MCA book club

Spent another enjoyable evening at the MCA for one of its "Inspired Reading" sessions. This time we looked at the art of Yayoi Kasuma in association with Haruki Murakami's Kafka on the shore. The art is a whole heap more engaging than the book.

The crowd was larger tonight; 25 in total (thanks to advertising in the SMH). It's a bit too large a group size for much of a conversation but I guess that's a problem of success. There were some Murakami fans there, which was a bit tedious: literary or cultural studies undergraduates who've recently learned what the word "trope" means and feel a need to display their understanding of its various uses over and over again. Britney must have the same kind of uncritical adulation. Hers scream and faint. Murakami's say trope a lot and look down disdainfully upon any one who isn't quite smart enough, they mistankenly believe, to recognise brilliance in anomie and detachment. Children. Thet'll learn.

Preparation is everything

Day one of my new assignment: Getting access to the car park was a problem. The building supervisor, when he arrived, new more about my duration of stay than I did. I waited in the foyer for ten minutes past commencement time. My new IT profile hadn't been actioned. My phone wasn't connected to the system. One person said my new manager was in a meeting. My new manager's manager said my manager wasn't in yet. Either way there was no present to tell nme what my work duties were going to be. It was a joke but I wasn't laughing.
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And today's word is ...

... allegations.

There were sixteen of them contained in the letter the Director General delivered by hand this afternoon. By the end of the meeting I had been removed of my duties, relocated to head office (to protect me, he said, as well as the integrity of the inquiry) and shut out of my IT profile. It is all, of course, a crock of shit concocted by a scared, vindictive, ridiculous team member who thinks the quickest way to secure a transfer to a job she's actually capable of doing is to have a go at me. It's pathetic, truly sickly and cowardly and, as I'm sure I'll show by the end of the investigation, inept.

None of that makes me any less unhappy or annoyed. Stupid shit.

One lives and learns

My colleague and I took one of the team for a birthday celebration lunch. The three of us remaining chipped in $60 for a gift. Two of us shared the $50 bill. And the woman we dined had the gall to sit there, lapping it up as if what she knew was coming (see tomorrow) were inconceivable. What a cheap shit she turned out to be, lacking the courage even to decline a mediocre free lunch.
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On the Parliamentary record

We gave verbal evidence today to the Legal and Constitutional Affairs Committee of the House of Representatives. It's part of the inquiry into the draft Disability Discrimination Act Access To Premises Standards. I was up most of the night finishing the Chair's opening remarks, which he liked. It was good stuff. The Committee members seemed to engage positively with us. Who knows how the draft might be influenced by our input but I'm satisfied by this much at least ... we were the best thing on the day.

This is how we started:

In 1942, the renowned poet, T S Eliot, wrote a poem called Little Giddings, one of his famous Four Quartets. In it, he gave us this thought:

In 1942, the renowned poet, T S Eliot, wrote a poem called Little Giddings, one of his famous Four Quartets.

In it, he gave us this thought:

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

The French said something similar but did so in that way which only the French can:

plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

You can read the whole session's transcript here.
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Jamie the Saxth

Became James the 1st, 406 years ago today. And there I was last night, studing the play Shakespeare wrote for him maybe two or three years later. MacB of course.

Mothers' Day, UK

Phoned my mum. Short conversation, which is to be expected. My younger brother was with her (Sunday, which it still is in the UK, being Mothers' Day). It was good to catch up, to hear about his recent trip to Jordon as part of a British Council capacity-building and partnerships course and his plans to spend Easter at his and Steph's olive grove in Italy. Joe took the photos here while in Jordan.

The art work was created by a Scottish woman, oddly enough. It hangs in the Darat Al Funun Gallery in Amman.

I don't know where the ruin is located. Good pic though.