I turned in piously early last night, but was kept awake by Wayne Newton calling...
Woooork! Work! Work! Work! Cavort! Cavort! Cavort! Cavort! Cavort! Cavort! Cavort!!
Woooork! Work! Work! Work! Cavort! Cavort! Cavort! Cavort! Cavort! Cavort! Cavort!!
...into the downpipe outside my window. Or it could have been a frog.
Was Wayne trying to tell me that I must get all my chores done before I play? Or was the gem of Newtonian logic that all my current toil will lead to a great deal of fun, and not to lose heart? Whichever it was, he kept it up for an hour or more, so it must have been important. It's nice to know he's looking out for me.
19 January 2005
12 January 2005
The Ties That Bind
Life -- as usual -- has taken a twist with a wry flavour. My six-year-old niece has been really unwell over the past week or more. Really unwell. She's been lethargic, vomiting, hasn't eaten or drunk anything for many days. She went into hospital today and it looks like she has pneumonia.
A day or two ago I heard her crying in bed; I went in to comfort her and find the cause -- she was terrified she was dying. Tiny and skinny with great dark circles under her eyes, she looked it, to be frank. I almost cried with her. No amount of stickers or cuddles or soothing words could calm the fear of the needles and tubes and beeping instruments as she huddled, rigid, in the enormous and foreign hospital bed today.
A couple of days prior her 3 year old sister disappeared, and we thought she'd run off down the street, as she has a habit of doing from time to time. We'd been frantically searching the neighbourhood for a while -- me by the creek, her mother anxiously along the main road -- when I heard her screaming from our house. She'd been there all along, but was hiding as we went around calling her name, then panicked when it dawned on her that we'd both left the house. When I made it back to her at the gate and picked her up she gripped tight to my body and howled.
Why wry? One of the factors that made taking off around the world seem so appealing was my relative lack of ties. These events have only served to highlight the ignorant stupidity of that idea in big fluorescent arrows, several rows of underlining and a twenty point bold typeface. I have ties a-plenty.
Elder Niece's pleas for me not to leave are becoming more frequent, and more heart-breaking. I'm beginning to understand why people grow less mobile as they grow older. The wonderful thing to come out of all of this, though, is that it's brought home just how important a place I hold in this family. Seems strange to say it, but I'd never really noticed that before.
A day or two ago I heard her crying in bed; I went in to comfort her and find the cause -- she was terrified she was dying. Tiny and skinny with great dark circles under her eyes, she looked it, to be frank. I almost cried with her. No amount of stickers or cuddles or soothing words could calm the fear of the needles and tubes and beeping instruments as she huddled, rigid, in the enormous and foreign hospital bed today.
A couple of days prior her 3 year old sister disappeared, and we thought she'd run off down the street, as she has a habit of doing from time to time. We'd been frantically searching the neighbourhood for a while -- me by the creek, her mother anxiously along the main road -- when I heard her screaming from our house. She'd been there all along, but was hiding as we went around calling her name, then panicked when it dawned on her that we'd both left the house. When I made it back to her at the gate and picked her up she gripped tight to my body and howled.
Why wry? One of the factors that made taking off around the world seem so appealing was my relative lack of ties. These events have only served to highlight the ignorant stupidity of that idea in big fluorescent arrows, several rows of underlining and a twenty point bold typeface. I have ties a-plenty.
Elder Niece's pleas for me not to leave are becoming more frequent, and more heart-breaking. I'm beginning to understand why people grow less mobile as they grow older. The wonderful thing to come out of all of this, though, is that it's brought home just how important a place I hold in this family. Seems strange to say it, but I'd never really noticed that before.
10 January 2005
Calling Brisneylanders!
You are enthusiastically invited....
Wear your sequins as I warm the seats at The Pavillion one last time. Hanky required.
Wear your sequins as I warm the seats at The Pavillion one last time. Hanky required.
9 January 2005
Give Me My Fuzz Box
Over the years the ABC has produced some truly magnificent "pop culture" shows - think Beat Box, Edge of the Wedge, Mondo Thingo - and then axed them at the height of their popularity. Not so Rage.
Rage sashayed onto the cathode-ray scene in 1987, and has been entertaining drunks, stoners and insomniacs every weekend since. One habit Rage has developed in recent years is replaying episodes of Countdown. I highly approve. As for most style-conscious youngsters of the Seventies and early Eighties, Countdown was a non-negotiable entry in the weekly viewing schedule. Tonight we saw an episode from 1987.
Little did I realise when I sat down that I was revisiting a seminal moment in popular music: the episode was hosted by Kylie Minogue, who was introduced with the explanation, "from Neighbours". Later in the show a pre-collagen Ms Minogue squeaked out her debut single, Locomotion. ("For more on Kylie's relationship with Jason, pick up your copy of Countdown magazine, featuring Bon Jovi on the cover.")
Everyone is well aware that big hair was de rigueur in the Eighties, but I had quite forgotten just how freely guitarists masturbated the necks of their axes. (Look away, Nana!) This theme was taken to its logical conclusion in the video to Prime Mover, in which the guitars choked animated ejaculate over young sleeping girls, turning them magically into snarling, slutty leather babes, understandably desperate to writhe lustily over the hot 'n' studly band. I couldn't see that twist coming, I swear. Nor the starchy matron coming in on the scene with pursed lips, shocked, only to be blown up. Ah, geez, those guys....how do they come up with these ideas?
Other notable appearances, for your entertainment, included:
But to mock the Eighties is the lazy option.
I was pleasantly surprised to see Paul Kelly perform Look So Fine, Feel So Low with The Coloured Girls. He seemed quite out of place amid the squealing and the frizzy do's and the waving Snoopy dolls, but he was young, had hair and showed every sign of settling comfortably into the throne he occupies today. Fellow icon Joe Camilieri was also sporting hair tonight, but it clearly had the white flag at the ready. The highlight of the show for me, without a shadow of a whisper of a hint of a doubt was....The Stems. I almost shrieked like a hormonal sixteen-year-old. That Dom Mariani isn't a household name in this country is astonishing. I mean, beggars belief. If you haven't heard The Stems or DM3 or any of this freakish genius's other musical delights, find them! Hunt them down! Your life will begin the moment you press play. Trust me on this one. (What is it with Perth musicians? The isolation? The water? More spare garages?)
My musical tastes were cast in the Eighties, so I plead guilty to bias without hesitation, however....if I was condemned for eternity to hear only tracks from the Australian indie music scene from that decade it would be no great punishment. But then, this girl's just a sucker for a fuzz box.
Rage sashayed onto the cathode-ray scene in 1987, and has been entertaining drunks, stoners and insomniacs every weekend since. One habit Rage has developed in recent years is replaying episodes of Countdown. I highly approve. As for most style-conscious youngsters of the Seventies and early Eighties, Countdown was a non-negotiable entry in the weekly viewing schedule. Tonight we saw an episode from 1987.
Little did I realise when I sat down that I was revisiting a seminal moment in popular music: the episode was hosted by Kylie Minogue, who was introduced with the explanation, "from Neighbours". Later in the show a pre-collagen Ms Minogue squeaked out her debut single, Locomotion. ("For more on Kylie's relationship with Jason, pick up your copy of Countdown magazine, featuring Bon Jovi on the cover.")
Everyone is well aware that big hair was de rigueur in the Eighties, but I had quite forgotten just how freely guitarists masturbated the necks of their axes. (Look away, Nana!) This theme was taken to its logical conclusion in the video to Prime Mover, in which the guitars choked animated ejaculate over young sleeping girls, turning them magically into snarling, slutty leather babes, understandably desperate to writhe lustily over the hot 'n' studly band. I couldn't see that twist coming, I swear. Nor the starchy matron coming in on the scene with pursed lips, shocked, only to be blown up. Ah, geez, those guys....how do they come up with these ideas?
Other notable appearances, for your entertainment, included:
But to mock the Eighties is the lazy option.
I was pleasantly surprised to see Paul Kelly perform Look So Fine, Feel So Low with The Coloured Girls. He seemed quite out of place amid the squealing and the frizzy do's and the waving Snoopy dolls, but he was young, had hair and showed every sign of settling comfortably into the throne he occupies today. Fellow icon Joe Camilieri was also sporting hair tonight, but it clearly had the white flag at the ready. The highlight of the show for me, without a shadow of a whisper of a hint of a doubt was....The Stems. I almost shrieked like a hormonal sixteen-year-old. That Dom Mariani isn't a household name in this country is astonishing. I mean, beggars belief. If you haven't heard The Stems or DM3 or any of this freakish genius's other musical delights, find them! Hunt them down! Your life will begin the moment you press play. Trust me on this one. (What is it with Perth musicians? The isolation? The water? More spare garages?)
My musical tastes were cast in the Eighties, so I plead guilty to bias without hesitation, however....if I was condemned for eternity to hear only tracks from the Australian indie music scene from that decade it would be no great punishment. But then, this girl's just a sucker for a fuzz box.
6 January 2005
Place Your Bets
Those of you who are of a speculative nature will not doubt be eyeing the betting sheet for the upcoming Academy Awards. I have no interest whatsoever in the Oscars, but bring it up merely as a way of sidling Centrebet into the conversation. Neither a punter nor a celebrity hound, I find Centrebet entertaining, nonetheless.
I discussed Centrebet in a my very first post here; I stumbled across it during our last Federal election, when it was being held up in the media as a reliable barometer of the nation’s voting intentions. As it happens, their reputation was well deserved on this occasion: their odds reflected the outcome of the polls remarkably accurately, sad to say. Impressed, I now drop by every few weeks to cast an eye over what’s on offer.
Although primarily a sports-betting site, Centrebet also offers odds on a variety of other events, currently the aforementioned Oscars, the Grammys, who will host the 2012 Olympics (Paris is looking good, Moscow somewhat less so) and another rather interesting tote: What Will Happen First in 2005? The listed events are all sports-related, so I don’t actually have the remotest idea what they mean, but it’s an interesting concept. 2005 is shaping up to be an eventful year for yours truly, so I pondered what my own poll might look like.
What Will Happen First in 2005?
- I will run out of money overseas and have to slink home
- I will stop dying my hair
- I will find a job overseas
- Thomas and I will fight and stop travelling together
- I will cease to be single
- Thomas will wear bathers in public
- I will have my camera stolen
- I have my backside felt/pinched in Rome
- Thomas will have his camera stolen
- I will have my Canadian work visa approved
- Thomas has his backside felt/pinched in Thessaloniki
- I will vomit as a result of weird foreign food
- I will affect an irritating non-Australian accent
- I have an incredibly weak stomach
- I have never gone without dying my hair for more than a couple of months (that’s with effort)
- I have been single for a long time
- Thomas is hyper-vigilant in guarding his possessions
- I am hopeless in guarding my possessions
- More than one Brit has mistaken me for British
- The Canadian visa seems dependant on my ability in French (i.e. not looking good)
- Thomas and I both have flat, unappealing backsides (to match our personalities)
- In the five years I’ve known him, I’ve only seen Thomas wear bathers in public three times
As for myself, some of these events seem a good deal more likely than others, but life being what it is, you never can tell. Whatever this year holds for you, I hope it's an interesting one, and that you still have your camera in 2006.
4 January 2005
My Body is Revolting
Neck cramps. Blurry vision. Spinal spasms. Numb and tingling right arm. Litter of cups and food wrappers radiating from keyboard. I suspect I've been spending a wee bit too much time worshipping the One-Eyed God* of late. My body has had enough, and it's mounting a seige.
The hypnosis of the machine allowed me to ignore these corporal irritants for a time, but losing feeling in my mousing arm was just a step too far. Alert, but not alarmed, I treated myself to a modicum of novelty - I went outside for a walk.
Blinking fitfully in the glare of the outside world I found wonders out there in the suburbs: cool air! Caressing breezes! Real live three-dimensional people! Lawn mowers! I had only intended going as far as the local shops to pick up supplies, but the joy of blood sparkling through my limbs lead me onto the park.
The rains came at the optimum time this year to give everything green a good footing leading into the stunting hot weather. The park had changed markedly since I last visited - was it really that long ago? - and it was green, green, green and bursting, wild and tangled, the creeks flowing, skittering critters rustling the grasses, all of it bellowing LIFE! I couldn't help but agree. I think I'll go back again tomorrow.**
In a further effort to resolve the troubled relations between mind and body I engaged the services of a masseur to help broker a peace deal. Draped over the masseur's chair I realised that pain is relative to its cause. As his fingers burrowed cruelly into the inflamed knots in my shoulder I grunted and sighed with eye-rolling relief; had that same sensation occurred in my toe and been the result of it having collided with a table leg, howling and sympathy-seeking would be the only foreseeable result. Maybe that I was paying $60 an hour was an influence here.
Regardless, the siege has been quietened momentarily. But the peasants are still restive. I wonder if they eat cake?
* Those of lesser faith may know It as a "computer".
** For those of you taking notes, I spotted:
- 2 pale-headed rosellas
- 4 galahs
- 1 Indian mynah dragging a length of plastic wrap into its termites' nest bunker
- 2 cattle egrets
- 3 747's
- 1 juvenile water dragon
- several mango trees heavy with softball-sized fruit
- 5 serves of cane toad jerky
- 1 man with prodigious beergut wearing only Dimmey's hotpants at halfmast
- more rainbow lorikeets than I could be bothered counting
- 1 banana bird
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