swearengen

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Cranky out-of-towner in the breakfast queue: “Is it crowded in here, or does this town have a lot of fat fucking people in it?”
Charlie Utter: “either that or some lethal combination of the two”
ianmcshane.jpgAl Swearengen
We are watching season 1 of Deadwood on DVD from the video shop at the moment, and I’m really enjoying it. Well, I don’t know if enjoy is the proper word – it’s dark, it’s super-violent, every second word is cocksucker (or cunt), there’s a lot of mud, a lot of drugs, a lot of whoring and no healthy personalities.
It does, however, have one of the most excellent scripts I’ve seen on telly for a while – I’m finding the late 19th century lingo pleeeasing, when I’m not dodging cusses. Excepting hoopleheads – we’re liking the cuss hooplehead round here.
Deadwood is an American telly show set in the mythic Deadwood city from western lore. I have fond memories of Deadwood and sang every song from Calamity Jane I could remember* when we first starting watching the show. One episode later and I realised how innapropriate it was to sing about the joys of Deadwood city, as sung by an abstinant Calamity Jane.
The Squeeze isn’t really enjoying Deadwood – it’s dark and violent and depressing, though I’ve noticed that it lightened up after the first two episodes (the pilot?). There’s still lots of nasty violence (seems you’re likely to end up fed to pigs if you’re not careful – particularly if you’re the nasty bit of work Kristen Bell played one episode**), the women seem to be either dopefiends, whores, gimps, frighteningly ingnorant widows, con artists or some combination thereof.
ebfarnum.jpgE.B. Farnum
But I like it. I like the dialogue and I like the complicated relationships between the characters. I’m interested in the way the town ‘has no law’ and yet still has an equilibrium maintained by the ‘upstanding’ members of the community – the Gem’s owner Al Swearengen, Cy Tulliver, the Hardware Boys (Bullock and Star), the unspeakably vile E.B. Farnum, etc etc etc. I’m interested in the development of Deadwood as a township, and of the USA as a federation of states.
doccochran.jpgDoc Cochran
I like the Doc Cochran’s complexity – he’s the most sympathetic and sensitive of the characters in Deadwood, though his sensitivity seems strange and excessive in this harsh landscape. He’s not as attractive (this is him – he’s the crazy science dood from Alien Resurrection) as Bullock, and while Bullock can be extremely, irrationally violent (NB the episode with the Indian dood, and the opening scene of season 1), he seems more appealing because he’s better looking and cleaner than the Doc. Which is, of course, nuts, because the Doc is (as I’ve just said) the ‘better’ person.
sethbullock.jpgSeth Bullock
Bullock’s attraction to the Widow Garret is the best demonstration of Bullock’s dissatisfying nature – he’s attracted to this selfish, self-obsessed woman who chooses to stay in Deadwood to pursue her gold mine’s bounty, rather than taking the Metz child and Trixie to New York. Trixie is a whore from the Gem, Swearengen’s ‘woman’, and with a nasty history of laudenum addiction. Her incipient relationship with the eminently sympathetic Sol Star is quashed by her comment “I don’t want what I can’t have”, indicating the permience of class even in the ‘lawless’ Deadwood.
almagarret.jpg the Widow Alma Garret
The issue of class is dealt with in an interesting way by the program when Garret tries to send Trixie to New York by herself. Trixie cannot face a new life in a strange city by herself (as the Doc has to point out to ignorant Garret), but is keen to accompany Garrett to New York as a servant. Escaping Deadwood means escaping violence and regular beatings (ample of evidence of which is shown in the first episode and later, when Swearengen brutally knocks her down and stands on her neck to teach her a lesson for shooting a client who’d beat her nastily).
sophiametz.jpgSophie Metz
When the Widow Garret chooses to stay in Deadwood to manage her claim, rather than choosing a proxy, she commits the child Sophie Metz to a life Deadwood (she is the only other child we ever see onscreen beyond the Chinese quarter), and Trixie is forced to leave Garret’s employ as a nanny and return to the Gem, Swearengen and whoreing.
solstar.jpgSol Star
Trixie’s return to the Gem is made all the more blatant by her costume change – from ‘respectable’ women’s clothing (the costume she wears when Sol first meets her) of dress, corset, petticoats, coat, shawls, etc etc, to ‘whore’ costume of undergarments. Trixie’s character also changes as she returns to the Gem – she no longer smiles, she smokes more, she will not allow Sol to see her at work “like this”, though his interest seems to overlook this issue. She also returns to Swearengen’s bed, and we see her naked more than once. As Garrett’s servant and companion, Trixie is never naked and her confidence and knowledge of things like laudenum addiction give her strength.
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Trixie
Trixie and Garret share an uneasy relationship – Trixie has a better rapport with the traumatised Metz girl, while Garret seems cold and unable to relate to people – bound by her tight, black silk dresses and high collars, impeded by her utter ignorance of the reality of people’s lives in Deadwood, or outside her own priveleged class, despite her continual presence at her window looking out on the street – and that’s another interesting thing.
The importance of looking and surveillance in Deadwood – characters are always observing each other, and we are invited into this voyeurism by sharing their line-of-sight and through scenes such as Farnum’s ‘free touch’ from one of the whores at the Gem – she masturbates him in the main room and the spectacle is remarked upon by the observing Swearengen (and others).
joanie.jpg
Joanie
Sex and whoring in Deadwood are not romanticised. There is a matter-of-factness about sex and the sex industry in Deadwood, and we often see women’s naked or revealed bodies, from full-frontal nudity to exposed breasts. The women who work in the Gem are also ”revealed’ and ‘exposed’ in the Doc’s regular trips to care for their health (which includes vaginal examinations). While they are apparently ‘comfortable’ with their state of undress in the Saloon and on the street, there is a marked contrast made between the clothed bodies of Garret and the Madame Joanie at the ‘better’ quality Bella Union Saloon, and the revealed bodies of the Gem’s whores.
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Jewel
There is also a distinction made between the ‘gimp’ Jewel and the other women she works with at the Gem – Jewel is not a whore but a ‘char woman’ (to use my nan’s phrase for a cleaning woman) and is also physically crippled, hence her positioning as an ‘undesirable body’.
Gem whores
I’m not sure how I feel about all these images of women. I’m inclined to the feeling that it’s a complex representation of gender, where we don’t see the madonna/whore binary where the madonna (Garret for the most part) is pure and virginal – she is not sympathetic and the whore (every other woman but Jewel) is evil.
cytolliver.jpgCy Tolliver
The female sex workers in Deadwood vary in character from the ‘hooker with the heart of gold’ Trixie, to the lesbian Joanie in a difficult and maschistic relationship with Cy which echoes Trixie’s with Swearengen, but is perhaps more disturbing for its patina of ‘civility’. The least sympathetic ‘whore’ character was the Veronica Mars character who dropped in briefly then was murdered – horrifically – by Cy for stealing. This female character, while there were suggestions of vulenerability, was bloodthirsty.
As I said, I’m not sure how I feel about these characters – I’ve watched about 11 episodes and there are lots of characters with a range of story lines. There’s a lot of violence, a lot of unpleasant stuff (people shitting themselves, vomiting, pissing in public, having nasty sex, getting very ill, everpresent mud, disease, etc) which distracts me from much of the major character development.
If you get a chance to see it, and can handle the nastiness, tell me what you think.
*and that’s quite a few, as I was in the musical at school and loved the songs.
** the veronica mars site says she had a recurring role on Deadwood, but unless they get her back in via flashbacks, a la Buffy or Angel, then there’s very little chance that we’ll be seeing any more of that character beyond the tattered remnants of her dress half-buried in the pig pen’s mud down at Mr Wu’s place.

i’ve stumbled into a cute-spiral and can’t get out

I can only attribute it to incipient thesis-completion-madness, but I’m finding these sorts of sites irresistable. No, wait, don’t go look at that site – rush to this site to see a cute kid singing a cute song.

“Some parts of the internet should be nice, for the nice people.”

I’ve stumbled into a cute-spiral and can’t get out.

those kisses-and-kisses had better be good

In our house there are complicated rules about when to speak and when not to speak in the morning.
Most of these rules are not written down, or even vocalised. They also tend to vary, according to the day, the night before, the temperature, the amount of thesis conducted, the scholarship extension progress and so on.
A generally good, all-rounder type of rule:
do not speak unless spoken to
Which is partnered by the rule:
do not touch unless touched first
And just when it seems like these rules are completely crazy and really just a masque for a completely crazy person, who almost seems like they are always in that week before the red zone on the pill packet – the week that should actually be coloured red, The Squeeze decided, because that’s the really dangerous part of the month. And red is a good colour for danger. Or warning.
… and wait, what was I saying? Yeah, so ok, so just when you think that all these Alice in Wonderland rules are really just signs that the other person you live with is, actually, wishing they could fit into a teapot, they wake up at just the right temperature after a full 9hours and grab you and kiss you and kiss you.
I know I’d like to think that those are the moments you wait for – the kissing-and-kissing. But do they really make up for the crazed ranting and furious yanking-out of clock radio cords, just as you’ve slowly woken up out of the deepest sleep, at just the right temperature, and are really quite enjoying that lovely string concerto? Particularly when you flash the little scared wide-eyes response to the insane declaration: “It/you woke me up again! I was asleep! I need to be asleep!”
… it seems like that little rant can happen at any time, regardless of whether or not you’ve made any noise at all.
I guess some people are just nuts. And don’t wake up well.
Those kisses-and-kisses had better be good.

bunnytown

Recent news:
Last weekend it was 42 during the day on Saturday and Sunday. 24 hours later it was 12 degrees. That’s some crazy, mixed up shit. Ah, Melbourne – every temperature you care to name. In a week.
We nearly expired of the heat over the weekend, and resolutely spent the time indoors. As per usual, I spent the time constructively fiddling with websites.
No, not this one. The new site for MLX6. No, don’t bother looking – it’s not up yet.
It is, however, a spectacularly clever application of Movable Type. Hoorah for powerful, simple ways of publishing. Free and powerful – what could be better. I’m particulary proud of the way I’ve used categories to order my pages, and the seperate ‘entry body’, ‘extended entry’ and ‘title’ fields to organise the data on the page. I am quite the cleverest person I know right now.
Its use of categories means there are only 2 templates to fiddle with. Hoorah – less work!
Its use of Movable type means that updating content on the site will be as easy as accessing the MT editing page, typing in the boxes and hitting ‘save’. Yay! It also means that anyone can update content, so if I suddenly go MIA, someone else can take over – double yay!
We have yet to decide on things like themes for MLX6 (any ideas?), and we haven’t even decided who’s doing what exactly. We have, however, started thinking about an organised approach to PR, and to making contact with our contacts. After last year we have conclusive proof that we are an arse-kicking event management team, that running MLX can be low stress and actually fun, and that this year’s MLX will be fantabulous. My major concerns are, of course, visuals and layouts – a neat logo, a catchy theme, etc etc. The rest of the crew can worry about inconsequentials like bands and DJs and dance floors (though if you can think of any good ones…).
On other fronts, The Squeeze and Crinks have been sending each other photos of insanely cute rodents like this little thing and the ones in the flickr bunny pool (linkage, crinkle?). This is the latest in a torrent of images from places like ratemybunny.com. RMB is one of those stupid voting sites where you rate a picture – could be of a poo, a penis, a face, kittens, puppies, whatever. The bunny site is the best, in part because bunnies are so unusual (to me, anyway), because I’m not allergic to bunnies, and because bunnies have really big ears.
I have a strict bunny-rating criteria: less than 5 for crap quality photos. Less than 3 if there’s a child or person in the photo. Bunnies with ‘up’ ears are likier to score well than ones with ‘down’ ears, though there are exceptions. Dress your bunny up in demeaning human costumes and you score less than 3. Include baby bunny photos and you can add 2 points automatically.
I can happily burn hours (ok, minutes) on RMB: good, clean family fun.
So far as our education flicker fest goes, we had a recent run of rubbish: I found a J-Lo film I hadn’t seen, we saw the Peter Sellers biopic and completely wasted our time with the Ray Charles biopic: it was fucking awful. Tedious! Dull! Dumb! Poorly acted! Unnecessarily wanky editing and camera tricks. Everyone knows that a decent biopic just tells it like it is: if they’re not interesting enough people to make a good story, don’t try to dress it up with fancy camera stuff. From Ray, you’d think the man was dull as dog shit – surely he wasn’t? Oh well.
But tonight it’s Chinatown. More gangstery/noir goodness.

casualties from the lindy battle



Today is Friday, and I’m in some pain. Last night was a big dancing night for me, and also a big out-the-house-day, all in quite hot weather. If you’re interested in the illustrated version, follow this link to the set on flickr.
Yes, I know I’m writing like it’s my second language, but I’m also lying on the bed on my tummy with the laptop and it’s hard to write.
Ok, so back to me (don’t you love the way blogging is all about me? Don’t you love the way we can talk about the Genre like we’re not already self-reflexive enough?).
Yesterday about 2pm I decided I needed to leave the house. I’m waiting for a meeting with the Supes as I’ve forgotten where I’d gotten to in my chapter editing and need her to read (reread? who can say) some chapter before I continue. Actually, I have 6 chapters she can read, but I’m letting her off lightly: 2 in 2 weeks, then 3 more in a couple more weeks. Hey, she’s the one who chose to take Christmas off when she had obsessively-complulsively productive phd girl in the final editing stages.
So anyway, I’ve gone through some chapters, starting on the intro again and decided I need to reread some key books so I can remember what they’re about. One problem with a phd: who can remember what they read 3 years ago in adequate detail?
Thankfully it’s dance stuff, which is interesting to read, even when it’s not really terribly excellent. I’m interested in the way dance studies and cultural studies do/don’t really get along and the way dance studies is all resentful of this. Hey, I blame sociology.
At any rate, that prompted the previous post and a trip to Melbourne uni library (which, owing to the dance degree at their Vic College of Arts campus and a dance elective in their education degree (I think), has a damn fine collection of dance stuff).
After that I went to see Underworld Evolution because I loved the first one. It was terribly great: gorey, soft core porn for the teen boy/middle aged female SF fan audience. Then we went for a lie in the park (Exhibition Gardens actually), right near the fountain. We lay on our backs and read, one of us wandered off to take photos, and the other stared and stared at a couple further down the avenue who snogged and snogged for the hour and a bit we were there. It was very Paris. Or very Paris-as-depicted-by-Hollywood. Check the photos to see why.
After that we rode down to have dumplings (15 pan-fried pork/veggie; 8 steamed chicken/prawn = $13.50) at Shanghai village in china town, where the walls are bright pink and they have one solitary goldfish in a tank.
Then it was off to disgusting CBD for dancing.
A practice version of the team battles bit of this was planned and I went in it. Not sure what battle is? Check this out, think about You Got Served, but with less choreography*. Or the film Drumline with more dancing and fewer musicians. Or, of course, Rize.
Battling is an Afro-American vernacular dance/music tradition with its roots in Africa, where dance or music function as a forum for the resolution of rivalries or grudges in a socially sanctioned public space. Ralph Ellison discusses ‘cutting contests’ in his stories of jazz in Harlem in the 30s and 40s, Hazzard Gordon discusses street parties and competitions in her book Jookin’, etc etc etc.
Things that’ll make a battle work:
passion and ‘bringing it’ on the dance floor
an ability to improvise and respond to your opponents, partner and team
creativity in dance
being able to ‘relax’ and give in to your emotions
not being afraid to look stupid
girls not standing back and waiting for the guys to bring it
Most of these things are incredibly difficult for most of Melbourne’s dancers. The emphasis in their classes is on repetition, immitation, routines, choreography and ‘looking good’ rather than bringing it – risking looking crap for the sake of creative or emotional authenticity. It’s also difficult for these white, middle class teenagers to relax and express themselves in dance.
So the whole thing was a bit crap and contrived – as are most of the examples I’ve seen in footage.
It wasn’t as good as the battle we had in Herrang with Peter and Sugar. But ….
It was fun, and I’d do it again, in a casual context. It was like a fun game. I don’t know how cool it’d be in the formal competition context, though.
I have some issues with the selection of team captains (who really should be able to tell the end of a phrase), but now have a better idea of how these things may work in future.
I’ve seen clips of American Battles and wasn’t terribly impressed – things can go wrong too easily. Wrong, of course, equates to Dull or Boring.
Major problems:
choreograph or plan something too fiercely in such a spontaneous format and you will fuck up: leave it looser and you’re actually able to respond to your opponents with creativity rather than pre-planned schlock.
a lack of lindy hop will make for a lack of dynamic energy.
a lack of swing dances and excess of silly made-up dancing will make for dull viewing.
most lindy hoppers don’t have any experience with battling in their general social context, so they have to learn how – so our battles are really kind of lame.
So, anyway, hopefully the whole thing will get more interesting and creative in future efforts. It was nice to see a mix of dancers from different backgrounds and experience: the important part is having dancers who are prepared to bring it. I wish I could explain that phrase more accurately. But it really is something which defies words – it’s about dancing with passion, with attitude, with aggression (but not being aggressive…). It’s about challenge and really feeling what you’re doing. It’s also about being so in your body, and so aware of how your body works, and so able to transfer emotion to rhythmic movement that ‘bringing it’ is instinctive and natural.
And of course, truly ‘bringing it’ is a bit too much for most Melbourne dancers – there are too many social and institutional limitations, founded on the heirarchal structures of a school, and on the way these institutionalised assessments/performances/definitions of ‘ability’ discourage less experienced or lower status dancers from having faith in their own ability.
Bringing it reminds me of discussions of ‘cool’ in Tommy deFrantz’ work and in the literature on Afro-American vernacular dance (including Jacqui Malone’s). It’s about having ‘attitude’ but being ‘cool’ – ie staying in control in your face, but having a furiously hot body. So it’s about attitude, not being out of control, but staying cool and making it all look effortless while your body is going crazy. While at the same time being all about bringing it. It’s a difficult juxtaposition. But think of rap or rnb video clips: the swaggering rapper with hardcore lyrics, the hardcore dancing, the extreme clothing. But a cool, sneering or impassive face. The contrast between ‘breaks’ – static poses – and full-on dancing. The importance of tableau as a challenge in the midst of a frenetically moving dance sequence.
But anyway.
So we did that last night. I don’t feel that I really brought it – I felt like I didn’t really know what was expected of me, having a captain who was quite controlling discouraged me from improvising and taking the inititiave – it made me feel like I had to wait til the moves were ‘called’ – and following rather than leading made me feel like I should wait for my partner to take the initiative. It was the first time, though, so things could go differently in the future…
So now, today, I’m totally buggered and wrecked. It was so hot and sweaty I was totally stuffed by the end of the thing, especially considering that I’d been social dancing like a fool in the hour or so before hand. I was so tired I feel like I failed to put in a good showing for my partners in the following Jack and Jill. Oh well. Nor did I drink enough water (as per usual – I hate the way I feel guilty about drinking my own water at that place. Sure, I’ll buy a drink, but I’m also going to drink at least 2-3 litres while I’m out dancing. And I can’t afford to buy that much water!
Then I rode home (which was nice with the cool breeze, esp as it was still so hot) at 12:30am, but had to stop at the 7-11 for a drink.
At the 7-11 it made me smile to see some Italian kids in their 20s posing with their cars, boys with shirts off. It made me think about the battle and how the battle should have had the same type of posing but didn’t.
*this was a truly crap film, but the dancing was good

Meaning in Motion – Jane Desmond 306.484MEAN -B-
Human Action Signs in Cultural Context – Farnell 306.4HUMA -B/E-
Looking Out – David Gere – 792.82LOOK -B/E-
Moving Words – Gay Morris – 780.7MOVI -E-
Dance in the City – Helen Thomas – 306.484 DANC -B-

raging ham

This week has seen The Squeeze fiddling with a very old Mac – a blue and white G3 – for Crinks. It’s frankenbox now as we’ve desperately scrounged memory to make it fast enough to run imovie. Thing is, it’s a piece of shit that’s not worth the plastic it’s made of, so it’s been kind of a struggle. But you know Macsluts – they can’t let go of Mac crap. Gotta hoard it. In evidence: one of the little rubbery stops/feet on my ibook has fallen out. I hadn’t noticed, but it’s worrying The Squeeze.
At any rate, Crinks was overjoyed with her new digital freedom and asked what The Squeeze would like in repayment.
As I explained to her:
[with husking voice]: “One day I’m gonna come to you with a difficult proposition. And you will remember this.”
Don Hamleoni can afford to be generous with the skills of others.
Tonight we went to see The Family Stone which I really enjoyed, mostly for the elder Wilson brother (I would marry those Wilson boys), but also because it provided me with some chick-slapstick. There’s nothing I like more than women falling down. Followed perhaps by serious pathos. I laughed a lot at Claire Danes falling down some bus steps. More than anyone else in the crowded cinema. The Squeeze takes inordinate delight in my laughing inappropriately in the cinema – it’s the naughty side of him. I blame my mother for my strange sense of humour. I can’t help it. Puns, black humour, slapstick. It’s the simple stuff I like.
I have continued our cinematic journey through Important Films We Haven’t Seen, this week themeing them ‘men movies’, in honour of the Squeeze, who’s been a bit poorly. The other week it was One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, which was great, and I caught part of Easy Rider on telly the other night, which I have fond memories of (“Have you got helmet?” “Yeah, i got a helmet”).
I think we should get China Town out next, and then Mean Streets and The Outsiders because I want to get to Rumble Fish which I adored as a teenager.
This week there was Hunt for Red October (nothing makes a sicky bub feel better than a submarine movie – he regularly rewatches Das Boat in the middle of the night to comfort him when he can’t sleep), followed by Godfather III, which did not please us as much as I or II, both of which we loved (though I wins by a nose).
Last night we watched Raging Bull. It took hours and hours, and we were a bit bored by the end. Sure, it’s great and all, but still…
In other news, I have of late been susceptible to bouts of furious rage, usually in response to meaningless acts or events. Asking me to find out which film I’d like to see was enough to cause a mighty shouting and raging last night. The day before it was the garage clothes line’s being canibalised for a party (in November). Yesterday it was not having the door answered when I demanded it.
The poor Squeeze is, for the most party, the hapless victim of this senseless fury. He is a walking definition of the word stoicism. If it weren’t for the ‘shut up!’ voice and the dance of derision, he’d no doubt have murdered me by now.
I blame it all on thesis-completion anxiety and an overwhelming paranoia about my extension application.
Though it may also perhaps have something to do with all these gangstah films we’ve been watching…

yes, don Hamleoni

I have tired brain. I’m not tired physically, I just suddenly become tired when I start reading this chapter I’m trying to edit. The words sort of blur together and I realise how frequently I repeat myself. It’s humid and warm today and I’m hiding inside. It’s not really working, as my sinuses have reminded me that humidity is good for mould. Not Bob Mould, but the other type.
I have this chapter to finish, then the other difficult one (DJing) to finish, and all before the end of the month. 20 days, with weekends off. Meanwhile, the date for submitting my application for extension draws closer and closer (loom is the appropriate word here), my panic ebbs and flows. It’s given me strange dreams, a combination of the hardcore inter-species war being conducted in the Judas Unchained universe and my sudden Lost bingeing.
I hadn’t watched Lost ever before, but an impulse added it to my trawl at the video shop last week. I thoroughly enjoyed the first 4 episodes or so, but it’s kind of losing its appeal – it’s getting silly. I keep noticing things that could either be continuity errors or clever plot lines. If this was David Lynch, I’d be overjoyed and suspecting the latter. But it’s not. One thing I want to know: how is it I can never find half a dozen functioning bobby pins in my own home, when the blondey asthma chick can find at least 20 every day on a desert island? I also want to know how the Korean chick managed to explain to the black guy which type of leaf she needed to do a little eucalyptus naturopath action on blondey. And why she didn’t punch him when he came back with an armload of wattle* instead. That’s not to mention my disbelief at his success finding this particular type of indigenous Australian plant on a tropical island which does not show any other plants from the same family or micro-climte group at all.
Ok, so it could all just be woo-aliens or wooo-government-conspiracy, but please. Respect the bounds of my belief!
On another television front, I think I could be interested in Carnivale on the ABC, but seeing as how I only ever watch telly on DVDs now, that could be difficult…
Meanwhile, we continue the Godfather Experience with Godfather II this week, prompted in part by our delight with phrases like “would I make my sister a widow?” and threatening Crinkle with waking up with the severed head of one of her beloved bunnies in her bed if she gave us any trouble. And no, despite first impressions, it wouldn’t be just like waking up with your period in the night, it would be horrific and she’d scream and scream and scream. And then come on a night time revenge visit with half a dozen henchmen and a machine gun.
In our house, if you displease don Hamleoni, you’re offered a trip to Vegas.
But back on the thesis thing: surely I’ll find my focus again soon? Surely?
*it could have been a particular alpine eucalypt indigenous only to alpine Tasmania, but please.