Big Wheels

“Looking for a job in the city
Working for the man every night and day”

Well, this is to let you all know the great news. The big wheels have indeed kept on turning – they’ve floated across the river to the West End from the city, and working for the woman more than for the man, but Kate has a new job!

She had an interview on Monday, got the call Tuesday, and she’s the new full-time social worker advocate at a domestic violence service! But the news gets better than that – on telling her she had the job, it was also mentioned that they had been talking for several months about getting a solicitor to work at the service as well.

So the doubly great news is that they want Kate to be that solicitor, although she’ll be working at the job she applied for, as a social worker, until they get funding for a solicitor’s position. The amazing thing is that this specific agency is exactly where Kate has wanted to work since studying law. She went back to university to do a social work degree after working for a year in property and planning law, and has at times felt like the social work was a waste of two years – not only in time but in earnings. There’s a big gulf between a lawyer’s and a student’s earnings, and someone who has made the step down is more keenly aware of what has been given up. Naturally, you question if you’ve made the right choices.

But now, amazingly, her social work degree and her application for a social worker position are the exact things that have given her the opportunity to be a lawyer in the field she wants. Simply the job as a social worker in domestic violence is an answer to sometimes impatient and frustrated prayer over the last eight months. The opportunity to practice law in the same field is, in church-speak, an overabundance of blessing.

She doesn’t know exactly when she’ll start yet, but this is better news than we could have imagined.

The title of the post and first lines are from the Nutbush.

Making online work

Lost Remote has linked to a NY Times article about former journalists actually making money with an online presence through advertising.

One of the journalists in the article makes an interesting point that journalists are to some extent arrogant about being above advertising, and have a hard time making a distinction between editorial and advertising.

Sure, ad dollars are what makes most media profitable, but you do still need to keep that distinction between editorial and advertising to remain credible.

Nonetheless, you can’t make advertising money unless you’ve got big numbers visiting your site.

I’m making you follow the link to Lost Remote if you want to go to the article, since I stole the post from them. They NY Times story requires registration to read, but if you’re using the Firefox web browser and have the BugMeNot extension installed, you can read it without registering.


Mine? Ha, I wish. Graduation sometimes seems like Shangri-La, or an academic Valhalla – two mythical places, the latter only reached if slain in the throes of study.

Kate and I trekked over to UQ to congratulate Milton, Grace and Dan on their graduation ceremony day. Unfortunately Milton had already returned his gown and left, but Dan and Grace were still waiting to go into their ceremony at 6pm.

These three have been my closest university friends over the last three-and-a-half years. I’ll miss you Milton and Grace, but I promise we’ll see you in Singapore sometime! Dan will be half a world away, in Beaudesert, so I’ll probably see him less.


This is the only photo I took. It is of the back of Dan Tang’s head. Although you wouldn’t necessarily have known that. He’s a hairy fellow. There were other photos, and hopefully Dan or Grace will post them soon. Whose camera was that, anyway?

I hope you enjoyed your time with your dad, Grace.

And Milton – big, big congratulations on your Masters!

Hello, Mother

In perhaps the most disturbing blog post I have had to yet compose, but far and away the most humbling because I know family will read this, I am becoming my mother.

Our bible study group was on supper at church tonight, and since Kate was leading the service and left at 3.30pm, I stayed at home baking a cake to bring later. Now, despite the apparent evidence just presented, this is not how I am becoming my mother. Besides, it was an ‘instant’ cake – all I had to do was mix some butter, eggs and water in with the powder and then stick it in the oven. Repeat procedure for the icing and you’re done.

As an aside, I really hope it wasn’t terrible because anyone would have thought Kate made it and thought less of her cooking abilities. Just between you and I, she’s a brilliant cook and looked upon the instant cake with disdain. It just happened to be a marketing gimmick that came for free with the plastic cake holder we bought two weeks ago.

I’ve wandered, but not too far from the story I’m telling, as you’ll soon see.

On returning home I looked at the large array of dirty dishes and cookware around the sink and thought about how I would tackle the problem. A man’s brain sees problems in need of a solution. I just thought I should point that out. Despite having finished baking an instant cake no more than four hours earlier, I was still thinking like a man.

Things needed to be organised. Put in their place. Fitted. You see, a large mound of dishes is much less daunting when it’s tidy before you start washing things. On the stovetop there was a stack of plates on the right burner, the wok from lunch straddled the two back burners, the sink was full to overflowing with cooking bowls and utensils – and every inch of counter space betwixt the two was taken.

The only free space in this menagerie was the left burner on the stovetop.

It was here that I placed our new cake holder that had this very evening experienced for the first time the fullness of its purpose – to hold cakes.

My family will no doubt at this point be laughing with glee, knowing what invariably comes next.

melted cake holder

I turned to attend to other things and smelt that acrid stench of melting plastic. Yes, after melting the 1 ½ tablespoons of butter with 1 ½ tablespoons of milk, the front-left burner remained on for three hours while out of the house.

The picture is of the distraught cake-holder, the offending burner, and the wine I used to soothe my ego as I wrote this post.

My much-maligned mother has been the butt of many a joke over the years for the melted pots, pans and plastic that have been the result of occasions such as this. I must unjustifiably apologise to her. And to those who will now ridicule me, can I help what I have become? I think not.