Me and a Bunch of Celebrity Heathens

In addition to all the wonderful and thought-provoking talks at this weekend’s convention, there was the opportunity to hang out with a bunch of celebrities.

Now when I say “celebrities”, I’m obviously not talking about Paris Hilton or Robert Pattinson.

I’m talking about actual people who are actually famous because they actually have something worthwhile and interesting to say.

And so I, wishing to bask in their reflected glory, wandered around and got myself photographed with them.

 

The very charming Catherine Deveny.

The lovely Jane Caro with The Chaser’s Julian Morrow.

The hilarious Lawrence Leung. (This was actually following a discussion on the finer points of Rubik’s Cube solutions).

The other Chaser in the room, Mr. Craig Reucassel.

The man I was most keen to meet, the legendary PZ Myers. 

 A man whom I’m convinced can make me smarter just by being in the same room, philosopher and awesome hair model A.C. Grayling.

 

The truly excellent and also none-too-shabby hair model Steve, aka NonStampCollector. (Check out his videos. They’re ace.)

 

And finally, the one and only Sean the Blogonaut.

There were one or two others I sadly didn’t get a chance to meet, like Dan Barker and that strident UK biologist whose name escapes me.

Still, that’s a pretty good collection of happy snaps.

Oh, and many thanks to Jasmine (aka @purplefae) for doing the snapping!

Simon and the Skeptics

A few weeks ago I wrote about science journalist Simon Singh and his run-in with the British Chiropractic Association.

Simon’s currently on a tour of Australia as part of the 2009 Festival of Ideas, doing meet-and-greets, promoting his books and talking (in a limited way) about the BCA libel case.

This evening he spoke to the Victorian Skeptics about some of the topics from his book Trick or Treatment, focusing particularly on homeopathy and its somewhat ridiculous underlying theory.

I was hoping that we might get one or two homeopathists or chiropractors popping up for a bit of an argument, but no such luck. It was largely a case of preaching to the converted so it was a very entertaining, but far from controversial, evening.

Having been a huge fan of Simon’s for years (ever since The Code Book and Fermat’s Last Theorem … I’m such a maths nerd), after the talk I bucked up the fanboy courage for a quick chat.

I can’t remember what we talked about (fanboy, remember?) but it did happen. I’ve got the photo to prove it.

Simon’s the one with the cool haircut.

Skeptics United!

This weekend a bunch of our skeptical friends from Sydney came down to Melbourne for drinks.

There were some lectures and stuff too, but mainly drinks.

I could go on and on about what a great time it was, but the erstwhile Jack Scanlan over at Homologous Legs provides an excellent summary of events, so I don’t really have to bother.

Plus it’s late and I’m tired.

All you need to know is that it was tops.

If you’re really keen, Podblack Cat has posted a bunch of stuff, including photos and videos. Knock yourselves out, kids.

Anyway, here’s a cool photo of me with the gang.

From left: me, Dr Rachel Dunlop and Richard Saunders from the Skeptic Zone podcast, Dave the Happy Singer, Kylie Sturgess (aka Podblack Cat) and the very cool Mr. Joel Birch.

A big thanks to the Young Australian Skeptics for organising this truly excellent event.

Let’s do it again soon!

Hong Kong in Pictures

Here’s a bunch of photos from our trip to Hong Kong last week.

Monday. Generic Hong Kong street scene.

Yuen Po Street Bird Garden in Kowloon. As well as your usual selection of sparrows and parrots there were cockatoos, galahs and this toucan. I suspect not all of this was strictly legal.

Tuesday. Ferry to Hong Kong Island from Kowloon. Street market in Soho on Hong Kong Island. Travelling companions Ty and Debbie in left of frame.The new-ish Bank of China building on Hong Kong Island, which has the locals up in arms for its shameless violation of Feng Shui principles. Triangles are bad mmkay.

Looking down on Hong Kong Island from halfway up the scenic Peak Tram route. That hill was seriously steep.

Group shot at the Peak, after we’d walked away from the tourists and found a nice quiet spot to enjoy some wine. No glasses, so we just necked it straight from the bottle. Classy.Wednesday. Phallic art and phallic buildings outside the art gallery in Kowloon. Dinner at One-thirtyone in Sai Kung. This refined dining was followed up by drinking in our hotel room and watching the Top 100 songs of the 80s on Chinese MTV. Good times.Thursday. A quick drink while waiting for the boat to Lantau Island. I wasn’t expecting to find officially licensed Monty Python beer, but then again, NO-ONE expects . . . oh never mind. Extra credit to anyone who can read what it says on my t-shirt and complete the phrase.The Big Buddha at Ngong Ping on Lantau Island. This bad boy is 34 metres tall. Luckily we had been fortified with a vegetarian lunch at the nearly Po Lin monastery before climbing the 268 steps to the base. I got that number from Wikipedia. I didn’t count them. Really. Cable car down from Ngong Ping to Tung Chung. While it was scary, it was a lot less scary than the taxi ride on the way up.Final night celebrations at Shui Hu Ju in Soho. That’s a bunch of deep fried chicken under all those chillies. It took a lot of beer to make the burning stop, let me tell you.

And that’s it. A thoroughly awesome trip and like always, over far too quickly.

Hope you enjoyed it. We certainly did.

Osstrayenopen

Ah, the Australian Open.

A time when people of all cultures gather in one place to be burnt by the sun and entertained by the rhythmic alternate striking of a small rubber ball by two incredibly well-paid young people who, in turn, are surrounded by a grim-faced coterie staring at lines painted on the ground, concerned to the point of obsession about which side of the line the rubber ball may fall.

For some reason understood by none except the eldritch brotherhood of “promoters” and “officials”, these ingredients alchemically combine into one hella Fun Day Out.

 

 

A Zen-like state of serenity descends upon the crowd, brought upon them by the rhythms of the game.

The attention of all is focused on the smallest of details . . . the direction of the serve, the curve of the ball, and the light glinting off the sweaty buttocks of the streaker.

For this moment in time the thousands are joined as one. And thus peace is achieved.

Puffing Billy

As tourist attractions go, Puffing Billy stands alone. It impressively manages to simultaneously be both incredibly iconic and somewhat lame.

The last time I rode Puffing Billy was way back in 1979 (or thereabouts) and it hasn’t changed a bit.

The train still chugs along the same track, it still gets stopped a few times along the way for impromptu maintenance (“is the handbrake off now, Geoff?”) and kids still hang their feet out of the windows.

In fact, I suspect it’s barely changed since the track first opened in 1900.

Despite attempts to jazz it up, like Wedding packages, the Thomas the Tank Engine trips and the oddly named “Wizard and Witches Express” (presumably Harry Potter’s people weren’t as amenable to licensing as Thomas’ were) it’s still just an old steam train which chugs along a century-old track through the foothills of the Dandenongs.

And ever may it remain so.

The brochures are all about the scenery, but really that’s only a small part of the deal.

It’s more about the sense of history.

A trip on Puffing Billy is a nostalgic journey back to a simpler age.

When train journeys were slow and uncomfortable. When you could throw tons of carbon into the atmosphere with gay abandon.

And when kids could stick their feet out of the train windows.

Good times.

The Heavens are Smiling

Sometimes even nature goes all 90s-retro.

That’s the moon, Venus and Jupiter caught in a formation apparently only appearing once every 5 years.

Pretty.

New Star Trek Pics!

Some new images from J.J.Abrams' re-imagining/reboot of Star Trek are up at trekmovie.com.

Here is a mere sample:

On the bridge, Chris Pine doing his best Shatner as Kirk, Karl Urban as McCoy and Zachary Quinto as Spock.


Da Crew. Note Simon Pegg in the back as Scotty.


And the winner for inspired casting and make-up goes to . . . Eric Bana as bad-guy Romulan Nero.


All signs are positive, but a quick note to Abrams and Co:

"Don't fuck it up. We're watching you."

I want me one of these

From 2009 Savannah Cats will be available in Australia.

These little guys a great. Sleek and exotic and bred to look wild.

That's look wild, mind you. Not act wild. Not that that's clear from some of the stories doing the rounds.

In an insanely hysterical piece in the Brisbane Times on the weekend, the poor little buggers are being painted as nothing more than giant feral cats that would kill you and yours without a second thought.

And just look at that photo they chose . . . it's clearly a killer!


If you stick "savannah cats" into Google Images, then that one pops up on the front page.

But every other photo looks more like this:


Biased much ??

A Farewell

After gracing us with his presence for the past few months, our favourite Canadian Patrick is leaving us.

He takes with him our love, our best wishes, an appreciation of Australian culture, and the words 'fortnight', 'heaps' and 'scrag'.

Patrick, it's been great. And we'll be seeing you again in Ottawa. Or Paris. Or New York. Or Amsterdam. We'll see who wins out on that one.

We hope you enjoyed the cake . . .


. . . and from all of us, have a great trip home!

Witty Blog Title

For the last couple of days my lovely wife has been in Cape Town, South Africa, presenting some of her design work to various bigwigs and making quite the impression.

Apparently the words "world class presentation" are being bandied about. Well done, babe.

While stuck here in Melbourne, I've had at least one (well, one) text asking why I've not blogged yet, given the scads of free time I obviously have.

Well Shannon, of course I had every intention of using this time productively, and blogging at least once a day. But obviously I've found better things to do.

And this is what they are:

On Monday after I drove Kate to the airport I came home and finished a jigsaw. It's another one of those picture-on-the-box-doesn't-match-the-picture-on-the-puzzle jobbies.

So for posterity and to prove that I finished it, the picture on the box is this:


And the puzzle picture is this:


The second picture is the same scene 50 years on. Or after a geriatric bomb exploded. Oh, the hilarity.

On Monday night I played Guitar Hero with Toby from next door. Toby, of course, being a professional musician in an ARIA award winning band, but I still managed to wipe the floor with him.

This just goes to prove that Guitar Hero is not about playing music.

Furthermore, speaking as someone who has played both the guitar and the piano accordion in real life, I can say authoritatively that Guitar Hero is more like the accordion.

So it's definitely not about playing music.

Then last night Spoon and I went to see The Chaser's Age of Terror Variety Hour at the Athenaeum. Great show. Review to follow.

After the show we had beers in a couple of pubs and argued about the sort of stuff we usually restrict to blog comments. It was very entertaining, and I'm sorry you all had to miss it.

It was nice to do it face to face, but part of me missed the exhibitionism of doing it in a public forum.

For God's sake don't read that last sentence in isolation. Context is important.

Happy now?

Phoenix Landing

This is a truly amazing image.



While the Phoenix was on its parachute descent to the Martian north pole yesterday, our Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter snapped this picture.

The shot is taken looking down at the planet. The texture in the background is the icy surface of Mars.

I am awestruck.

Phil Plait over at Bad Astronomy, one of my personal heroes, was so impressed he made this video:



I couldn't agree more.

One Year Old(er)

I think that's the longest break I've ever had from blogging. At least, since beginning exactly one year ago today.

That's right, Portello is one year old. And hasn't it grown? Such a cutie.

But what have I been doing for this last week, you ask?

Well, I have rekindled my love for the jigsaw. We've been apart for a long time, and . . . there was a lot of catching up to do.

Actually, this rekindling was brought about by two seemingly unrelated things.

The first was a challenge from my lovely wife not to look at Facebook for a whole week. This was achieved (apart from special dispensation on Tuesday to check for birthday messages) but it meant forsaking the two Facebook activities I indulge in regularly . . . playing Scrabulous^TM (aka Scrabble^TM) and doing jigsaws on PuzzleBee^TM.

The other thing was that, serendipitously and before the shakes set in, I received a birthday gift from my parents of three 1000-piece puzzles and a jigsaw case.

And that was just what I needed . . . a large flat vinyl case, padded and velcro-sealed, in which one can comfortably work on a jigsaw, and then keep it closed and unmolested by curious cats when not in attendance.

Of course even while I am in attendance, there's been a certain amount of training required.

Not walking across the puzzle. Not knocking the pieces off the table and watching them curiously as they fall to the floor. Not eating the jigsaw pieces. Not eating the jigsaw case. The usual sort of thing. They're getting the hang of it.

Anyway, here's the case . . . featuring completed puzzle:


The puzzle was very cool, actually. To make it tricky, the picture on the box was not the picture in the puzzle.

The puzzle picture is, in fact, what happens next after the scene on the box.

* * * Spoiler Alert * * *
This is the picture on the box:


And this is the completed puzzle:


Lots of semi-amusing detail in there if you care to look.

Thanks, Mum and Dad.

Tattoo

Here's a photo of the tattoo I got in Byron Bay last week.



It's a Möbius strip, one of my favourite mathematical constructs.

My first tattoo, but probably not my last.

Much thanks to Dave at Sharky's for his sterling work.

Byron Bay

Last Sunday Kate, Eliza and I flew north for a week of R&R, and hopefully some cooling off, in Byron Bay. It seems odd to have to go to northern NSW to escape the heat, but there you are. Climate change and whatnot.

It had been raining up there for a week and our arrival heralded the first day of sunshine. The weather was just starting to get hot again. The ground was steaming and the air was humid.

We picked up our Prius from the airport and headed south in a cloud of smug.

It was a couple of hours before we could check into the house we'd rented, so we decided to take a quick detour to Nimbin to pick up some 'supplies'. You know, postcards and stuff. Unfortunately, the road was flooded (as it was in many places around there) so we went back into Byron, only to confront the mother of all traffic jams.

We thought the crawling traffic was because of the once-a-month market in the town, but after a few days we realised it's actually like that all the time. Once we made it into town we wandered around said market for a while, got our fill of hippiedom (and local sausages - very nice) then went to find our house.

The house was in Suffolk Park, a three minute walk from Tallow Beach and far enough away from the madness that is Byron Bay proper to afford us some peace and quiet. The owner insisted on giving us a long, comprehensive and mostly superfluous guided tour before asking for next-of-kin details, on the off chance that we were all to perish simultaneously in (for example) a car crash. And she actually used the word 'fireball'.

Debbie and Danielle were arriving on Monday afternoon, so once we got rid of the owner, we had the place to ourselves for the first night.

The next few days consisted of doing nothing but laying around the house reading, laying around the beach reading, and playing cards on the deck overlooking the oddly lush (well, for a Victorian, anyway) tropical garden.

This, um, activity was broken up by a spa visit on Monday for massages and sauna, and on Tuesday another attempt, this time successful, to get to Nimbin. While in Nimbin the heavens fairly opened for a storm the likes of which had not been seen for at least a week (apparently) and we were thinking we might be stranded there. But just as we were starting to think this might not actually be a bad thing, the rain stopped and we left. Oh well. Great town, though.

On Wednesday Kate and Eliza braved the very choppy surf of Tallow Beach while I sat on the sand reading and snoozing. Same again on Thursday, although this time the surf was even choppier. The dirty foam lining the sand was knee-deep and before long it started to rain. We didn't stay long that day.

We got up early on Friday to pack up and get out before the owner got there and subjected us to another half-hour spiel on some irritating minutiae. (We just made it as it turned out . . . we saw her sitting in her car outside as we drove off).

On the way out of Byron we stopped off at the famous Sharky's Tattoo to get some ink. I got a Möbius strip on my back (so sticking with the nerdy vibe), Kate got 'miel' ('Honey' in French) in white ink on her wrist and Eliza got her father's (my uncle's) initials on her back, in memory of his passing away one year ago yesterday.

Our flight out of Coolangatta was in the evening, so we had almost a whole day to kill in the north coast hinterland and the Gold Coast.

And kill it we did. We drove through the Tweed region, which was reasonably entertaining and pleasantly eccentric. For example, the Tweed town of Mooball has taken its branding potential to a somewhat ridiculous extreme, with just about every surface (including power poles and the occasional rock) painted in black and white cow spots.

We stopped in Murwillumbah, a pretty little town with a cinema that the tourist lady breathlessly told us (two or three times) was original art-deco and had, would you believe it, bean bags. Gosh.

We had lunch in the cutely-named Tumbulgum before driving through Coolangatta to Surfer's Paradise. I'd not been there since our 1988 family holiday and it doesn't seem to have changed a lot. The architecture is staunchly 1980's tack (there must have been a bylaw passed requiring this) and the whole place screams North American Tourism. The mini-golf course is even named Putt-Putt Golf. We stopped at the beach for two minutes to dip our feet, then got the hell out of there.

We ended up being a little early for the flight so Kate did what she does best, and sweet talked the check-in guy into getting us on an earlier one. It's just as well she did. All the flights were delayed by a few hours and the earlier flight ended up leaving at our original flight time, with our original flight leaving much later.

All in all, a great relaxing week. Now it's back to work. Sigh.

And here's some photos.

Before: Footy field on the the road to Nimbin when we arrived on Sunday afternoon.


After: the same footy field 48 hours later.


Soaking in the atmosphere in Nimbin.


Tropical garden at the house. Thankfully the water feature (the pipe and tub contraption on the left) wasn't working. I hate water features.


Your humble correspondent faces the mighty Tallow Beach surf . . .


. . . before having a snooze.


Kate's feet. This is the only photo of her she'd let me use.


Eliza and Debbie playing Chinese Checkers. I think I'm reading Famous magazine.


Eliza and I at Surfer's Paradise. We didn't stay long.


No photos of the tattoos at this stage. I'll post some in the next day or two.