War Zone

Freakgirl linked to this article about office pet peeves, and I have to say that some of the things listed can be annoying, but most of them don't bother me. Innapropiate use of email and the internet? Um, sure. (I guess that makes me part of the problem, not the solution.)

Here's a little taste of our big issue here where I work, THE KITCHEN. This is an email that was sent around by my boss yesterday:

Please be advised that I will be taking ALL of the plastic containers on top of the fridges to donate to the Salvation Army shop on Thursday afternoon.

If any are yours I suggest you take them home ASAP. Thanks.

We have a couple of real offenders who contribute to the kitchen grossness, perhaps not surprisingly they are also 30 years olds that still live at home with Mum and Dad. The plastic containers is just the latest battle being fought, the big issue normally is a sink piled with dirty dishes. Sometimes for days on end. Like, even over the weekend.

So gross that I sometimes boycott the kitchen, for health reasons.

Awesome Headline

The Sydney Morning Herald invites you to discover one of the far right leaning Australian political party Family First's members. He has had a small role, apparently.

I know I signed up for Gaydar (which is possibly the website they coyly refer to) once when I was somewhat tipsy, but at least I didn't post pictures of my cock on the internet. Restraint, and all that. But maybe if I decided to enter politics, I might have reconsidered.

Plus, the "that's not my penis" defence cracks me up. I haven't seen the pics, but I'm guessing the subtle message is this that he wants us to know it's normally bigger.

Paaaartay!

Thank heavens The Christians I work for don't serve alcohol, because frankly after the boozefest of the weekend I need some respite.

• A 21st Birthday drinkies.
  
• A Halloween Party.
  
• Lazy afternoon Birthday drinks in the beer garden of a local pub.
  
• Sunday evening 'just a few' drinks with James and Graeme at The Newtown Hotel (that turned into 'just plenty' of drinks, natch).

"My name is Patsy Stone, and I'm an alcoholic."

Oy. Now none of this required alcohol, it's not like it was mandatory or anything, but it just sort of worked out that way, you know? It's a mystery to me. It's like I'll just have the one beer, thanks and then the next thing you know it's Gin & Tonic Time. I did wind it back and drink responsibly (non-alcoholic beverages evry other beverage) at The Newtown with the boys, but seriously, given that I started at birthday drinkies at 1pm it smacked of tokenism.

Dear Friends

You know I believe in karma, right? That big law of cause and effect, the universal pay-back machine of sorts. I think sometimes karma has a role to play in teaching you to not get so darned attached to things. Case in point, and I've mentioned this before, I once saw a book in my local secondhand bookstore on my pet topic of vintage photos of men. Specifically a book of photos from 1840 to 1918, with unusually intimate depictions of affection between the sitters.

I was having a somewhat poor week at the time, so I didn't buy it but went back on pay day a few days later to get it. Gone, both copies. I'll say one thing about all the 'mos in my neighbourhood, they're fast. So I was really pissed that I missed getting a copy. Being a secondhand bookstore, I assumed that these were probably remaindered and out of print. This bookstore often carries fantastic gems which have been overlooked by the chainstore book buying public. I've looked for it a few times when I've gone into the same store, just in case they had some more copies, but nada.

Well because I have obviously been a very good boy, or maybe because I have kind and generous friends, I now have a copy! I rang my friend Judy on Saturday morning to see what she was up to, and she had been getting her phone out to call me at the exact same moment. She was in my neighbourhood and in the same bookstore, and found a book she thought I might like. As it turns out, the book in fact. I had sold a bunch of books to the same bookstore recently, so I even had a store credit voucher I could use, making the book essentially free. Score!

So I arranged to meet Judy and her husband John down the street for a coffee, and I would swing buy and grab the book with my voucher. They psyched me out though, because Judy had already bought me the book as a gift. Sweet!

So now I have my own copy of Dear Friends: American Photographs Of Men Together, 1840-1918 by David Deitcher. It was issued in paperback in March 2005, and this copy has a remaindered mark (a black marker stripe on the book edge) which would seem to indicate that it's sadly now out of print. It has an excellent collection of photographs in it, some quite startling in their intimacy. I've only just started reading it, but I think Deitcher doesn't just assume that these are gay couples (although some may be) but looks at the changing nature of male friendship and the publicly acceptable representations of it, the use of allegory and classical imagery in early photos etc. Should make for an interesting read, aside from all the pretty pictures!

[The pics above are from the book and Deitcher's website]

SYTYCD

Last night's episode of "So You Think You Can Dance" was memorable for a number of reasons; Danny's amazing performance in the Argentinian Tango, Sabra & Pasha's fab routines, the beautiful Mia Michael's number that Neil and Lacey performed...

...and then there was Neil's little shirtless Latin Jazz number.



My first thought after he finished the routine was:

So You Twink, You Can Dance!

Dream A Little Dream

I had the most incredibly vivid and unusual dream last night. I was in a building that was really narrow, but quite tall and with a number of floors. The sort of old building you might find wedged in between other larger buildings in a big city. I was climbing the stairs and there were these half levels made up of landings and short groups of steps, and off these landings were little bedsit type rooms. It was like it was some sort of boarding house. Each room had a tiny metal single bed in it, a handbasin and a chair. Everything was faded and covered in dust, the wallpaper was faded and peeling a bit and the entire place looked like it had been boarded up since the 1940s.

While I was wandering around I was aware that there was a wrecking crew outside preparing to demolish the building. The building itself was slightly creepy, but the main thing I remember is being really annoyed at myself for not having my camera with me. I was trying to figure out if I had time to go and get it and get back before the building was torn down. To record it all before it was gone.

So, a bit weird there. Maybe the darker recesses of my psyche are like a dusty boarding house of empty rooms? (Possible.)

I think the main message is that I feel like I've lost my photography mojo of late. I'm pleased with the photos I took this past weekend, but I haven't been shooting much and not even hanging out on Flickr like I used to. I guess these things ebb and flow naturally, but I think the message I'm taking from this dream is that maybe there's an empty space where the enjoyment of taking photos used to be.

Memery

I haven't done one of these for a while, and this one has been cropping up all over the place in the past couple of days so I thought it's time I jump on the blogwagon.

No bastard has tagged me for it, but really I don't need to feel popular or like you're interesting in me or anything, so hey what do I care? (I jest, because I usually don't tag others either.)

Have you ever?

1. Taken a picture completely naked?
Ewww, no. I respect my camera too much.

2. Made out with a friend on your MySpace/Facebook page?
No, for I'm a grown up.

3. Danced in front of your mirror naked?
A funhouse mirror only.

4. Told a lie?
Yes. Or have I?

5. Had feelings for someone who didn’t have them back?
Oh hell yes, just this morning in fact. But I new it was destined for disaster when my train station arrived.

6. Been arrested?
No, although I thought I might have had some sort of record in Tasmania for a civil disobediance act during an AIDS conference years ago. Obviously not though, because I had a police check before I got my current job and passed.

7. Made out with someone of the same sex?
Duh. Lots of them, thankfully.

8. Seen someone die?
Not exactly, but I entered my Mum's room about 5 minutes afterwards.

9. Slept in until 5pm?
No, sadly I am not a person who can do the sleeping in thing. Even weekends see me awake around 7am or so.

10. Had sex at work?
Oh yes. His name was Stephen and I was 17 or 18 at the time. He was my supervisor, the dirty, dirty bitch. Cornered me in a storeroom, which was a pleasant surprise. I hear his wife is lovely.

11. Fallen asleep at work/school?
No, I'm such a light sleeper that I need perfect conditions to fall asleep.

12. Held a snake?
I had a pet one as a teenager, a 5 foot diamond python. Sweet thing.

13. Ran a red light?
I don't drive, so no. I've danced around a few strobes in time, if that counts?

14. Been suspended from school?
No, I was a complete swot. Scholastic awards. Ran a couple of clubs. Member of the concert band. Thankfully to make up for all that goodness I was also a complete skank who was helping lots of the gorgeous Greek and Italian boys discover their sexuality. Hey Spiro, Con, George, Menas, Con, Con...

15. Totaled your car in an accident?
My car, no. (see above) I have been in several life threatening accidents as a passenger though.

16. Pole danced?
I've spun around a few in my time, but they were still attached to their owners.

17. Smoked?
A tiny bit as a teen, but it's too ick for words.

18. Been fired from a job?
No. Although I stormed out after a fight with my boss in my previous job, but I had resigned the 2 weeks previously anyway. Can you fire anyone after they've resigned? I think she was going to try.

19. Sang karaoke?
Yes, once and I would still like to tender my apologies to all concerned.

20. Done something you told yourself you wouldn’t?
Almost daily.

21. Laughed until a drink came out your nose?
Oh yes. Moral of the story, don't drink and read funny blogs at the same time.

22. Caught a snowflake on your tongue?
No. I've fallen over in sleet in Berlin, but that wasn't anywhere near as romantic.

23. Kissed in the rain?
Yes.

24. Sang in the shower?
Yah, almost the full soundtrack of Hedwig. (Over the course of several showers.)

25. Given your private parts a nickname?
A dickname? No.

26. Ever gone out without underwear?
Maybe once or twice, I try not to because it startles the horses.

27. Sat on a roof top?
No. A balcony with a crisp cold Sauv Blanc in hand is more my style.

28. Played chicken?
No. French horn, but no chicken. They're hard to tune.

29. Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on?
Yes. NOT. HAPPY.

30. Broken a bone?
Oh yes, several.

31. Mooned/flashed someone?
Yes, they were so startled they had a stroke. It was nice.

32. Shaved your head?
No. The monastery is a few years away yet.

33. Slept naked?
Nightly.

34. Played a prank on someone?
Duh.

35. Had a gym membership?
Oh sure, buying the membership is the thing I'm really good at.

36. Felt like killing someone?
Mmmm, not killing exactly. More like near fatal wounding.

37. Made your girlfriend/boyfriend cry?
I've made boys cry, but I've never dated a girl. I'm sure my special magic would work on her too, poor thing.

38. Cried over someone you were in love with?
Yeah, but I cry fairly easily.

39. Had sex more than 10 times in one day?
Um no, but I've gotten to a significant single digit (so to speak).

40. Had Mexican jumping beans for pets?
Whatever, moron.

41. Been in a band?
I was the flat French Horn in my high school band. Rock on!

42. Subscribed to Maxim?
That's some sort of titty mag, right? NO.

43. Taken more than 10 shots of alcohol?
Shots no, but I've possibly had this many beers once or twice. My bad.

44. Shot a gun?
Wad, yes. Gun, no.

45. Had sex today?
The day is young.

46. Played strip poker?
No. Does Old Maid count?

47. Tripped on mushrooms?
Rugs, steps and my own feet only.

48. Donated Blood?
No. They don't like 'mo blood, apparently.

49. Video taped yourself having sex?
No. I've taken photos of others though. DIRTY.

50. Eaten alligator meat?
Crocodile yes, but alligator no.

51. Ever jump out of an airplane?
I refuse to even consider answering that unless you take a long hard look at yourself and fix your grammar.

52. Have you been to more than 10 countries?
Probably, I backpacked around Europe for a while and some of those countries are like only a couple of blocks.

53. Ever wanted to have sex with a platonic friend?
Self defeating question really. I've had friends that I wanted to be un-platonic (displatonic?) with, yes.

Knowing Too Much

As helpful as your new reading material mentions of "The Bible" and "The Utimate Guide To Fellatio" were yesterday, I decided to go with something else. (Let's face it, one I have already read and the other I could write myself.) On my way to my physio appointment with Drew, The World's Cutest Physiotherapist last night I stopped by my local bookstore for a browse.

Can I just say that the true measure of civilisation is late night bookstores, in my humble opinion.

So, I picked up a copy of the biography of Alan Turing by David Leavitt, "The Man Who Knew Too Much: Alan Turing And The Invention Of The Computer". I've only ever known bits and pieces about Alan Turing; the fact that he was a mathematics whizz, that he somehow broke the enigma machine ciphers of the Germans during the second world war, that in doing this he is credited with paving the way for modern computing, that he was gay, that he was found to have committed acts of 'gross indecency' by the moral judges of the day, was subjected to estrogen treatment to 'cure' his inversion and ultimately took his own life.



Not a cheery story by anyone's stretch of the imagination, but a fascinating one. One that highlights the hysteria of homophobia. I mean, nice way to treat a man who probably changed the course of the second world war and had a role in saving thousands of allied services lives.

I'm only 40 pages in, so it's probably not fair to 'review' the book yet. It's interesting to read though that despite the oppressive attitudes of the day that he was no closetted pansy, that Turing accepted his homosexuality with the same matter of fact nature that he accepted mathematical thruths. His comparative openness about it seems to have contributed in part to his downfall.

As a 'gay novelist' Leavitt has written some novels I've enjoyed very much. "The Lost Language of Cranes" for example, which he wrote as quite a young man. He was somewhat of a gay wunderkind (gaykind?, wunderqueen?) for a while there.

This is his first non-fiction work I have read, and at the moment I'm slogging through over a dozen pages of the history of the main players in higher mathematics. It serves its purpose as background, but I'm kind of hoping we can move on soon. I must admit that I find maths a little dry, and so it's almost like I have to blow the dust of the crackling and crumbling pages right at the moment. The bits about Alan himself have been interesting though, so I'm sure it'll start to kick along once I get past this. It's more about my interests probably, than Leavitt's writing. Just how do you make Russell's Theorem or Mathematica Practica sexy anyway?

[Updated: I might be in trouble. I just had an early lunch and read some more and now I'm skipping. You know, like when you read something that has great wodges of French or Latin in it and you sort of read along and go yadda yadda French yadda yadda or blah blah Latin blah blah in your head? I just checked ahead and there are pages and pages of this before I get to the bits about Turing's life. So maybe it's more about the computers than Turing himself after all. I'll persevere. The maths will not best me. Talking Barbie was right, "Math is hard!"]

Blogger's Curse

Writer's block.

I've spent the morning trying to think up something fun to write. I try and keep this blog fairly light, you know, pics of cute boys, pop culture, yadda yadda. So far today I'm just not feeling it. The Muse hasn't whispered.

Oh nothing's wrong. It's just... well it's Hump Day, I slept badly last night so I'm a bit tired, I'm busy at work, it's an overcast sort of day, I have a bit of a tricky tummie today... Just a bit meh, you know.

On the topic of writing, I'm in the market for something to read so hit me up in the comments if you have any book suggestions!

[Updated: 5 hours later and so far the book chatter in the comments has been restricted to "The Bible" and "The Ultimate Guide to Fellatio". And THAT my friends, well that is just one of the reasons why I adore you all. Let's cuddle!]

Men In Tights

I've been in the mood for a little escapist fiction of late. I'm not much of a beach goer (hello, have you seen my flourescent lily white legs?) but it is sort of a premature Summer here, and any kind of Summer means Beach Reading to me. Light. Engaging but not taxing.

My very own gay superhero Michael recently read, and subsequently kind of harshed on, "Hero" by Perry Moore. I was intrigued. I hadn't heard anything about this book, but the teen gay superhero plot piqued my interest. Much like the movie "Mystery Men", the film is set in an alternate modern day where "heroes", people with superpowers of varying degress of effectiveness and eccentricity, are the norm (even if only a small percentage of the population).



I enjoyed it. It's not great, but it filled the bill for something entertaining and diverting. It definately falls into 'young adult fiction' territory, and it is true that the author does kind of broadcast the big reveal a bit (and very early). However, I like what Moore (who has previously been best known as executive producer of "Narnia: The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe" and the upcoming "Prince Caspian" movies) has tried to do with creating a teen gay superhero.

According to an interview on his website, he was reacting in part to the poor treatment of gay and lesbian characters in comics, especially the murder of gay superhero Northstar by one of Marvel's other hero characters, Wolverine. As he says:

"In the very popular superhero team The X-Men, the first and most prominent gay hero in the Marvel Comics universe, Northstar, was viciously killed by Wolverine—the star of the team, the star of the film. You see Wolverine's image on kids' lunch boxes; you see children dress up as him for Halloween. And he slaughtered the X-Men's token gay hero. I found this to be disturbing, to say the least. In all my years of reading X-Men, I have never known Wolverine to kill another hero. And yet, there he was, skewering Marvel Comic's most prominent gay hero through the heart with his adamantium claws. I thought this revealed a very ugly side of the people and publishers who make comic books, and not necessarily what the fans want."

Moore also has chronicled, and given his opinions on, the history of poor treatment of gay and lesbian characters in comics here.

So, bravo for attempting to create an alternative. The novel is a bit campy in tone, similar in a way to "Mystery Men". The villians are certainy campy. Moore gets huge snaps from me for calling one of the female villians with laser beam eyesight Transvision Vamp! I do so love a good pop culture shout-out. The main character's coming out story is handled fairly well, with some sensitivity and more seriousness. I think it works fairly well, quibbles about the author broadcasting main plot points aside.

According to Moore's website a sequel to "Hero" is already in the works, and discussions are underway about a possible movie adaptation. He's also working on a young adult novel about werewolves, and has just written and a directed a feature film "Lake City". Busy boy.

Oh, and kind of cute too!

At Ease

I'm kind of obsessed with this photo at the moment. Some things need no explanation, right?

Don't tell, show.



*Le sigh*

DietWatch

Oh, and yeah, this weekend was a total blowout. Drinky dinks, canapes, sweet nibbles, fried food, even pizza for dinner last night. I am consumed with shame, the shame of consuming that is.

We'll just put this behind us and move on, shall we? Let's never speak of it again, and just focus on doing better.

Of High Tea, Friends And A Bright Pink Parasol

As I mentioned on Friday, I was heading to The Victoria Room on Saturday afternoon for High Tea. Oh my dears, it was Most Excellent. Along with Mikey (the lovely ex), his boyfriend Evan, Linda, Natalie, Tony and his lovely wife Kristin we headed in to The Victoria Room around noon for the first sitting of High Tea (the rest of the afternoon was fully booked, and by the time we left it was packed).

I hadn't been there before and was a little surprised at the scale of the place. Huge. A large loft style space, divided into more intimate areas with seating arrangements, beaded curtains and open iron screens. Full of an assortment of antique couches, chairs and little side tables with lamps, it was dark and elegant in a slightly shabby chic sort of way, and surprisingly intimate.

Oh, and 'glamour' dark, which meant we all looked gorgeous (natch) but it did make getting snaps of anything that wasn't a light source a bit difficult. When I was scrolling through the pics I took, it was something like 90% lamps. I know I'm a bit of a Homewares Queen, but that's ridiculous.

Chiffon wrapped chandeliers (left) and vintage style elegance (right) at The Victoria Room.

The nibbly bits were lovely, a few savoury sandwiches and lots of sweet things. We had the complimentary bubbles (too sweet for my taste) and a couple of top class bottles courtesy of Mikey and Evan. There was some live jazz to add to the atmosphere, and a solo soprano who sang a selection of arias with piano accompaniment. Fabulous.

Potted palms (left) and Mikey (right)

Best of all was the company. We chatted, we supped our tea and champers, laughed and had a great time. Once we rolled out of there a few hours later, we decided to keep the afternoon going with drinkies in the beer garden of The Green Park Hotel nearby. The stark modernity of the beer garden was a total change from the cool dark of The Victoria Room.

Linda cracks up (left) and stark geometries at The Green Park (right)

It was a really hot afternoon, but we staved off the heat with whatever shade we could find, Linda's parasol and some crisp, cold bottles of Sauvignon Blanc.

Nat strikes the pose (left) and cranes overhead, speaking their lost language (right)

It was a fantastic way to spend an afternoon.

[Click the pics to see them full sized, and there are more pics from the day in the full set on Flickr.]

Champers, Tea & Gorgeous Nibbly Bits

This is where I post a second post about food in one day and you start to wonder if I'm not, well, obsessing.

Tomorrow I'm off to The Victoria Room for a spot of High Tea amongst the faux British Raj-style splendour. (See pic below, from their website. Nice, huh?) I figure I can scarf down a few nibbly bits and champers, and then live on celery for the rest of the weekend. It's all about balance.

The outing was organised by some female friends of Mikey (the lovely ex) and mine, and while I was checking out the website to see if it was link-worthy, I spotted the following write-up about tomorrow's High Tea event. You see, The Victoria Room do High Tea every weekend but it turns out that tomorrow's is a special event to coincide with the Sydney Morning Herald's "Good Food Month".

"The Victoria Room Brown Brothers Sparkling High Tea"

Ladies of all ages can enjoy a revived British tradition and one of the finer girly things in life - a sparkling High Tea at The Victoria Room.

Sip Brown Brothers' recently released sparkling wine, Zibbibo Rosa, whilst experiencing High Tea at its best complete with Opera Australia and jazz performers.

$45pp including sandwiches, scones, sweets, loose leaf tea, glass of Zibbibo Rosa sparkling wine and delightful goodie bag

Okay. It's a good thing that I'm a man who enjoys the finer girly things in life, right? It has that kind of 'girls only' edge, don't you think? Not that I'm bothered by that. I mean, might there be an all male revue? I don't care if there is or isn't, but if the 'goodie bag' has a quality eye cream in it (cross your fingers for me), that would be a total score.

Temptation

I was just reading Christopher's blog post Feeling Flabulous. Seems Mr Chris has put on a few pounds this week, partly due to his work rolling out the goodies.

Well, I have pretty much stayed on the path of righteousness and rectitude this week, and I'm hanging off from weighing myself until the week is out, but I feel like I've dropped some. (Sorry Christopher) I've cut out pasta and 90% of the bread I would normally eat, which are two of my biggest weaknesses. Been eating a lot more fruit and having things like grilled fish and salad for dinner. (I choose not to reflect on the fried food and beer fest of Wednesday night, but one blowout per week ain't too bad.)

Like Christopher though, my work is evil. (I've blogged about this before, the sneaking suspicion that The Christians I work for are secretly trying to fatten me up for sacrifice or something.) So far this week, my manager and workmates have sought to tempt me with the following:

• Chocolate mousse
  
• A farewell buffet of Pear & Ricotta Tart and Coconut & Caramel Tart
  
• A lunchtime MacDonalds run
  
• A lunchtime Red Rooster run
  
• 'Family' sized blocks of chocolate

Oy.

Balanced

I'm still training today so haven't been around on The Internetz much, just a few minutes here and there. Precious moments of 'us' time snatched like clandestine kisses. Oh and I'm kinda tired, and while not exactly hungover (because Graeme will call me a whimp if I say I am), I am certainly in the next suburb over. Wednesday night out with the boys, and all that.

For my sins I had to spend the morning balancing the petty cash accounts. Pause and reflect on that for a moment, and then look at your own lives and feel a rush of joy about yourselves. About the lack of the need to balance petty cash accounts in your lives. With an (almost) hangover.

Run Dry

Ack. I'm training a new staff member today, and all I've done all day is talk, talk, talk. All you do to me is talk, talk, indeed. She's a quick study and very nice, which is helping a lot, but the big surprise is that I'm almost sick of the sound of my own voice. Imagine! It's a world gone mad.

By now she quite possibly feels the same.

So, I'm parched and all talked out and sucking down the water like it's about to be discontinued. I'm also aware of not overloading her with information, and frankly we're both starting to look like we're feeling the strain. I've just given her some time out, and now I'm taking one myself.

And yes, the irony that I'm relaxing by talking about myself, only this time in print, is not completely lost on me. Viva la ego!

17 October, 1985

RIP mum. It's been so many years, some days it feels like forever ago and sometimes it feels like only yesterday. I miss you.

Offensive Amazon

Sorry for the lack of posting today, I've been busy as a busy thing at work and this is the first chance I've had to stop and take a moment today. Hate that. I normally love to fill my day with more taking a moment and less work.

Anyhoo. I was consulting The Google a moment ago to see if I could find out some more info about some of the gay actors mentioned in the book I have been reading "The Man Who Invented Rock Hudson: The Pretty Boys and Dirty Deals of Henry Willson". (I posted briefly about reading this book in this entry on Friday.) Specifically I was interested in Tom Hatcher, a young man who was a moderately successful client of Henry Willson, but who then broke the mold of Willson's other closetted gay clients by romancing and then living with another man, Broadway and Hollywood writer/director/producer Arthur Laurents. In fact they celebrated 50 years together, before Hatcher died at the age of 77. There isn't a lot of material on Hatcher to be found easily on Google, but in the process I did find a link to a biography by Arthur Laurents, Original Story: A Memoir of Broadway and Hollywood on Amazon.

Here's where it gets very strange though, take a look at this snippet from the Amazon page:



So I'm reading it, and then I thought WTF? No, I must be seeing things! when I spotted the 'key phrases' for this book:



Oh. My. God.

So I clicked the 'more' link underneath the keywords and discovered that the two first keyword entries in this case are SIPs - Statistically Improbable Phrases. Amazon explains them thusly:

"Amazon.com Statistically Improbable Phrases

Amazon.com's Statistically Improbable Phrases, or "SIPs", are the most distinctive phrases in the text of books in the Search Inside!™ program. To identify SIPs, our computers scan the text of all books in the Search Inside! program. If they find a phrase that occurs a large number of times in a particular book relative to all Search Inside! books, that phrase is a SIP in that book.

SIPs are not necessarily improbable within a particular book, but they are improbable relative to all books in Search Inside!. For example, most SIPs for a book on taxes are tax related. But because we display SIPs in order of their improbability score, the first SIPs will be on tax topics that this book mentions more often than other tax books. For works of fiction, SIPs tend to be distinctive word combinations that often hint at important plot elements.

Click on a SIP to view a list of books in which the phrase occurs. You can also view a list of references to the phrase in each book. Learn more about the phrase by clicking on the A9.com search link.

Have some ideas for improving this feature? Please send your feedback to sitb-feedback@amazon.com"

Wow, those phrases are distinctive alright.

Surry Hills Festival

Here are some photos from the Surry Hills Festival this past weekend. It was the first time I had been to the festival, and wasn't even aware it was on until earlier in the day. Verdict: it was kind of like the Newtown Festival (lots of young people, gay men & lesbians aplenty, small dogs underfoot, plenty of inner-urban tribal types, and the ubiquitous Gozleme/vege burger/Thai food stands), only a bit more feral.







Like the Newtown Festival, in a curious symbiotic relationship sort of way, the longest queues were for the beer stands and the loos.