The Geek Icon: 26 Jun 2012
Living in the dark dungeons of the internet
Small Things
06:37PM
You know how people who have small children seem to do nothing but talk about their kids? I have discovered a corollary to that— people with small parrots seem to do nothing but talk about their parrots. I am a case in point.
One thing I managed to get straight last year was to invest in a new pet relationship. April last year brought a new delivery to my household, and based on his mischievous nature, he was named Loki. Other nicknames include Loki Monster and Velokiraptor. No matter what he gets called, every day brings new amusements, aggravations, challenges and triumphs.
Some adjectives to describe what I like to think of as Loki's personality, which, though he is not a person, is distinctive and recognisable:
- Greedy
- Affectionate
- Playful
- Assertive
- Impatient
- Social
- Noisy
This year Loki's younger brother
Tanuki (aka Tanuki Bear) arrived. Unlike Loki, Tanuki's wings had accidentally been clipped by the parrot breeders, inhibiting (but not completely eliminating) his ability to fly. It's hard to say what is nature and what is nurture, but it's hard not to assume that this has had some impact on Tanuki's personality.
If I were to characterise Tanuki, I would say he is:
- Cautious
- Quiet
- Communicative
- Patient
- Solitary
- Contented
- Focused
Owning (intelligent) exotic pets has also provided a supreme opportunity to geek out. New areas of research like animal behaviour and parrot nutrition have appeared. New creative outlets have arrived in the form of making toys, perches, and foraging for food for my little buddies (interestingly, most Australian flora is extremely parrot friendly due to the large number of parrot species that are native here). New routines and methods for organising my life around these two little feathered balls of energy have emerged. And figuring out how to train them and trying to teach them what to say is generally entertaining although not always successful.
If my blogging streak hangs on, be prepared for more parrot talk to fill up this blog.
Hoist the Mainsail - Part 3 of 3
22-06-2012 10:33PM
Well, this only took 4 years to complete. Be amazed at my lightning blogging skills! Anyway, as Paul Harvey used to say, "and now, the rest of the story"...
Dear reader, when last we spoke about my life-changing sailing trip from Hobart to Sydney, I had just awoken on a starkly clear and warm summer day at Clarke Island. We were gearing up to make our way across the Bass Strait, except the wind had other ideas.
The modern sailboat has an amazing capacity to sail at an angle very close to the wind, the best a typical sailboat can do is probably about a 30º angle, which is pretty amazing when you think about it. Generally if the wind is blowing the wrong way, you can angle yourself back & forth and make your way overall in the right direction. But there are times when tacking is also a somewhat futile exercise. We needed to sail northeast to hit the coast of southern New South Wales and make our way in sight of land back to Sydney, and the wind was blowing in pretty much exactly the wrong direction. So we decided to wait it out. We made a short trip around Cape Barren Island to the sheltered southern tip of Flinders Island and the quiet town of Lady Barron.
Fortunately, Lady Barron had an awesome pub, because we were stuck there for several days. I also had to try and use the pay phone to call work and tell them I was going to be at least a couple of days late back to work. After a night sleeping on the boat plagued by mosquitos the size of small birds, we even treated ourselves a motel room adjacent to the pub. The motel had a bed that wasn't rocking, and even a shower. Despite the fact that the pipes were completely rusty and the first 5 seconds of water were coloured a deep brown, the shower was completely glorious.
The wind, as it usually does, changed. Our couple of days of rest, fish and chips, beer, and idleness went by and suddenly the weather was ready to co-operate and propel us on our way north. The big moment had arrived and we were about to sail across the notorious Bass Strait.
The first few hours were fun and energising as we picked up speed and made our way over huge rollers. The day was bright and clear, and in every direction there wasn't a hint of land. We were a tiny dot bobbing across an immense expanse of rushing, heaving blue water.
But after the bulk of the day passed, I started to get wet, cold, and exhausted. The wind was blowing incredibly hard, making the boat heel over at an extreme angle. The best thing to do was just brace yourself with your legs and hang on as tight as you could to the railing. After several hours my arms were extremely tired, and as night fell I made my way below and curled up in a soggy, scared, tired ball.
The wind was howling along at 30 knots, gusting up to 35, only a moderate gale force wind, but strong enough to finally shake my confidence. I wasn't able to get up for my evening crew shift and drowsed restlessly in and out of sleep as the boom clanged and the boat pounded its way across the waves of the strait.
Fortunately as the next day dawned, the wind had calmed down to a level I could handle and I was rested and myself and pitching in as a crew member again. I thought everything was going really well— the sun was shining, albatrosses were flying, when BAM! the whole boat shuddered as if it had hit a rock. Surely there wasn't anything under us out here in the middle of the strait? Turns out we had hit a sunfish, a huge animal that can weigh over 1000 kg and likes to swim near the surface of the water. They aren't particularly manoeuvrable, so apparently it's a common thing for boats to hit them on the open ocean. We think it wasn't too badly hurt from the ordeal.
The rest of the trip was pretty relaxed, and at some points even magical, at others, just plain boring. The wind calmed down to the point where we were becalmed, so we had to motor our way up most of the coast. On the way, we had bioluminescent tides, dolphins (including some baby dolphins, which are pretty much the cutest thing in the universe ever), a stop at Ulladulla at my favourite fish & chips shop, and views of the New South Wales coast line.
With all the motoring during our last few days, the trip would have felt really anti-climactic, except for a change just as we were coming up to the entrance of Sydney harbour. The wind picked up just enough, so we shut off the motor (what a relief after days of diesel fumes!), hoisted the sail, and sailed our way into the harbour entrance.
By the time we pulled up to the dock at Rushcutter's Bay, I was sunburnt, tired, ebullient, and definitely feeling in desperate need of a shower. I had my moments of weakness during the trip, but overall I was proud of myself just for showing up on what had been a fairly challenging and epic trip.
After four years, I still haven't taken much time out to do more sailing, but I know it's still something I want to do more and get better at. While I'll probably be content with toddling around Sydney Harbour and maybe cruising along the coast, I'll never be sorry that I took the challenge and sailed from Hobart to Sydney. It was definitely a formative and worthwhile event in my life.
So Far Off to a Bad Start
03-09-2011 05:54PM
Ray Bradbury's advice to writers is to write your loves and hates. And while I can't say I truly hate my job, I was poking around and read through my last post on this site (greivously over 8 months ago) and felt a wave of anger.
Partly the anger was at myself. Why did I let myself do exactly the opposite of what I meant to do? How did I end up getting sucked in to even more work stress? Getting hitched, spinning certificate, new career, garden — all those things have been sloppily placed on the back burner for, yes, that's right! more work responsibility, more stress, working on the weekends, working late, blah, blah, blah.
Honestly, I don't blame my work.
The question I have is, what's wrong with me? Why do I put all my focus into something thats just my day job, a way to pay the bills. The things I value have all been playing second fiddle.
2011 has not gone as planned. I hope I don't waste the rest of it.
Time to get mad and reclaim something for myself.
A New Decade
01-01-2011 09:56PM
My birthday and the roll over for the new year nearly coincide — I was born on December 31st — so a new year feels doubly like a new chapter for me.
This year is my number 33. Can I actually be that old? Isn't someone who is 33 supposed to feel... like an adult? My dad reminded me when we spoke on my birthday that he was 33 when I was born! What have I been doing with myself the past few years?
Once again I get to the start of a new year feeling like I don't get to spend enough time on the things I really love and enjoy. It's getting near to five years working for my current employer, and when I started I made a promise to myself that I would give myself 5 years to work my way towards a career change. This year will be about stopping myself from giving 110% at work (no more working until 11pm on Christmas Eve, which is what happened this year, to get a desperate mess over the line before my week off for the holidays). They can have 80 or maybe 90, and I will do things I love and find a new path to making a living.
The other thing I want more of in my life is an anchor. One that's not related to working and getting paid. A responsibility that has to do with love and affection, and even fun, instead of fiscal security. That will probably take the shape of something like this:
Obviously, this is not my parrot. Photo credit goes to Flickr user Jim B L.
After a long time wanting a companion animal/pet, and not being in a situation to really look after one, it's finally time to change that. Even though I'm a long-time cat person, I feel like a cat isn't a really appropriate pet for many reasons. Quaker parrots are smart, playful, affectionate, and I look forward to having something to come home to (besides a messy house). Since I am much of a homebody anyway, and work from home one day a week, I hope I can provide the attention and support needed for a happy, healthy bird.
I don't have a true resolution list this year. I just want to take a step back from work and relish things I love: spending time in my garden, making delicious food, spinning and knitting, and hanging out with my favourite boy ever Mr Wiggins.
Things I hope might come to fruition this year:
- Mr Wiggins and I finally get hitched—
Even though we are legally spouses, I don't want to deny my friends and family a chance to celebrate with us. It seems like lots of little things have come up and railroaded our chance to plan and execute a wedding. I hope this year is different. - I get my spinning certificate—
I keep meaning to start this and haven't actually followed through on it. I really relish the challenge but haven't followed through on the footwork. - I find a new career that I love—
I need to get paid to do something that doesn't make me feel frustrated, stressy, and stuck in a rut. - My back yard becomes a living, beautiful space—
It just needs some sweat and a big clean up, and it can really become a usable outdoor area. My veggie patch is a good start, now onward to the rest of the greenery and dinners and breakfasts al fresco during the gorgeous summer season.
{Interlude}
21-11-2008 11:43AM
Hoist the Mainsail - Part 2
06-09-2008 10:06PM
Continued from Part 1
The water got choppier and choppier, and Adam and I settled in on the high side of the deck once we awkwardly helped raise the sails. We were lucky to have a crew that largely knew what it was doing. Our skipper had plenty of experience, and three of the crew had passed crew competency courses. One other passenger had once made his living on a craypot boat and his (adult) son was the only one of us who really seemed nervous.
But even as we settled in after changing into warmer clothes and huddling together on the deck, the waves got larger and larger. Finally, shivering in the wind and wet from the spray, I decided I needed to change into full wet weather gear. I was already feeling slightly queasy— an unusual sensation for me, but one I thought I could handle. But as soon as I went down into the stuffy cabin and lost sight of the horizon, the heaving motion of the ship got to me. I barely made it back on deck when the contents of my stomach (primarily a lunch of wedges with sour cream and sweet chili) made their grand exit. I hadn't quite made it to the railing and spent a lot of time later apologising to my fellow crewmates.
Although I wasn't the first one to end up heaving, I was probably the most embarrassed, this being only the second time in my entire life I could remember being entirely seasick. I managed to hold it in at that point long enough to strip off my sopping wet clothes, grab a plastic garbage bag, and rug up on a bunk until, worn out from the dry heaves, and despite still being very cold, I fell asleep.
Adam suffered slightly less severely than me, even though he was seasick as well, but he managed to keep going through his watches during the night until we got up the next morning.
We were still sailing along the Tasmanian coast, and the water was much calmer. I got up feeling like my old self after finally warming up and falling into a deep, sound sleep. As I saw my first albatross wheeling through the cool morning air, I felt like I was on the true sailing adventure I had envisioned. I spent breakfast eating a mini-box of cereal with some slightly-too-warm UHT milk, listening to stories about the wild weather the night before. Even the seasoned crew members were a bit shaken, and I was shocked to find them claiming the waves were around 40 feet high! Easily the biggest seas I remembered being in.
As we continued northward, Adam and I gradually fell into the routine of watches and chores. We continued with a good wind; unfortunately the seas were still big enough that we were having trouble finding a harbour deep enough for our boat's keel. When waves hit the shallow entrance to a harbour, the trough after the wave is much shallower than the average depth of the water. The keel on our boat was long to help keep the boat upright and stable in high winds; we didn't have a chance of making it into any of the smaller harbours we had reached so far. Finally we stopped at St Helens, but only to let out one passenger who wasn't going to be able to continue with us for the rest of his trip. After two days of severe seasickness, he was too dehydrated & undernourished so we handed him over to a rescue boat and continued on into the night.
I was up for my watch around two in the morning when the skipper came up and let us know we were finally going to anchor for the night. It was a very dark night with no moon and heavy clouds blocking the stars, and I had little sense of where we were or where we were going. I settled in next to the compass and read out our bearing as the skipper guided us in by instruments and chart only. We had to be careful as there were rocks all around the entrance to our anchorage. Somehow, with everyone carefully watching the water and the help of GPS, charts, and me shouting out our bearing every few seconds, we managed to pull in and anchor right next to another boat. Exhausted, I stumbled below and into a bunk while Adam stayed up on deck for anchor watch. It was about four am.
In the morning I woke up to one of the most amazing sights that I had experienced on my trip. Clarke Island was a low, rocky, wild looking place, crowned by the remnants of storm clouds and the bright blue morning. We were now the only people in this lonely place, and it was quiet and sheltered after the rough weather and hard night's work we had just been through. Little did I know that, in a few days when the wind changed, I would be facing my biggest challenge yet: the infamous Bass Strait.
To be continued in Part 3...