I watched a short promotional piece on TV yesterday which was thinly disguised as an interview. The spruiker for the product, which was a system for ensuring that personal photos remained secure and intact, was particularly excited about the longevity gained through purchasing it. Not only would your photos be passed on for generations, but "for millennia."

Digitalisation and mobile devices have meant that the photo, once a cherished item worthy of a place in an album, or framed and perched on a mantelpiece, has been totally commodified. Its value has declined in proportion to its multiplication and ubiquity, from somewhere like a goldbrick at the end of the 19th century, to a piece of toast in the present era. White bread toast, that is.

The other thing that struck me was the certainly that humans would be around for another millennia, or two. In previous blogs I have been upbeat about the planet, arguing that it is the sheer volume and availability of information that makes the state of the world seem more parlous than ever. But lately I have been having second thoughts - we do have a 24/7 news cycle, but I do think matters are serious and could become grave.

We like to think that our leaders are rational actors and I still hold out that hope. If we can navigate the next 50 years safely, then maybe there is a lot of time beyond. Its all over in a couple of billion years anyway, but that a lot of millennia. Imagine all the photos in storage when the sun becomes a red giant.

Lately I have been taking an interest in my school days, an interest aside from my already well-developed preoccupation with all things Alan Myers. I missed the 20th and 30th Class of 1976 re-unions, both for legitimate reasons (working and overseas), though I wasn't really that fussed about attending anyway. But I feel that this time I should make an effort, given that I have reconnected with an old friend, Wayne Parrott, and that I should face up to some of my adolescent fears.

My early high school years were not that pleasant, though they improved when I became a senior. High school in those days was a little intimidating (caning was still in full force) and there were a number of pathetic self-loathing bullies about. If I knew then what I knew now it would all have been a stroll in the park, but that is never the case.

This new connection was strengthened recently when I joined a FB Class of 1976 page, where I copied the following photo. My apologies for the poor quality. This was my Year 7 Class in 1971, known as 1B in those days.

My friend Shu Yamaguchi often posts gig guides for upcoming shows she is doing. Shu is a jazz singer and a talented pianist and she performs fairly regularly in live houses, which are like a cross between a cafe and performing arts bar or bistro. Nadia and I once shared a gig with her at Starting Over in Kobe and we also wrote the English language lyrics to some of her tunes.

English gets a little bent wherever it gets taught in Asia and Japan is certainly no exception. To give you an idea I am re-posting the flyer for Shu's show of the 22nd January at MJ Cafe. I didn't have the heart to correct her - bless her!

Now and then I travel into town to meet Ann after she has finished work or college. Often as not we stroll down to Thai town (adjacent the Capitol Theatre) for a delicious Thai meal. This is really nothing like the Thai I have been accustomed to in the 'burbs, but much simpler, spicier and bursting with flavours that quite astonish me. Dishes seem liberated from the over-cloying effects of sauces and are high on fresh ingredients. Let me give a shout-out for my favourite cafe, Doo Dee Paidang, in the Haymarket.

Lately I have also been enjoying the walk through that long, straight tunnel at the western end of Central Station, the one which emerges in George St near UTS and is an eternity of tiles and buskers and fast-walking folk. Apart from its relative proximity to Daiso, this once unfashionable end of this important artery bubbles with students and workers and tourists, as well as the odd flaneur. One picks one's way through noodle bars and travel agents, Thai massage clinics and cafes, skirting or sometimes engaging with homeless people, whose presence is now ubiquitous in the contemporary urban landscape.

Swinging back into the Thai town precinct, I have come across Tom n Toms cafe a few times now but have only recently decided to take a photo. My son Tom was relatively disinterested when I showed him which only speaks to my own obsessions, perhaps.

Tom has been talking a lot of metaphysics lately. He may be only 9 (going on 10) but he is asking lots of questions. Is there a heaven or a hell? Does God really exist? Are people reincarnated when they die? What might an afterlife look like? How can I make sure I get there? And so forth.
Of course, he is asking the right person, because I have considered these and other mysteries since I was his age.

My best answer is that I don't know. There is no hard evidence for metaphysical phenomena, for this is the realm of the personal and the anecdotal. It is usually accessed by an act of faith (I quoted St Paul to him at the pool this morning) so, in the absence of actual events and experiences taking place and being subject to rigorous testing, that is where it will stay. But I am glad he is asking these questions because they speak to a depth of personality and a keener intelligence.

Some people try to equate a scientists work with religious faith, an absurdity that doesn't require a response. I read today that astronomers have calculated (though not actually observed) that a large planet may well exist outside the regular planetary zone, far beyond distant Neptune. The calculations are theoretical (by observing the behaviour of other distant objects, particularly dwarf planets) but open a tantalizing prospect for visual observers. Imagine, a giant planet in the depths of the Kuiper Belt, perhaps expelled in the ancient solar system by other giants! Something to replace the old Number 9, Pluto, something that would please Dr Sheldon Cooper.

chill winter wood
these long intersections lead
I know not where

No-one is immune from death. It is the great leveler. Every day, millions pass into the realm of unknowing, "the undiscovered country/from whose bourn/no traveler returns" The passing of any creature then, even though ubiquitous, is saddening. That life is worthy of some kind of remembrance.

But some lives are remembered more than others, for the famous and the powerful spread their influence more widely. No time has better suited this phenomenon than today, for even though the internet and other media can propel a nobody into 15 minutes of stardom, a tiny minority still dominate.

I don't mean to perpetuate this cycle, but I cannot let another blog pass without paying short homage to David Bowie. Mr Bowie was a constant presence through my teenage years and then well into my twenties. I have many of his records on vinyl and they are scratched up somewhat from the constant playing. He was a different category of pop star to anyone I knew and his ability to absorb the trends and create his own sound was testament to a major talent.

The other day NASA named a small asteroid in the belt between Mars and Jupiter after him in a beautiful and apt gesture to the man who sang both Major Tom and Starman and other space-themed songs to boot.

Though I'm past 100,000 miles I'm feeling very still




Here in Kyoto, he upstages a Umeda-bound Hankyu train, in classic Bowie style.

I noticed an advertisement recently for a reunion of teachers from Merrylands High for the "A.M.Meyers Foundation Years 1959-1966" Of course, this is the same Allen Myers who inspired fear and loathing in so many students and teachers at Killarney Heights High School, which was the site of his second foundation principalship.

Mr Myers now looms large as a kind of mythical figure for those who had significant contact with him. I don't know how his first term as headmaster proceeded, for the times may have better suited him. Australia was a little slow to take to the happening swinging sixties - in fact, I suspect that they were delayed by half a decade at least.

By the time of his second term at Killarney Heights, the winds had changed and the tide on the conservative post-war educational consensus was being challenged. And much else besides. Not for Allen Myers the long hair, casual dress and groovy mind-set of the late sixties and early seventies. This was pre-Woodstock Man, set in the verities of an earlier time. Was he confused or perplexed? Or did he just double-down on how it should be done knowing that he was right?

Maybe I will try to attend the reunion as an observer and find out. He was a tough man in every respect but I think he mishandled the chance for gradual reform.

Another little article below from December of 1971 demonstrated clearly that the man was not for turning.

It is exhaustively documented here and elsewhere that my life and work in Japan was a peak experience for me. Now and then I come across a photo or two that was misplaced over time and today I publish two such specimens.

One of my many tasks whilst working in Sanda was to drive upcountry every Friday to teach adults at a community centre. Nishiki was that place and initially I had three graded classes. The beginners class (in the first photo) wanted to use textbooks for our classes, which was fine by me, though I usually insisted that we have a large oral component to every class. They were kind, delightful and often hilarious and truly I miss these decent people.

The other photo was a long-time student and later friend at our Sanda evening classes - Akiko - and this snap shows us together after a delightful dinner at her parent's house. Doubtless I drank too much beer and sake!

Welcome to 2016. It's 2559 in Thailand so a relatively short 8 hour flight takes me some 500 years into the future! I look forward to that phenomenon on my next trip there, probably with Ann. She tells me that Bangkok now has a sky-train and a subway, but this doesn't surprise me given the advantages that half a millennium may engender. The wonder is that I didn't see any evidence of this when I last went there in 1997, which was, after all, 2450 by my reckoning. Too many old temples and Thai beer playing tricks with my over-active mind, I suppose!

Back in Australia, we are waist-deep in the so-called silly-season, when the nation slumbers, political leaders are often holidaying and nothing much happens. Well, there are bushfires and floods of course and, because people are more often at the beach, we have sightings of sharks and sadly, drownings. Generally speaking though, stuff seems to happen elsewhere, the torpor of the season laying thickly on the antipodean mind.

Out on the Great Western Highway, all manner of holiday craft ply their way on once-a-year journeys to camping grounds and holiday spots, the speed boat and caravan justifying their usual space-taking role at home with this burst of usefulness. Since my divorce my usual Christmas camping trip has been on hold and while Ann is working her impossibly long hours, this is likely to remain so.

I need to find a better way of occupying myself this year. I am happiest when I am gainfully employed and being useful.