rivka and the three other people who might possibly even know this blog exists…) because I’m pumping for congratulations or anything. (Large cheques, however, will be gratefully accepted), but because birthdays always make me think. They’re kinda irritating that way.
As a general rule, I’m not a huge fan of my birthday. For the usual reasons – another year gone, I’m getting older, oh where oh where has my youth gone and all that. And those kind of thoughts annoy the hell out of me, because as a general rule, I try not to be one of those people who looks back upon the glory days of their youth and sighs wistfully. On the contrary, I’m doing my best to extend my adolescence for as long as possible. (As numerous family members will no doubt attest.)
And, to be completely honest, I was kind of dreading this year’s birthday. (Number 37 in a series of, well, hopefully a lot more. Collect them all.)
I was dreading it because it’s been a very big year, this last one.
This time last year I wasn’t a daddy.
This time last year I didn’t have a ‘real’ job.
This time last year I hadn’t published a book that was getting more attention than anything else I’ve written. Hadn’t been invited to any major writer’s festivals. Wasn’t getting any reviews anywhere.
This time last year I wasn’t facing the prospect of having to do any really *serious* research and then putting it out there to face the big, nasty, wide academic world.
This time last year I was getting a regular 8-9 hours of uninterrupted sleep a night, and not feeling vaguely like a zombie a lot of the time.
So, in short, a lot of the fundamentals of my existence have changed in the last 12 months, and I was fully expecting this year’s birthday, like a few others in recent memory, to dawn with a vague sense of existential gloom, one more year closer to 40, and with me looking back at the halcyon days of my youth, twelve months ago.
But you know what?
It didn’t.
Instead, Toby woke us up at 4.30, demanding food. Then amusement. Then a brief nap. Then more food. Then more amusement. At around 6.00 we put him back into his cot in his room and he started crying, which within about two minutes morphed into this odd, very cute singing sound, punctuated with random giggling at who-knows-what. This cracked us up.
At 7.00 we gave up on the sleep thing entirely. Changed the baby. He smiled and giggled a lot in the process. Imogen made tea. The three of us got back into bed. Played ‘Tickle Monsters’ with Toby (Don’t ask, you have to see it to understand.) Min pulled out presents from under the bed. (A set of CD’s from Toby – Britten, Bach and – my personal favourite – Bob Marley songs done as lullabies. A remarkably phallic looking dog grooming brush from my sister and her family in Texas. A skein of bright blue wool, which I’m told by the weekend will be a beanie to match my bright blue hair. Some funky stuff for the kitchen – egg poachers and a very groovy garlic peeler. An odd and eclectic selection of gifts, you might think, but all very me.)
Min finished her tea. Got up. I poached eggs in my new poaching pods. Made coffee. Decided not to ride my bike in, given that it was 3 degrees outside. Caught a lift to work with Min, instead.
It was the best birthday morning I can remember in ages.
So now I’m going to get working. Mark a couple of papers that I’ve been putting off until I had the time and mood to do them justice. Later today I’m going to a work-in-progress seminar on practice led research, with specific reference to creative arts. Then I’ve got a class this afternoon, a small group which I always really enjoy. Then Min and Toby will pick me up, and we’re going home to make Pizza.
And far from feeling nostalgic about birthdays past, (or passed), I’m feeling great. Because if there’s one thing I’ve realised this morning, it’s not that things were better a decade ago (They weren’t) or that the good times are all still way off ahead of me after we get through all the sleepless nights and nappy changes. They aren’t. The good times are here, right now.
Life, in short, is good.
I’m a lucky man.
Happy Birthday to me.
Yay.
Happy birthday to me and all that…
Now, I’m not telling you this (‘you’ in this case being Rivka and the three other people who might possibly even know this blog exists…) because I’m pumping for congratulations or anything. (Large cheques, however, will be gratefully accepted), but because birthdays always make me think. They’re kinda irritating that way.
As a general rule, I’m not a huge fan of my birthday. For the usual reasons – another year gone, I’m getting older, oh where oh where has my youth gone and all that. And those kind of thoughts annoy the hell out of me, because as a general rule, I try not to be one of those people who looks back upon the glory days of their youth and sighs wistfully. On the contrary, I’m doing my best to extend my adolescence for as long as possible. (As numerous family members will no doubt attest.)
And, to be completely honest, I was kind of dreading this year’s birthday. (Number 37 in a series of, well, hopefully a lot more. Collect them all.)
I was dreading it because it’s been a very big year, this last one.
This time last year I wasn’t a daddy.
This time last year I didn’t have a ‘real’ job.
This time last year I hadn’t published a book that was getting more attention than anything else I’ve written. Hadn’t been invited to any major writer’s festivals. Wasn’t getting any reviews anywhere.
This time last year I wasn’t facing the prospect of having to do any really *serious* research and then putting it out there to face the big, nasty, wide academic world.
This time last year I was getting a regular 8-9 hours of uninterrupted sleep a night, and not feeling vaguely like a zombie a lot of the time.
So, in short, a lot of the fundamentals of my existence have changed in the last 12 months, and I was fully expecting this year’s birthday, like a few others in recent memory, to dawn with a vague sense of existential gloom, one more year closer to 40, and with me looking back at the halcyon days of my youth, twelve months ago.
But you know what?
It didn’t.
Instead, Toby woke us up at 4.30, demanding food. Then amusement. Then a brief nap. Then more food. Then more amusement. At around 6.00 we put him back into his cot in his room and he started crying, which within about two minutes morphed into this odd, very cute singing sound, punctuated with random giggling at who-knows-what. This cracked us up.
At 7.00 we gave up on the sleep thing entirely. Changed the baby. He smiled and giggled a lot in the process. Imogen made tea. The three of us got back into bed. Played ‘Tickle Monsters’ with Toby (Don’t ask, you have to see it to understand.) Min pulled out presents from under the bed. (A set of CD’s from Toby – Britten, Bach and – my personal favourite – Bob Marley songs done as lullabies. A remarkably phallic looking dog grooming brush from my sister and her family in Texas. A skein of bright blue wool, which I’m told by the weekend will be a beanie to match my bright blue hair. Some funky stuff for the kitchen – egg poachers and a very groovy garlic peeler. An odd and eclectic selection of gifts, you might think, but all very me.)
Min finished her tea. Got up. I poached eggs in my new poaching pods. Made coffee. Decided not to ride my bike in, given that it was 3 degrees outside. Caught a lift to work with Min, instead.
It was the best birthday morning I can remember in ages.
So now I’m going to get working. Mark a couple of papers that I’ve been putting off until I had the time and mood to do them justice. Later today I’m going to a work-in-progress seminar on practice led research, with specific reference to creative arts. Then I’ve got a class this afternoon, a small group which I always really enjoy. Then Min and Toby will pick me up, and we’re going home to make Pizza.
And far from feeling nostalgic about birthdays past, (or passed), I’m feeling great. Because if there’s one thing I’ve realised this morning, it’s not that things were better a decade ago (They weren’t) or that the good times are all still way off ahead of me after we get through all the sleepless nights and nappy changes. They aren’t. The good times are here, right now.
Life, in short, is good.
I’m a lucky man.
Happy Birthday to me.
April 29, 2009
29th April 2009 - Got the blues real bad...
So I'm averaging about 9.5 days between blog posts. In all honesty, that's better than I expected.
I had my hair dyed blue last friday. Not 'little-old-lady-hiding-the-grey' blue rinse, but *blue*. As in electric neon blue. It took three hours. It involved bleach. It involved mess. It involved a LOT of shampoo. It gave me time to finish reading 'Tamar' by Mal Peet ahead of my session at Reading Matters with him in a couple of weeks - see review at my Goodreads profile page, if you're interested...
And now, I have electric blue hair.
Why?
Why not, I say. I've come to think that, at least once or twice in your life, it's probably a good idea to do something that sets you physically apart from normality. It's good for the soul, I suspect.
Favourite comments to date:
"Are you auditioning for the next series of 'The Simpsons?" (work colleague)
"Well, you have to admire his confidence, if nothing else" (Old lady #1 to old lady #2, while standing behind me in the checkout queue at Woolworths.)
"Mum, why is that man's hair blue?" (Little girl standing with mother in front of me in same checkout queue)
"Uhm. Did you know your hair is blue?" (Student in my 4.30 tutorial class)
All in all, I've actually been surprised at how well people have accepted it. I'd kinda expected to be the object of more than a little ridicule and teasing, but for the most part, there's been none of that. People, I suspect, are more tolerant than we give them credit for.
Of course, I still haven't worked up the nerve to tell my mother...
I had my hair dyed blue last friday. Not 'little-old-lady-hiding-the-grey' blue rinse, but *blue*. As in electric neon blue. It took three hours. It involved bleach. It involved mess. It involved a LOT of shampoo. It gave me time to finish reading 'Tamar' by Mal Peet ahead of my session at Reading Matters with him in a couple of weeks - see review at my Goodreads profile page, if you're interested...
And now, I have electric blue hair.
Why?
Why not, I say. I've come to think that, at least once or twice in your life, it's probably a good idea to do something that sets you physically apart from normality. It's good for the soul, I suspect.
Favourite comments to date:
"Are you auditioning for the next series of 'The Simpsons?" (work colleague)
"Well, you have to admire his confidence, if nothing else" (Old lady #1 to old lady #2, while standing behind me in the checkout queue at Woolworths.)
"Mum, why is that man's hair blue?" (Little girl standing with mother in front of me in same checkout queue)
"Uhm. Did you know your hair is blue?" (Student in my 4.30 tutorial class)
All in all, I've actually been surprised at how well people have accepted it. I'd kinda expected to be the object of more than a little ridicule and teasing, but for the most part, there's been none of that. People, I suspect, are more tolerant than we give them credit for.
Of course, I still haven't worked up the nerve to tell my mother...
April 18, 2009
19th April, 2009 - Inverted Kisses and Deadlines.
So, I started this blog and promptly neglected it for a week. Not the most auspicious start, I guess. But, in all honesty, between being buried in marking at work, trying to finish a book for an increasingly nervous publisher, and absolutely having to spend as much time as possible every day playing with Toby, (who has just reached the age where it's hilariously funny to be dangled upside-down by his hips, kissed repeatedly and have raspberries blown on his tummy) blogging hasn't been as much of a priority as it probably should.
Actually, on that, I just want to thank the lovely folks at UQP who extended my deadline (again) last week, and did so with tremendous grace, given that this book was originally due to them at the end of November of last year. (Small hint for anyone thinking of writing a book / having a baby enter the family / taking on a full time job in a new field for the first time in five years: DON'T!- at least, not all at the same time) I had roughly 60,000 words of the final 'Darklands' book done by the time Toby arrived, on 24th November last year. Those took me about a month and a half to write. They flowed out beautifully, I was happy with them. It was all going so well.
It's taken the intervening five(ish)months to write the next 30,000, in dribs and drabs and during the small periods when I've got both the time and energy to push out a few thousand words here and there.
This isn't how I usually work - generally I like to put blocks of time aside, and just pour the book out of me, but in this case, I've had to adapt. Now, I'm very aware that the 'bitsy' writing has made for a 'bitsy' story in places, so editing is going to be a pain.
Still, the bones of it are okay, I think, which is a good thing, because I'm sure not starting it again, like I did three times with Skyfall. I'm not happy about having to adopt the Douglas Adams approach ("I love deadlines; I like the 'whooshing' sound they make as they go past"), but really I don't feel like I've had much choice, which I guess is just part of the writing game, sometimes.
Still, it's almost there, now. Just a couple of thousand words to go, and we're done. Book three of a trilogy that's taken me the better part of a decade to get out of my head. I'll finally be able to let go of these characters, this world, and get on with something new. The strange thing is that I'm kind of reluctant to let that happen - it'll be very, very odd, not to have this hanging over my head. I'm not sure what's going to fill the space it'll leave behind.
I guess I should probably go and finish the thing. Get the monkey off my back and all that.
Or I could go play with my son for a while.
Actually, on that, I just want to thank the lovely folks at UQP who extended my deadline (again) last week, and did so with tremendous grace, given that this book was originally due to them at the end of November of last year. (Small hint for anyone thinking of writing a book / having a baby enter the family / taking on a full time job in a new field for the first time in five years: DON'T!- at least, not all at the same time) I had roughly 60,000 words of the final 'Darklands' book done by the time Toby arrived, on 24th November last year. Those took me about a month and a half to write. They flowed out beautifully, I was happy with them. It was all going so well.
It's taken the intervening five(ish)months to write the next 30,000, in dribs and drabs and during the small periods when I've got both the time and energy to push out a few thousand words here and there.
This isn't how I usually work - generally I like to put blocks of time aside, and just pour the book out of me, but in this case, I've had to adapt. Now, I'm very aware that the 'bitsy' writing has made for a 'bitsy' story in places, so editing is going to be a pain.
Still, the bones of it are okay, I think, which is a good thing, because I'm sure not starting it again, like I did three times with Skyfall. I'm not happy about having to adopt the Douglas Adams approach ("I love deadlines; I like the 'whooshing' sound they make as they go past"), but really I don't feel like I've had much choice, which I guess is just part of the writing game, sometimes.
Still, it's almost there, now. Just a couple of thousand words to go, and we're done. Book three of a trilogy that's taken me the better part of a decade to get out of my head. I'll finally be able to let go of these characters, this world, and get on with something new. The strange thing is that I'm kind of reluctant to let that happen - it'll be very, very odd, not to have this hanging over my head. I'm not sure what's going to fill the space it'll leave behind.
I guess I should probably go and finish the thing. Get the monkey off my back and all that.
Or I could go play with my son for a while.
April 8, 2009
9th April, 2009: Lost in Bloggy Confusion
So...I thought it'd be a good idea to start a blog. I decided to do it here, at goodreads where I:
a) Don't really have anyone watching at the moment and
b) Wouldn't have to panic if I messed it up, somehow. (Though that's not likely, I mean, how hard can it be?)
Then I promptly messed it up, somehow.
Wrote my first blog. Made it vaguely amusing, if not my best work. Included updates on all the writing on the Darklands Trilogy that I'm not doing at the moment, talked about coffee, mentioned the fact that I'm procrastinating from my marking pile.
Previewed the Blog Post. Published it.
Then it seemed to vanish.
Panicked. Hit 'refresh' several times. Did I mention that I'm one of those people who is nervous trying new technology? Not like my wife, Imogen - she'll just merrily click away at anything. That's why she's currently learning Dreamweaver CS4 to rebuild my horribly-out-of-date website and I'm not.
Anyway...
Logged out.
Logged back in.
Hit refresh. Post appeared. Breathed a sigh of relief. Went back to test it from profile page.
Post vanished.
Panicked. Logged out/back in etc...
no post.
Shut down Firefox. Tried *shudder* IE.
Post appeared, then vanished.
Did another short test post. Repeat experience from step 1 as above.
AAARGH!
Clicked on 'delete all posts' button. Hoping that would destroy the disappearing posts (and with them the evidence of my luddite based incompetence) for once and for all.
Started over. Wrote this.
Now, I'm about to hit the 'publish' button at the bottom.
I'll be honest with you...my hand is trembling slightly...
a) Don't really have anyone watching at the moment and
b) Wouldn't have to panic if I messed it up, somehow. (Though that's not likely, I mean, how hard can it be?)
Then I promptly messed it up, somehow.
Wrote my first blog. Made it vaguely amusing, if not my best work. Included updates on all the writing on the Darklands Trilogy that I'm not doing at the moment, talked about coffee, mentioned the fact that I'm procrastinating from my marking pile.
Previewed the Blog Post. Published it.
Then it seemed to vanish.
Panicked. Hit 'refresh' several times. Did I mention that I'm one of those people who is nervous trying new technology? Not like my wife, Imogen - she'll just merrily click away at anything. That's why she's currently learning Dreamweaver CS4 to rebuild my horribly-out-of-date website and I'm not.
Anyway...
Logged out.
Logged back in.
Hit refresh. Post appeared. Breathed a sigh of relief. Went back to test it from profile page.
Post vanished.
Panicked. Logged out/back in etc...
no post.
Shut down Firefox. Tried *shudder* IE.
Post appeared, then vanished.
Did another short test post. Repeat experience from step 1 as above.
AAARGH!
Clicked on 'delete all posts' button. Hoping that would destroy the disappearing posts (and with them the evidence of my luddite based incompetence) for once and for all.
Started over. Wrote this.
Now, I'm about to hit the 'publish' button at the bottom.
I'll be honest with you...my hand is trembling slightly...
Musings from an Outer-Spiral-Arm
Just some random, probably very sporadic musings on my life in the world of books, academia, and nappies.
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