Today is the ANZAC Day public holiday.

I didn't even know that until I went into the kitchen to make precious, precious coffee just a minute ago. Despite seeing all this stuff about ANZAC day in a discarded copy of The Age I happened to read whilst eating a sukiyaki bento on Collins Street last night. (It was delicious.) I don't know what's wrong with me.

Later that same evening, Bentendo (who is a dark horse) explained, in the process of telling me about his Ghost Dog moment, that his appreciation of said movie is the true hidden origin of the whole "Hagakure" thing. Apparently quotes from the book are featured as intertitles.

I didn't know that, either. I haven't seen it. Maybe I'll watch it tonight. Hell, I could watch it now. I probably should. It might clarify things.

Had Nicholas Ray not one day remarked to Jim Jarmusch: "Dialogue is in the left hand, melody is in the eyes", this blog would never have happened. On slender and delicate threads spun from such tiny details as these do our fates hang.

In other news: a friend from Sydney who was staying here for Next Wave last month has written to enquire after a grey argyle sock.

Here is a picture of the sock:



It's been hanging around for ages. Getting washed occasionally. Hanging around some more. I thought it might be Clexa's for a while. But no.

I was kind of enjoying not knowing whose it was or where it had come from.

Similarly (sort of), whilst my friend of the lost sock was here, she discovered, concealed in a coat, or a handbag, or some such, found in a Chapel Street op shop, a sizeable bag of white powder. We couldn't figure out what it was.

I asked her about it the other day. She said she still had it. And she still didn't know what it was.


[POSTED BY TEIGAN]