Coleman lamp vs a USB LED Lamp

Lighting a recalcitrant classical lamp

Roger: You’re pumping it too fast. It likes to be asked, not ordered.

Richard: I’m just trying to get it to stay bright, Dad. It keeps surging like it can’t make up its mind.

Roger: You rushed the preheat. The fuel’s not vaporising properly.

Richard: Which is why I brought the USB lantern as backup. One click, steady light, no drama.

Roger: Backup I’ll accept. Replacement, not so much. That lamp was your grandfather’s. He carried it through storms worse than this.

Richard: I remember. I also remember him swearing at it when the mantle collapsed and turned to powder.

Roger: But he did fix it.

Richard: Mantles are fragile, and fuel’s also harder to get.

Roger: That scarcity is why it matters. When you keep something like this running, you’re pushing back against replacing a breathing entity with something disposable.

Richard: My USB lamp doesn’t breathe. It just does its job. Comforting. And if I drop the Coleman? If the mantle crumbles and it’s the last one?

Roger: Then you’ll remember the light it gave, not the light it lost

Richard: Alright. We’ll run it tonight. But the USB lamp stays nearby — not as an insult, just as insurance.

Roger: Fair enough. Even traditions appreciate a little backup these days.

________
Voice-over

The Coleman belongs to a world in which craft was a form of cultural memory. USB lights are reliable, predictable. They are compassionate toward weary people. But there is a cost, and it is subtle. When a USB lamp fails, it does not invite repair; it invites replacement.

The Coleman is difficult because it remembers. It remembers a time when competence was earned slowly, when objects aged alongside their owners who could repair them. We use the Coleman when the light itself is the point. When you want to listen to a flame, how to feel pressure through a pump.

USB lamp maybe has a more general use, when the task is primary and the light is incidental — cooking, reading, getting through the night without fuss. Some lamps are for simply seeing. Others are for remembering that we once learned how to see in the dark.

An Air BnB Excursion

Raising his mug…

Guy: Here’s to the driver of this trip—me. 

Antonia: Driver? You barely managed to reverse into the driveway without flattening the hydrangeas. 

Guy:  Tactical parking. Hydrangeas are resilient. Anyway, I might not need a conductor on the bus.

Antonia:  It's not a bus thank God. It's only car. You wouldn’t get far. Remember, I’m the navigator right? Without me, you’d be circling the Parnell roundabout forever. 

Guy:  Roundabouts are just polite mazes. I enjoying going round twice. 

Antonia:  I picked this 1950s cottage so you could relive your glory days—when buses had conductors, not contactless cards. 

Guy: Back then, people respected the driver. 

Antonia:  And if I hadn’t collected the victuals, you’d be surviving only on tea and biscuits. 

Guy:  Tea and biscuits are a balanced diet. Biscuit in each hand. 

Antonia:  And how can you drive the car without my managing the cat. She’s eyeing your mug like she wants to drive the bus herself. 

Guy (to Afogato):  Don’t even think about it. You’re too short for the pedals. 

Antonia:  I’ve orchestrated this trip so you can feel special. Though honestly, the cat thinks it’s her birthday. 

Guy: Three cheers for Afogato, the actual passenger of honor. 

___________

Voice-over
It seems Guy wouldn’t make it far without Antonia along as navigator, accommodation organizer, cat controller, historian, chef, memory maker, celebrator… and therapist.

Estuary Sailing at Dusk

 A once a week ritual…

Leonard: Welcome aboard Wagtail, mind your footing.

Daniel: Bigger than I expected. 

Leonard: Not quite the Sydney to Hobart, mate. Just the Thursday-night club — six of us amateur sailors who reckon we’re elite for about an hour.

Daniel: Six boats? All setting off at the same time?

Leonard: Yep. Seahorse, Pelican, Wind Lass... we’ve been racing each other for nearly thirty years. 

Daniel: What happens if you win?

Leonard: Remind the others all week who the real captain is. Then buy the first round at the pub as penance. Oi, Pete — untie, would you? Righto, fellas, push off! Meet the dream team: Pete’s a dentist; Rob’s an accountant who pretends to be navigator; and over there’s Mick — retired engineer, self-declared “beverage control officer.”

Mick: Too right, mate. First rule aboard Wagtail: skipper sails; I handle the beer.

Leonard: That’s why he keeps getting invited back. Righto, raise the sails. Wind’s sou’east, nice and steady. Daniel, you can give the halyard a good pull — that’s it, up she goes!

Daniel: She catches fast! Wow, that push... feels alive.

Leonard: Mind your head! Boom’’s about to swing — tacking starboard!

Daniel: Whoa — close one! I nearly got the full baptism.

Leonard: Ha! Happens once to everyone, mate. After that, you duck automatically. All right, beers up, eyes on Pelican — first of the estuary markers coming up. Let’s show these blokes the lawyers still mean business on the water!

___________

Voice-over

As Leonard puts it: Thirty years and it never gets old. You watch the sun drop behind the mangroves, the tide runs out — same rhythm, same laughs. Keeps you sane after a week of contracts and clients.

Conversation at a Funeral

On arriving from afar…

Way back when...

Patrick: I drove past our first house on Park Road.

Charles: How does it look now?

Patrick: Much the same. No additions or alterations. Change of paint.

Charles: How many years since you saw it?

Patrick: Way back. About thirty. Where are you living now?

Charles: I took refuge on a ten-acre block out in the hills. Bit of bush, a few hens, and too much time to think.

Patrick: Sounds idyllic. Beats trudging through airports.

Charles: And now you’re back attending funerals, same as the rest of us.

Patrick: Yes. Parents go, teachers go, now our peers are going.

Charles: Makes one wonder about one’s own passing. I’ve laid a few tentative plans. A simple cremation, ashes scattered among the manuka on my block. No speeches.

Patrick: I suppose that’s what we’re all after. Not grandeur, just quiet endings.

_________

Voice-over

Charles reflects that when they were young the talk was about houses, children, jobs, the future. Patrick follows up about putting things in order so others don’t have to tidy up after. 

White Cushion Rabbit

Not quite a white rabbit, more like a mottled taupe lapin, but close enough for a printed cushion to carry an incantation. This outrageously dressed binocular rabbit in shades invited himself in, and has made himself at home, fortunately doesn’t eat much, sleeps on the sofa, offering services such as chair of the Christmas Decorations Committee until…  TBD. I suggested he go over to MONA in Hobart to design avant-garde installations, but he said he is currently a bit busy preparing to launch a YouTube channel as an influencer peddling a line of Rabbitwear and needs a place to stay.

Mad Max Paddock Garage

Inheriting a car…

Fred: It was the old man’s. He was 99 and still driving until a month before he died.
Max: Well, some panels are a bit squew-whiff, but I’ve seen worse. At least it’s all still attached.
Fred: I’m not fussy. Just want the panels pulled straight, hammer out the worst of the crumples, and splash on some paint.
Max: Fair enough. If I sort out that structural ding on the undersill it should pass a warrant. You want factory paint or close enough that it looks the same in dim lighting?
Fred: Second option.
Max: Ha! All right. I’ll blend it as best I can.
Fred: Uh huh. How long do you reckon this’ll take?
Max: Maybe three days. There’s that Hilux ahead of you.
Fred: OK. And the damage to my wallet?
Max: Call it $550 for the panel beating and another $150 for paint and finishing. Eight all up. Cash.
Fred: Righto. That’s cheaper than counselling to deal with losing the car entirely.
_________
Voice-over
Paddock mechanics generate stories of rural sheds, field workshops, and DIY mechanical wizardry in folklore, books, and oral history downunder. A few days after I picked it up, I gave it a service and have been using for the past five years. Who needs a new one when it’ll be dinged up in the supermarket parking lot?

The Grasshopper with Ballerina Aspirations

Reviewing plans…

Zaha: I’ve decided. I’m going to stay another year in ballerina training. 

Felicity: How admirable, darling. And might a job search be on the cards?

Zaha: Well, Elon Musk says AI and robots will soon do all the work—white collar, blue collar, maybe even tutu collar. Governments will provide income just so we humans can twirl about and still buy coffee.

Felicity: Very futuristic, Zaha. But until the robots start delivering your lattes, it’s still me footing the bill.

Zaha: You make it sound like charity. Think of it instead as patronage. Michelangelo had his Pope; I have you.

Felicity: But tell me, are you “her” now? Or am I still sponsoring a “him” with delusions of dance?

Zaha: Gender, my dear, is an evolving choreography. I’m a fluid composition. And you said you enjoy it. You like having me as a pet that occasionally quotes Aesop.

Felicity: If you’re comparing yourself to the grasshopper, I suppose that makes me the ant—working diligently while you serenade the summer.

Zaha: Exactly! And now that the AI winter is coming, you’ll need my songs and dances to keep your soul warm.

Felicity: Or perhaps I’ll just program a robot grasshopper. Cheaper and less likely to borrow my scarves.

Zaha: Robots lack flair. I bring humanity, nuance, and a certain tragic grace. You can’t 3D-print that.

Felicity: And when your Muskian utopia arrives, will the government also reimburse me for creative babysitting?

Zaha: Society will reward nurturers. You’ll be a heroine of cultural metamorphosis: the Ant Queen.

Voice-over
We might hope that Zaha opens a dance studio and teaches workshops, students pay tuition and Felicity has an easier task caring for, and controlling, her grasshopper.

Zines for Assessment

On Outwitting AI…

Kay: Need to minimize students’ reliance on AI in the media course.
Geoff: You might want to try zines.
Kay: Heard of them, would they help?
Geoff: As you know, they’re DIY, small-scale publications—usually handmade, often visually expressive. Tactile and personal, helps create a voice instead of generic AI output.
Kay: How would I frame them as an assessment device?
Geoff: Have students create a semester-long zine documenting their evolving perspective on the future of media—notes, sketches, experiments, even failed ideas.
Kay: AI could still generate some content, right?
Geoff: Possibly, but you can design prompts that are difficult for AI to answer meaningfully—like asking them to include autobiographical media experiences or classroom observations.
Kay: Right. Something like “Describe a media technology that changed the way your family communicates.” AI can’t fabricate their lived experience convincingly.
Geoff: Exactly. And you can require handwritten elements, collage work, or annotations on physical artifacts—ticket stubs, screenshots, receipts, doodles. Physically giving a break from screens, which is ironically relevant in a course on media futures.
Kay: We could have checkpoints—maybe mid-semester mini-zine submissions.
Geoff: And at the end, they turn in the final zine but keep a copy—either by scanning, photographing, or printing a second run. That way it becomes part of their own creative archive. Another idea: ask them to incorporate a prediction about future media that they track and revise over the semester.
Kay: A “living hypothesis” section! They could show erasures, edits, footnotes—almost like visible thinking.
__________
Voice-over
Visible thinking is key. AI can generate text, but it can’t reproduce the messy evolution of human insight.

Smallest Air BnB in Tassie

Emerging from Richmond Gaol…
Geoff: Well—I'm a free man again!
Hector: Not so fast, mate. Nobody leaves Richmond Gaol without serving time at the gift shop.
Geoff: Ha! Thought I’d done my time in there. You mean I’ve got to pay for my freedom?
Hector: That’s the system, friend. Ticket in, trinket out. It’s a strict parole policy here.
Geoff: Got any caps? In green?
Hector: Green? You’re in luck. Tasmanian gumleaf.
Geoff: Hm. Nice fit. But I’d feel like I was marked. Or out on parole.
Hector: Wear it with pride. Everyone leaves here with something—souvenir, trauma, or both.
Geoff: Speaking of trauma, that solitary confinement cell… that’s grim.
Hector: Smallest Airbnb in Tasmania. No windows, no Wi-Fi.

Small Air BnB

Geoff: I stood in there for thirty seconds and felt my sanity slipping.
Hector: Some say they can hear ghosts.
Geoff: And the flogging room—those iron hooks on the beam… Gives you chills.
Hector: Ah, the “exercise room.” 
Geoff: How do you put up with it?
Hector: I’m two years into my sentence here. First six months I jumped every time a door slammed.
Geoff: Two years, eh? What did you do to get posted here?
Hector: Poor career planning. Didn’t read the fine print on “Heritage Interpretation Officer.”
_________________
Voice-over
Geoff got off lightly with a green prison cap, remarking he was lucky he wasn’t an inmate back in the 1830s. 

Go-around

Cockpit communication
First Officer: Problem in the cabin. Flight attendant just collapsed. Tom is doing initial assessment: checking airway, respiration, and circulation.
Captain: Understood. Ask him how long until the cabin is secured for landing.
First Officer: Twenty minutes to address medical emergency and secure the cabin. Meal trays are still out but not yet collected.
Captain: Twenty minutes? We're only fifteen from touchdown. 
First Officer: Maybe declare a medical emergency with ATC. We won't have time to land safely with the cabin unsecured.
Captain: We'll initiate a go-around. This should give the crew the extra time needed to stabilize the situation and secure the cabin properly. Wheels up.
_______________
Voice-over
So we did go round again. The passengers had to wolf down their curries before trays were hastily collected. And on landing the flight attendant was taken off first.

White Orange Rabbit

Time for the WHITE RABBIT, WHITE RABBIT, WHITE RABBIT incantation. For white read Orange as we broomstick out of an ochre October into an amber November.

Halloween has been unavoidable manywheres recently, but I was surprised the other day by the special orange menu outside an INDIAN restaurant, Roti Boti. Curries, nans, rices – all orange. Lashings of turmeric and plenty of pumpkin evidently. The proprietor had given the rabbits a Halloween gig conditional on showing up in orange fur. Takings were apparently up, but there is uncertainty if it was the color of the curries, or the color of the rabbit chefs.
Almost tempted to upgrade to an orange phone.

Charlie and Mamachari

Borrowing a bicycle…
Charlie: I need to pop down to the shops.
Hiroshi: うん、いいよ。うちの二台目の自転車、使っていいよ。Use my Mama-chari.
Charlie: A what? Sorry—did you say mama Charlie? My name?
Hiroshi: ちがうよ！ママチャリ。Mama-chari. Not your name! Means “mother’s bike”.
Charlie: Oh, like a shopping bike? Does it have gears?
Hiroshi: 三段だけ。でも坂道はちょっときついよ。Have basket and gears three.
________________
Voice-over
A totally practical Japanese bicycle… ママfor mother, チャリ short for charinko, link to “chariot” undetermined.

The Ballerina also READS

Coping with a feisty research assistant…

Antonio: I need a summary of Mali’s history by close of play today.
Olivia: I have a ballet class this afternoon.
Antonio: OK. Midday?
Olivia: I’ll try. Need new reading glasses, you know.
Antonio: Get me all you can about Mansa Musa. If it’s good, I’ll foot the bill for new reading glasses.
Olivia: And new ballet shoes?
Antonio: Give an inch, they take a mile.
__________
Voice-over
Ad for a position considered: “Rigorous reading assistant needed.” Not mentioned: “No drama queens or ballerinas.” But what fun is scholarship without a bit of riposte?

Carnivore vs Vegan

Down the road from the farmers market...

Helen: Nice boots. Did the cow die of natural causes?
Grace: I’m sure it did. Vintage, thank you very much. Reduce, reuse, re-wear.
Helen: Touché. But at least my wardrobe doesn’t scream “I gave up meat but kept the wardrobe of a Bond villain.”
Grace: And yours doesn’t scream, “peace, love, and pulled pork”?
Helen: I am at peace—with my food chain. Circle of life. Hakuna Matata.
Grace: Circle of hypocrisy. Hugging trees, wearing plants, then biting into a burger like it owes you money.
Helen: Pu-lease. You drive a gas-guzzler and preach emissions. Your oat milk alone could drain a lake.
Grace: Okay, water wars aside, let’s talk ethics. A cotton-wearing bacon-eating yogi?
Helen: And you’re a leather-bound contradiction. Kale crusader in cowhide.
Grace: You know, we could both just admit we’re doing our best and leave it at that.
Helen: But where’s the fun in that? Brunch on Saturday?
Grace: Only if there’s a vegan option.
Helen: Jonathan’s does a side dish of salad.
___________
Voice-over
For these two, each always tries to have the last word. Jousting carries judgement. And as Grace, feisty for a vegan, says, “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Travels with a Cactus

Staying with a friend…

Sylvia: You travel with a cactus?
Antonia: That’s Rolenzo. I’m writing a book. Working title: Travels with My Cactus.
Sylvia: Graham Greene?
Antonia: But Rolenzo doesn’t chatter so much as an auntie. Very supportive. Just sits and listens.
Sylvia: I see he has a red streak.
Antonia: Everyone needs a bit of red in their life.
Sylvia: That pencil case? Be strong as cactus. And it’s green. You’re obsessed. Everything you own is green. Your bag, your water bottle, even your socks.
Antonia: Green is soothing. Like moss. Or tea leaves.
Sylvia: Does Rolenzo get a dedication?
Antonia: Of course. Page one.
__________
Voice-over
Antonia goes on to explain why Rolenzo is a perfect travel companion. Doesn’t need to be taken on walks or go sightseeing. “I am enough of a sight,” Antonia heard him whisper once.  Just a stoic little traveller who absorbs sunlight and doesn’t complain.