Communicating with God about the tsunami

On wednesday morning I woke to this text:

"Hey boar did you hear about quake and tsunami in the samoas?"

My phone failed to recognise the number, so it wasn't in my contacts, but the writer clearly knew my name and that I had a Samoan connection (I spent a couple of years around the millenium bring books to the Samoan masses)

I replied:

"I do now! thanks mystery caller!"

And got the reply:

"Youre welcome, love from god."

This explains a lot. God is all knowing of my name and work history, but I'm the last person likely to have His number in my contacts. I said:

"Well god, might i suggest that you spend less time loving atheists like me and more time loving your adoring samoans. Stop working in mysterious ways! "

He said:

"I love all my kids, even prodigal librarians. Sounds like youre back on board tho if you think im responsible for the samoan earthquake..."

"i know you exist because you keep txt ing me. So, why attack the samoans.. They luv ya!"

"They went against god when they swapped road sides"

So there you go, that's it straight from the top. I tried ringing the number but it just rang out and no voice mail. Can't say I blame God for not having voicemail.

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I can't offer prayers, but my thoughts and best wishes are with the beautiful people of the Samoan Isles.

Tipping with washing lines

Your head says tip Geelong.

But when I was taking in the washing at the weekend, I came to a point where what was left on the line were three vests: one red, one white & one black. It seems to me an omen from the footy gods, who've I've had dealings with before, so you best tip the Saints.

Boarking goes solar

as the polar bears smile their thanks,

and the glaciers regrow,

snows fall again on Kilamanjaro,

Gaia sighs her relief,

and...

...a cloud of smug becomes visible above Boarking Mansions!

Collywobblin'

I warned all my Collingwood Pie friends (I confess I do have some) not to watch the Preliminary Final. I'm sure they regret ignoring the man in the know, Ernest U.

Followers of the game knew it was going to go pear shape when the coach tried to play mind games, always the last refuge of the desperate.

What's the point?

Obviously, when you think about it, there is no point.

We're all, creatures great & small, just filling in time between birth & death, in a universe doing much the same (I suspect).

When you are doing alright, this is liberating.

When you struggle in the dark night of your (non-existent) soul, this is no consolation.

But you might as well go on with it, because you're a long time dead.

And you might as well do good, because you've evolved to get a kick out of it.

So, religion is superfluous, it seems...

Unrequited love on the Upfield Line, remembered

At the pool after work, I go for my crook neck, I stay too long in the spa, I get a bit light headed. I sit on the side, half dressed, waiting to recover, waiting for my feet to dry and I remember this lovely woman that got on my carriage last Saturday arvo.

She got on at Antsey or Brunswick, or somewhere close; it's not really that important but perhaps it is, all the best people live in Brunswick these days. Late twenties, early thirties, it's hard to tell. Dark clothes and hair, just as I like it, not Goth though, hopefully a bit old for Emo. Warm eyes, but a bit tired around them, no make up excepting a touch of lippy on these wonderful, voluptuous lips which I'll never forget. She sat facing me, but a couple of bays down. She smiled at a toddler in the opposite window, I like to think that this hints at a good nature. I realised that she was all that I had ever looked for in a lover and soul mate, and if it was that good a match, then I must be The One for her too. I went back to reading my novel.

I got off at North Melbourne. She didn't look up.

"She doesn't know I exist,
I'm gonna keep it like this,
I'm not gonna take any risks..."

As I think of her, sitting by the pool, waiting for my feet to dry, all the noise, the shouting & splashing, the echoes, they all subside and I've got this wonderful Divine Comedy song exploding in my head. I smile, all is not lost, unrequited love is better than no love.

Boarking's great Carlton tanking theory

Forget all this talk about Adelaide being really good, Carlton were doing alright until they realised that Essendon, their Nemesis, were going to win and therefore Carlton would have the dubious pleasure of hosting the 'dons in a home final. At that point, Carlton stopped, "tanked" in the preferred vernacular, prepared to gamble on losing a home final just to avoid the Bombers...

You soft blue bastards... now you'll go to Brisbane, we'll go to Adelaide... and we'll all lose!