While I was on holidays, other than when I was in England (where all I heard about was the English cricket tri-series win) the only Australian-relevant news I ever heard was when John Howard said the following:

If I were running al Qaeda in Iraq, I would put a circle around March 2008, and pray, as many times as possible, for a victory not only for Obama, but also for the Democrats.

It was also the only news I got about Obama and what was happening for him in the US. And, being an Obama and Rudd fan, I really wanted to be back at home to see how a statement like that was received by the Australian and American media. I also hand-wrote a post that I intended to transcribe to here, but I lost the papers somewhere.

Anyway, when I got back, I found out that it had hardly received any attention at all. I was rather surprised - PM Howard had just blasted a potential presidential candidate and senator. It might not sound like much, but at the least I would have thought the ALP would have run with it for what it was worth. I assumed that they hadn't, and then completely forgot about the issue.

Then, watching the news today, I saw that Kevin Rudd has set up a MySpace account, not dissimilar to what American politicians have done to attract the attention of the younger vote that is techno-savvy. I've had Obama's on mine for some time, and during the fund raising season I was getting many a message from him.

Anyway, to get back to the point I was making, I added Rudd to my friends list, and then headed over to YouTube, noticing that Kevin has some videos on the MySpace video server. I went through, checking YouTube for Question Time videos and anything of interest that was Rudd-related. Then, to my surprise, I found this:

It's the Question Time that I longed to see! Well, part of it anyway. You have to remember that Rudd had only just started leading the ALP through Question Times when I left, so I missed his early days as Leader of the Opposition in the House of Representatives. And, now that I saw that video, I wish I hadn't even more so. I know that Beazley and co. were taking it to Howard when they were in charge, but watching Rudd do it is far more entertaining - because he does a better job at it!

I hate how those budging politicians take a monster break when I'm on holidays. Next available chance, I think I'm going to go down and watch a session for myself.

Thomas.

I needed a break from other things, so I decided to retake the Political Compass test once again. It’s the first time I’ve taken it this year, though, for the past few years, I have taken it at the start, middle and end of the year to track changes in my political leanings. It’s something of interest to me these days as, not only do I like to know what I’m thinking politically, but there is an election coming this year: and let’s not forget one of my key interests in politics. I often wonder if all of my readings (about politics and social issues) and thoughts on what’s being said in the public sphere (as well as what’s being written) have had any influence what-so-ever on my personal politics.

Well, it would appear so from my latest results. If someone had told me a few years ago that I’d get a result like this, I would have laughed at them. I was extremely right-wing during my schooldays and upon leaving. Over the years, though, I’ve either mellowed out or woken up to something, as over the years I watched the red dot go progressively further and further left, then hover around the centre ever since.

Similarly, if someone had showed me these results years ago I would have been quite angry at it. Not anymore. I’m almost pleased to be getting that sort of a result. While I readily acknowledge that an online test hardly gives a full and accurate representation of my political beliefs, I think of myself as a centrist these days; something which I don’t think is exactly disproved with that graph.

Thomas.

Last night was a diner for my cousin, who had turned 25 in the week and became engaged (it appears to be a disease going around, what with the St. Ives Correspondent also getting engaged through the week - something I'd like to voice my congratulations to him about before I speak to him in person). Attending this diner was family and friends. In all, around 30 or so spread across three tables (we were eating at a restaurant in Cronulla (a lot of my family are Shire-folk and haven't been outside of the boundaries that separate snob from bogan) which was very small) and took up around 70% of the place.

In preparation and research for my forth-coming post, I've been re-reading my sociology text books and articles I picked up along the way (I'm quite the hoarder and have every lecture note and textbook I've taken since day dot at university). The post that's coming is about communities and interrelatedness, as well as their relationship with identities and control and other stuff. Anyway, I had only just put down my Sociology: Themes and Perspectives when I headed there and started thinking about the party I was going to and the chapter I had only just finished: Media, identity and globalisation (yes, the act of a nerd).

The chapter, initially, looked at the early writings that were extremely pessimistic about how the media would be used to create a mass society where everyone was uniform in identity and isolated from the traditional 'groups' - family groups, 'friendship' groups and the 'community' (the world of personal loyalty and relationships (gemeinschaft by Tonnie) as opposed to the world of the impersonal market-based relationships which make up society (or gesellschaft, again by Tonnie)). Were the theorists (like Alexis de Tocqueville, Ferdinand Tonnies and Max Horkheimer) that "saw" this awful, market-driven and individualistic society correct? Are we that out-of-touch with the community, and now just one of the same, that these people were right?

No, I don't believe so. I think the theories that predicted this awful world of isolationism were quite a bit off because they had to contend with and struggle to understand developments, changes and technologies that did not exist in their times, nor could the writers understand what they were dealing with when things like computers and the early Internet etc. were released to the world. We don't even understand what effects technology that surrounds us yet, so how could these writers who had never seen them in action predict how we would turn out? The answers to to how positive or negative a world we have built will come in the form of my generation; how it develops, how it stands up against previous generations and where the world goes to from here. And that won't be evident soon: it will only become apparent when our parents and grandparents finally move over for the younger generation to take control.

The thought that triggered all of this was that I sometimes think that we are living in a society (gesellschaft) that is all about the individual. Then I thought about where I was going: a party. We, as a family and a group of friends, were celebrating another person in the sense that a community (gemeinschaft) would. The Thursday before, I saw my friend Andrew. The Monday I went to tea with Mr. Rabbit and the St. Ives Correspondent. The Saturday before that I was at a wedding for the Ombudsman, which was also a gathering of family and friends. All of these fly in the face of the individualistic notions of the sociologists who wrote about the 'future'.

And lets look a key piece of evidence that also disputes the early theories: the Internet. The Internet has its own community attached. Anyone who engages with it on a regular basis will know this and feels part of the community. The community they are attached might not be something big, perhaps just their blog and its handful of readers. On the other hand, you could be part of this massive community - a forum, an established chatroom, maybe you're a fan of a certain movie and whenever you speak to another fan, you feel 'at home' (in a sense). Either way, there is a certain degree of connectedness between Internet users who regularly 'do' the same thing. There is a community attached to the Internet, and this is something the brings people together.

But all of these things - the Internet, ways to access the Internet etc. - are all bound up within notions of capitalism. The Internet isn't free and is available to specific classes of people. But does this, at all, negate the fact that the Internet has created a community anyway? Or that traditional notions of community still exist in some for or another? Doesn't this simply mean that we can have the cake and eat it too? We still have our communities, but they exist in the society world? But not the society/gesellschaft that theorists tried to have us believe was the apocalyptic future. Rather, we have a society that is, yes, capitalist driven, but still with an element of humanity/personality? We are a mass society, and have similar traits and characteristics, but isn't that what being part of a community is: shared experiences and shared traits?

I'm a white male, 18-25, parttime employed, attending university, living in the suburbs of Sydney. I'm sure that there are heaps of people in that situation. But how many of them are exactly like me? How 'mass' is the mass society if it exists? If you want to generalise and categorise in terms like I just did, then yes, there are elements of hegemony. But unless you're going to scratch beneath the surface some more, you're going to get an incorrect feed of information. What we have are many communities existing within many societies. Both stretch beyond the traditional boundaries (such are the effects of technology and globalisation), thus enabling the people who propagate or establish either to exist in the other. The individual exists, but no where near as negative as what was predicted. And the context that the individual lives in is no where near as bad as the predictions either.

Anyway, I got to the party, had some fun, caught up with the family and met some new people. All-in-all it was a pleasant evening as I felt quite at home and looking forward to the next event - whether it be with my important family or as important friends.

Thomas.

I have such a great post in the works. I think it might be the first post that would actually be reflective of me having attended two and a half years of university. The problem is that it's going to take some time to complete.

That's not to say I'm going to stop blogging until then, just that it might be some time before you see it. So don't hold your breath for it, but expect that something good will have come of these holidays.

Thomas.

I really want to go in and see the USS Kitty Hawk before it leaves. Ignoring everything it stands for (like the greatest military power on Earth etc.), it's a freaking huge ship! And when is the next time an aircraft carrier is going to be docked in Sydney Harbour? I missed the QEII and the QMII opportunity, though I was in London at the time, so I was hardly having a bad time (but, then again, England had just won the tri-series ODI competition that was half-way through when I left, so that didn't help the situation). So I'm thinking I might go in Sunday or Monday.

Then again, the prospect of facing CityRail voluntarily as well exerting that much effort to get into the city is a daunting one. So who knows what will happen on this front.

Thomas.

For the past month or so I've been tinkering with a WordPress version of this blog. I've finally come to a stage where I think it might be worth opening it up for people to look at and see if it's worth going over there permanently.

The main reason I want to transfer over is the ability to write pages and have the ability to edit them. Otherwise, it's basically the same, bar the variety of layouts. After the last two posts, and using all the 'code names' for the people I was referencing to, I took a leaf from Neil, at Lines from a Floating Life, who has a "Who's Who?" page explaining who are all of his referenced people. I thought that this was a great idea, and finally moved everything over to WordPress, created the pages and stuff that I've done so far, and am thinking of going over there full time.

Though, then again, it's pretty easy to update both blogs at once, so perhaps I'll write on both of them and let the readers pick. Anyway, here's the link (very original I must say):

http://deuslovult.wordpress.com/

Feedback appreciated etc.

Thomas.

An Ombudsman's Wedding

Saturday the 30th of June, 2007. The day started out on a plus - I had the day off work so that I could make the wedding of my friend, the Ombudsman. It was important to go to as it would likely be the last time we saw him for months, as he takes up position in some far-flung school in outer-outer-outer NSW (or inner South Africa). I had, through the week, gone (shudder) clothes shopping to find a new shirt that didn't make me look like I had just come from a funeral. The arrangements were that I would pick up the St. Ives Correspondent's future wife and Mr. Rabbit, then we would all drive to the chapel.

Before leaving my house, I gathered the essentials: five dice, a deck of cards, The 18 Cup and my Lord of the Rings ring. I thought that, at the least, I would be entertained should the wedding prove to be a flop (not that there were any doubts with the studious planning of Mrs. Ombudsman and the absence of Mr. Ombudsman from that part of the wedding). The 18 Cup addition, really, was the only important this as we may be presented with an opportunity for a photo that rivals all others.

The evening before the day-of, however, the St. Ives Correspondent's future wife reported that she would be unable to attend, so it was left to Mr. Rabbit and myself to find our way there. I was glad to have someone helping me find the way, as my original plan (when I was driving myself) was to be pointed in the general direction from my driveway and leave two days prior. But, suffice to say, we arrived on time. Well, no, that's a lie. We were early. Very early. Around an hour. It was a great view and all from the carpark, but that can only sustain interest for so long. As can watching golfers (as The Coast golf course surrounded this chapel). So, we got a very strange breakfast (a bottle of V for myself, and a can of V and a Snickers bar for Mr. Rabbit) and then returned to the second carpark for the day. Lulling around, I realised that a parking spot of exactly the same potion, though the other side of the road, would be far more effective as I wouldn't have to do one of those pesky three-point-turns in front of a crowd (or witnesses should I hit another car/person/murder one of the occupants of the car). So I turned the car around in a single movement, and took that spot.

Mr. Rabbit and I watched as people arrived. We made quips and cynical jokes about passers by (as well as fellow wedding guests and people of administrative postions (i.e. violinists), as well as two rather strange characters - bikers who, no doubt, were doing some sort of drug exchange) to pass the time before Andrew and Pope Francious arrived (driven by their parents) and we met as a group. Conversations ensued, and eventually we decided that it would be warmer (as it was rather windy) inside the chapel. We moved into the waiting area, then, when we saw the Ombudsman and the St. Ives Correspondent (the best man) arrive, all four of us shuffled out to greet him. Andrew's mother (and father, who were loitering around to drive their sons to my house, where we would wait for the reception) pulled out her camera, and I quickly ran to the car - The 18 Cup! It was the only chance. Lined up, dressed in our finest, a pair of photos were snapped off, which will appear on here as soon as I've obtained a copy (quite possibly tomorrow).

Next it was time for the plebs to take their seats and the party to take up their positions. More conversations (and joking) ensued with the four commoners, while we waited for Mrs. Ombudsman to join Mr. Ombudsman and the St. Ives Correspondent up on the stage. To our surprise, the bridal party arrived in 1920s cars. Ford somethings (T's?). They appeared to have been driven right out of a mafia film, though, there were no mobsters hanging off the sides with guns. Andrew's father cased the cars as the first of millions of photos were taken.

Eventually Mrs. Ombudsman walked down the isle, words were exchanged and the end of the ceremony was upon us. After some egging on, Mr. Rabbit took some photos with his phone, then everyone moved out. As Mr. and Mrs. Ombudsman walked back down the isle, the official photographer said "Ok, when I count to three I want you both to throw your hands in the air. 1-2-3!" When this happened, Mrs. Ombudsman put her free hand up, and Mr. Ombudsman just kept walking with confusion written across his face, then, after prompting by the photographer once more, did some lame hand-movement which got us four laughing. This would become a running joke whenever someone took a photo.

Outside, congratulations were offered to the new couple, the five of us (no Ombudsman) had a conversation of sorts, then were ushered into a mob to get a big group photo. A normal (sane) photo was taken, followed by the photographer yelling over the wind "Ok, when I count to three I want you both to throw your hands in the air. 1-2-3!" Our group had a chuckle, then, when the moment came, threw up our hands with gusto. I would very much like to get a copy of that photo.

The time came to leave (after having a roll of film wasted on us to come to the end), upon which Mr. Rabbit, Andrew and Pope Francious all got a lift in my car. We headed home, then decided that it was time to get lunch and would do so at Revesby Workers Clubs. The idea was enticing, especially, because we were all suited up and would out-dress anyone there (a rare occurrence for some of the group). We went to the bistro, was told it was closed, then went to the cafe-type thing near to the ATMs, which are near to the poker machines. I ordered a club sandwich which came with an alarming amount of salad. When Andrew went to get drinks, I slipped a slice of cucumber under his chicken in the home he might accidentally eat eat (he didn't, thus reaffirming his commitment to never eat vegetables ... ever).

We had to find four hours to waste, and lunch and Mr. Rabbit's gambling only took up one and a half. We headed back to my house and played some Jin Rummy (with slight confusion, as everyone played to different rules). Suffice to say, Thomas won. Here we all decided, as well, that we would not be wearing ties to the reception. Thankfully Mr. Rabbit remembered to take his with him. The same can't be said of Andrew and the Pope, who in their collective wisdom, both thought that the other had it.

Finally it was time to go to the reception, which my father drove us all there (as I intended to drink at this party), dropped us off, and left. Once again, we were early. Around half an hour. We decided (after some arguing) that we would walk down to Bankstown Sports Club, not go in, turn around, and walk back. We had some strange looks from passers by - remembering that we were all dressed in suits, while myself and Andrew had gone so far as to wear waistcoats. This circuit wasted fifteen minutes, upon which we entered the room with other arriving guests.

The four of us were table 12, which would, come the end of the night, be renowned (and even called so by Mrs. Ombudsman) as the best table there. For once it felt like sitting at the cool table at school - something, I suspect, none of those seated at table 12 were privy to in their school days. Out of everyone at the table, only one (Andrew) was not a teacher or intending to be one. The three other ladies who sat at our table were, or had been, teachers at the Ombudsman's old school of employment (Nasser Hussein High School). We (Andrew and I, who were the only two who showed an interest in the stories that came from N.H.H.S. and hadn't taught there (the Pop doesn't care for stories of other people and hasn't taught there)) questioned some of the employees (current and former) as to whether the tales we heard from the Ombudsman were indeed true. We weren't exactly surprised to hear that they all were. Even an impression that this one lady did was a ringer for the Ombudsman's.

The entres came and went, then the Ombudsman's father came and talked to the renowned (as we would find out through the night as people came up and said to us "So you're the poker people", or things to that effect) poker group, and, after being informed that we are now avid 500 players, questioned us about the rules. You see, he is also an avid, and seasoned, 500 player. A nagging question would continue through the night, up until we all left - how do you play the joker in a misère hand?

The main meals came, and at that same time, entertainment (provided by various family members of the Ombudsman) came on as well. One was a magician/comedian. Our St. Ives Correspondent was called upon to help out with one trick, as was Mr. Rabbit. The show was rather interesting. Following this, however, was an extremely hilarious and entertaining comedian/impressionist (not the artist kind). He made so many rib-splitting, politically incorrect jokes about suburbs and CityRail and stereotypes and what-have-you. Of course, table 12 loved every minute of it, while some jokes were too pushing for others. One extremely entertaining part was when the St. Ives Correspondent was called upon to take part in a roller-coaster impression. The video of this can be found on Mr. Rabbits blog.

Food ended and music started. Mr. and Mrs. Ombudsman had their dance, which was very nice, then everyone else was invited to join. I pride myself on being a bad dancer. Wait, let me rephrase that: I pride myself on being an awful dancer. I make no bones about it - I can't dance. At least I'm not in denial about this sort of stuff, as I know others are about their singing voice or their dancing moves. So, knowing that I can't dance, though I'm an addict for making a scene, the question is: am I going to try and dance ok, or not at all, or go out and bust some horrible moves. Horrible moves it was. Mr. Rabbit informs me that the next video that may go up to his blog is of me dancing the Nutbush. I, on that night, had been drinking steadily, and hadn't danced the Nutbush for a long time, so I'm expecting to be just as bad in that video as I am in any other.

I blinded everyone with two dances, while Andrew and the Pope tried their moves with two of the ladies on table 12 (renowned and infamous at this point in the night for being the vocal table during the comedians and producing two atrocious dancers). I was more interest in socialising with Mr. Rabbit, St. Ives Correspondent and the Ombudsman, knowing full well that this was the last time. And then the whole severity of the situation finally caught me - the Ombudsman was going. This will, no doubt, lead into a much more depressing tone and post if I continue with it (as it's still something I find quite sad), so I shan't be going on. We discussed the day's events, how the photos in the city (by the Opera House I believe) went, as well as what we had all noticed, and observations that we had been making, through the course of the reception. Good laughs and conversations took place between us all, which really brought the evening to a great ending.

As the night drew to a close, I called for my lift (which was also Mr. Rabbit's and the St. Ives Correspondent's). I wished Mrs. Ombudsman the best of luck and gave her my congratulations, then Mr. Ombudsman a few times on the way out. Quickly I stole the number 12 sign from our table, gathered our free photo frame and my name-place, my jacket and we headed out. Misty-eyed I, along with the St. Ives Correspondent, waved the happy couple, and our friends, goodbye.

It was an excellent wedding, and the first I wasn't obliged to go to because of a family association. It was the wedding of my friend, and I was in attendance with my other friends. It was a great night, and a wonderful experience. I know it's something I'm going to remember for some time for two reason. I see this as some sort of 'coming of age' thing: the first of my friends has got married (and the second is very soon I hear). Secondly, and the main reason for the night being quite 'special', because it was the last hurray and farewell for our greatest of friends: the Ombudsman.

Thomas.

Bucks 'Party!' 2007

The day started off, for myself, at 4:00am. I had to work the day. Dreadfully boring and uninteresting, so I'm not about to talk about it. I finished at 1:30pm, and went home, showered and changed and headed to East Hills train station where I would catch a bus into Sydenham. I would catch a bus because the line was closed for repairs/fixing/money-wasting. I caught the bus with my friend Andrew, as any trip into the city is awfully lonely. Arriving at Sydenham, we caught a train to Town Hall (which was the second stop, even though the train display said it was the last), disembarked and walked towards Star City, which is where we were to meet up the rest of the party-goers for the evening's events.

We were meeting people after the had seen a musical event called "Play!" at the Opera House. I couldn't go as I had to work (taking this Saturday finished forty-four minutes ago off for the wedding), and consequently, I was to meet everyone in the city after their show. Andrew decided he wasn't going as well. We decided that because we planned on drinking, we should stop for lunch, which we did at a window-filled shopping centre on the water. I had a turkey-meat sandwich, while Andrew had something from KFC. It was my first 'meal' for the day. Next we stopped in the last bar before Star City. I don't know what it was called, but I had a schooner of Tooheys New (my rare brush with middle-class Australia) while Andrew had something (possible a Carlton Draught, though now I think of it, he may have said that they didn't actually have that and got the same as me). We downed these and found our way around to Star City, where we enter. Realising I had absolutely no money on me, I exited (because there are no ATMs on the gaming floor), got out $200, and re-entered. Andrew, who had money, didn't have to worry about the ATMs.

We looked around the floor and went where (I thought) was a cheap and safe bet - $5 minimum bet roulette. You can still bet $1 per lay-down (unlike the tables, where you have $5 chips) but a minimum of $5. I thought we would be alright there, as I have been somewhat successful at this type of betting at Revesby Workers clubs (especially with the soon-to-be Mayor of Menindee). Unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be, and I lost a quick $25. I wasn't exactly displeased, as that's a mere fraction of what I've lost to the coffers of Star City in the past, but losing, as always, is unpleasant.

I received the phone call from the fellow party goers that their arrival was imminent (we had arrived early you see), and should position ourselves to find them. I cashed out of my machine (Andrew having done so already prior) and headed towards the front entry, where we would find the St. Ives Correspondent, Mr. Rabbit and the future Mayor of Menindee. I was informed that his royal highness Pope Francious II had thought it quicker by foot from the Opera House to Star City, and decided to walk, much to the displeasure of some. Suffice to say, he wasn't quicker. In fact, he was late. Very late.

Very very late.

We were to have a meal (dinner I believe it's called) at the buffet, which was enticing. My previous experiences with the Star City buffet had been nothing but enjoyable, so I wasn't put off. We lined up for roughly 20-30 minutes, where the Pope had joined us at around the 25 minute mark, then we found our table and loaded our plates. The Pope appeared to get sick (though I suspect that he had the germs prior to the meal) and ate little, and even reproduced what he had previously tried to stomach at subsequent times through the evening. I enjoyed mos of my meal, though the bread-and-butter pudding left much to be desired. Towards the middle, it tasted like eating a half-cooked egg. Though the custard was nice.

After this meal, we headed for the bar/lounge at the back corner, behind the poker tables. The Pope as sitting on scotch, whiskey or bourbon (it all looks the same to me) and planned on using that as his cure for his sickness. I had a $7.50 Stella, which I though was an atrocious price, though couldn't do anything about it. I sat with the Pope and Andrew for some time, being told the wonders of Queensland, future plans of the Pope and the state of music right now. Andrew left at some point, lost his money, and returned. Do note that I didn't exactly discuss topics here, rather I was told them by one particular person.

Eventually, the gambling itch that so readily annoys me surfaced and I found my way to the Blackjack table that my best of friends were rotating on. Mayor of Menindee had a permanent fixture on the table, and the seat beside him (the first seat on the table) had been sat in by Andrew and the St. Ives Correspondent to many blogs, to their detriment. Not caring if I lost or won (I did care, but I can put on a good face), I took up the seat and got a colour-change - my greens ($25 x 3) for reds ($5). The minimum bet was $15, so that's what I did.

I was quite successful, but the amount of fun I was having (and believe I helped everyone else that mattered have) was what made the night. I am renowned for either having a good time or making a joke of myself/others at the card table. Whether it's other players or the dealer (not including myself) I can have fun with them. Last year (or before) I invented a call-sign for a King-Jack deal: Johny Cash. It sounded smart at the time and it stuck. Also, people believe me to be a somewhat reasonable card player after witnessing me win The 18 Cup an insane amount of times, then go on to 500 with some success. So people, from our party group, were happy to watch myself and the Ombudsman (aka the future Mayor of Menindee) play our way to a financial state equivalent to that of bankrupt . The only thing was that along with all the fun we created, we didn't lose. In fact, we came out ahead. I don't know about my compadre Mayor specifically, but I believe we doubled (at least) all the money we laid down.

I must admit that I had good support from my great friends, the dealers, the other players and the cards. Now, not to be stereotyping or racist or anything, but people of Asian descent who sit at card tables that I play at generally don't know a large amount of English - but they do know the word 'picture'. This is the call-sign for a card equal value to that of a ten i.e. a Jack, a Queen, a King or a straight ten. I have adopted 'picture' to my vocabulary for some odd reason (probably because of it's easy and novelty). So I would yell picture whenever I was dealt something that would need it And, for a majority of times, I got it. The same would be if I said it about any unit card I need - a three, a two, a six, whatever - which freaked me out. It was rather spooky I must say. So my table manners were rather bizarre. I would get an atrocious card, then start yelling the value of the card that I needed at the other card. When I got it, I would act appropriately - which either consisted of sweet-talking the dealer into giving me a card I wanted, doubling up or hitting/standing. This proved successful, as my end balance would prove.

My compadre, the Ombudsman, had this trick to split. This, I must say, is a no-no on the Blackjack table. There are rules that experienced player (I like to include myself in that group because I play by these rules) play to - you don't split; you stand the whole way around the table if the deal has a four, five or six; and there are others. But the general rule is you don't split. And credit to the Ombudsman, splitting made him a very wealthy man - regardless of the fact that the whole table would groan if he did this or the dealer (one in particular) would ask him if he was sure, three times, if he wanted to take this course of actions. The Ombudsman proved to be the smart player in the end.

We sat at that table for hours, and the dealers were readily rotated. The first, Aimee, was good to us. When she left, I inquired to her replacement if she was headed to another table (as I would have followed luck), to which he said she was going home. Without hesitation, I asked if she had a card table at home. The replacement was also good, but my antics seemed to put him off, so I was rather glad when he left. His replacement, another guy (Andrew I believe his name was) was slow and steady - and again unlucky as the Ombudsman and I came out ahead. Around this time I had someone start to bet on me. I hate people betting on me because I lose my concentration. And I feel pressured to do things I wouldn't. So, when a box cleared, I was glad to be rid of him.

Then the next dealer came, and a few boxes opened up (some were put off by the Ombudsman's splitting method). One who came was an Asian man, no older than 27, who was betting as I find Asians regularly do - with vigor. Beside the Ombudsman was an American. And, around this time, I invented the word party. Allow me to explain what a party is to everyone:

A party, as Thomas' dictionary defines it, is when three people bet in the single betting box, thus filling out the square with the maximum amount of betters. A street party is if more than one box if filled with to the maximum capacity of bets.

So, as the night wore on, myself, the Ombudsman, the American and the Asian began to bet in these 'parties'. And, whenever a box filled up, some of us would yell out "On the party!" and hope to the all-mighty that it won, because they were generally big payouts. Then, if the box had only two bets, and we needed the third to get the party, the two who were in were left to rustle up the third bet, in order to get the party going. Funnily enough, by yelling the same "On the party!" we got betters. It must have been awfully confusing or onlookers.

If the party box one, celebrations would ensue. And, more often than not, it won. No one person was in charge of it, though the Asian or the American would do the calling for the box, as I was distanced. If the party box lost however, there were a variety of reasons why:

• The party food sucked
• The music sucked
• The cops showed up
• There's a better party somewhere else (which meant that chips would go to a different party box next time)
• Going home for a one-man party (which meant you were just going to bet in your own box)
• I'm starting my own party (which meant that you were going to start a party in your box)

This call-sign system just got more and more elaborate as the evening wound on. And it complimented the night perfectly. Unfortunately, Mr. Rabbit had left to go and see Othello, so he missed out on the evening's festivities and humour - two things I know aren't in Othello haha.

There was another Asian man who was sitting in the last seat of the table, who didn't say a single word through the whole evening. He sat down after the Ombudsman (he was the longest single sitter there) and stayed after we left, and not a single word. I tried to get him to talk, but who knows what he thought I was saying to him.

Whenever the Ombudsman split his pairs, more often than not, he would receive some jovial threats against his life, such as "I'll see you in the car park". The dealer received more though, especially when they were on a wining streak. But, when the winning streak came to an end, all was fun again, and the baseball bats were filed to the back of our memories. And when they started on a losing streak, then it was all fun and games with them.

The evening wound on, and, as it was going to be the last sojourn that our complete group could partake in for three years (things pending of course), most of us wanted to play our own game of cards - specifically: 500. So, it was time for last hands. I bet, the Ombudsman bet, and we both won. Then, as I was stacking my chips, I had an unfortunate amount of $5 chips, so I spread them across the board in what was my last bet. I joined my own square and then two parties, betting $45 total. Each hand won and the celebrations were enormous. I'm sure that Mr. Rabbit could have heard us all the way over at the Opera House were were that loud. High-fives and cheering all round. Onlookers had no idea as we were yelling "Party!" at one another over and over again. I collected my chips (rather hastily) and then we headed off to our St. Ives Correspondent home, where we enjoyed some grand hands of 500 - of interest two called and won 9-calls (which, if you haven't played 5000, will mean nothing).

The car trip home was a test of all our immune systems. Pope Francious, who was getting progressively sicker and sicker through the night was bottled into a car with four other people (myself, Andrew, St. Ives Correspondent and the Ombudsman) with the air conditioner on, rather than windows down. I pride myself on having ridiculously strong immune system - in the past ten years, I've only ever had a cold/flu/generic sickness twice. And I am exposed to sick people on a regular basis - I catch crowded public transport, I attend packed Uni rooms, I was going to school in some of those years, my family always appear to be sick, I work in customer service, etc. So I'm proud of my immune system. And this car trip was a real test of it. Suffice to say, I didn't end up getting sick, while our St. Ives Correspondent and the Ombudsman (who, both, we were all worried about as they had quite the important functions to perform the following weekend/yesterday) did. They took extreme measures and healed up, but that was only through the week.

Upon arriving at our St. Ives Correspondent's home, we engaged in cards and cards, and played 500 into the wee hours of the morning. Andrew and Pope Francious headed home early (as they were being driven home by their parents), while I, the Ombudsman, Mr. Rabbit and our St. Ives Correspondent's continued to play. Without a doubt it was the most enjoyable afternoon/evening/night/early morning that I have ever been part of, and it pains me (now) to know that it may be some time before the next one. Ignoring that gray cloud, I can't help but think of how great a time we all had (well, bar the infected/sick one) and that we are all looking forward to the next.

I may have forgotten some other interesting tidbits of the evening, and if so, I invite anyone who was there to remind me and I'll write them in. Of course, if any of the "Play!" people have stories of interest or note from before the meeting at Star City, then, by all means, do comment.

Thomas.