You may see why it is called Surry Hills...

... it is difficult to capture just how steep the Foveaux Street Hill really is! When I was a kid one of our "thrills" was to persuade the school bus driver to "go down Foveaux". When one was foolish enough to obey, we had a ride you can only imagine, especially when experienced from the front of the top of a double-decker bus.

Seems that one of Riley Street's most celebrated bordellos is up for sale! Sign of the times?

-- Original photos by Neil Whitfield 2008

Love love
My coat
Love love
My keys
Love love
My shoes
Love love
The door
Love love
The stairs
Love love
The street
Love love
Fresh air
Love love
Two stares
Love love
So sweet

Mae Linat © 2008

Mae Linat © 2008

[ Source ApertureDaily ]

That's my Aunt Fay on the left, then my mother, then ? the mother of my sister-in-law ?, then me in SBHS rig as I was in what we would now call Year 7. The photo, I suspect but don't really remember, was taken on my brother's wedding day. It was certainly taken at 1 Vermont Street, Sutherland.

Family early 1970s

Left to Right Back: James Heard, Robert Heard, Jeff Whitfield, Jean Whitfield, Fay Christison, Neil Christison

Left to Right Front: Janine Christison, Beth Heard, Lloyd Christison

I have also added it to the revised family history page.

While waiting out rez-sickness after her latest ill-fated kite, Babaente inspected her weapons tab and realized she was still wearing a 4 slot belt, even though she is well able now to equip a fiver.  While she had the 5 slot belt in her bank, it was also time to upgrade her memory modules to 31-64 parts.  This caused Tireen to be enlisted to go shopping in Omni Trade for memory for both of them, since Tireen could also use some higher capacity memory modules.  After she returned from Omni Trade, they both sported 5 slot belts filled with leveled up morphing memories in the first slot and 31-64 parts in the 2-5 slots.

Over the last day the pair have tried a number of spots in Varmint woods for Kiting with not very good luck.  It seems that the mobs that are low enough are too few and spread out, while the mobs that are too high are plentiful.  The meteor impact site was promising, with lots of low level human mobs, but it was also laced with very high level big cats, snakes, and silvavanes.

The last spot they tried was just east of the player city north of the meteor crater, filled with 50-60 blubbags.  Babaente had a really good kite going with 7 or 8 blubbags, but she fell prey to lag, as she was a good distance ahead of the kite when suddenly her health hit 0.  There were no mobs near her, yet her log showed about 5 hits from blubbags in a row. They were then considering trying another region like Tir or even going back to Newland Dessert.

They next ran several team missions, mainly for experience and tokens.  First they went to Home in Broken Shores to try rolling missions, there, but the only missions that came up were in other regions far away, so they returned to Newland City to roll.

The next evening, Babaente went to scout Tir County.  The "40" level Shades in northwest Tir described in many old forum posts from 5 or more years ago were found to be 70 and above now, and heavily guarded by sand worms.  Every thing else in Tir seems to be 30 or below with the exception of the robot guards along the northern border which look to be about 70 as well.  She also scouted the Rhinoman camp in northern Tir, but there were only 2 or 3 above 30, so they would not have been worth the time.

The situation with the Tir Shades is similar to the often refferred to NW Mines in Lush Fields as a good 40+ kiting spot in older forum posts.  While Lifebleeders may have been the exception then, possibly appearing occasionally, the place is crawling with them now.  In addtion, there are a number of 60 and 70 level mutants and other type mobs also mixed in with the Shades there.

She even dropped in to the Temple of the Three Winds, being in the neighborhood.  There was a slight problem, the game was having a system hiccup, and no one could enter.  People were exiting, but no one could go in.  While waiting one of the local giant spiders attacked, and Babaente made the mistake of using an Area of Effect nuke, which aggroed several of the human nano thief types, and before she knew it, she was back at reclaim.  Fortunately she had done a save, so she lost no experience.  She was a bit surprised however, when a minute or two after rezzing back at the Varmint Woods whompas, to see 2800 experience points get racked up to her running total.  She guesses that that was from the spider back at the Temple of The Three Winds.

They ended up staying around the whompa in Varmint Woods, with Babaente kiting the 40-50ish floaters, snakes, and a few Rhinomen in that range, but it is slow going.

They also returned the next day to the same place, and Babaente extended her roaming a bit further, until she started running into QL 70 or 80 panthers which she had to lead back to the whompa guards in order to escape certain death.  At one point while kiting a couple of thugs and an emerald adder, the thugs just stopped and stood still in one spot.  After she completed kiting and killing the adder, she went back to the thugs, and had to re-attack them to get aggro again.  Kited mobs seem to occasionally think you have vanished, as they sometimes suddenly just stop and go back to roaming around.  At another point, a human mob that was being kited along with a snake and a floater, stopped underneath Tireen's Yalm and started shooting up at her.  After that, we made sure that Tireen hovers at the same height as the tallest tree in the area.  Too close to the ground and the mobs recognize her as a team member and aggro her.

If any readers know of a good kiting spot for froob NTs in the 40-50 range, please let us know, as it is very slow going at the moment.  In all of our scouting, we have found tons of 60 and above locations, but zip in the 40-50 range that is not infested with various much higher mobs.

I think Nicholas might grow up to be a plumber.  He has quite a fascination with the toilet.  I know most kids his age do, but he has another fascination that might be a little more odd.  After my daily (I try anyway) shower he reaches over the tub to pull my hair from the drain.  At first he used to fall into the tub head first while performing this daily duty.  Now he can almost reach, but his feet still go airborne for a minute before he usually lands on them again.  All to get the little ball of hair that I shed every day.  Before my haircut it was considerably more, but with my short and sassy hair, he's really working hard for not a lot of outcome.  So maybe he will be a plumber and keep my drains clear for me.

Or maybe he'll be a dentist.  He has a toothbrush obsession.  Don't leave yours within reach or he will be walking around with it in his mouth in no time.  Even if you think it's out of reach, if he can see it, chances are he will find a way to get it.  It drives Maggie nuts.  "Mom, he's got my toothbrush in his mouth again."  And flossing, forget about it.  He loves the little kid flossers.  I hope all this early teeth brushing and flossing lasts beyond toddler-hood.

Note: I edited out one "also" since I feel it has been overused in the last six weeks.  I hope someday to be able to use it again without wanting to hurl.

Note 2: When are spellcheckers around the world going to recognize the words "Barack" and "Obama"?

A picture taken by my father (who hardly ever holds the camera).

I miss the sun, and the smell of grass. I miss the whole place.

Where am I? Have I left something on that table? Or maybe inside the house? I might have forgotten something, but it's really hard to remember... It seems like the city doesn't speak to me anymore, and I'm living far from where I should live. I'm far from where I should be.

It was a gift from my mom to my dad years ago when it first came out. I remember going to Tower Records and seeing the cardboard display for it. I also remember not remembering the name of the group. Blasphemy. A few short years later I became OBSESSED with the Beatles and quickly gobbled up anything Beatles-related my parents owned, which included Anthology 2. I listened to it quite a bit until I eventually owned all 13 UK-released albums by the Beatles and Past Masters volumes 1 & 2 (and more covers of "Across the Universe" than anyone should own). I haven't listened to Anthology 2 in years, but took it out this afternoon for some fun. It's outtakes and live performances of Beatles songs from the 1965-67 era, and I still remember the giggles, the odd remarks, the coughs... it's weird. Like how some people only remember the music from Mary Poppins as heard from their old scracthy vinyl that popped a few times in "A Spoonful of Sugar."

Anyway... fun times.

Sugar shoes and sounding signs
Like balls in stupendous bounds
Cross the streets near lullabies
Get on bus to shrouded rides

From the town to the unlit
To the mist on evidence
Dolls catch a shiny sweet
And curtain the appearance

Up and down, down and up
Fulfilled eyes are soon to drop
Melodies announce the stop
Of-ending-fun-on-friday-top

Mae Linat © 2008

Lovely rays insight
Intent a time
When grown are tight
And match the dart

They rode on Dula
On your back
Turn turn
Turn around

And I just swear
The night never fell
Into my trap
And cataract

Mae Linat © 2008

Interpretation of Dreams
•    Patient: Irma
•    Previously day—starting point
•    Reproduction of an earlier event
•    Mind connected to past events with the ability to recall with precision
•    Fulfillment of wishes started by the events of the previous evening

The Unconscious
•    Repression lies not in annihilation, but in the preventing of ideas becoming conscious
•    572: “Freud can confidently assert that the mind, which appears so chaotic, contradictory, beyond causation, is ruled by inexorable laws.  Mental events are like pearls on an invisible chain, a chain largely invisible precisely because many of the links are unconscious.”
•    574: “In support of there being an unconscious psychical state, that at any given moment consciousness includes only a small content, so that the greater part of what we call conscious knowledge must in any case be for very considerable periods of time in a state of latency, that is to say, of being psychically unconscious.”
•    Latent memories
o    “Latent recollections can no longer be described as psychical, but that they correspond to residues of somatic processes from which what is psychical can be once more arrive.”
•    Are latent states of mental life conceived of as conscious mental or physical ones?
•    Other people’s consciousness can only be considered through analogy
•    “We understand very well how to interpret in other people the same acts which we refuse to acknowledge as being mental in ourselves.”
•    The “psychical”
•    When a thought passes from unconscious → conscious, the first reaction will be a rejection of the repressed idea
•    Unconscious is timeless—time is bound up in the conscious

Mops of heroes attained the shore
And I stand, here
Like a stubborn
A hand in the sky
The other on my lust
Fooling all the mats and queers
High terr, illuminated cheers
And pass a night on air
Bluff-rich time
No sigh no cry
Just a pole
Of incandescent rhyme
From here to there
Children of mud
Plucked a peek-a-boo
Me, boozed
And humorous
I let them play
Come and go
In their pretty show
And before night's around
I caress the bond
Of my ignorant pride
Messing fussing
Cruely redefine a punter
On a gentle glide

Mae Linat © 2008

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I have a hobby. I collect quotes. Being a veracious reader, I have a tendency to underline meaningful statements in the books that I read. There was a time, when I would have been horrified at the thought of doing such a thing. The nuns who taught at the parochial school I attended, although not actually coming out and defining such sacrilege as mortal sin, suggested it with stern faces and pointing fingers, repeated admonishments, and threats of bodily harm should we get caught in such an activity. It took a great deal of inner courage, as an adult, to finally realize that the books in my hands were mine to do with as I wished. That those black-robed women were no longer present, but only a left over aspect of my childhood. And believe me, once I picked up a pen and actually drew a line beneath something I didn't want to forget, I didn't regret it, or the absolute delight I found in breaking that fundamental rule of grade school experience.

I have always thought, since finding the above quote, that it should be permanently impressed on the first page of all journals. Mainly because it is true, but also because it is funny and tickles me no end.  Although I have firmly, and clearly, stated that definitions, especially about ones own existence, should come directly from the individual, we all need others to point us in certain directions, give us examples, lessons from their wealth of experience, and so forth. We are not alone and we do not know it all. Not even our own stories. In a very real sense, we are the authors of our own lives. (Mandy Aftel)

There are countless advantages in writing our own stories. People who keep journals have life twice. (Jassamyn West) The very real fact is that when we write it down, we live it again, see it in new ways, and learn from it, more than we would otherwise. We open ourselves up to different choices and opportunities, and give ourselves the possibility of healing. As I hope you will see, they (stories) are tangible ways to soften old scar tissue, balm old wounds, and restore old skills in a down-to-earth manner. (Clarissa Pinkola Estes)

We, in essence, become our own creators, choosing with reflection, what we desire, what is comfortable to us, what seems the best thing for us to do. We define those things in our own words. To experience the emotions of life is to live! To express the life of emotions is to make art. ( Jane Heape) The art that we so create is unique and individual, as well as priceless. Furthermore, we can never know when another human being may need to hear that very expression, or see that particular color and texture of experience.  

Joseph Campbell wrote: The world is full of people who have stopped listening to themselves or have listened only to their neighbors to learn what they ought to do, how they ought to behave, and what the values are that they should be living for. When we sit to write on a regular basis we are seeking to know our own story: where we came from, where we are going, and what we are becoming. What are the values we have set for ourselves and upon our own experience? When we write, we begin the process of sorting out this from that. The quest for a story is the quest for a life. ( Jill Johnston) If we are to seek after our own lives, it must begin with our own story. All of those bits and pieces of the puzzle we have collected thus far.

Your first job is to get your own story straight. (Natalie Goldberg) We do that by writing them down, not necessarily in chronological order, but in the very real bits and pieces that occur to us on any given day. Examining those pieces, pulling out clues from the very words we choose to write them.

There is nothing wrong, and much wisdom, in using someone else's words (especially when that someone else has so obviously been there before us), as a launching pad, a starting point, mile markers, or even as the beginning of discussion or argument. Someone else's words may tweak our thoughts in a certain direction that we might not have imagined before reading them. They can easily be the trigger for memories, flashbacks to past experience, or a new way to see exactly where we have been. We need to claim our own stories, possess them and begin them with a capitol I. You need only to claim the events of your life to make yourself yours. (Florida Scott-Maxwell)

In other words, do you want to belong to you, or forever to someone else? Do you know what you are giving away when you give yourself to another? If you don't know, how can you expect that other individual to do so? Or, heaven forbid, demand that they do so? If what it takes is the writing of words on a daily basis, can you afford not to write them? Sigmund Freud wrote that Words were originally magic and have retained much of their ancient magical power. Personally, I would go one step further, at great risk, to say, Our own words may be the only Magic we truly need. Other's words can be important, but not as important as those we choose to own.

Mae Linat © 2008

Pagan diadem ashamed
I try hard to be the change
I want to see around
I never deeply found

In a sole breath Alfred wrote
I should beat my bosom
When a lit genius departed from
The lamp of my night

The pinky-blue Genie grants first will
Awaiting the second all nightlong
But inca muse taught me a song
Where foolishness ever insists

Hereto I decide to be me
Singing songs of innocence
Cherub lake at my feet
Author all as a preference

Mae Linat © 2008

Mae Linat © 2008

I took up the photo album my mom made me as a Christmas gift last year, with pictures of myself and my family stretching about thirty years back to when my parents were dating (where there's a wonderful picture of my mom and dad in the seventies leaning against one of those boxy slabs the decade was famous for). I went into the bathroom, and look at my reflection. God, I look so much like my father. My mustache is thick and full, but finer, less choppy than my dad's. I'm balding in the same way. I don't see my mother in my face at all, except maybe in my nose's scale and not it's shape. I didn't get my father's schnozzola.

In the pictures, I'm anywhere from newborn to eighteen years old, and there is little coverage of my time in college, which has been documented digitally over the past four years, mostly. I compare my appearance now to how I appeared then, and I'm staggered at the change. I barely remember being that kid, that middle schooler with the dumpy Harry Potter look. Am I the same guy now?

I turned twenty-four almost a month ago. Twenty-three I could deal with, but twenty-four has me for a loop. I'm not sure what to make of it, or what it means. It certainly feels like an older year, an entrance into the mid-twenties. So why do I still feel like a kid?

If things do get as bad as my dad thinks, if we do return to the era of homeless people in fedoras, I don't want to be worrying about this, or about money, or about work. I want to be building homes and distributing food. I want to matter. I want to finally be an adult instead of a glorified eleven year-old with a beard and a desk job.

Yeah, it's a little maudlin. But that's what's on my mind.

So, this is my first real blog and it may take a little while for me to get used to this format.  But what I hope to do with this blog is write stories from my travels (from birth to present) that have impacted me in some way (big or small).  Along the way, I might post some random videos (and I already have!) or topical stories that are of interest to me, but these are merely diversions.  My primary goal is to write this blog as a way to organize my thoughts around the topic of travel and it's effect on me as a human being.  This all may sound very selfish, writing about me, my travels, the things that interest me, etc., etc., but quite honestly I am not expecting a lot of people to read this.  For me, it's more like writing in a diary.  However I am aware that this is a public forum, so if these blogs are speaking to you in some way, please share that with me by leaving a comment.  I also believe that we can learn a lot from each other's stories, so if any of these stories spark a memory in you, please share them.  Perhaps this "diary" could lead to a "conversation."  That would be a very pleasant and very welcome surprise.

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