Tuesday kind of looks like Thursday if you're speed-reading. Anyway, I haven't done much in the last few days. The rain came when I was ready for some sun. Today, I saw the sun outside while I was working. So I went outside and the rain came. All I have now is a monitor tan, there's not even a moon. Tonight I finally succumbed and plugged in the electric heater for the first time this year. Tomorrow I'm getting up early to go for a walk in the national park, because I can.

The week since I was in Melbourne didn't feel quite real, because being in Melbourne didn't either. It's strange to lie in a hotel room and watch the news from home, even though you are home. The place kept reminding me of Glasgow, with its arty greyness and architecture. I was even on a train full of Collingwood fans after their team was defeated, which was a lot like living on the Celtic side of the Clyde.

Great email from my cousin Sara who's cruising down the California coast towards Mexico in a vehicle with people she met the day before. Hmm ... when she was here in March she had no money. But I still remember how good it feels to be rent-free, moving through the world, until you need to stop. But soon you need to start again.

This is like a Thursday blog or something. Anyway, I ended up at a wierd little blog called Evil Ninja and his comment on Star Wars Episode II made me laugh:
"So if the glowering, hyperventilating and self-groping every time he talks to Amidala weren't enough to make Anakin Skywalker creepy and weird, we must always remember that he built himself a gay dad using spare parts. Nothing's wrong with having a gay dad, but purposely building one out of spare parts when you're nine?"

If there is no honour among thieves, you would think CEOs would want to differentiate themselves. I used to pay $10 per month for an online gaming community that made its owners very rich. The new owners now have four times the users, but raised the price to $12.95 and introduced extra fees for some areas. That is the difference between honourable capitalism and milking it. There should be a way for users to reward restraint, or a realisation that profit alone is not success.

That interview is tomorrow. Rounding up published work, referees, and thoughts of teaching. Had a "good luck for tomorrow" telephone call last night, made me check the itinerary just a few times ... apologies for not catching up with anyone lately.

Now I have to write something to pay for it. Don't worry, the cost was in three figures, not four. But when you can't play the Matrix trailer you've downloaded, it's time to upgrade. Anyway, got a job interview in Melbourne next week and they're flying me down for it.

In 1986 I wrote to Rene Rivkin at my dad's suggestion, in an attempt to get a holiday job. Dad, an admirer of Alan Bond and John Elliott, relentlessly fed me business magazines which piled up unopened. Knowing very little about Mr Rivkin except that he was a famous stockbroker and I had made a profit in a share trading game run by my economics teacher, I wrote to say how much I admired him and would like to work for him. Now that I think about it, the letter was my first attempt at manipulating somebody with words, and it worked.
"Dear Simon, Thank you for your letter. Mr Rivkin would very much like to meet you."
Eventually the invitation was reduced to an impending phone call. On the appointed day, I set up a pen and paper beside the phone downstairs and waited. I was upstairs when the phone rang and raced down the steps, but it stopped after about 4-5 rings and didn't ring again. Dad explained that Mr Rivkin was the kind of person who had a phone next to his toilet because he didn't have enough time to make such calls. I was kind of glad I didn't have to talk to someone who was taking a shit.
Ultimately Mr Rivkin's secretary arranged for me to work in the courier department at Rivkin James Capel, where I earned $130-$160 a fortnight for two sets of holidays, delivering $2 million cheques and share certificates to banks, other stockbrokers and Kerry Packer's Australian Consolidated Press where I would later work as a journalist. I even stood in an elevator once while Mr Rivkin puffed on his cigar and fidgeted with his worry beads, but I wasn't brave enough to say "I'm the guy who sent you the letter". I knew I was being exploited and I encountered some awful people, but I was 16 and it was my first ever income. Eventually it became my spending money on an exchange trip to Germany.
So tonight I watched a nearly-broken Rivkin interviewed on Enough Rope two days before he was convicted of insider trading, expecting to despise the guy. And after all this time, I finally came to admire him. He can have that letter and keep it, because he told the truth -- that the mega-rich are all corrupt and engaged in bribery, and that they get rich at the expense of other people. Rivkin admitted to trying to bribe someone and failing at it, along with disobeying an order from Kerry Packer to "lose my fuckin' son some fuckin' money" because he felt sorry for Jamie. He said he had been unwilling to hurt people in order to get richer, and I respect him for it.
I'll be watching for his sentencing, and I might even write to him again.

Grilled kangaroo meat beats beef or lamb and doesn't mess with Australia. But I just wanted to see what it looks like when you post on another day.

That bike ride did me good. I've been thinking about what to add to my site and there will definitely be a photography section. Found some old assignments from photography classes and I've got a digital camera and a scanner, so there really is no excuse. Naturally there will also be plenty of writing, including the long lost European bike trip in serial form. I'll have to set up a simple way to publish new pages, such as an editing program that can upload.
It would be nice to think I could make a living from freelance writing. Obviously it's possible, but I'm not sure if I have the energy or motivation. I've been commissioned to write a 2000 word piece at $600 per 1000, but I also have 3-4 fantastic ideas for features that would surely be purchased, if only I could be bothered doing the research. And then there are opinion pieces. And creative stuff. As I gradually untangle myself from corporate news brain patterns (again), I might deliver. If I do, I'll be moving out of Sydney. Even if I don't, I'll be scheming and dreaming. Give notice, pack up life, move to the desert like the book Generation X, damn the torpedoes and write.
Whatever appears here will take time. My online friends are heading to another virtual world which is where the fragment of pic at the top is from, but I might leave them to it.

Now I have the urge to post stuff.
Until a week ago, I ran AustralianDoctor.com.au. Sadly, they're not coping.

The sun is out and I am going to ride up to Mona Vale. Piet, Erin and Saskia visiting tomorrow, so a bit of tidying and shopping to do afterwards. At least I finished this thing.