You have killed 1350 lbs of umbrella, but you can only carry 200 back to the wagon.
Because it rains here so often (not like in a Seattle way, but in an alternate universe sort of way), sometimes we decide to go out into the weather, because it may/may not get better/worse as we go about our business. Last week sometime, Christine and I decide to snub our noses at the grey clouds a'brewin' and go to the gym. By the time we walked down from our apartment onto the sidewalk, small drops were coming down.
By the time we went a quarter of a block, to the corner of our street, a torrential downpour was starting. We made it to the large awning of the (unused) building there. And waited. We discussed the merits of fording the river (think
Oregon Trail) versus turning back to the ol' homestead. Who wants to work out sopping wet? But we're already dressed. But we don't really feel like working out anymore. But we'd get wet going home, too, so we might as well go. So were were just kinda hanging out there.
There were people across the street leaning up against a building for shelter, only that building didn't really have much in the way of protection. This fact was pretty funny for us. Eventually, a runs around the corner and into our shelter. He's in business attire and wearing a badge for the Kangaroos (a footy team). He asks us if we follow the footy at all. Christine says no, but I say, I little, because I don't want to be rude. So then he goes into this whole shpiel about how he's the first Asian footy player in the AFL, and he's so excited. And we're ust kinda nodding along like, mm-hmm. Sure buddy. I mean, we don't know for sure, but this is a little guy. And the footy players are big. BIG. So after we convince him we have no money for the raffle ticket he's selling since we're on our way to the gym, he chats a little more, avoiding the rain, then runs out into it, the hardcore AFL player that he is.
The rain is coming in sheets and we decide that after it lets up again, we'll make for home. The only problem with this plan is that the rain is coming down so hard that you realize that it let up a little only after it gets harder again. So again, we're just kinda hangin out. Shootin the shit. Watching the world go by. Under the awning of the abandoned building on the corner. Later, a friendly older couple comes by. We had a nice visit, until they decide they can't stand there all day. Heh-ho, but that's where they were wrong. We certainly could stand there all day, thankyouverymuch. We almost had to share the space with this poor, drenched girl who ran over to our shelter, but Christine took care of that real fast and kicked her out. "You know, you don't get as wet if you run." She took it as, "beat it, lady." Christine hates to share.*
When we got back to the apartment, Sarah (who had wisely decided not to go with us) asked us how was the gym. Because clearly, after being gone that long, where else would we have been? Outside, standing on the corner. Like rainy-day, shlubby-clothed hookers.
We never made it to the gym.
*Fine, fine. Christine does not hate sharing. She's a good sharer. And probably didn't mean to kick that girl out. Probably.
Friday, Friday, Friday
Friday night, Sarah, Christine, and I went out for Greek. Australia has an enormous Greek population. It has one of those statistics "the largest Greek population outside Greece" or something like that. We ended up at Pireaus Blues on Brunswick St in Fitzroy. (read: tragically cool, tragically busy - mixed with Boomers out for dinner in the city)
Our "waiter" was quite the amusement. We're not convinced he was actually a waiter. Our guess is that he was an owner, otherwise, he woulda been so fired by now. There were member of the waitstaff perfectly available. I think this guy just like us... He'd ask us a question, then as we started to answer, he'd already be talking to someone else. Not even other patrons. Just passing employees. So, okay. Fine. They don't go by tips here, so no big deal. When taking our order, he told me it would be fine for me to eat the caviar dip on the platter we wanted because "it's not like meat" and it doesn't count if it's not like a cow or something. "Unless you're (something idiotic like) vegan, it's fine. You eat it." (His implied meaning in parentheses) "If you don't want it, I will charge you separately for everything on there." Okay, fine, buddy. Way to be a charmer. When he took the order he didn't write it down, but he didn't look that confident. As soon as Sarah finishes saying, "I wonder if he got all that," the guy comes back with a chicken-scratched piece of paper with our order and reads it to me, quickly. And in Greek. And then asks if that was everything. When I asked him to repeat it, he gave me a sigh. Life is so hard.
Anyway, the food was great. We drank 5 (wine) bottles of water, and capped the meal with finger-lickin baklava.
After wandering around the bookstore across the street for a while (totally my fault. I'm an addict), we started to walk home around 11-ish. In the park grounds we cut through, we saw these adorable little nocturnal creatures. Cat size, big eyes, tree climbers. Very cute and very curious - except for the little one who just wanted to stay by mom. When she went past us, the little one hung back, until it decided to make a dash for it and ran past us like we were chasing it with a net or something. For the record, we were not.
There were these other people who came up to where we were standing. Then they got closer. And followed the animals around the tree. The animals would move to get away, and they would follow. And these brilliant folks were also feeding it, buy offering a piece of something orange, and then not letting go right away when the animal went for it. I ask again, what's wrong with people? No, seriously. If you have any ideas, feel free to share with the group.
reason for the disappearing act
Two Saturdays ago, our friend, Hamish, had a heart attack (-type thing), went into a coma, and later died. The funeral is Monday. His 25th birthday would be Tuesday. We'll miss him.
(details at
http://www.wildsoda.com/)
mission: grocery shopping.
time allotment: not long
situation: I loooooove going up and down the aisles, looking at all the different products.
outcome...
okay, so Sarah, Christine, and I are cruising along just fine until we hit the feta. After much discussion of goat milk, we chose an Indian cheese. Then we were off. Until we hit the cereal. And then the taco shells. They make kits with detailed instructions. However, we decided that we didn't like anyone telling us how to make our tacos. Fight the power. So we're on the road again. Until we hit the frozen goodies. As it turns out, our favorite little choco-whatevers are not in the case. We tried staring at it to make them appear, but that didn't help. We picked up some fruity-whatevers, and we were moving again. Only three more stops (at the body wash: the aqua one in the cool bottle; at the shredded Tasty Cheese: home brand; and a run back across the store for veggie ground "beef") and we were checking out. Right on time. Almost.
***
In other news: I saw a play from South Africa that's here in the Int'l Arts Festival. Really good. Really physical show, too, with all five cast members involved the whole time, with singing and dancing and running. So by the end, they were all sweaty and dirty (there was some red earth involved, as well) - so I'm thinking they must have to do laundry every night, which would be really annoying. If it's in your neighborhood, see it.
Amajuba: Like Doves We Rise Nothing strikingly new, but good for everyone to hear and remember.
And finally: If you could find anyone to take the bet, you probably just lost some money. I did, indeed, finish what I needed to submit to my thesis advisor. Pay up.
help! I need somebody! well, actually 4 somebodies...
At the end of the month, we will be the proud hosts of one hoo-hah of a Halloween party. The only problem is that we aren't exactly sure what our costumes are going to be. (Oh yes, this is a costume-requisite party.)
We want to do something that all four of us can be together. Like a theme. Themes are fun. Go theme. Right now, we're thinking of the Golden Girls. I'm Sophia, Christine is Rose, Sarah is Blanche, and Eric is Bea Arthur. Except that Sarah is a party pooper and wants to be a UPS driver because she has a UPS shirt and won't play along. Who ever heard of the theme "Three Golden Girls and a UPS Driver"? Uhh, no one. That's who.
(At this point, Christine started twitching and having flashbacks to Halloween '01 in Chicago, when the four living at the Yuppie Flophouse were going to be the four seasons, and Charlie wanted to be Dunkin' Donuts. Three Seasons and the Donut Guy.)
So right now we're on the Golden Girls. Now, I know what you're thinking, but just stop right where you are because Eric already thought of the idea of learning some scenes from Golden Girls episodes and acting them out at the party. Not to worry, we vetoed that idea already. Soundly.
Your mission, should you choose to accept it is to come up with something that there are four (or more) of, ideally. The Australians get, for better or worse, lots of American tv, so tv-based ideas would work, as well.
This message will self distruct in... okay, well, never. Just come up with something good.
****
The answer to the eternal question is just a click away:
Which Golden Girl Are You? (second game on the page)
pumpkin? check. glass slippers? check. lots of fish? check.
well, since Vic has been so...ahem..."patient" recently, I'm putting up a few photos from the Postgrad Ball at the Aquarium, from 16 Sept. I mean, that's not even a month ago. I am
so on top of these things.
I'll post the rest of em soon. Really. I swear.
Sarah, moi, Christine - almost out the door
Eric, Halley, Sarah, Christine - but of course there was champagne...
Ali, Sarah, Christine, Me - no fish jokes, please
hot dogs, with a side of Prozac
The big healthfood brand here, the one that does a lot of the vegetarian fakes (like hot dogs, bologna, chik'n patties), the one people buy for well-being? Sanitarium.
Fantastic.
But I didn't throw a shoe this time
15 big ones, people. Count 'em. 15.
That's 15 shows I've seen in the past approx two weeks through the Fringe Festival. And as anyone who really knows theatre will tell you, it's all about quantity. I mean, I had to take off a few days in there, too, because of Rosh Hashana. (So technically, if we're going by ticketed events, my count goes up to 17, but lets not push that one.) This was some hardcore festival-ing. You needs training for this sort of thing. Luckily, all those years of sitting on my ass, watching television prepared me well for sitting on my ass, watching a stage.
(Attention: Bitch and Moan fest? party of one? your table is ready.)
And through it all, I only had to walk out of one show. It takes a lot for me to walk out of a show. I won't leave if it's only bad. It has to be bad and really offensive. What's neat about a fringe fesival is that they often have some fun, interesting, experimental programs. What you come to expect with that is that you'll see some great stuff, but you'll also see some crap. And there were a few. Crap. Oh the crap I saw. We're talking silently screaming inside my head, "Make it stop! Make it stop! Oh gawd! You guys are awful! For the love of all that is good and holy in the world, stop!" In my head, of course. And I stayed through to the end, because I don't want to be rude. They're not
trying to be so bad that I would rather be in the center of a Bush Appreciation Society Toga And Rum Dinner.
The one I left started a half hour late. Just for fun. Then, instead of starting the play, they had a little talent show with a few friends of the production. No problem if the people are entertaining. Or talened. But these, not so much with the singing. And one woman aparently only knew Andrew Lloyd Webber songs. And how to sing them badly. (And wore a stupid shirt, and wouldn't stop pacing, but whatever.) So, fine. I can suffer through. I can tell myself little stories in my head. I can count the number of open bean bag chairs on the floor. I can try to figure out why they wear little white sweater vests in cricket. When the show starts, I begin to wish for the Starlight Express songs to come back. It wasn't just offensive once or twice on the same topic. They managed to be awful on a wide variety of things, thinking they were being funny. No one was laughing.
What sent me over the edge was when they tried to start rhyming in a (scripted) song. And couldn't do it. They tried. It just didn't work. But, like troopers, they kept pushing it. Like trying to stick a bear in a tube top. Not pleasant. I know, one might think that issue would fall under "bad" and not "offensive" - but you must remember that as an English major, I'm allowed to get offended by willful negligence in language use. It's a service we provide, free of charge, to the population. You're welcome.
