The One Day of the Year

Anzac Day has become very popular again. When I was at high school, the gradual decline of war veterans seemed to suggest that the commemoration would go the way of other such days.....Empire Day, Armistice Day and so forth.

Its funny that we memorialise a battlefield defeat such as the ill-fated and ludicrously executed Dardenelles Campaign in WW1. But we do and it seems that Gallipoli symbolises something hidden within the national psyche. Maybe a hankering for meaning amidst the wanton commercialisation of our lives. Maybe a need for seriousness and quiet amidst all the noise. Perhaps there's even a religious element, the fallen taking on a sacrificial, atoning quality.

I like it though. I like things that buck the trend towards selfishness and hedonism. I like moments when reflection takes on a broader, sometimes transcendent nature.

Maybe the One Day of the Year should be everyday. But then again, wouldn't that spoil everything?

Just Cute

Tom may keep us awake (often) at night, but he is a lovely boy and totemo kawaii. Yesterday his passport arrived, replete with hilariously awful photo. I won't publish it here.

This photo was taken by my wife Nadia yesterday and captures a gorgeous moment of repose. I was his six week birthday.

Trouble on the farm

What a time to bring a child into the world.

The planet seems increasingly in turmoil; extremists elected to power in Palestine, another one elected President of Iran(who incidentally, denies The Holocaust but who nevertheless thinks a Jewish state should be established in Germany), a failed war in Iraq, endless civil strife in Africa, looming conflict between China and Taiwan, an eccentrically criminal regime in North Korea, global warming......

On an upside, Berlusconi has lost power in Italy. Er, that may be it.....

I guess the world has always been a sad and deadly place for many. It's just that information gathering and exchange zips around the planet so fast now that any nuance of trouble can be swiftly reported. And endlessly replicated through digital technology. And the hype; everything scanned for a cosmetic angle, a photo opportunity. Our obsession with images. The belittlement of the word.

A picture may say a thousand words, but that narrative is in the hands of the image maker, by and large.

Music

Today, a rare all day band rehearsal. I think we covered our whole repetoire (about 20 original songs) and then some, as they say. I know I'll miss the music here, band and choir and all the other music-related things that make up my lucky existence. We really don't have the time or opportunity to play in Japan, though perhaps this time.... It's not realistic though, what, with a new baby and all.

Tonight was another gorgeous sunset, with the deep blue of the emerging night sky chasing a lighter irredescent blue into the west. The way the trees stood out in black isolation against this sky was, well, I don't have words to describe it. But precious and fleeting are two, at least.(You said you didn't have any words - ed.)

This is a countdown to leave that I really don't want to face. It's not the right time to leave family and friends. But what can you do, if you have to go.

Eyes Wide Shut

Tom's birth certificate finally arrived so we were now in a position to apply for his passport. Simple enough chore, don't you think?

Problem is that since certain events in 2001, photo ID for the passport has changed. Somewhat. All photos must be eyes open, mouth shut, both ears showing on a neutral background. Easy enough if you are, say, older than 2 or 3 years old.

I wonder if anyone in boffin-land has tried to get a four week old to conform to this criteria? Well, perhaps no. We tried on several occasions whist shopping today to get him a) to open his eyes b) not to cry whilst opening eyes c) to wake up for the camera, but alas, to no avail.

Of course, babies with eyes shut must, perforce, be terror suspects, or drug smugglers.

These days you can barely write on the lines, let alone between them.

Saturation

I read a letter to an editor recently that argued, somewhat unconvincingly, that pornography was essentially harmless. In fact, it was good for you. Never mind that the correspondent was an advocate for the industry. The fact that so few letters demurring from the opinion followed was evidence, if any more were needed, that porn has moved from the shadows into the mainstream.

Formerly, pornography was something that was restricted to tacky-looking, brightly signed shops in the most run down parts of town. Those accessing such premises ran the risk of being seen by colleagues or friends or even strangers. Hence the furtive dash from the door with the suspicious brown paper bag wedged under an arm.

Nowadays, its pretty much open slather. My email box is often graced with ads for enlarging organs of one sort or another, and much else besides. The most innocent of searches turns up one porn site after another. A simple search to find free porn is extraordinarily easy and shows up hundreds, perhaps thousands of sites. Well, so what, you might ask?

I'm no expert on the erotic, but surely porn is an unhealthy and utterly misleading entry into it. Are teenage boys to get their cues on sexuality from pornography? Hardly. What will they learn about the girls and women, other than the fact that they are, apparently, insatiable nymphos who love a good serving of abuse and humiliation on the side. If sex is about intimacy then porn is about its antithesis. Its about the explicit, the obvious, the public face of the mechanism of intercourse, outside of any real human context.

I've written before that I object to the nannying that often occurs at many levels in our society. But the regulation of access to porn is essential if sex isnt to become another tawdry consumer durable. The implications of that are too sad to contemplate.

Autumn Winds

April has been windy, like Tom's stomach. The tiny one has a lot of it, often materialising between midnight and dawn, wouldn't you know! I don't know what the remedy is - of course, we've read up on the causes and (inadequate) relief measures. It really, probably, maybe, is just a matter of waiting it out until his system is a little more mature. But he's a stoic little bugger, God Bless him!

I've finally abandoned the Soccer Fans Network Forums, after a period of several months. I didn't post a lot in that time, though I often read up on a thread or two of interest. Unfortunately, the anonymity of the internet can bring out the worst in human nature, evidenced by the frequent bad language, name-calling and ongoing racial commentary that I found amongst the posts. I suspect many of the thoughful fans were driven away by the sheer immaturity of the posts. Sayonara.