Oiling The Wheels Of The Machinery Of State With My Own Precious Blood

Otherwise known as full time work for the Child Support Agency, doing things that are highly unstimulating for a Level Two public service paycheque.

Frankly Mr Shankly, this position I've held,
It pays my way, but it corrodes my soul,
I want to leave, you will not miss me,
I want to go down in celluloid history!

...

Fame, fame, fatal fame,
It can play hideous tricks on the brain,
But still I'd rather be famous, than righteous or holy,
Any day, any day, any day ...
The Smiths, 'Frankly Mr Shankly'

They hired about twenty people and I was amongst five who were singled out for the slightly more complicated work. Since that time, I've been given special praise a couple of times so I'm probably one of the best couple they hired, and aren't I proud of it. Oh bureaucratic masters, I'll roll over if you'll scratch my tummy! Feed me more heartrending letters from abandoned mothers to process! Worst of all, I'm being infected with the vocabulary of the place. Acronyms. NAPs, S120s, S72As, 101s, 102s, CRNs, TFNs, CSIDs, RDs, are my breakfast, lunch and tea. I no longer do things, I 'action' them. Call me verbed.

The scary thing about it all is, the world actually needs people in my position. Today I arranged for probably around $5000 of child support payments to actually reach their intended destination. I hope this means that some cute kids somewhere get decent Christmas presents. Don't think I have any sense of pride or interest in the work I'm doing. I have interest, it's true I suppose; but it's more of the 'what an interesting disease' variety - a sneering, uncomprehending evil glare at the labyrinthine parameters of my struggles with paperwork and excruciating, complex databases. Every letter that arrives at the place carries with it the strongest sense of dramatic irony. Every 'client' (read penny-pinching father or struggling single mother in most cases) seems to think there's some kind of organised, functioning system behind the facade of press liaison officers and call centre quality of service audits. Must be because all the letters we send out come from the Regional Registrar herself, Glenda Scott. She doesn't actually see any of them, mind. She's signed her very signature over to the public domain, making it the property of every employee of the CSA in Western Australia.

Category Errors

Colin Zeal knows the value of mass appeal,
He's a pedestrian walker, he's a civil talker,
He's an affable man, with a plausible plan,
Keeps his eye on the news, keeps his future in hand.
And then he -
Looks at his watch, he's on time, yet again!
He's so pleased with himself ...,
Blur, 'Colin Zeal'

Have done a number of web quizes lately. I taste like coffee, bitter but popular in the workplace, or almonds, sweet-scented but laced with cyanide. My hamster-equivalent is the Chinese Dwarf Hamster. I'd star in a romantic film - I respect myself far too much to be in a porno. My soul comes from the ocean. If I were in The Princess Bride, I'd be Westley. If I were a cocktail, I'd be a Tequila Sunrise. That's because my favourite things are games, music and friendship, and I'm gregarious, entertaining and popular. My self esteem is right in the middle, and I'm destined to have sex with Jude Law (there are certainly worse choices).

A while ago, people used to categorise themselves and others to work out their identities. These days, I think, categorisation is intended to mystify and subvert. Every person wants to be weighed down with as many prefixes and suffixes, as many occupations, talents and wacky traits as they can, all in order to disguise from the rest of the world their central, core, inevitable boringness. This is a harsh and unduly negative way of looking at things, I know. It's just sometimes how I feel. And this applies to me, as well. I feel burdened with too many mediocre gifts whilst lacking any that are truly significant. Today.

The title of this web-log has changed again. I got told by someone that the old name was their primary school motto, which gave it a rather banal odour. Not what I intended. I'm not sure I like the new title much, but at least I can be fairly sure that it's not anyone's primary school motto! The bird at the top is a kingfisher - my favourite kind of bird, and I think probably my favourite animal as a result. Look, bad ugly Entro likes cute birds!