getting sick

So today we went to Essendon and bought some clothes at the op shop for a party we were invited to this evening. At a certain point I had to leave the op shop because the dust was getting up my nose and I got Perry out of the car and we went for a walk around the block and saw this building on the way. 

This is sort of the same building I think but was obviously built later. 

And this is what it looks like inside... 

Anyway by the evening I felt too sick to party so no party. And we had nice clothes and everything. 

sickness

Dannii Minogue once told me that the Young Talent Team were such professionals they always got colds at the end of the ratings season. Teaching ended last week; I got a cold this week. At least it isn't the flu though my core self should appreciate that just because teaching is over that doesn't mean that I get to stop working. Anyway, I am on a go-slow and I get to reflect on how lucky I am in general terms with the little things like cats who crave my company and a nice view (above) and a wonderful girlfriend who will bring me excellent soup. I can't really complain. This house is a complete mess, which is obviously my fault, I am on a list for a cleaner from the ASRC to perhaps manage the overall problem in the long term, I mean I'm not just going to keep letting detritus pile up until they finally consolidate their listings and offer me someone lol. The only thing I did this week that felt anything like progress was finish a full reading of a really good PhD thesis that the candidate wanted to submit asap and as far as I know, has, and I partially reorganised my spare bathroom (yes, I have two bathrooms, it's a bit of a mystery) into what looks if you half squint like a music room though I am not entirely sure how that could work practically speaking. At least it's not just a pile of boxes. Then I can turn the spare room into an office and 'library' and everything will start to fall into place in this excellent flat which I love, but which needs work still, to make it mine properly. OK today is 'marking masters theses day' a kind of gruelling but ultimately rewarding twice-yearly enterprise which hopefully won't make me sicker. 

welcome to february

There was and probably is a very funny columnist (I’m not going to blow his cover) who wrote or perhaps still writes a column for an otherwise seriously crappy free music magazine on the Bellarine Peninsula under an obviously made up name. I was such a fan of the column I sent him a postcard (two actually, about a year apart, he later claimed not to have received the first, not that I don’t believe him) suggesting he write for The Big Issue, which I was at that time somewhat involved in in a minor editorial capacity. He wrote back and said ‘it’s me, I already write for The Big Issue,’ and that was bizarre and sort of disappointing too though I suppose it does show one example of me having minor nous. Well, one of those columns was a tirade against weather men-women who would talk about the rain, or other cold weather, as though it was a real tragedy, and the column was about how a huge proportion of Australians live in the south-east, and clearly if they really hated the rain or cold, they wouldn’t do that. Which was, in all honesty, pretty funny and pertinent.

People these days blog because they don’t believe in a God who hears their prayers, and all praying is really is venting, so can I just offer a vent up to the blogosphere above, to say, this fucking hot weather is wearing me down, seriously, and I find it very difficult a third day in a row to have a near-40 degree day, and I know I should be completely inured to it by now, and I am perhaps slightly more inured to it than I used to be, but really, this is bullshit man. At least I am now, as I write, on a slightly more comfortable airconditioned train but no doubt it will be packed tight by the time I get to N Melbourne.

Last night we went to see Another Year which was tremendously engaging and funny. In the spirit of continuing to vent to God, can I say I completely despise the Nova and the people who go there (apart from the ones I like). When the lights went up at the end of the film it was clear that it was one of those rare events where almost everyone in the theatre was about twenty years older than me and I don’t know if that’s an excuse but what I do know is that one is never surprised when, during the first five minutes of a film at the Nova, everyone gets phone calls and they are all fumbling for their mobiles (‘dratted… thing…’) and of course during the very last, final, completely silent scene, someone had to decide to indulge in an enormous lung-emptying phlegmsperience. I know in a way that’s just other people, I’ll be like that soon, and so on. Still it is crappy. Also, there were at least two big digital glitches in the movie – why should that happen? It rarely happens with DVDs, but the same thing happened when we went to see the 3rd Narnia film at Broady Hoyts – and additionally for a brief moment all the colour in the film was washed across with a kind of pus yellow. I know it wasn’t Avatar (which by the way I still haven’t seen…) which is to say, it’s not like you’re there for the glorious colour contrasts in Jim Broadbent’s face, and I suppose you could say it’s part of the experience. But in my present state of mind I would say it’s one more example of ineptitude and shabby treatment being sold to a mindless, senseless bourgeoisie who are made to feel they should just be grateful. At least the Nova managed to show the right film first up, which is always a bonus.

There are a lot of snifflers on the train. What do you think that means. A woman across the aisle from me is reading a book called Island of Shadows and drinking her snot and a man opposite me is eating a ham and salad roll, drinking lemonade and sniffing back.

Also, I hate mobile phone rings that are a woman whistling and calling ‘taxi!’ though not as much as the laughing baby mobile ring, which thankfully is on the wane as far as I can tell (did you have something to do with that God? I bet you did).

Anyway, so, hot day. Barry is being desexed today too. He wasn’t keen on going in the car, but that doesn’t mean he had figured something out – he’s never keen on it. I hope he’s OK but there’s no reason to think he won’t be. Broady Vets is actually pretty good.

Oh by the way I just want to tell you what I also hate is being called ‘boss’. It is somewhat a 21st century version of being called ‘mate’ (though I guess women are often now called ‘mate’ by men and other women, whereas I am guessing neither men nor women call women ‘boss’, but I’d be interested to hear otherwise). It is the sort of thing that should be challenged, except you come off like some kind of shorthaired hippy ‘I’m not your boss, mate, OK?’ The reason why it is similar to mate is that it can be used quite aggressively. If someone calls you boss they are usually (in my experience) in a position where they’re serving you (petrol, whatever) and I take it to be a way of drawing attention to this situation while at the same time saying, ‘you’re not better than me’. I resent this because I don’t think I’m better than anyone really, well, certainly people who have not shown me otherwise. Not in a status sense, I’m not ‘better’. So, it pisses me off to be called ‘boss’ because I feel it is demeaning to both of us - rare exception: irony. ‘Mate’ is a little more generic these days I guess but it is still irritating in some contexts. No-one calls each other son any more or love that often I think – there are exceptions.

I had a teacher in Grade 5, Mr. Howard, who was very Terry-Thomasish, he called all the girls in his class Biddy because he couldn’t remember their names (I think, though he might have given us another explanation and said we weren’t to read anything into it). I interviewed him for the school newsletter. He had a stroke half way through the year and we had replacements for the rest of the year. Come to think of it, it was Grade 6, because in Grade 5 I had a complete arsehole for a teacher. I suppose I should be ashamed that I derived enormous pleasure from the fact that I heard he had his arm cut off by an airplane propellor in the late 70s, then significant disappointment when I heard many years later that it wasn’t true. I told one of my former classmates that man was a piece of shit and he said, ‘Oh, you just feel that way because he hated you.’ Good enough reason.

Yes I am bitter! About that.

disease is rampant

Well, so yesterday I came down with yet another cold, not as bad as the last few, but this is about the 5th this year (I have probably complained in my usual flamboyant style all through this blog so I could go back and check but won't). I felt nauseous Thursday - sore throat Friday morning - taking cold and flu tabs Friday day - feverish at night - slept a lot of today, which is something I actually hate to do.

Mia is playing with New Estate tonight at the John Curtin but I'm not going. I am sure it will be a good show - the third last with Brad. You read it here first, possibly.

So I have a lot of writing to do and will start on that pretty soon. I have a journal article to finish by the end of the month, having submitted two last week I don't feel that I have been slack in that regard. I have also (finally) started writing my new undergrad course which will be an epic, but I already feel very good about it.

For some reason something made me remember I absolutely think The Fall are one of the best bands ever. This is one of my favourite of their tracks. It was never on a 'real' album.



Later - so being ill I thought I should be allowed to entertain myself with babyish mindless flippin' entertainment and I watched The Bill for the first time in ages. What a painfully stupid program that has always been, but is much more so now I'm sure. Tonight's episodes re: a series of bomb attacks in Sun 'Ill doesn't know whether to patronise its viewers or titillate them with self-righteous bumf. The final scene re: a key clue, 'the Elvis four' which is revealed to be an anagram of 'the four evils'. That's about as much an anagram as 'a nag ram' is of 'anagram'. I suppose I shouldn't be so swift to condemn, the storyline hasn't resolved and maybe the Elvis four will end up referring to something like the Million Dollar Quartet, but it's looking unlikely. And every line, every character, and every scenario in The Bill is... well... well, it's a shitty program!!!

Later still - I see Mutiny on the Buses is on later tonight at about 3 am - if I'm up (having slept most of the day you'll recall) I can get my fix of genuine cockney characterisation and hijinx then.