Laibach, I get the joke, but Roger Whittaker…!

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Water gets cold…

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The death toll incleases. Last week I went to the funeral of a nonogenerian classicist in Greek and Maori with an interest in cosmogony. It was a big funeral with people attending from the churches, te Tumu and retired academics and classicists. A women, whom I have it on good repute, once struck up a conversation with the opening line, “Tell me, what do you think of chaos theory?”!!!

I also heard from the cleaning staff that Patty Costello, the husband of Pixie, died at the weekend. His funeral mass will be at St. Bernadette’s tomorrow. (This has been a friend’s service announcement for the one person on my friends’ list who would know the Costellos.)

I went and saw Out of the Blue last Friday. Certain people will enjoy the background music. Of course certain people are sufficiently anorak to know that Dunedin local radio wouldn’t be playing The Chills at that particular hour of the day! The story, for anyone knowledgeable of the Aramoana Massacre, is tragic. There is something disturbing about watching a tragic movie that happened just up the road and over the hill from where I live, at the end of Otago Peninsula, a place I have visited a couple of times. As I don’t drive at all, or travel much, I don’t see these places often. This is probably why the ancient Greeks forbade tragic plays about events that happened in living memory.

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I see the new uniform for the Tirau library is now available.

I bought a copy of The Night Watch by Sergei Lukyanenko (not the Discworld title) and read it this weekend. Different from the movie, the plot-line in the movie is one of three novellas in this book. What it lacks in visual effects it makes up for in dialogue on the nature of the struggle between the Light and the Dark. The ending is different to the movie adaption. I did not know that this book had been translated from Russian until I was told so by a rabbi. Learning Russian to find out what changed in translation would still be tempting. I must loan it to the Research Assistant next week when she gets back from Australia.

I see the Guy Fawkes debate has started up again. I usually enjoy Guy Fawkes night. It’s so sparkly. I don’t buy fireworks and I’ve never been harmed by them. I am concerned that my flat could be effected by dangerous use of fireworks — it’s a dry season and there have been two scrub fires on Signal Hill already. People forget what we are celebrating. Four hundred years ago a group of (Catholic) religious terrorists were arrested for trying to blow up government buildings. They were held without trial and several of them died in custody. At the time it was seen as a great victory for national security.

Renaissance

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I went and saw this film last night. It’s very pretty. The sets of near-future Paris are beautifully rendered in black and white — truly the city of lights. The cartoonists do pretty snow flakes and rain too.

Unfortunately I can’t say much that’s nice for the story itself. The characterisation is cold to the point of being dull. About as exciting as the Final Fantasy movie or any Aeon Flux episode. (Okay, maybe less memorable than any Aeon Flux episode that I tolerated to watch!)

Some hints for Majellan: the detective has a bionic eye; Avalon Corporation could be Chaugrad. The Parisians all have Algerian and Central Asian names. There’s a hint of a war about a decade earlier, but no details. I would suspect by the characters who were caught up in it that it happened in Central Asia.

The ending might appeal to Film Noir fans, I left feeling disappointed. There was no original twist behind its ideas and I felt it had been done better elsewhere (even Highlander II). I left feeling disappointed. This movie is about as hip and exciting as the skin texture on black coffee.

A look at the Internet Movie Data Base suggests that I am not the only one who thinks this.

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The war of little empires came close to my workplace today, a struggle mostly irrelevant to the post-religious world in which it seems most people live. I work in the Presbyterian Archives, located in the wing of a college that contains two other Presbyterian institutions, a library and the church’s School of Ministry. The last, the School of Ministry, holds regular chapel services. With the majority of the teaching staff away these are led by a smaller number of people.

Among these people is the Principal’s Personal Assistant, whom I consider to be a very lovely and gentle man, a theologically trained Anglican who immigrated to New Zealand from South Africa. Unfortunately he happens to be gay and committed to his partner who travelled to New Zealand with him. In the post-Assembly environment some of our more evangelical ordinands have objected to him leading chapel worship, and are making life difficult. Apparently this week another staff member had to step in this week to take chapel. He gave the ordinands a serious telling off. They considered having a demonstration outside the college gates to express their own feelings, but it never eventuated. The petty battles of being part of a religious sub-culture!

All very embarrassing for the ordinands and others of a more inclusive church life.

I found my rainbow ribbon in my desk drawer at home, and a safety pin. I’m inclined to fix them up and wear them tomorrow at work, discreetly.

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Currently reading through Days of Magic, Nights of War, the second book of the Abarat series. A quick surf of the internet suggests that this series will include five volumes. The conceit of this fantasy world is that it is a self-contained archipelago of 25 islands, each representing a different hour of the day. The question I want answered is: does Abarat has seasons? This would be very important to the twilit islands where the amount of sunlight would be seaonal. Even Midnight could be affected whether it was a winter night or a summer night.

The amount of creativity bubbling though the book is stimulating. I should think of a plot hook and put a pen to some paper. I still maintain a Scribbles file.

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I’m visiting FrathWiki a lot at the moment. Slowly, very slowly a description of my journal language Zelandish is being worked out. It will take some time as I have been writing in it for nearly a decade. I have tried to write up descriptions of it before, this is the first time that I’ve made it public.

When dryad comes back into town I will have to see if I can loan her my cassock. Either the sleeves need to be repaired, as they are old material, or a pattern could be taken off it. A lighter material would be a good idea.

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