Like waddling clothing stores we trudged, hands driven deep into our pockets and shoulders hunched against the brittle February wind that sliced the streets. Heads down, hypnotised by sub-zero temperatures and the crunch, crunch, crunch of our heavy boots on the coarse salt and grit scattered to prevent the icy patches that would send the unwary walker heavily to the ground. It usually worked. At intervals our attention was brought sharply to the surface by great sheets of ice crashing to the ground -- often just inches from our path -- off sooty, bullet-riddled buildings which looked as though they could follow it at any moment. Passing yet another souvenir store I noticed a postcard showing a Soviet soldier aiming a rifle at a man's head. This was Berlin, and I was loving it.

If the city itself has some stories to tell, then the grandest tales and juiciest name-dropping would surely come from the Brandenburg Gate. Everyone's favorite Corsican upstart, Napoleon, pinched the statues off the top; the Nazis draped it in swastikas and strutted around it; when JFK made his famous speech there the Soviets -- like a cranky sibling on a long car trip -- hung flags off it so he couldn't look over their side. The Berlin wall closed it for decades. Then, when the wall came down, the Brandenburg Gate became a potent symbol for the reunification of Germany, if not the whole of Europe. For an immovable object, this gate's sure been around. I had to see it.

It's an odd thing to stand in a spot seething with so much monumental history. Profoundly moving, yet... so... nothing. Whilst the structure had seen so much, my experience of all that had taken place there, I then realised, could only occur within the limits of my imagination. I'm at a loss to describe what I felt there: knee-trembling humility mixed with knuckle-dragging boredom. Sparkly-eyed wonder and eye-watering dissappointment. Celebratory mourning. A ragged, radiant, hollow feeling. I'm sure the Germans have a name for it.

We wandered back and forth for a while, photographing the -- it has to be said -- stunning copper green war horses rearing up on the top... or dull grey war horses, as my colourblind travelling companion would have it. Under a crisp, clear winter sky the entire structure was a photographer's dream. You simply couldn't take a bad shot of it.

Once done, I started up my hourly nag for the something-hot-to-drink-and-something-to-eat that my stuggling, cold-battered body demanded. Thomas, taking his cue, started up his hourly resistance to spending any more extortionate Euros.

Five minutes later we settled into the Starbucks two doors down.

Bitter cold + troubling existential questions + empty belly = no smile for camera

Thanks, Yanks

If there's a better metaphor for our relationship with the US, it's not readily coming to mind.

US Warship Dumped Rubbish, Says Resident

There has been widespread criticism of the US Navy after rubbish, believed to be from the ship, washed up on the state's beaches this week.

The ship's Lieutenant Commander Gary Ross says the allegations are being investigated.

The Australian Maritime Safety Authority says warships do not have to abide by laws that prohibit the dumping of rubbish while at sea.

Mooloolaba's John Wynne says he saw lines of rubbish behind the ship last week.

"We would have been probably 15 to 20 kilometres offshore - there was a line of rubbish bags," he said.

"They were every 200 or 300 yards apart but they were in a distinct line so it just appeared that they were throwing them over as they were travelling."

Several bags of rubbish have been collected; the latest washed ashore at Mudjimba on the Sunshine Coast yesterday.

Lieutenant Commander Ross says the American Navy has strict guidelines for the disposal of rubbish aboard ships at sea.

"By all indications it is an accidental dumping because our policies and procedures are very strict with regards to the disposal of plastics and in no way do we dispose of plastics out here at sea," he said.

"We have methods to store them on board and properly dispose of them when we pull into port."

A Sunshine Coast resident says the aircraft carrier USS Ronald Reagan was dumping rubbish off Queensland's coast before it docked in Brisbane last week.

from ABC News Online

Rolling Stone

Firstly allow me to apologise for the tardiness of my correspondence. I confess it has been over 20 years since my last utterance...

You find me, foxy reader, in a reflective and unsettled frame of mind. In fact, you're lucky to find me here at all, given that I've spent a good deal of my otherwise indolent Sunday at high school. Porpoise Spit State High School to be precise, during the years 1982 - 1986. I was thrown without notice onto this whirlwind ride aboard the Nostalgia Express by my friend Brendan.

Motivated by that most persuasive of devils -- study avoidance -- Brendan spent a bit of time recently fossicking about the net and happened upon a link to Suburban Safari, and subsequently graced me with an email. There I was, Brendanless for 20 years, then voilá! like a genie he just pops out of the bandwidth bottle to brighten my weekend. Such a happy-making surprise for your Sunday-dulled correspondent, and flattering, too, that he'd remember me and consider it worth the effort.

He and I go back a way. Quite a way. We were first classmates in primary school in 1981, but it is from years 9 and 10 that my more vivid memories of him date. I recall us sitting in class, giggling, trying to outwit and out do each other with wicked wisecracks and surreal silliness. And landing in trouble for it, of course. We shared a keen sense of the absurd, and I, at least, got a real kick out of letting it out to run when he was around. Brendan really made me laugh, was constantly surprising, so I was always pleased when I was able to do the same.

But times change, sometimes taking personalities with them. He's now a financial advisor; I'm not even sure what that means, let alone having met one. Going back is always a gamble, don't you find? There have been people I've not seen for decades to whom, when I run into them, I relate as if we'd never lost contact. Those times are truly wonderful. With others, it's awkward, dissappointing. Those uncomfortable encounters leave a stain on memories of easier times. Somehow, our mind alters the view we had on events past -- we reappraise the relationship we had and who they really were, and once those recollections are changed they're never the same again. Memories are one of the few things we can truly call our own, so going back is not without its risks.

Brendan and I have arranged to meet for coffee. I'm looking forward to it.

Book thingy

From Cheryl's LJ thingy. It's a book... thingy. You bold the ones you've read, italicize the ones you'll probably read, and strike out the ones you don't plan to ever read. Why? Because I finished reading Catch 22 last night, and am at a loose end.

Do things you read over 20 years ago still count? Or books you know you've read, but don't remember anything about? Let's say yes, for the sake of convenience. And as an extra sprinkle of Suburban Spice, the ones I've never heard of will be graced, without a blush, by an asterisk.

The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
The Catcher in the Rye - J.D. Salinger
The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy - Douglas Adams
The Great Gatsby - F.Scott Fitzgerald
To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
The Time Traveler's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
*His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman*
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (Harry Potter 6) - J.K. Rowling
Life of Pi - Yann Martel
Animal Farm: A Fairy Story - George Orwell
Catch-22 - Joseph Heller (see above)
The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien (... I only finished it because I was wondering what all the fuss was about. I'm still wondering.)
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
1984 - George Orwell
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Book 3) - J.K. Rowling
One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
*The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini*
*The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold*
Slaughterhouse 5 - Kurt Vonnegut
Angels and Demons - Dan Brown
Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk
Neuromancer - William Gibson
*Cryptonomicon - Neal Stephenson*
*The Secret History - Donna Tartt*
A Clockwork Orange - Anthony Burgess
Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
*American Gods - Neil Gaiman*
*Ender's Game (The Ender Saga) - Orson Scott Card*
*Snow Crash - Neal Stephenson*
A Prayer for Owen Meany - John Irving
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe - C.S. Lewis
*Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell*
The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
*Good Omens - Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman*
*Atonement - Ian McEwan*
*The Shadow Of The Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon*
The Old Man and the Sea - Ernest Hemingway
The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
Dune - Frank Herbert

Actually the first four I bolded were set texts at high school, as were 1984, Brave New World, Animal Farm and Lord of the Flies.

Australian titles I'd include might be, off the top of my head:
Dirt Music - Tim Winton
Johnno (or maybe Fly Away Peter) - David Malouf
Bliss – Peter Carey
For The Term Of His Natural Life – Marcus Clark
Harp in the South – Ruth Park
My Brother Jack – George Johnston
The Hand That Signed The Paper – Helen “Demidenko” (for pop culture reasons)
The Chant of Jimmy Blacksmith – Thomas Keneally
My Place – Sally Morgan
The Year of Living Dangerously – Christopher Koch
Drylands – Thea Astley

Maybe this is list is a dud. Comments and amendments welcome.

Did I mention that The Simpsons did an episode about my wacky adventures at university? I don't think I did. Irrefutable proof above. Honest.

Go to town on the Simpsomaker.

Do Anything, Just Don't Take Away My Meat.

Handy hint for anyone needing to make children cry: tell them next week is a vegan week.

Chez Zézette has been a poor prospect for vegetable spotters of late. What with Festivas, holiday travel, summer malaise and so on, our kitchen has not been the model of organisation our German heritage would have you believing. My body has started a slow clap and chant of "vegetables..... vegetables...... vegetables" and its mood leads me to think that jeers and stubby throwing are not out of the question. So at dinner tonight as the kids refused to eat a tiny sliver of snow pea each, their Mum -- my Little Sister -- suggested that a week of vegan diet would do us all some good.

I leapt onto the idea; I was vegetarian for eight years, vegan for two of those, and radiantly healthy for it, but in recent times vegetables and I have become increasingly estranged. I'm hoping to mend those fences. With enthusiastic hand-waving I told the little 'uns about all the yummy animal-free things I used to eat... they each responded by bursting into howling tears.

Little Sister and I tried not to laugh, we really did, but honestly, I wouldn't have expected any less distress if I'd told them the cat was dead and the house had burnt down.

No dairy + no meat + no eggs = a river of meat-scented tears.

News Flash

I've been accepted into the University of Queensland! Let the rejoicing begin.

The panic should set in in about three days.