International dweeb of mystery

The 68th World Science Fiction Convention is taking place in Melbourne from September 2-6. The AFL finals should have begun, guaranteeing a super-atmospheric game or two at "The 'G". There's bound to be a hit stage musical running that hasn't visited Sydney (and may never do so). Famed tapas and wine bar MoVida won't be temporarily closed like it was two Xmases ago. And cuz GH2 will feasibly (a) be in town, and (b) have a spot in his schedule to hang out. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Post-modern drunkard

I'd always suspected that drinking alcohol was big and clever, and my relentlessly creative chum SC proved the theory to be true with - drunkphotos.tumblr.com

Needs more Eigenharp

So I'm in Sushi Train, doin' my gurgitatin' thang, when the waitress seats a businesswoman next to me. Immediately, my nasal passages are assaulted by an awful sour smell. I look this lady over and she's well dressed, seems not to have come straight from the gym without showering, and is carrying a handbag, a gossip glossy and an iPhone set to "make an annoying noise every 20 seconds". And there's the acrid pong again. Wasting food is anathema to me, but I honestly consider ditching the rest of my karaage donburi and sprinting to the counter to settle the bill. Instead, I put my head down and switch from chopsticks to ceramic spoon in order to speed up the process. Every now and then, I'm cruelly lashed by another tendril of stink and - I kid you not - the intensity goes beyond eau de vagrant and into the realm of "unholy gas released when stray bolt of lightning cracks open marble doors of centuries-old crypt". I scoff my rice and narrowly escape before I become physically sick. Being crammed into the aisle of the 373 on the way home is bliss by comparison.

As someone who wouldn't dream of going anywhere public after work without spraying on extra deoderant and popping a breath mint, it blows my mind that a professional person could be so oblivious to their flower-wilting, wallpaper-peeling reek. On the other hand, if it so happens that the odour in question stemmed from a tragic medical condition, then I apologise to the unnamed woman and to baby Jesus for the preceding rant in its entirety.

Work-related mutter

October 16 marks my 10 years with this company. Except it doesn't, actually. I started out as a casual in mid-1999 on a "spoiler" mag that folded when its job was done (picture Drizzt Do'Urden hamstringing a firbolg). I was soon hired as a full-timer by my present periodical. But then, amid the ballyhoo surrounding the Sydney Olympics, I decided to have a crack at tech writing, jumping to what I didn't realise was an unseaworthy ship. Laid off in the second round of sackings there, I returned to the fold, where I've remained contentedly ever since. (Apart for an internal move from men's to women's rags and back. The grass definitely wasn't greener in that pasture!) The lesson to be learnt from this self-indulgent ramble is that if I hadn't erred in entering the IT sphere while the "dot.com bubble" was bursting, I'd have reached the decade milestone – and be accruing luvverly long-service leave. Oh well, not that far to go. Touch laminated wood.

Power trio

Canberra was great, but I have no desire to type about it in detail right now. Suffice it to say that we bought games, we played games and we talked games. We drank a lot of Beck's with no ill effects (hurrah for the German Purity Law of 1516), we patronised some excellent feeding holes (I can still taste those stuffed eggplants from the Thai joint in Dickson), we caught up with my locally based cousin TH (a real stand-up guy) and we bonded. Check my Twitter page for additional tidbits.

Slow to ACT

Apols for the lack of postage lately. The arguably good news is that I'll be in Canberra from Friday to Tuesday, attending the annual Cancon gaming convention with TC, LPO and not literally millions of others. Expect a post facto report, y'all. Unless I'm using that term improperly - then expect an ordinary report. Shade and sweet water ;-P

Musty thinking

No-one ever "opened" an e-book to discover a lovely handwritten dedication like: "To Clare, We hope your results do justice to the effort you have put in for your exams. June 1989. With love from Dad, Mum & Emma XXX."

Nor did they make their way through one and have the pages bloom with the scent of fresh paper, or finely aged, or perhaps a heady combination of cigarettes and French perfume...a dab here, a tiny fall of ash there.

They certainly didn't encounter dog-eared corners, makeshift placeholders from ferry stubs to grocery lists, underlinings, margin notes, the stamps of libraries and secondhand dealers, angry creases or accidental tear stains.

No-one ever opened an e-book.

Just don't call him a photo director

Mein colleague AH has a knack for finding striking images and cool or amusing vids. Visit his virtual magpie nest at - hanguy.tumblr.com