Father’s Day

A tops Father’s Day doesn’t just happen. It requires careful planning.

Tadpoles

Expectations

All the high expectations are making just one thought go round in my head.

Not so long ago, the conservative population of the world convinced themselves, and did their best to try to convince the rest of us, that George W Bush was, not just a competent, but, actually, a completely awesome President. He was the best parts of Winston Churchill and General Patton, all rolled in breadcrumbs and fried to perfection.

Yes, kids, they really did. I am old enough to remember it.

So this is the context in which my brother, whose birthday is the 20th of January, got this cake.

Even for a lefty family, with small, cake-loving nieces helping my Mum decorate, that’s pretty enthusiastic.

President-Elect Obama

My girls were at home with their Gran on Wednesday afternoon Sydney time, watching the acceptance speech, really excited and happy but not really understanding why my Mum was crying or why she kept saying that they would remember that day all their lives. But they will.

Three adolescent projects that it’s probably a good thing I never got beyond the planning stages with

Symphonic tone-poem based on Lord of the Rings (1984)

World government in which all policy decisions would be made on completely rational, scientific grounds by panels of experts in relevant fields (1983)

Aquatic craft powered by potassium-water ramjet (1982)

Slime

This afternoon: my sister came over and we had science day with cornstarch ooblek and psyllium flubber. I’d made the first one but the second was new to me. I’ve never taken Metamucil and don’t think I want to now that I’ve seen what it turns into when mixed with water and microwaved repeatedly: a kind of ropey biological mucus which looks like it’s about to have an argument with Doctor Who.

The girls reacted with delight to both of them: the ooblek got thrown around and the flubber was used to make obscene noises by pushing it into a plastic container.

Tomorrow we’re going up the mountains for the night.

Holiday

I’m at home with the girls for the last week of the school holidays. Horton Hears a Who is much better than other recent Seuss movies, but that’s not saying much.

The combination of grotesque scale mismatch, consequent fear-of-smashing-a-microcosm paranoia and interminable-task anxiety makes this film like a map of my childhood neuroses. (The scene where Horton has to find his own sprig of clover in a boundless sea of clover was particularly unwatchable.) Katie, the cute but spooky yellow fluffball, steals the movie.

Nostalgie de la boue

The girls are all writing comic series now, and they each have favourite songs which, when they come on the CD player, they will use as the soundtrack to a little private movie or scene involving their characters. Grace christened this procedure “going into a trance”: she announces this if, for example, Madness’ “It Must Be Love” or Super Furry Animals’ “Do Or Die” start, as a warning that she’s going to be zoned out for a couple of minutes. But they all do it now.

We’re listening to Scissor Sisters on the way home and when “Filthy/Gorgeous” starts, Sasha says:

“Going into a trance now. This is the bit where Chip is in love with his girlfriend, but then he realises that she’s kind of gross.”

“What do you mean… gross?” (thinks: have I been too relaxed about this record? My favourite song when I was their age was “Walk on the Wild Side”.)

“She likes sticking her finger in dinosaur poo, and rolling around in mud: you know, stuff like that. But then he realises that if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em!”

Weekend

On the weekend we took the girls up to the Blue Mountains for a barbecue at C’s brother’s place at Springwood, where they bounced endlessly on the trampoline and saw a bucket of possums, and where I ate too much cheesecake. C and I watched Walk Hard: the Dewey Cox Story – John C Reilly is very funny and can sing, but I laughed harder at the special features than at most of the film. We then watched Michael Haneke’s The Piano Teacher, which is pretty jaw-dropping; under C’s influence, I’m becoming a bit of a Haneke fan; we saw Hidden a couple of weeks ago. We also got caught in the rain.

And C completely kicked my arse at Scrabble, 452 to 233: she got all her tiles down twice in the first four turns. The rude word is mine, but can you blame me?

The Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band is their favourite