human dependant

I now know that if you announce you're going to be learning a new language, that people will immediately start speaking to you in that language. The very language that you've just pinpointed as one that you do not understand in the slightest.

I've also noticed that the kind of persons that delight in engaging my blankest of expressions always have a big smile on their faces when they start jabbering in french. So I figure I'm at least making these people happy through my, admittedly charming, ignorance. But hear me now, french aficionados: it is important to note that I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE SAYING, so if you told me where the fire exits were during that little performance, know that I will be relying solely on my survival instincts.



On the subject of smiling, this project prompted a pretty big one today. I came across tweenbots via the Frankie blog- these splendid little creatures are a testament to human-robot relations.

what would Barbarella do?

I've been thinking recently that if something scares you, it means you should probably be doing it. I've been considering what it is that I am actually scared of these days. To clarify, not things I have a physical allergy to and simply try to steer clear of (kiwi fruit, cats) or consciously avoid due to a panic attack inducing irrational phobia (footbridges, keira knightley).

As childish as it is, I'm still afraid of trying things I'm not naturally talented at. The first few years of being free and easy and out in the world on my own have allowed me to create a beautiful supportive microcosm to play and create in. But the risk of being surrounded by beauty is forgetting the thrill of danger.

So, as a result, things I'm rubbish at that will be addressed in the coming months:

1. French. Not the entire race; I don't fear you, frenchies. But I can't understand you, either. I'm not that bad at learning new languages, but I hate sounding dopey when I'm learning, which is pretty vain and a ridiculous reason to avoid learning. So when Ky cajoled last night about signing up with her for a ten week Alliance Francaise course I said yes. Classes are on a Saturday morning at 9am, so there's two things I'm petrified of being knocked over in one go. Languages and weekend mornings.

2. Gyms. I'm genuinely untalented at anything athletic. I used to run my sports uniform under a tap at high school so that my PE teacher couldn't make me run in a wet t shirt. The only time I've ever even stepped into a gym was during uni when i needed to capture some atmos sound. But lately I've been thinking that maybe I'm getting too old to avoid all of this exertion stuff that everyone else seems to get off on. So by the end of the next month I'm going to at least go and check out the gyms around newtown and pretend that I don't feel physically ill at the thought of jumping around in front of other people. If any other inner westie fatties want to join me on this, it'd be nice to have some company.

I'm comforting myself with the hope that both learning french and looking skinnier/being able to lift heavier objects can only be beneficial to my otherwise hedonistic lifestyle. Worked for Fonda.

i pack in a rush

It's always been my way. I think this habit is connected to some need to feel like the decision to run was spontaneous and the thought of forgetting something essential gives me delicious thrills.

My girl whisked me away on a tour of her favourite places in Melbourne over the past four days. The essential item that I forgot this time was my camera. This was actually quite okay because it meant I was soaking things in to record them instead of outsourcing that function.

I'd never been to the southern city before, which amazed me more and more as I wandered around town. All my friend's exclamations over the years rang true in living colour- I am more suited to living there than in Sydney. The art on the walls, the stories in the laneways, the complexity of the cocktail mixes and the sound of the music escaping from makeshift stages all resonated and it felt good to be home. Still, when she asked me would I live there, I said not yet.

I'd prefer to argue with Sydney about her short comings and try to change her than live where the fight's already been won. For a little while longer.

new favourite doorways:

bimbo- for the chocolate infused vodka, the retro indian collages on the bathroom walls, and the darkness
fad gallery - for bar staff who look boyishly excited when you order by taste instead of off a menu, the laid back patronage, and the stencily rotoscope looking works.
prudence - for the vintage scrabble board, the resfreshingly closed-plan room layout that made you feel like you had snuck into some fabulous nanna's house, and the cosy leather couches.

prime-time animals and bringing Dave to me.

Andy the Beardy Sound Man: so it appears that my ex flatmate from Brisbane has his own TV show.
Me: about what?
AtBSM: I think it's just Dave being Dave. On TV.

Dave Being Dave on TV (officially billed as A Dave in the Life) premiered on SBS last night. I missed the original broadcast. I was at my girlfriend's house eating nutella cream pavlova and watching the NRL getting massacred on Four Corners for its ongoing attitude towards women, including controversially, naming Matty Johns as the central character in the disgusting abuse of a 19 year old New Zealander while touring there with the Cronulla Sharks. I truly have no words for the kind of men that would treat a girl who is basically a child with such animalistic disrespect and not recognise it as intimidation. I leave you to face your mothers.

So seeing as my screen time was otherwise occupied last night, I was pretty pleased to discover that SBS were streaming the entire episode online this morning. I'll be honest, this show isn't the best content I've ever seen. The writing needs some time to mature. But I have to congratulate SBS on their courage and their intelligent distribution approach.

A Dave in the Life borrowed much from Safran and Theroux, and while our hero didn't have quite the same charisma as either of those cultural curiosities, I was relieved that something like this was going to air. The first episode was a light look at Australia's shock jock culture that touched on our national acceptance of racism and bigotry as long as it's all part of 'showbiz'. It allowed the lowest common denominator to shine through on its own without ridicule or judgement, and encouraged a conversational debate between two different sides of Australian culture. Its host has a sense of humour about himself and a humility that is refreshing in a world of self-aggrandising career comedians.

It's even more encouraging to see that SBS had the sense to make sure that the entire episode was available online after broadcast. It's this simple recognition that linear broadcast is no longer an appropriate way to reach a mainstream audience that will differentiate the content leaders in the media in the next few years.

Somehow, though, I don't think Dave will ever rise to the status of a hero of family viewing time quite like Matty Johns. More's the pity.

cicadas

I know it's been terribly remiss of me not to share the fantastical adventures of Monday night, but what with Algae Rhythm 0.02: PSYCHOCHEMICAL absorbing every fibre of my creative and financial being, it's taken until this week to set up the internet at my new place.

I think considering that April's itinerary read thusly:

Moving my personal effects from one side of King Street to the other with my Dad
Twenty-something birthday
Byron Blay Bluesfest roadie
Defragging after Byron
Bondi art exhibitions
90's timewarp Big Heavy Stuff gig
Co-organisation of an art jam wondercluster involving two mind-blowingly elusive overhead projectors
Helping move The Warehouse to The Corner Shop
An intrepid inner-western suburban basketball WAGS adventure
A few shifts at the Gaelic, including a hellish three hours of old skool happy hardcore that made me want to kill anyone with a munter grin
That media consulting thing I do to pay my rent

... that it's okay to still feel like I've only been in my new house for about three days, despite having moved in on April 5th.

It's been a dead set heartache trying to get the internet hooked up at the new house- the little flashy lights on my very flashily priced modem are still not working. As soon as it is it'll be Operation Blogsposion, I imagine. In the meantime, check out Vic's pictorial recollections of Monday night for a taste of what you missed, or a double dip into where you were.