[Miscellany]
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Welcome home
It's the first time in about seven years that I've contemplated buying an umbrella. I've gotten used to not needing one, gotten used to the stability in the weather and the dryness in the air, gotten used to a belief that clouds do not equal rain and have become comfortable in the consistency of there being no rain. Lately it's been raining a lot and I'm always caught out. It always seems to happen when I'm too far from my car, or wearing something inappropriate. Why it can't rain when I'm already planning a day inside is beyond me?
On Friday afternoon I stood outside talking to a parent after school when suddenly the sky opened, interrupting our conversation and dropped a motherload on us. We all ran for shelter; children, toddlers, grandpas, parents and teachers - screaming and laughing and commenting on the rain. Then we stood in silence and watched the fat, heavy raindrops blanketing the playground in sheets and sheets of water.
Some children ran into the puddles, stomping their feet and smiling up at the sky while others twirled and danced and laughed. The boys, of course ran for the drain pipes, soaking their legs and arms in the heavy waterfall that rushed down onto them. No one tried to stop them. No one called them back. This was a rare moment we had all shared when we were small but was foreign to this new generation. Let them play. Let them try to catch rain in their mouths. Let them get completely soaked.
The adults smiled and watched and remembered their own Melbournian childhoods, filled with days of unpredictable rain and of not being allowed outside to play, savouring the nostalgia of a forgotten memory, finally unlocked.
These are the first children that will grow up knowing the sound of rain hitting a hot tin roof as they fall asleep. The drought is broken. Welcome to Melbourne.
On Friday afternoon I stood outside talking to a parent after school when suddenly the sky opened, interrupting our conversation and dropped a motherload on us. We all ran for shelter; children, toddlers, grandpas, parents and teachers - screaming and laughing and commenting on the rain. Then we stood in silence and watched the fat, heavy raindrops blanketing the playground in sheets and sheets of water.
Some children ran into the puddles, stomping their feet and smiling up at the sky while others twirled and danced and laughed. The boys, of course ran for the drain pipes, soaking their legs and arms in the heavy waterfall that rushed down onto them. No one tried to stop them. No one called them back. This was a rare moment we had all shared when we were small but was foreign to this new generation. Let them play. Let them try to catch rain in their mouths. Let them get completely soaked.
The adults smiled and watched and remembered their own Melbournian childhoods, filled with days of unpredictable rain and of not being allowed outside to play, savouring the nostalgia of a forgotten memory, finally unlocked.
These are the first children that will grow up knowing the sound of rain hitting a hot tin roof as they fall asleep. The drought is broken. Welcome to Melbourne.
Labels: childhood, kids, melbourne musings, memories, nostalgia, rain
Sunday, November 02, 2008
BFF!!!!
In the US they have this day called Halloween, where normal girls dress like sluts and parade about drinking their body weight in alcohol. In Australia we call this very same phenomenon The Melbourne Spring Racing Carnival.
It lasts for 4 weeks.
I just thought I'd point that out because I lost count of the unmentionables I caught sight of yesterday while having breakfast in Flemington (Flemmo). I am now blind.
However, if you are a single bloke (or just an old perve or a lesbian) you should make your way down Racecourse Rd in the next week because there are bound to be more shitfaced girls who can't walk in their heels wearing skirts that go up their bums.
I'm so proud we have something else in common with the US. No wonder we are such good allies.
It lasts for 4 weeks.
I just thought I'd point that out because I lost count of the unmentionables I caught sight of yesterday while having breakfast in Flemington (Flemmo). I am now blind.
However, if you are a single bloke (or just an old perve or a lesbian) you should make your way down Racecourse Rd in the next week because there are bound to be more shitfaced girls who can't walk in their heels wearing skirts that go up their bums.
I'm so proud we have something else in common with the US. No wonder we are such good allies.
Labels: bff, halloween, melbourne musings, similarities
Sunday, August 31, 2008
The Funeral March.
Is Feminism Dead?
It's a question that gets asked every so often, usually on a slow news day, or when a problem comes up that no one has the answer to (I know, let's blame feminism!) or when someone releases a new book on the subject. It's the question that was asked in today's Weekend Australian and the subject debated at tonight's forum From Friedan to Feministas - as part of the Melbourne Writer's Festival.
Is Feminism Dead?
Well, I don't know. I've heard asked so many times over the last 10 years (it's been over 10 years now that the famous article in Time came out) that I have to wonder whether feminism truly has 9 lives? It's dead, then it's alive and kicking and responsible for all the world's ills and then remarkably it's dead again and then...uh oh someone brings up maternity leave in politics and suddenly there it is - feminism - pounding down single buildings with its gigantic (hairy, un-pedicured, lesbian, dirty man-hating - no doubt-) foot and causing all the trouble again. Either it's dead or alive, let's decide on one and leave it at that.
Indeed if we really do pronounce it dead - who the hell killed it?
Was it the Paris Hilton wannabe internet porn stars? Is it the misplaced Spice Girls fans? Is it the "I take pole dancing lessons because it's a great way to keep fit" darlings of the night club scene? Is it the women who don't want to call themselves a feminist because they're "not lesbians and don't hate men" as if asserting somehow that all feminists are this. Is it the deliberate media bashing that feminism garners? Is it single mothers? Happily married mothers who decide not to work? Politicians? Prostitutes? Male opinions on blogs? Is it life after university? Is it the new feminists? Are they too different from the old feminists? What is it that pulled the trigger?
If feminism is dead, what killed it?
At tonight's forum, five women (Emily Maguire, Monica Dux, Catharine Lumby and Susan Maushart) from diverse social, political backgrounds came together to discuss the topic of feminism: Namely - Where are we now? What does it mean for us today? And quite frankly five different and dizzying opinions were put forth. From the rarely discussed silent prejudice against single mothers in the workforce who not only find it difficult in the work force but have also given up their superannuation to look after their children. What happens to them at 65? To "feminism is everywhere" - it's all around us. It's anything but dead - it's alive and kicking. It's still inspiring. It's still happening and though it's more diverse, it's still strong. To an assertion that we should give up the name as it is meaningless and an antagonist for negative opinion. And funnily, though she is often cited as an unrealistic role model - Barbie circa 1963 is the epitome of the modern woman today - bleach blonde, fake tan, fake boobs, brazillian wax, too thin, single and working.
Is feminism dead. Is it too exclusive? Too academic? Too middle class?
One brave woman asked about the elephant in the room. What about the men? Is feminism relevant for them - and if so, how? It was an important question that unfortunately came right at the end. You'd think that yes - considering we're all inextricably engaged - men and women - with each other. Considering men father daughters, marry women, fall in love, care for in a platonic way and all are born from one (and too often, these days anyway - are solely raised by them). Well you think it would be relevant. But is it?
Is feminism dead and buried under the onslaught of differing opinions that never meet in the middle?
It was difficult to keep track of all the opinions and indeed while I was wary of some speakers (Catharine Lumby mostly) by and large there were many opinions from all women on the panel that I agreed with. It really brought home the diversity of the feminist opinion. Is there a unified goal or purpose? Perhaps, no. But does it make it an irrelevant movement that has reached it's end? Judging by the audience (yes there were men, only a few - but they were there) there are many who identify as one, even if we all don't quite agree with their opinions exactly. I think at the heart of it all - feminists are aware that all is not quite right and want to see change that drives our society forward into a more harmonious place. A more equal place. That's the way I read it anyway. Indeed, the way we humans live is not quite right for many people, many groups are marginalised by society - and indeed feminists fight not only for women but for pretty much all the groups that are maginalised because all of them are interconnected in some way with feminism. That's how broad it is.
Is feminism dead? What a hostile question! What a sensationalist question and example of lazy journalism. Like anything else, maybe it depends on who you ask, of course.
I'd like to see more bravery happening from women when it comes to feminism, but does that mean it's dead?
And if it is, what the hell does a girl with a blog and a voice and a job and a brain and who is not going to be duped by public opinion to the contrary about what a feminist is. Who believes that all things are not equal ...yet. Who feels there is room for change for both genders. Who understands that not all choices are created equal and the claim that "everyone has a choice" is one of the biggest myths that pervades our consciousness. If feminism is dead. What does that girl call herself?
It's a question that gets asked every so often, usually on a slow news day, or when a problem comes up that no one has the answer to (I know, let's blame feminism!) or when someone releases a new book on the subject. It's the question that was asked in today's Weekend Australian and the subject debated at tonight's forum From Friedan to Feministas - as part of the Melbourne Writer's Festival.
Is Feminism Dead?
Well, I don't know. I've heard asked so many times over the last 10 years (it's been over 10 years now that the famous article in Time came out) that I have to wonder whether feminism truly has 9 lives? It's dead, then it's alive and kicking and responsible for all the world's ills and then remarkably it's dead again and then...uh oh someone brings up maternity leave in politics and suddenly there it is - feminism - pounding down single buildings with its gigantic (hairy, un-pedicured, lesbian, dirty man-hating - no doubt-) foot and causing all the trouble again. Either it's dead or alive, let's decide on one and leave it at that.
Indeed if we really do pronounce it dead - who the hell killed it?
Was it the Paris Hilton wannabe internet porn stars? Is it the misplaced Spice Girls fans? Is it the "I take pole dancing lessons because it's a great way to keep fit" darlings of the night club scene? Is it the women who don't want to call themselves a feminist because they're "not lesbians and don't hate men" as if asserting somehow that all feminists are this. Is it the deliberate media bashing that feminism garners? Is it single mothers? Happily married mothers who decide not to work? Politicians? Prostitutes? Male opinions on blogs? Is it life after university? Is it the new feminists? Are they too different from the old feminists? What is it that pulled the trigger?
If feminism is dead, what killed it?
At tonight's forum, five women (Emily Maguire, Monica Dux, Catharine Lumby and Susan Maushart) from diverse social, political backgrounds came together to discuss the topic of feminism: Namely - Where are we now? What does it mean for us today? And quite frankly five different and dizzying opinions were put forth. From the rarely discussed silent prejudice against single mothers in the workforce who not only find it difficult in the work force but have also given up their superannuation to look after their children. What happens to them at 65? To "feminism is everywhere" - it's all around us. It's anything but dead - it's alive and kicking. It's still inspiring. It's still happening and though it's more diverse, it's still strong. To an assertion that we should give up the name as it is meaningless and an antagonist for negative opinion. And funnily, though she is often cited as an unrealistic role model - Barbie circa 1963 is the epitome of the modern woman today - bleach blonde, fake tan, fake boobs, brazillian wax, too thin, single and working.
Is feminism dead. Is it too exclusive? Too academic? Too middle class?
One brave woman asked about the elephant in the room. What about the men? Is feminism relevant for them - and if so, how? It was an important question that unfortunately came right at the end. You'd think that yes - considering we're all inextricably engaged - men and women - with each other. Considering men father daughters, marry women, fall in love, care for in a platonic way and all are born from one (and too often, these days anyway - are solely raised by them). Well you think it would be relevant. But is it?
Is feminism dead and buried under the onslaught of differing opinions that never meet in the middle?
It was difficult to keep track of all the opinions and indeed while I was wary of some speakers (Catharine Lumby mostly) by and large there were many opinions from all women on the panel that I agreed with. It really brought home the diversity of the feminist opinion. Is there a unified goal or purpose? Perhaps, no. But does it make it an irrelevant movement that has reached it's end? Judging by the audience (yes there were men, only a few - but they were there) there are many who identify as one, even if we all don't quite agree with their opinions exactly. I think at the heart of it all - feminists are aware that all is not quite right and want to see change that drives our society forward into a more harmonious place. A more equal place. That's the way I read it anyway. Indeed, the way we humans live is not quite right for many people, many groups are marginalised by society - and indeed feminists fight not only for women but for pretty much all the groups that are maginalised because all of them are interconnected in some way with feminism. That's how broad it is.
Is feminism dead? What a hostile question! What a sensationalist question and example of lazy journalism. Like anything else, maybe it depends on who you ask, of course.
I'd like to see more bravery happening from women when it comes to feminism, but does that mean it's dead?
And if it is, what the hell does a girl with a blog and a voice and a job and a brain and who is not going to be duped by public opinion to the contrary about what a feminist is. Who believes that all things are not equal ...yet. Who feels there is room for change for both genders. Who understands that not all choices are created equal and the claim that "everyone has a choice" is one of the biggest myths that pervades our consciousness. If feminism is dead. What does that girl call herself?
Labels: dirty femmo, girls and women, melbourne musings, real women, what men want, what women want
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
You know you're a...
It's started: The bitching. This is the one part of classroom teaching I did not miss while being the art teacher. That is; formulating the grade lists and the bitching that inextricably follows. It happens IMO because things are not fairly done. My philosophy on life is that everything MUST be fair for all. I am not one of those people that handle unfairness or favouritism well. Since life isn't very fair then you can imagine how much trouble I have dealing with things in everyday life. I don't simply say 'oh well, that's a spot of bother and just deal' oh no. I stew. I muse, I think, I brood, I get angry and I almost explode if things are not balanced. If things can be made fair then I want them to be fair. To me, that's just the way things should be - even to the point of knowing that if I have it 'too good' that it's time for me to give up some of mine so that others around me can be balanced.
When it comes to formulating grade lists I'm extremely practical about it. I feel that where possible:
1) spread out the pains, painful parents, lovelies, smarties, nutters and weirdos so that everyone has some of each.
2) every child should get a friend - but not have any grades loaded with a group of about 7 girls who "just can't be separated" what bollocks!
3) balanced grades in terms of gender, academic strengths/weaknesses.
4) no child to be with anyone that they are scared of or who we've heard they don't get along with.
In my opinion, this makes the grades more or less balanced. It gives each grade a variety of children with enough like minds to make learning groups of differing abilities. Ie: a normal classroom. Meanwhile Prin's idea of formulating class groups is to think about which kinder they came from or daycare centre and lump them in together with who they spent their last year with. Not only does this undermine teacher judgment of who we think do and don't work well together but it also means that certain grades get loaded with kids from a wonderful thorough kinder and other grades get loaded with the kids from creche who sadly do nothing more than roll around on the floor.
Guess which grade I have my name against for next year? Yep, plus one notorious parent with a child who every teacher already knows (she doesn't even go to the school yet but yes, we all know to look out). This particular parent almost demolished one teachers rep a couple of years ago just because she didn't like him. There is also a child whose brother I taught in my second year of teaching and by golly these parents are ...not nice. There's also the sister of JB. Now, in case you don't remember JB I'm going to refer you back to this post. Apparently his sister exhibits the same tendencies as her brother. I have to say, these days I just adore JB and I was right, of course he dose have aspergers and is still rather strange (but calmed down a lot). In this proposed grade of mine there's TWO OTHER children who don't talk and two with suspected processing issues. Fab.
If all the grades looked like this I wouldn't have a problem, but it's only my grade that looks like a bomb hit it. It's not a case of Prin thinking that I can handle all these "issues". It's just that she didn't want to split children up from the kinder they went to in order to make the grades more fair.
Anyway, suffice to say. I'm really not happy about the situation and of course the team knows it and rather they also know there's nothing I can do about it because Prin doesn't want to hear it. Though I'm using this vehicle of blog to vent, I really don't want to ruin everyone else's nice grades by going to Prin either. I don't want to be the teacher that can't handle it. It's a shit situation and I don't know how to make it nicer for myself. Teaching a grade of prep children is probably the hardest teaching position in the school (I know, since I've been around a bit now) and that's with a normal grade. I hate to think about what's going to happen next year if this grade stays the way it's set out now.
***
Like Amanda, was looking at my recent search engine history and was pleasantly surprised to see that the smut that usually drives people here has been been somewhat curtailed for now. I gather then that I must finally be high brow! Yay! Well maybhe not, but it's interesting to see what bring people here. Even if it has nothing to do with drunk nuns. Once query I thought needed answering..
you know you Melbournian when you
* have at one stage or another whether you are drunk or not sung the words to a your footy team's theme song OR at least to Up There Cazaly.
* Wear layers of clothes that can be easily peeled off or put on depending on the weather. One never assumes..
* love John So even though you really know nothing about him except that he's mayor and has an accent.
* Know where the nearest umbrella is at all times (though really not relevant for the past three years).
* Either love or hate Federation Square but agree that the concrete wasteland full of skater bogans that was there before was waaaay worse.
* Would never swim in the Yarra River, not even for a thousand dollars but LOVE seeing others do it, especially if they are from the Northern states (teehee).
* Remember who Carmen Chan is, or know someone who knows someone who knows someone who lived near her when it all happened.
* you drink real coffee (or are trying to give up), and none of that Starbucks shit either. In fact you look down upon Starbucks. Come to think of it you laugh rather heartily when other people say they got good coffee in say Adelaide or BrisV that one time.
* Have feared the wrath of a Tram driver who dings you with is ferocious bell of doom. DOOOOM!
* Have met someone at Flinders Street Station (and were late - ...and made the joke about being on 'Hurstbridge time' or something).
* Have actively avoided that derro on Smith Street who talks to himself.
* Have seen the bearded large guy who wears dresses on Brunswick Street.
* Still think nostalgically of the silver space suit street busker that would dance weirdly to electronic space music on the corner of Burke and Swanston St.
* Know that eating out is pretty much a pleasure wherever you go. Awesome food, almost everywhere.
* You can find your way to Haighs Chocolates with your eyes closed.
* You've frozen your tits (or other) off at Docklands.
* You remember when it was fucking scary to go anywhere near Spencer Street Station. In fact you refused to go there alone and you still don't *quite* trust it not to be dodgy.
* You miss having a zillion public holidays like the rest of Oz.
* I say "Jeff Kennett yellow penis on the Tulla" and you probably know what I'm talking about.
When it comes to formulating grade lists I'm extremely practical about it. I feel that where possible:
1) spread out the pains, painful parents, lovelies, smarties, nutters and weirdos so that everyone has some of each.
2) every child should get a friend - but not have any grades loaded with a group of about 7 girls who "just can't be separated" what bollocks!
3) balanced grades in terms of gender, academic strengths/weaknesses.
4) no child to be with anyone that they are scared of or who we've heard they don't get along with.
In my opinion, this makes the grades more or less balanced. It gives each grade a variety of children with enough like minds to make learning groups of differing abilities. Ie: a normal classroom. Meanwhile Prin's idea of formulating class groups is to think about which kinder they came from or daycare centre and lump them in together with who they spent their last year with. Not only does this undermine teacher judgment of who we think do and don't work well together but it also means that certain grades get loaded with kids from a wonderful thorough kinder and other grades get loaded with the kids from creche who sadly do nothing more than roll around on the floor.
Guess which grade I have my name against for next year? Yep, plus one notorious parent with a child who every teacher already knows (she doesn't even go to the school yet but yes, we all know to look out). This particular parent almost demolished one teachers rep a couple of years ago just because she didn't like him. There is also a child whose brother I taught in my second year of teaching and by golly these parents are ...not nice. There's also the sister of JB. Now, in case you don't remember JB I'm going to refer you back to this post. Apparently his sister exhibits the same tendencies as her brother. I have to say, these days I just adore JB and I was right, of course he dose have aspergers and is still rather strange (but calmed down a lot). In this proposed grade of mine there's TWO OTHER children who don't talk and two with suspected processing issues. Fab.
If all the grades looked like this I wouldn't have a problem, but it's only my grade that looks like a bomb hit it. It's not a case of Prin thinking that I can handle all these "issues". It's just that she didn't want to split children up from the kinder they went to in order to make the grades more fair.
Anyway, suffice to say. I'm really not happy about the situation and of course the team knows it and rather they also know there's nothing I can do about it because Prin doesn't want to hear it. Though I'm using this vehicle of blog to vent, I really don't want to ruin everyone else's nice grades by going to Prin either. I don't want to be the teacher that can't handle it. It's a shit situation and I don't know how to make it nicer for myself. Teaching a grade of prep children is probably the hardest teaching position in the school (I know, since I've been around a bit now) and that's with a normal grade. I hate to think about what's going to happen next year if this grade stays the way it's set out now.
***
Like Amanda, was looking at my recent search engine history and was pleasantly surprised to see that the smut that usually drives people here has been been somewhat curtailed for now. I gather then that I must finally be high brow! Yay! Well maybhe not, but it's interesting to see what bring people here. Even if it has nothing to do with drunk nuns. Once query I thought needed answering..
you know you Melbournian when you
* have at one stage or another whether you are drunk or not sung the words to a your footy team's theme song OR at least to Up There Cazaly.
* Wear layers of clothes that can be easily peeled off or put on depending on the weather. One never assumes..
* love John So even though you really know nothing about him except that he's mayor and has an accent.
* Know where the nearest umbrella is at all times (though really not relevant for the past three years).
* Either love or hate Federation Square but agree that the concrete wasteland full of skater bogans that was there before was waaaay worse.
* Would never swim in the Yarra River, not even for a thousand dollars but LOVE seeing others do it, especially if they are from the Northern states (teehee).
* Remember who Carmen Chan is, or know someone who knows someone who knows someone who lived near her when it all happened.
* you drink real coffee (or are trying to give up), and none of that Starbucks shit either. In fact you look down upon Starbucks. Come to think of it you laugh rather heartily when other people say they got good coffee in say Adelaide or BrisV that one time.
* Have feared the wrath of a Tram driver who dings you with is ferocious bell of doom. DOOOOM!
* Have met someone at Flinders Street Station (and were late - ...and made the joke about being on 'Hurstbridge time' or something).
* Have actively avoided that derro on Smith Street who talks to himself.
* Have seen the bearded large guy who wears dresses on Brunswick Street.
* Still think nostalgically of the silver space suit street busker that would dance weirdly to electronic space music on the corner of Burke and Swanston St.
* Know that eating out is pretty much a pleasure wherever you go. Awesome food, almost everywhere.
* You can find your way to Haighs Chocolates with your eyes closed.
* You've frozen your tits (or other) off at Docklands.
* You remember when it was fucking scary to go anywhere near Spencer Street Station. In fact you refused to go there alone and you still don't *quite* trust it not to be dodgy.
* You miss having a zillion public holidays like the rest of Oz.
* I say "Jeff Kennett yellow penis on the Tulla" and you probably know what I'm talking about.
Labels: fairness, melbourne musings, school, stressed teachers, teacher dramas
Sunday, November 04, 2007
my moon and me
Toward the end of the week..
Photography class - assignment in.
Dinner with the girls.
..no babies.
Had a financial discussion.
Had an imaginary discussion with the bottom of a glass of red.
They might have been related..
Watched city people wander the streets
Fashionable ladies tapping a merry tune in high heels
the bald man talking to himself
a crazy predicting doom around the corner
and a girl in comfy looking flats and long raven wavy hair that billowed out behind her like a superhero cape.
Ate a lovely dinner
...in a restaurant that looked like the pits - but wasn't.
Saw a house I liked. Saw another house I liked.
Both had major issues.
Maybe I have major issues.
made the perfect batch of scrambled eggs.
Sang along loudly with the radio.
The toast burnt during my crescendo
..it was worth singing the song properly though.
Saw a movie, the whole cinema clapped the ending.
That never happens in Melbourne!
Another dinner - the restaurant looked nicer.
..the food wasn't as good.
looks can be deceiving.
Met family members I hadn't seen in 11 years.
I made them laugh with my stories of woe.
My life isn't so funny when I'm in a room alone, I have to admit.
Met a strange little girl who told me she was going to be a ballerina
...or just magic.
she hadn't decided yet.
She reminded me of me when I was that age.
I felt a bit like I should warn her
...that fairy dreams are fun until they come crashing down
but I didn't.
Made the perfect pizza from scratch
ate some.
Heard a song.
Love at first listen.
Isn't it great when that happens?
My Moon, My Man - Feist
Photography class - assignment in.
Dinner with the girls.
..no babies.
Had a financial discussion.
Had an imaginary discussion with the bottom of a glass of red.
They might have been related..
Watched city people wander the streets
Fashionable ladies tapping a merry tune in high heels
the bald man talking to himself
a crazy predicting doom around the corner
and a girl in comfy looking flats and long raven wavy hair that billowed out behind her like a superhero cape.
Ate a lovely dinner
...in a restaurant that looked like the pits - but wasn't.
Saw a house I liked. Saw another house I liked.
Both had major issues.
Maybe I have major issues.
made the perfect batch of scrambled eggs.
Sang along loudly with the radio.
The toast burnt during my crescendo
..it was worth singing the song properly though.
Saw a movie, the whole cinema clapped the ending.
That never happens in Melbourne!
Another dinner - the restaurant looked nicer.
..the food wasn't as good.
looks can be deceiving.
Met family members I hadn't seen in 11 years.
I made them laugh with my stories of woe.
My life isn't so funny when I'm in a room alone, I have to admit.
Met a strange little girl who told me she was going to be a ballerina
...or just magic.
she hadn't decided yet.
She reminded me of me when I was that age.
I felt a bit like I should warn her
...that fairy dreams are fun until they come crashing down
but I didn't.
Made the perfect pizza from scratch
ate some.
Heard a song.
Love at first listen.
Isn't it great when that happens?
My Moon, My Man - Feist
Labels: don't worry it's not a poem just a list, melbourne musings, musical monday, the list, thoughts
Saturday, August 25, 2007
interlude on a sunny afternoon
This afternoon she smiles knowingly. You see? she teases I can be nice - and nice she is. Golden sunlight stream down between the heavy grey buildings and into her so called famous lane-ways. I walk past those graffitied to perfection in all the right places and those that are dolled up with rows of cafe tables - in order to flirt with a man I'm slightly afraid of. I don't agree with flirting to get what you want, but times are tough and I'm a little desperate.
I arrive at my destination with a bounce still in my step - fresh from a sidewalk packed with sightseers and locals enjoying the surprisingly warm afternoon. I find him in the back of the shop leaning against a wall. He notices me too - how could he not? I have ready to be bought written across my forehead. He by contrast is wearing a hint of sleaze and a gold earring in his ear. He has don't mess with me written across his chest. He could break me without trying I think - but I pretty much think that about all people I meet, though in this case this one I'm guessing actually could.
Against my own will I wonder what it would be like to reach up kiss his full lips - something I wonder about almost all men I come across. I imagine the contrasting tangle of black and white we would create and for a moment I let the daydream creep up along my neck and up to my cheeks. He catches the look and smiles knowingly. This is too easy for him - I smile without any hint of tease, a little embarrassed, and step back. I'm not that girl. I don't know why I thought I could be anything but sincere, even in an exchange that would benefit me.
Back and forth the exchange goes until it seems we both win - or at least both get what we want. I prepare to leave and he looks down at my chest and winks as I step onto the pavement and into the sunlight. My mouth gapes in surprise and I stifle a laugh. Okay, he wins.
I am like a fawn on gangly legs with my newly acquired toy. The old one fit my hand like a glove, and this one is too big, too heavy, too difficult. We argue at each pass - disagreeing with how things should be run. I have the vision but it the technology to make it happen - we haven't learned to work together yet - and I'm just not used to sharing the lead with any dance partner, let alone one that can't talk back. I dip my paintbrush in the light and hand it over - doubtful - this process will take some getting used to.
I arrive at my destination with a bounce still in my step - fresh from a sidewalk packed with sightseers and locals enjoying the surprisingly warm afternoon. I find him in the back of the shop leaning against a wall. He notices me too - how could he not? I have ready to be bought written across my forehead. He by contrast is wearing a hint of sleaze and a gold earring in his ear. He has don't mess with me written across his chest. He could break me without trying I think - but I pretty much think that about all people I meet, though in this case this one I'm guessing actually could.
Against my own will I wonder what it would be like to reach up kiss his full lips - something I wonder about almost all men I come across. I imagine the contrasting tangle of black and white we would create and for a moment I let the daydream creep up along my neck and up to my cheeks. He catches the look and smiles knowingly. This is too easy for him - I smile without any hint of tease, a little embarrassed, and step back. I'm not that girl. I don't know why I thought I could be anything but sincere, even in an exchange that would benefit me.
Back and forth the exchange goes until it seems we both win - or at least both get what we want. I prepare to leave and he looks down at my chest and winks as I step onto the pavement and into the sunlight. My mouth gapes in surprise and I stifle a laugh. Okay, he wins.
I am like a fawn on gangly legs with my newly acquired toy. The old one fit my hand like a glove, and this one is too big, too heavy, too difficult. We argue at each pass - disagreeing with how things should be run. I have the vision but it the technology to make it happen - we haven't learned to work together yet - and I'm just not used to sharing the lead with any dance partner, let alone one that can't talk back. I dip my paintbrush in the light and hand it over - doubtful - this process will take some getting used to.
Labels: art, daydreams, lens, melbourne musings, money, toys
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Love or List?
It's almost midnight and I'm sitting in a comfy booth in Brunetti's eavesdropping on the conversation to my right. A group of about seven 20 somethings are huddled around a too small table and speaking animatedly and loudly - which is pretty indicative of the vibe here anyway. I remember the golden rule of Brunetti's: always circle for a table before you order, otherwise you might find yourself with a coffee but nowhere to sit or a table built for two but awkwardly accommodating 7.
Their conversation is indicative of university life. Going out on a weeknight, what lecturers they hate and what late assignments they still have to think up an excuse for. I find myself both wanting to be a part of their world and yet also happy that I'm not. My companion comes back with a selection of cakes and two cups of steaming coffee. I grab the cup with both hands and bring it up to my cheek, feeling the warmth there.
We're discussing a movie we'd both seen recently: The Last Kiss: L'Ultimo Bacio. A movie about a group of 20-something men who are scared of being trapped into marriage, babies and women. I lament these 20-something men, "does it get worse when they are 30 something I wonder"? My companion is being evasive "..yeeessss" he says slowly drawing the sound out until the last hiss disappears into the laughter of the coffee drinking crowd. "But it not true for everyone".
I make the sound I feel is most appropriate for this statement of his: "Duh".
I take my fork and make an incision into the Tiramisu, it doesn't taste as good as Tiramisu from a pasticceria section with this reputation should. I remember back to my own unimelb days when Brunetti was just a hole in the wall, a place for locals and people who 'knew' where to go for decent coffee and cake. I look at the procession line of people waiting and serving, of cakes handed over at lightening speed and the ever present crowd. Brunetti has suffered the fate of most places which get too popular and corporatised; the quality goes down. I wonder if the same is true for people, for writers, for music, anything.
"How crap is this Tiramisu?" I groan.
"It's sooo bad" he puts his fork down.
"I know 'not everyone'". I sigh - if this conversation is going to take this particular defensive route then I don't want to play. The problem is that you could apply the "not everyone" rule to anything. Not all politicians lie so does that make a difference (generally speaking) to the perception that do? Not all people living in the third world are poor and starving, does that negate the fact that most are?
"ohkaaaay, there is *some* realism to the movie though, right?" I persist.
"yeeeessss" he makes the sound again.
I offer him a nugget "women get scared of commitment too. It's not like men have got the market cornered on that. But in the end if we want love and babies we actually you know act like we want that. Why do men who obviously want love and babies, take so long to realise it?"
"I think a lot of men in their late 20s think they can have anything and anyone. If they still have that same mentality in their 30s then it's because they're idiots" he says simply.
"hmm" The answer doesn't really answer anything and yet, I know what he's trying to say. I actually know quite a few men who have married their first love. They saw a good thing and they took the chance. I know a couple of people who did that and have regretted it too. I know men in their late 20s and early 30s who don't want to be trapped by marriage. I know a few older who want marriage and kids but are wondering where all the women are.
"Is it better to take the chance and marry someone you love, because you love them, or chase the elusive dream of the perfect woman/man which may or may not come along?". I blurt.
"I guess it depends on how happy you are to be lonely" He says matter of factly. "I don't think anyone with such a list will be happy with a human female - OR MALE. They need a fembot"
"manbot" I add.
We laugh.
We've moved onto the other cake now, a chocolate mouse. The chocolate tastes like it's been in the fridge too long.
"This is terrible" I gesture to the mouse.
"This is officially the worst food we've had here" he adds.
"At least the coffee is good" I sigh.
"well, I guess this is the thing isn't it? I mean a list is a list but if you're with someone and you're in love then what makes someone say - "hey I know I'm in love but I'm just going to try for someone who's also a pole dancer, I always wanted to marry a pole dancer"
"well, those would be the idiots I talked about earlier".
"Well why do so many people I know have lists then?"
"I can't help it if you're friends with idiots".
"YOU'RE an idiot". I flick a bit of stale chocolate at him.
****
But seriously. Love or list?
And what about those people can't even DO love WITHOUT the "perfect person" list? What's up with them? Are they idiots or are they normal?
(by list I don't mean "someone who loves me, someone who is caring" etc type of list that is about human decency and what anyone DESERVES. I mean a specific 'perfect person' list" "A blonde. Someone who is a size 0. Someone who plays in a band" etc)
Their conversation is indicative of university life. Going out on a weeknight, what lecturers they hate and what late assignments they still have to think up an excuse for. I find myself both wanting to be a part of their world and yet also happy that I'm not. My companion comes back with a selection of cakes and two cups of steaming coffee. I grab the cup with both hands and bring it up to my cheek, feeling the warmth there.
We're discussing a movie we'd both seen recently: The Last Kiss: L'Ultimo Bacio. A movie about a group of 20-something men who are scared of being trapped into marriage, babies and women. I lament these 20-something men, "does it get worse when they are 30 something I wonder"? My companion is being evasive "..yeeessss" he says slowly drawing the sound out until the last hiss disappears into the laughter of the coffee drinking crowd. "But it not true for everyone".
I make the sound I feel is most appropriate for this statement of his: "Duh".
I take my fork and make an incision into the Tiramisu, it doesn't taste as good as Tiramisu from a pasticceria section with this reputation should. I remember back to my own unimelb days when Brunetti was just a hole in the wall, a place for locals and people who 'knew' where to go for decent coffee and cake. I look at the procession line of people waiting and serving, of cakes handed over at lightening speed and the ever present crowd. Brunetti has suffered the fate of most places which get too popular and corporatised; the quality goes down. I wonder if the same is true for people, for writers, for music, anything.
"How crap is this Tiramisu?" I groan.
"It's sooo bad" he puts his fork down.
"I know 'not everyone'". I sigh - if this conversation is going to take this particular defensive route then I don't want to play. The problem is that you could apply the "not everyone" rule to anything. Not all politicians lie so does that make a difference (generally speaking) to the perception that do? Not all people living in the third world are poor and starving, does that negate the fact that most are?
"ohkaaaay, there is *some* realism to the movie though, right?" I persist.
"yeeeessss" he makes the sound again.
I offer him a nugget "women get scared of commitment too. It's not like men have got the market cornered on that. But in the end if we want love and babies we actually you know act like we want that. Why do men who obviously want love and babies, take so long to realise it?"
"I think a lot of men in their late 20s think they can have anything and anyone. If they still have that same mentality in their 30s then it's because they're idiots" he says simply.
"hmm" The answer doesn't really answer anything and yet, I know what he's trying to say. I actually know quite a few men who have married their first love. They saw a good thing and they took the chance. I know a couple of people who did that and have regretted it too. I know men in their late 20s and early 30s who don't want to be trapped by marriage. I know a few older who want marriage and kids but are wondering where all the women are.
"Is it better to take the chance and marry someone you love, because you love them, or chase the elusive dream of the perfect woman/man which may or may not come along?". I blurt.
"I guess it depends on how happy you are to be lonely" He says matter of factly. "I don't think anyone with such a list will be happy with a human female - OR MALE. They need a fembot"
"manbot" I add.
We laugh.
We've moved onto the other cake now, a chocolate mouse. The chocolate tastes like it's been in the fridge too long.
"This is terrible" I gesture to the mouse.
"This is officially the worst food we've had here" he adds.
"At least the coffee is good" I sigh.
"well, I guess this is the thing isn't it? I mean a list is a list but if you're with someone and you're in love then what makes someone say - "hey I know I'm in love but I'm just going to try for someone who's also a pole dancer, I always wanted to marry a pole dancer"
"well, those would be the idiots I talked about earlier".
"Well why do so many people I know have lists then?"
"I can't help it if you're friends with idiots".
"YOU'RE an idiot". I flick a bit of stale chocolate at him.
****
But seriously. Love or list?
And what about those people can't even DO love WITHOUT the "perfect person" list? What's up with them? Are they idiots or are they normal?
(by list I don't mean "someone who loves me, someone who is caring" etc type of list that is about human decency and what anyone DESERVES. I mean a specific 'perfect person' list" "A blonde. Someone who is a size 0. Someone who plays in a band" etc)
Labels: melbourne musings, men, questions, the list, women, wonderings
Friday, June 08, 2007
The Great Unwind
It's been a long time since you last took this road home. This evening you're on automatic pilot - wheel gripped in hand. This is a form of therapy you can afford - a long drive on a narrow curling ribbon of road with a view of the sun setting behind the trees. Bliss. You think better when the detail has been taken away; the world looks simple and innocent framed by a dusty pink sky behind a silhouette of blackened trees. How did you let things get so cloudy so easily? Why do you tie yourself so tightly to your feelings, emotions and intuition when surely being strategic and clinical is more conducive to getting 'it' done?
You stopped gripping at the wheel a while back and now it glides smoothly through your palms. Breath exhaled. Your mind a series of peaceful alpha waves. The music from the car stereo gives you a bear hug around your heart. The great unwind works every time.
You flash past an elvish row of glowing shop front windows, a decrepit service station, a faded zebra crossing and row after row of thick criss crossed naked trees but none of it matters, it's all just background noise. The world blurs, just like you want it to. This drive is dedicated to an unwinding that doesn't seem to happen as naturally as it did once upon a time. Nowadays it's something you need to schedule into your day. You feel the stress dropping off as you drive further into the trees. Your breathing becomes low and measured with each km clocked up on the odometer. Your thoughts slow down until you can actually think them.
You stopped gripping at the wheel a while back and now it glides smoothly through your palms. Breath exhaled. Your mind a series of peaceful alpha waves. The music from the car stereo gives you a bear hug around your heart. The great unwind works every time.
You flash past an elvish row of glowing shop front windows, a decrepit service station, a faded zebra crossing and row after row of thick criss crossed naked trees but none of it matters, it's all just background noise. The world blurs, just like you want it to. This drive is dedicated to an unwinding that doesn't seem to happen as naturally as it did once upon a time. Nowadays it's something you need to schedule into your day. You feel the stress dropping off as you drive further into the trees. Your breathing becomes low and measured with each km clocked up on the odometer. Your thoughts slow down until you can actually think them.
Labels: drive, melbourne musings, thoughts, unwind
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Sunday morning on Chapel
It was one of those unusually quiet mornings on Chapel. I sip my coffee with quiet contemplation, savouring the bitterness and waiting for it to wake me up. I sigh with the morning, or it sighs with me - the traffic drifts by in waves with engines roaring and then disappearing into the distance. I watch the figure slumped against the shop window across the road. It doesn't move.
I put my coffee down and reach into my bag to put on my glasses and squint. He doesn't move. I stare through gaps in the traffic at the people walking past him, stepping over his lifeless legs, glancing briefly and then walking on. Person after person in their designer sunglasses and polished manicures ignore him. I should do something, call someone, be a hero, do the right thing. I reach for my phone and ...hesitate.
At the same time as my internal crisis rages a young girl, a better girl than I, walks by and stops. She stares down at the man for a moment and walks into the shop to get help. Another young woman emerges with her, a customer service tag clearly identifying her as a shop girl. She looks around nervously. Another day, another body. It is Sunday morning on Chapel after all.
A girl crossing the road at this exact moment sees shop girl and girl huddled together and holds up her phone like a beacon of light as she hurries on towards them. After assessing the problem, she dials and speaks to someone. Young girl, shop girl and mobile girl all look down at the body slumped against the shop window. It hasn't moved at all. Perhaps there is still someone left in there. Then again, perhaps not.
Neither of the three girls is game to touch him. Shop girl leans in close than then pulls away. Young girl does the same and mobile girl looks around for the ambulance she has just called. Where are they?
Hero walks by; he is wearing Havaianas and work man shorts. This is either a man of many talents or a complete poseur. What Seems to be the matter girls? I imagine him asking. He, too peers closely at the body slumped in the window and suddenly pulls away. Perhaps there is an odour, or something equally offensive about the lifeless man. Hero scratches his head and looks at his companions. The others have already done their bit and he needs to up the ante. He leans down and yells hey! down at the guy. Nothing. Not a twitch. He gingerly leans in closer and closer until he is kneeling on the floor. He puts the man into the recovery position. Surely there is a life in there left to save.
They wait. Traffic begins to back up on Chapel as people in their cars slow to catch a glimpse of the show. I watch their rubbernecking, twisted heads and wide eyes as they struggle between a good view of the man and keeping an eye on the road. The sun beats down on the man in the recovery position. A homeless guy with all his worldly goods in tow has stopped in to have a look too. He speaks to the crowd gathered before moving off down the street in a slow shuffle.
The ambulance arrives without fanfare.
The boys get out of their vehicle and they walk towards the man. There is no rushing or yelling, everything is calm and measured. One ambulance guy leans in closely and says something to the man on the floor. Nothing. He reaches out a hand and does something I can't see through the cars in the traffic. The man stirs and awakes. I can feel the relief from here. The man gets up, stumbles and slurs something at the paramedics. He walks into the traffic and towards my side of the road but heads the other way. The boys look at each other scratching their heads and shrugging their shoulders. All in a days work, I guess.
I put my coffee down and reach into my bag to put on my glasses and squint. He doesn't move. I stare through gaps in the traffic at the people walking past him, stepping over his lifeless legs, glancing briefly and then walking on. Person after person in their designer sunglasses and polished manicures ignore him. I should do something, call someone, be a hero, do the right thing. I reach for my phone and ...hesitate.
At the same time as my internal crisis rages a young girl, a better girl than I, walks by and stops. She stares down at the man for a moment and walks into the shop to get help. Another young woman emerges with her, a customer service tag clearly identifying her as a shop girl. She looks around nervously. Another day, another body. It is Sunday morning on Chapel after all.
A girl crossing the road at this exact moment sees shop girl and girl huddled together and holds up her phone like a beacon of light as she hurries on towards them. After assessing the problem, she dials and speaks to someone. Young girl, shop girl and mobile girl all look down at the body slumped against the shop window. It hasn't moved at all. Perhaps there is still someone left in there. Then again, perhaps not.
Neither of the three girls is game to touch him. Shop girl leans in close than then pulls away. Young girl does the same and mobile girl looks around for the ambulance she has just called. Where are they?
Hero walks by; he is wearing Havaianas and work man shorts. This is either a man of many talents or a complete poseur. What Seems to be the matter girls? I imagine him asking. He, too peers closely at the body slumped in the window and suddenly pulls away. Perhaps there is an odour, or something equally offensive about the lifeless man. Hero scratches his head and looks at his companions. The others have already done their bit and he needs to up the ante. He leans down and yells hey! down at the guy. Nothing. Not a twitch. He gingerly leans in closer and closer until he is kneeling on the floor. He puts the man into the recovery position. Surely there is a life in there left to save.
They wait. Traffic begins to back up on Chapel as people in their cars slow to catch a glimpse of the show. I watch their rubbernecking, twisted heads and wide eyes as they struggle between a good view of the man and keeping an eye on the road. The sun beats down on the man in the recovery position. A homeless guy with all his worldly goods in tow has stopped in to have a look too. He speaks to the crowd gathered before moving off down the street in a slow shuffle.
The ambulance arrives without fanfare.
The boys get out of their vehicle and they walk towards the man. There is no rushing or yelling, everything is calm and measured. One ambulance guy leans in closely and says something to the man on the floor. Nothing. He reaches out a hand and does something I can't see through the cars in the traffic. The man stirs and awakes. I can feel the relief from here. The man gets up, stumbles and slurs something at the paramedics. He walks into the traffic and towards my side of the road but heads the other way. The boys look at each other scratching their heads and shrugging their shoulders. All in a days work, I guess.
Labels: decision and indecision, melbourne musings, sunday morning, weird little happenings
Friday, February 23, 2007
cinema under the stars on a balmy night.
The sun had already disappeared behind the buildings by the time we got there. This is the last pretty place left during this drought I sighed as I lowered myself down onto the grass. The lawns were filling up quickly, some families with their children in tow, a couple of lone spectators, girlfriends toasting the summer and couples snuggling into the crooks of each others necks. I notice the little knowing smiles on their faces. I look around at all of us, brightly animated, relaxed and happy. From above we must look like a giant patchwork quilt of colour.
E is swatting at her legs - the mosquitoes a menacing beast. L is busying herself with preparing the food and I am looking out over the wave of people around me. A group of men sharing a slab of beer. A couple smiling at each other. A father, rocking his young daughter to sleep in his arms. He looks at her adoringly. My eyes notice a young woman directly in front of me sitting alone on a picnic rug. Her lipstick is freshly applied and hair looks immaculate. She is a vision... waiting to be viewed. She rearranges the cheese platter a thousand times while looking at her watch, then at her phone and then out towards the entrance. I follow her gaze, hoping to see a man rushing, late, anxious - but there is nothing but more families and giggling girls.
The sky darkens into a hue of mauve, indigo and pink. People are settling into their rugs, lazily picking at their dips and crackers. E is talking about her new pup and L is offering sound advice to stop the night time whining. I am scratching the back of my legs. Stupid prickly grass. The girl with the shiny hair stares at her phone intently. She picks it up to make a call. Frown, hushed whisper, Where are you? But you said.. She hangs up and looks down at her cheese platter. She wipes at her eye - it is a fleeting movement - quick, embarrassed, frustrated. She turns away and looks at the sky.
This brightly coloured patchwork quilt of people are now shadowy silhouettes against the dusky sky and sad girl with the immaculate hair and lipstick looks so alone on her rug for two. A couple of bats fly overhead at the botanical gardens - the last remaining few of a colony relocated elsewhere.
The movie starts and I am staring at sad girl. I would have left by now whispers E. I'd be digging into the food and watching the movie offers L. I'm not sure of what I'd do if I was Sad girl. I think I would have started to cry, but pretended I wasn't.
The opening song has settled the children and there is a strange hush over the crowd as they watch, enthralled by the action on the large screen. Then suddenly from nowhere, there he is - bespectacled and casual. Sad girl looks up and the sadness disappears. I can almost see the lights of electricity dancing around her hair with excitement. He plonks down beside her and gives her a kiss on the cheek. She beams up at him. He will never know how sad she felt when she thought he wouldn't come.
E is swatting at her legs - the mosquitoes a menacing beast. L is busying herself with preparing the food and I am looking out over the wave of people around me. A group of men sharing a slab of beer. A couple smiling at each other. A father, rocking his young daughter to sleep in his arms. He looks at her adoringly. My eyes notice a young woman directly in front of me sitting alone on a picnic rug. Her lipstick is freshly applied and hair looks immaculate. She is a vision... waiting to be viewed. She rearranges the cheese platter a thousand times while looking at her watch, then at her phone and then out towards the entrance. I follow her gaze, hoping to see a man rushing, late, anxious - but there is nothing but more families and giggling girls.
The sky darkens into a hue of mauve, indigo and pink. People are settling into their rugs, lazily picking at their dips and crackers. E is talking about her new pup and L is offering sound advice to stop the night time whining. I am scratching the back of my legs. Stupid prickly grass. The girl with the shiny hair stares at her phone intently. She picks it up to make a call. Frown, hushed whisper, Where are you? But you said.. She hangs up and looks down at her cheese platter. She wipes at her eye - it is a fleeting movement - quick, embarrassed, frustrated. She turns away and looks at the sky.
This brightly coloured patchwork quilt of people are now shadowy silhouettes against the dusky sky and sad girl with the immaculate hair and lipstick looks so alone on her rug for two. A couple of bats fly overhead at the botanical gardens - the last remaining few of a colony relocated elsewhere.
The movie starts and I am staring at sad girl. I would have left by now whispers E. I'd be digging into the food and watching the movie offers L. I'm not sure of what I'd do if I was Sad girl. I think I would have started to cry, but pretended I wasn't.
The opening song has settled the children and there is a strange hush over the crowd as they watch, enthralled by the action on the large screen. Then suddenly from nowhere, there he is - bespectacled and casual. Sad girl looks up and the sadness disappears. I can almost see the lights of electricity dancing around her hair with excitement. He plonks down beside her and gives her a kiss on the cheek. She beams up at him. He will never know how sad she felt when she thought he wouldn't come.
Labels: melbourne musings, what men don't see
Saturday, February 17, 2007
distant thunder rumble...
This is your street today. You can feel the warmth of the smooth black bitumen through the soles of your shoes as you stand waiting for the light to turn green. You lean slightly against the pole and watch the jaywalkers brave the traffic under clouds of charcoal - threatening to burst for two days now.
It feels like there is a small hesitation in the evening before the light finally turns green. Like time stops momentarily, a split of a split of a second, but you notice it. You're not sure what it means. Then you feel like you're being gently pulled by an invisible string down this small street. Feet have no choice but to keep up. Tar, and gravel intercepted by occasional sections of cobblestones make up the road beneath you. Melbourne, once upon a time, you think.
The weather is like a thick blanket - hot and suffocating, but there is something in the air that smells like change. The sun fights its way through the heavy clouds making everything look slightly silver. The sharp triangular peaks of the old buildings glisten under the glare of the sun and the tree leaves look slightly glittery - a celluloid moment. It is not unique though, everything has always been slightly celluloid to you, ever since you can remember. A little twinkle where it shouldn't be, a soundtrack softly whistling in the background, imagined perfect dialogue and always the most brilliant cinematography. Your imagination has always teased you. Reality has finally caught up for a tiny moment, so it seems.
The loud merriment of a group of young people slash through your daydream and you move aside to allow them to pass. They walk arm in arm or hands animated, with hair in loose bunches caught in coloured hair clasps and fabric bags across their shoulders as they make their way towards the university. You miss the simplicity of no adult expectations and of being completely self indulgent. The clouds seem to crack as a distant rumble sounds. You allow the invisible string to pull at your thoughts...
It feels like there is a small hesitation in the evening before the light finally turns green. Like time stops momentarily, a split of a split of a second, but you notice it. You're not sure what it means. Then you feel like you're being gently pulled by an invisible string down this small street. Feet have no choice but to keep up. Tar, and gravel intercepted by occasional sections of cobblestones make up the road beneath you. Melbourne, once upon a time, you think.
The weather is like a thick blanket - hot and suffocating, but there is something in the air that smells like change. The sun fights its way through the heavy clouds making everything look slightly silver. The sharp triangular peaks of the old buildings glisten under the glare of the sun and the tree leaves look slightly glittery - a celluloid moment. It is not unique though, everything has always been slightly celluloid to you, ever since you can remember. A little twinkle where it shouldn't be, a soundtrack softly whistling in the background, imagined perfect dialogue and always the most brilliant cinematography. Your imagination has always teased you. Reality has finally caught up for a tiny moment, so it seems.
The loud merriment of a group of young people slash through your daydream and you move aside to allow them to pass. They walk arm in arm or hands animated, with hair in loose bunches caught in coloured hair clasps and fabric bags across their shoulders as they make their way towards the university. You miss the simplicity of no adult expectations and of being completely self indulgent. The clouds seem to crack as a distant rumble sounds. You allow the invisible string to pull at your thoughts...
Labels: melbourne musings
Friday, January 19, 2007
always about the rain
You can't figure out whether it's the gentle whir of the fan in the room or patter of the rain outside that wakes you up. You lay there for a moment waiting for the grogginess of sleep to wear away while you make up your mind about it. Rain, definitely. The pillows are a little too warm and the room a stuffy reminder of the summer that has so far been just a little too uncomfortable. The fan air swirls over your body but it does little to refresh.
You gather yourself and pad along barefoot to the back door and press your forehead against the screen door watching the light shower outside wash away the stifling sunburn of the past few days. But it's still warm and there's already a film of dew over your shoulders. Coffee, you think would wake you up - give the neurons something to shout about. You drink it while watching the grey clouds drop their precious load over the city. As a child you remember despairing if it rained on the summer holidays but these are desperate times. Now you're smiling over the top of your cup as the morning air plays with the ends of your thin pajama bottoms. Rain on a Friday morning - it's been a while since that happened. It's going to be a good day.
You gather yourself and pad along barefoot to the back door and press your forehead against the screen door watching the light shower outside wash away the stifling sunburn of the past few days. But it's still warm and there's already a film of dew over your shoulders. Coffee, you think would wake you up - give the neurons something to shout about. You drink it while watching the grey clouds drop their precious load over the city. As a child you remember despairing if it rained on the summer holidays but these are desperate times. Now you're smiling over the top of your cup as the morning air plays with the ends of your thin pajama bottoms. Rain on a Friday morning - it's been a while since that happened. It's going to be a good day.
Labels: melbourne musings
Monday, December 11, 2006
heartbeats
We're feeling the effects of the fires blazing in the North East of Victoria through the distinct smell of smoke in the air and haze blocking view of building and tree tops in Melbourne. You know things are bad when you can smell the burn of bushland a few hours north in the heart of the city. The land is ripe for burning - not just Victoria, everywhere really.Everyone is talking about the heat..or not talking at all because it's too much effort - escaping to the smokey beaches, or smokey backyard pools, or anywhere that has air conditioning. I'm thinking about the people in thick of it - making decisions about whether to evacuate or not. Is a house just a house, or is it more than that? I don't know - I'm reminded of Ash Wednesday and how smokey the city was then. I hope the cool change brings some relief for the fire fighters.
My Musical Monday today has no back story, it has no big meaning in my life. It's just a song I like and hell, I first heard it on a television commercial! So kill me for being so pedestrian but hey - I like it, and it's perfect for this little mood I'm going through. I hope you like it too. It's sweet and just a little bit on the sad side.
Jose Gonzales - Heartbeats
Labels: melbourne musings, musical monday
Friday, November 24, 2006
Peaceful Saturday
The day starts off quietly as most Saturday mornings in the city do. Melbourne is still wrapped in a peaceful blanket and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Overlooking the Yarra River while sipping their espresso type people are already wearing their sunglasses in face of the unusually bright sunny morning. It is not quite crisp but not quite warm yet either - somewhere in between, but I've got the air conditioner on anyway - I like things fresh. I turn the wheel this way and that, under the bridge, through the mall frequented by those early morning sightseers and across this city which seems to be in continual refurbishment: The scaffolding like a suit of armor around many of her landmarks.
By the time I've finished my errands and do the drive back through the smooth quiet streets there is a small crowd gathered outside the old pub on the corner of Flinders and Russell. They are leaning against the bricks, propped with signs and giving very good scowls. Jesus invites everyone to the table one sign says. I smile thinking that it only sat 13 anyway. Other signs tell far more blatant messages condemning the G20. The police look on from behind their barricades with a practised indifference. One is learning against the water barrier with both arms, a stoic expression on his face. He's been here before, I can tell and I do a double take because I haven't. It's beginning to warm up now and the sun is being filtered through the leafy part of Finders Street making bright irregular patterns on the footpath and road below. People are smiling and strolling past, some walking hand in hand and gazing around in wonder, others rushing past the NGV with their hands in their pockets. You'd be hard pressed to find a person that cares today, I think to myself.
R.O. and I catch up for lunch. She is missing the city, with its hustle and bustle. Country NSW is a long way off - and Brisbane, the nearest big city just makes her miss Melbourne more. She's sick of the quiet, peaceful serenity of waking up to an eyeful of blue seaside each morning and perfect weather. The lack of stress is making her stressed. I think it sounds divine...for a while anyway. We share little anecdotes about our days apart. I think she'll be back soon.
Later that evening I'm treated to that hustle and bustle when I try to make my way back into the city. Every way in has been blocked off, and the sound of sirens can be heard in the distance. A throng of disheveled people make their presence felt by shouting about fascism and capitalism - but the message gets lost somewhere beneath the drum beats. A young girl rides on her bike holding up a sign admonishing "terrorist capitalists". Further into the city are puddles of broken glass and other bits left over from the riot. I guess people started to care after all.
The police look calm and collected, like the beast has been tamed - many of them have their hands on their hips as they patrol the outskirts of the city, many more control the traffic. I catch one of them, on his own absentmindedly fiddling with this walkie-talkie and looking at the protesters near parliament house with a wistful little smile on his face. Maybe he used to be part of that crowd, maybe he still is, somewhere inside - maybe he doesn't quite agree with the way of the world either. I catch his eye and he winks.
The next day a newspaper reporter wonders who these hippies are and indeed where do they disappear when these events are over? "They're" probably putting a parking ticket on your car right this minute, mate.
By the time I've finished my errands and do the drive back through the smooth quiet streets there is a small crowd gathered outside the old pub on the corner of Flinders and Russell. They are leaning against the bricks, propped with signs and giving very good scowls. Jesus invites everyone to the table one sign says. I smile thinking that it only sat 13 anyway. Other signs tell far more blatant messages condemning the G20. The police look on from behind their barricades with a practised indifference. One is learning against the water barrier with both arms, a stoic expression on his face. He's been here before, I can tell and I do a double take because I haven't. It's beginning to warm up now and the sun is being filtered through the leafy part of Finders Street making bright irregular patterns on the footpath and road below. People are smiling and strolling past, some walking hand in hand and gazing around in wonder, others rushing past the NGV with their hands in their pockets. You'd be hard pressed to find a person that cares today, I think to myself.
R.O. and I catch up for lunch. She is missing the city, with its hustle and bustle. Country NSW is a long way off - and Brisbane, the nearest big city just makes her miss Melbourne more. She's sick of the quiet, peaceful serenity of waking up to an eyeful of blue seaside each morning and perfect weather. The lack of stress is making her stressed. I think it sounds divine...for a while anyway. We share little anecdotes about our days apart. I think she'll be back soon.
Later that evening I'm treated to that hustle and bustle when I try to make my way back into the city. Every way in has been blocked off, and the sound of sirens can be heard in the distance. A throng of disheveled people make their presence felt by shouting about fascism and capitalism - but the message gets lost somewhere beneath the drum beats. A young girl rides on her bike holding up a sign admonishing "terrorist capitalists". Further into the city are puddles of broken glass and other bits left over from the riot. I guess people started to care after all.
The police look calm and collected, like the beast has been tamed - many of them have their hands on their hips as they patrol the outskirts of the city, many more control the traffic. I catch one of them, on his own absentmindedly fiddling with this walkie-talkie and looking at the protesters near parliament house with a wistful little smile on his face. Maybe he used to be part of that crowd, maybe he still is, somewhere inside - maybe he doesn't quite agree with the way of the world either. I catch his eye and he winks.
The next day a newspaper reporter wonders who these hippies are and indeed where do they disappear when these events are over? "They're" probably putting a parking ticket on your car right this minute, mate.
Labels: melbourne musings
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Kensington.
It's Saturday morning and the traffic is gaining momentum. Already the chill is beginning to settle over the city - moving downwards in a slow drizzle of rain across Racecourse Rd. I am standing near a dodgy looking kebab shop trying to avoid the rain and doing my favourite thing; people watching - disguised as looking for a place to have breakfast. Race day is always a fine day for it.
The early morning crowd is finding their way to the station - walking in packs as they do on days such as today; the boys club, the marrieds, the girls. The boys are wearing un-tucked expensive shirts with a faint purple tinge, or pink, or blue, their top buttons undone and their hair styled in gravity defying coifs or hats worn fashionably low over the forehead, like Bogey - but less dangerous. The men are in silk ties and single breasted suits with their hands in their pockets, or juggling their girlfriend's handbag, looking a mixture between uncomfortable and impatient.
A group of women huddled together against the cold tap past in unison. I can't decide whether they look glamorous or are just trying too hard. The fascinators seem to be getting bigger every year and it's not a look that appeals. I look down and chuckle to myself at their footwear (but they're so comfortable, I swear!). The comments do nothing to convince, only to amuse, but the shoes do their work - they look pretty good. Overall, the raceday look for women is as always inappropriate if done wrong and these girls in their too skimpy, slightly trashy, almost nightclub attire looks very wrong. Very, very wrong - but the boys will love it - so you take the good with the bad. One particular girl stands out from the rest - wearing a red dress, simple and modest, but you can tell the material is fine. She has a group of flowers in her hair pinned at the side of her bun, not a stiletto to be seen and no fascinators either. She is a vision - sexy and understated - a flamenco dancer in a sea of nightclub go-goers.
I am fighting to stay beneath the shop awning now as the fine mist coming down from the sky begins to gain strength. The groups of race day goers win by sheer numbers and I am forced to abandon my little post for the harsh reality of the wet footpath. The only place worth eating at is a little cafe on the corner - part bookstore, part eatery. It is comfortable, warm and friendly - and I feel as though I could sit and people watch all day long, undisturbed, from my little vantage point near the window.
I watch the waitress struggle to keep up with her orders - sorry, was that a sausage or a hashbrown?, listen to the cook laugh heartily and find myself sneaking peeks at the long legged man in the chair diagonally opposite. How he folded himself neatly into such a small space and still maintain a sense of quiet confidence is beyond me. He is certainly the biggest presence in this small cafe. I watch him smile to himself as he scribbles something in his notepad. Perhaps he is writing a book, a memo, a love letter or a shopping list. By now, I've learned to do this without the aid of writing materials. Mental notes on everyday, mundane happenings - which are always extraordinary to no one but me tend to stick in my head these days. Every so often the man looks up and out the window at the groups of race goers. He shakes his head and smiles to himself and then intently scribbles something else. He's obviously new at this. Give him time and he'll be able to write those fine details without a pen too.
The drizzle stops and the man, finishes off the last of his coffee, gathers the tools of his trade together and walks out of the cafe. I make a mental note to remember him.
The early morning crowd is finding their way to the station - walking in packs as they do on days such as today; the boys club, the marrieds, the girls. The boys are wearing un-tucked expensive shirts with a faint purple tinge, or pink, or blue, their top buttons undone and their hair styled in gravity defying coifs or hats worn fashionably low over the forehead, like Bogey - but less dangerous. The men are in silk ties and single breasted suits with their hands in their pockets, or juggling their girlfriend's handbag, looking a mixture between uncomfortable and impatient.
A group of women huddled together against the cold tap past in unison. I can't decide whether they look glamorous or are just trying too hard. The fascinators seem to be getting bigger every year and it's not a look that appeals. I look down and chuckle to myself at their footwear (but they're so comfortable, I swear!). The comments do nothing to convince, only to amuse, but the shoes do their work - they look pretty good. Overall, the raceday look for women is as always inappropriate if done wrong and these girls in their too skimpy, slightly trashy, almost nightclub attire looks very wrong. Very, very wrong - but the boys will love it - so you take the good with the bad. One particular girl stands out from the rest - wearing a red dress, simple and modest, but you can tell the material is fine. She has a group of flowers in her hair pinned at the side of her bun, not a stiletto to be seen and no fascinators either. She is a vision - sexy and understated - a flamenco dancer in a sea of nightclub go-goers.
I am fighting to stay beneath the shop awning now as the fine mist coming down from the sky begins to gain strength. The groups of race day goers win by sheer numbers and I am forced to abandon my little post for the harsh reality of the wet footpath. The only place worth eating at is a little cafe on the corner - part bookstore, part eatery. It is comfortable, warm and friendly - and I feel as though I could sit and people watch all day long, undisturbed, from my little vantage point near the window.
I watch the waitress struggle to keep up with her orders - sorry, was that a sausage or a hashbrown?, listen to the cook laugh heartily and find myself sneaking peeks at the long legged man in the chair diagonally opposite. How he folded himself neatly into such a small space and still maintain a sense of quiet confidence is beyond me. He is certainly the biggest presence in this small cafe. I watch him smile to himself as he scribbles something in his notepad. Perhaps he is writing a book, a memo, a love letter or a shopping list. By now, I've learned to do this without the aid of writing materials. Mental notes on everyday, mundane happenings - which are always extraordinary to no one but me tend to stick in my head these days. Every so often the man looks up and out the window at the groups of race goers. He shakes his head and smiles to himself and then intently scribbles something else. He's obviously new at this. Give him time and he'll be able to write those fine details without a pen too.
The drizzle stops and the man, finishes off the last of his coffee, gathers the tools of his trade together and walks out of the cafe. I make a mental note to remember him.
Labels: melbourne musings
Monday, April 17, 2006
an autumn musical monday
Except for the absense of blushing spring blossoms, Autumn is my favourite season. I wish there was a way to get the blossoms to bloom now, that would be wonderful. But I know that basically everything dies in this season and so this notion would be contrary. I am contrary I guess.
There is variety in Autumn. The weather is hot and cold, sometimes the sky is blue but the wind bites and sometimes the sky is a heavy grey but the air is warm and tingly. And the foilage, such bliss! The leaves are orange, yellow, red, green all on the same tree. Before they are blown down they are draped around the shoulders of the great oaks and elms like elaborate fur stalls. Then they brown and fall off the branches and float downwards where they turn dry and crunchy under your shoe. Some people avoid walking through the debris left on the sidewalk but I've always liked kicking my way through these fallen leaves, watching the sea part and leaes fly up in front of me like a fine spray of water at the beach. On the way to school Bro and I would have leaf fights and someone would always end up with a bunch of wet, cold leaves down their back.
I like the crisp, cool days of Autumn - not quite yet freezing, but with enough chill to send you running for your winter coat, or scarf or boots - but knowing the sun will peak through at half strenght at some point during the day.
That's what it was like today: A chill on the nose, colours in the trees and a bit of grey in the sky. Perfect.
I've been meaning to catch up with wdky's musical monday for a while, but never quite got round to it. I'm getting round to it today - and just so you can get inside my head a little more than usual I'm posting Noe Venable's Down Easy, mostly because I've been listening to this song on high rotation in the last week.
I first heard it when watching the movie Cherish. There is a scene where the main character, Zoe, is sitting on her couch like a calm eye in a raging tornado as her world and living room spins and changes around her. It's one of my favourite scenes in the movie and I suppose this week, if I could invite you somewhere in this head - it's here.
Don't listen if you're in a good mood. But if you're like me and have a stiff drink handy, are feeling a little melancholy and feel like your world is spinning around (and around) you then..enjoy.
[Noe Venable - Down Easy: removed]
There is variety in Autumn. The weather is hot and cold, sometimes the sky is blue but the wind bites and sometimes the sky is a heavy grey but the air is warm and tingly. And the foilage, such bliss! The leaves are orange, yellow, red, green all on the same tree. Before they are blown down they are draped around the shoulders of the great oaks and elms like elaborate fur stalls. Then they brown and fall off the branches and float downwards where they turn dry and crunchy under your shoe. Some people avoid walking through the debris left on the sidewalk but I've always liked kicking my way through these fallen leaves, watching the sea part and leaes fly up in front of me like a fine spray of water at the beach. On the way to school Bro and I would have leaf fights and someone would always end up with a bunch of wet, cold leaves down their back.
I like the crisp, cool days of Autumn - not quite yet freezing, but with enough chill to send you running for your winter coat, or scarf or boots - but knowing the sun will peak through at half strenght at some point during the day.
That's what it was like today: A chill on the nose, colours in the trees and a bit of grey in the sky. Perfect.
I've been meaning to catch up with wdky's musical monday for a while, but never quite got round to it. I'm getting round to it today - and just so you can get inside my head a little more than usual I'm posting Noe Venable's Down Easy, mostly because I've been listening to this song on high rotation in the last week.
I first heard it when watching the movie Cherish. There is a scene where the main character, Zoe, is sitting on her couch like a calm eye in a raging tornado as her world and living room spins and changes around her. It's one of my favourite scenes in the movie and I suppose this week, if I could invite you somewhere in this head - it's here.
Don't listen if you're in a good mood. But if you're like me and have a stiff drink handy, are feeling a little melancholy and feel like your world is spinning around (and around) you then..enjoy.
[Noe Venable - Down Easy: removed]
Labels: melbourne musings, musical monday
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