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J O U R N A L
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Saturday, January 25
[Soul]posted by pete at 2:04 PM .......I wonder how I'm going to die?
What's in store? A car crash, aneurism or heart attack? Perhaps a fall from a great height, or maybe I'll get shot, or even stabbed. Perhaps I'll just, to borrow from Dylan Thomas, go gentle into that good night.
No, this isn't the seeding of a new death obsession; it just seems that many people put their mortality in a box and place it far beneath their bed. From time to time, I think it can't hurt to cast one's eyes and mind upon it.
To me, cemeteries are not places of mourning, but places of earthy history and quiet contemplation. I don't visit to see the graves that swallowed the bones of my grandparents, to dwell upon the ugly fake flowers or notice the cracked, subsiding earth.
I don't go there to remember the departed. I like cemeteries for their sense of history, as if in the tombstones is inscribed the very passage of time. Little hints and clues from the past are provided in everything from the style of construction to the choice of scripture to the family's words of remembrance. Stories, memories, tears and remorse. It's as if I am strolling through the annals of the past.
My favourite cemetery story is actually quite macabre. In my hometown of Jamestown, there was of old a massive mill near the main three-chain street. One of the older and larger graves in the town cemetery holds the remains of a seemingly entrepreneurial young man who met an unfortunate end in the mill, when his coat tails became entangled in a flywheel. I'd imagine what ensued was much like that scene out of Alien 3. Altogether tragic and horrifying, and yet irresistably interesting.
It is for reasons like this that I enjoy going to graveyards. I've shed my tears for the departed, and now I prefer my memories. Earthly remains provide no comfort to me – they bear little resemblance to the dead. Instead they are fascinating reminders of how much has, and will, come to pass.
So next time you watch the tombstones shape-shift through double glazed train windows as your vehicle hurries to its destination, perhaps it's a chance to remember that one day, everyone you know will die.
[Yum Cha]posted by pete at 1:51 PM .......I arrived at the Mongkok restaurant on Gouger St this morning feeling very smug indeed, as I had managed to chart a complete course IN THE SHADE from the North Tce Railway Station to the restaurant. My path led me up through underpasses, Leigh St, links and alleys, through the markets which prove a fairly bad shortcut at the best of times but at least they're air conditioned, to the glorious land of Gouger. Almost entirely beyond the reach of the sun's potent rays, except for when crossing the streets.
I looked with vegetarian dismay at the yum cha offerings, but what else did I expect in a Cantonese restaurant? I've been to Mongkok for goodness sake, and I know what goes on there, everything is good for you if it doesn't kill you, if you get my drift. Still, the garlic bok choi, the vegetable dim sims and the vegetarian rice rolls went down a treat, but I was let down by the ostensibly vegan but in reality meat-filled tofu skins. The variety of textures and subtlety of flavours was what I enjoyed the most, but the lively conversation amongst us and the plentiful green tea also made for pleasant times.
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[Credit card eyes]posted by pete at 12:06 AM .......Nearly all of Adelaide's old-money la-di-daa set must have flocked to the King William Rd Tour Downunder Street Party tonight. I attended the event earlier this evening, and any preconceived notions were firmly shelved upon my arrival.
I had expected a middle class family-oriented 'do', but what eventuated was a sprawling parade of vacuous lifestyle; a heady mix of fusion foods, ubiquitous wines, evening gowns and enlarged two-tone gradated sunglasses.
My friends and I hit the strip and walked amongst RAV 4 pram-wielders while the fashion wraiths drifted past; people who can carry haute couture only in the financial sense – sorry folks, money can't buy elegance. Eyelashes fluttered and red lips quivered at the rumour of style-scouts in the crowd. A raised catwalk exhibited a parade as only Adelaide can do on Thursday night late trading... we stifled giggles as attractive girls and boys strutted their stuff in their own little-New-York makebelieve.
Up went the tempo, and cover bands struck up rousing radio staples; the easy listening anthems punctuated air that was already heavy with the aroma of barbecued octopus. In keeping with the cycling sport, everywhere we looked we saw competition. Whether it was a bitchy "I like Gucci more than Imitation of Christ" slap fight, a desperado diva songfest or just a good old-fashioned bouncing baby boy event, everywhere a tension prevailed.
Rising like a spectre above the proceedings was the shadow of money, and the spirit of plenty fought the ghost of overdraught in a sky devoid of cloud. What was it that prevented my enjoyment? Certainly not the company, certainly not envy. I think what I experienced was a kind of annoyance.
We responded to the onslaught by slipping into a quiet cafe, where in a window seat we could watch the world go by. A brief flicker of excitement marked the path back to mundane emptiness, which was only a short distance away.
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[Together]posted by pete at 4:02 PM .......Amidst the familiar faces which were out in force on my bus this morning was a couple whose behaviour I particularly object to. Actually, it's more his behaviour that I find offputting. Every time he disembarks, he stands up, leans purposefully over his girl and kisses her emphatically (and almost audibly). Meanwhile she remains seated with a stunned, or submissive, expression upon her face. Their 'togetherness' has been announced.
I know that in France they kiss on main street and all that, and it's not the public display of affection that bothers me so much as the possessive, protective and patriarchal way in which it is carried out. He is kissing her, but not vice versa. And the way he stands with his arms stretched out to support his weight against the side of the bus, completely encasing her; it all just seems so lame, as if marking territory or something.
As long as they're both happy, I suppose. I probably shouldn't be criticising displays of love on the eve of another world war.
I'm fond of the assortment of characters that I've become familiar with on my bus route. I've attached all sorts of identities to many of them, based purely on superficial impressions, gut reactions and flights of fancy. All this without a skerrick of evidence of course. Sometimes they surprise me, such as yesterday when I caught out a seemingly glamorous chick staring vainly in her compact mirror and desperately plucking at invisible chin hairs. Her glamour rating went down a few notches after that.
When you throw together a seething mass of humanity in an elongated vehicle, all manner of truths and pretenses come to light. It's like a transient window into desperation. 'Tis a dangerous world.
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[White tea]posted by pete at 12:47 PM .......Let it be made known: I am a tea drinker. I love it in all its manifestations; green, black, oolong and, as of today, white. My prior knowledge of this form was limited – I'd heard rumour of impending trendiness but it hasn't really happened yet. Apart from that, I was only aware that it was some sort of approximation of green tea, and yet somehow different.
So, I finally got around to trying it this morning, visiting an establishment in Flinders St and asking for a China White. (At which point Deb made some allusion and pointed to her nostril, which greatly amused the guy serving us.) I have to say that whilst the tea was deliciously refreshing, I wasn't entirely sold on it – which is lucky, given some of the prices.
The taste was mild, but contained a flavour that suggested it may have been of Sri Lankan origin, as opposed to Chinese (if that's possible). However, the major let down was that I'm fairly certain the tea was steeped in filtered Adelaide tap water.
Now, any of you who are familiar with this fine city will be aware that our tap water is borderline undrinkable. Ships apparently refuse to take on water in our port. It's completely safe, and I do drink it, but it's horrible. Ultra-chlorinated for your enjoyment, but that's what happens when all the Murray's water is siphoned and poisoned upstream by rice growing and other irresponsible industry.
Anyway, I am of firm belief that tea must be made with completely pure water, and that condition was not satisfied this morning. I guess that's one of the reasons why I almost never bother drinking it outside my own home.
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[Equator]posted by pete at 7:11 PM .......This humidity is a timely reminder that I should never endeavour to live in Singapore.
[Forever Summer]posted by pete at 9:38 AM .......All of my houseplants are symbolically dying, as if in recognition of the fact that I am moving to Melbourne. I'm not talking about difficult plants whose lives seem to balance on the edge of a knife; the kind that require an exact and optimum balance of light, water, ambient humidity and temperature. No, I'm talking about exceedingly hardy houseplants; the sort that are nigh impossible to kill. Yet there they are, browning and wilting more and more each day. They must know that I cannot take them with me.
The one exception is my cyclamen, which is doing amazingly well in its bathroom location. However, it is yet to burst forth an array of spectacular blooms, so perhaps this represents the anticipation that is currently shrouding my 'big life change'. *Searches for other household objects to which ironic meaning might be attached or derived*
Oh great, I just had a sudden recollection of the woman who sat next to me in the cinema yesterday. There she was, munching away on a choc-top and bathing in a cloud of the most penetratingly vile imitation perfume, and this had mingled with her sweat to produce a fell aura – a mist which heralded not the coming of the Autumn.
For the first time in my life, I have seen Saturday Night Fever in its entirety, and best of all I watched it on Saturday night. I didn't expect such dark thematic content. Now, exposed brick (cf. the Manhattan apartment in the film) is all very well, but try sleeping directly next to it and being occasionally woken by the discomfort associated with accidentally grating your head against the said ugly surface. As Jess always says, "render, render, render!"
And now the weather has turned all humid. How offensive. But I'm coping better now, having just found out that Pippa is back! Very exciting.
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[Find the shade]posted by pete at 9:33 PM .......More stifling, blistering and depression-inducing hot weather; I managed to survive the morning by stretching out on the couch, listening to some squaa tunes and finishing off The Fellowship of the Ring. Then when it all became too much I braved the elements, boarded an old bus (of course it wasn't airconditioned) and ventured into town... where needless to say it wasn't any cooler.
But I was prepared for that, and I stepped directly into Borders where I was able to harass Deb in the Art & Design section for a time. Hmm, think I might need the DIK book, but should think twice. Then I visited filthy Ange and we sat in a cool draught in a dirty back-alley behind her cinema. She smoked a cigarette and we spoke of boredom and multinational alienation, which was kind of boho edgy.
I hurried off to purchase chocolate and then made for the Palace where I saw The Quiet American. I didn't find this film to be as good as the Movie Show review suggested, but it had some tremendously powerful moments (a certain bomb blast springs to mind) and the film left me with a renewed hunger to actually delve into history and understand the mechanisms that drove the Vietnam War. Certainly it was a good way to escape the heat, and it was nice to emerge from a film that was set in Saigon and immediately detect the aroma of incense.
I followed this by coffee with Deb (I'm into cappuccinos now I think) and now I'm back at home coping with copious heat.
PS. Help yourself to hyperlinks.
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