As much as I love dance music, I gotta say I’m a little bored with it, as it hasn’t really changed much in the last ten years. It still sounds the same now as it did ten years ago, as it reverberates through my apartment block.
Yes, once again, tonight, there’s a party on my rooftop. And yes, I’m sure I received a notification about it a couple of weeks ago, and I’m sure I read it. But of course, I didn’t take much notice, as I assumed I wouldn’t be home at this time on a Saturday night.
No doubt it’s someone moving overseas. Or maybe they’re turning 30 or 40 or 50? And isn’t it great they’ve given all the neighbours advance notice, so they should make alternative arrangements?
What, of course, they failed to mention, however, is that like every other party that’s ever happened on my rooftop is that, they’d be playing exactly the same music as every other party has. Doof, doof, doof. Bop, bop, bop. Why doesn’t music have words anymore?
Yes, the same old beat, the same old rhythm. It’s just party muzak, where the words, the tune, the rythm doesn’t matter anymore. Of course, the same old finger-food doesn’t matter either. Ten years ago it was turkish pizza (it was soo exotic)… what is it now, sushi? Of course, it’s sushi, the food you eat when you’re not eating food.
What time is it? 11pm. God forbid, we can probably expect a drag show at midnight. Ten years ago, it would have been Kylie or Madonna. Now, of course, it’s… it’s… it’s probably Kylie or Madonna, too.
Yes, I’ve had these parties, myself. I’ve made these noises, myself. But isn’t it time for them, these young folks, to re-invent the rooftop party, instead of playing out the same old party that forty year olds, like myself, have already done?
Damn, I wish I’d read that note properly. And no, I don’t wish I was invited.
P.S. The doof doof was still coming from the rooftop when I woke at 5.30am Sunday.
“Hey dude, can you put your phone away?”, my friend said to the bloke in the cinema in front of us yesterday. There weren’t a lot of people in the cinema: only us, another woman, and the bloke who was there with his mum, so it’s not as if he didn’t know who she was talking to. His dismissive reply was “Yeah, whatever”.
Thankfully, he did put his phone away, though it was probably because his mum told him to, not because my friend had yelled out to him.
“When I’m at home, I’ll use my phone while I’m watching a movie, but never in a cinema”, my friend said.
For this bloke it wasn’t even a generational thing, as he looked as if he was in his 30/40s. But it does seem like there’s a whole bunch of people who failed to “get the memo” about phone use, or even watch the opening credits at the cinema where they tell you to turn off your phone. “Nobody seems to say sorry anymore”, we both agreed.
We were at the cinema seeing the new Austrlian film, “The Dry”. Though my friend had read the book, I hadn’t, and really only knew very little about the film, aside from that it was set in a country town at the height of the drought, and that it starred Eric Bana.
(No spoilers!) Eric Bana plays a 40-something man who grew up in the small town, but who has been living and working as a member of the Australian Federal Police, based in Melbourne. In the film, he’s returning to the town for a funeral, the apparent result of a murder-suicide situation. At first, it’s thought it’s the result of drought-related financial difficulties, as has often been the case in many areas. However, the story takes a different turn, as his skills as a police officer/investigator are brought to the story. The film also goes back to an earlier story about the death of a young woman in the community. Everyone in this country town seems to have a “hidden story”, it seems. (For the rest, you’ll have to see the film).
We both enjoyed the film: it was beautifully shot, with terrific writing, acting and directing.
It was also great to catch up with my friend who I haven’t seen since before Christmas.
It’s actually been a fairly “social” week, which has included catching up with a friend who has returned home from living in Dublin for the last twelve years. He’s going back, by the way.
His first couple of weeks in Australia were spent in isolation in Adelaide. Thankfully, he had a balcony, and thus found the experience of spending two weeks in a hotel was fairly reasonable. “Really, it wasn’t too bad, especially after what we’ve been through in Dublin”, he said, noting they’ve been in lockdown for most of the last year. “The pubs and clubs have been closed since March”, he added. While our daily diagnosis rate is close to zero most of the time, the Irish have been coping with up to 3,000 cases per day.
I also caught up with some friends for coffee and cake on Friday afternoon. “This is one of the great things about working from home”, we all agreed, the fact we could catch-up on a weekday at reasonably short notice at one of our local coffee shops. Any other time, we would be struggling to find a suitable time on the weekend. But as the coffee shop is only a few hundred metres from home, it was easy to organise.
And then on Friday night, I went for a drink at a couple of pubs on Oxford Street. It was interesting to see how they were getting on.
Universal (formerly The Midnight Shift) was fairly busy, and they actually had a drag show.
Kinselas, on the other hand, was quiet to middling. For the last few years, Kinselas has been the Friday night home of “Sydney Bears”.
“Bears” is a gay community sub-culture. Though the name might imply they’re all a bit “hairy” (beards, chests, backs!), the term covers a broader collection of people who could be older, could be overweight etc. There’s even a couple of trans people who regularly attend. It’s probably more of a life-stage and mindset, than a physical thing. I quite like going to their events, though they haven’t been happening since about March last year. As I looked around I noted most of the crowd is still turning up, even if there’s no “official event”.
“It’s the pub with no bears”, I (rather clevely, I thought) messaged a friend.
“How do you feel about the prospect of going home?” my physiotherapist asked me today. I told her I felt quite confident. “I’m in a much better position now than I was here eighteen months ago when I had my amputation and spent four months in the hospital”, I added.
This time, it’s only been two weeks since my right hip fracture and replacement. The rehabilitation has been focused on the fact that I also have an amputation, which makes the typical hip replacement rehabilitation more complicated due to the additional pressure on my stump. That’s why it’s been great being back at Sacred Heart where I had the amputation, and where the medical staff know me, and have experience in this type of rehabilitation.
I understand that around 50 or 60,000 people in Australia have hip replacements each year, and a similar number have knee replacements. Many also have shoulder replacements. It’s common practice to encourage people to get up and be active as soon as possible after these procedures. This is not just to free up hospital resources, but also because it’s beneficial for recovery.
Over the past few days, I’ve been working on moving around more independently. Yesterday, for the first time, I was able to go to the bathroom without needing to ask for assistance with a commode.
I’ve progressed from two crutches to one, and today I even walked a little without any.
When I go home, likely on Thursday, I’ll still need crutches, especially when going out. However, I might be able to manage with just one crutch, which offers greater independence.
Overall, I feel much more physically prepared to go home now than I did a couple of years ago. As a result of my amputation, home is pretty well set up for rehabilitation, with things like a raised toilet cover and a stool on which to sit in the shower.
The past few days have been relatively quiet. I had visitors on Sunday. A friend and I went to lunch at the nearby Beecham Hotel, which was very good. Later, another friend visited me at the hospital. I was quite tired upon returning, so we lay down and chatted. I fell asleep, and then, hilariously, when I woke up, he was also asleep. It was a typical Sunday afternoon nap.
I’ve been taking it easy, watching YouTube, listening to music, and just getting on with life and recovery.
It’s Sunday night. There’s a tv-special about two environmentalists / photographers from Tasmania which is interesting, but a little worthy, perhaps?
Anyway… the last week has been full and yet I’m going to have to sit down and think pretty hard about what I have actually done.
Last Saturday night, John and I went to see Slava and Leonard Grigoryan play at Angel Place. The show was excellent: a good mixture of styles, tempos and familiary/obscurity.
Nothing much happened on Sunday. The only highlight was watching the final auction of “The Block”, which in its worship of money, I actually thought was a bit offensive. I recgonised then why I enjoyed “Big Brother” more… as Big Brother was about collective harmony, while The Block was about rampant individualism. Any wonder it’s been so successful in John Howard’s Australia.
On Tuesday night, Kate and I went to the launch of the new CD by Renee Geyer. Held at Star City Casino, there was a sparkling of minor celebrities including Richard Wilkins, Judy Stone and the man from the cooking show on Channel 9.
Wednesday and Friday. Nothing much to report, aside from a drink or two here and there.
But Thursday was fantastic, as Damien and I went to see the band, Stringmansassy play at The Basement.
Stringmansassy play at The Basement in Sydney
Damien and I met near Circular Quay and then had dinner at nearby restauruant which Damien suggested as he had walked past there on many occasions but had never been inside.
We had a really nice meal, chatted a lot about France, I mentioned my forthcoming trip to Griffith and invited him. We then went off to see Stringmansassy, the band I had interviewed the week previous.
They were terrifici. Both will benefit from age though as Kacey (the vocalist) often went over the top with her vocalisations. Aaron (the guitarist) however was both talented and cute!
“Oh my goodness, we can book in for 9.30”, I told my friend, as we made plans for a meal AFTER seeing a play last night. Having visited New York together about eighteen months ago, with all of the lock out laws rhetoric, and with Sydney’s stupidly restrictive restaurant trading laws, I was convinced our only option was going to be pide on Cleveland Street, but yes, we managed to book a table at Vini on Holt Street.
We started the night with a catch-up glass of wine at Belvoir Street Theatre, ahead of seeing “Which Way Home”. Though the form of the play is a “road trip” (between Brisbane and Lightning Ridge), it’s the story of a father and daughter (the mother died when the daughter was much younger), different generational perspective, Indigenous identity, and connection to country. Both actors in the play were excellent, with moments of both tenderness and humour. At 65 minutes, it was also just the right length.
Belvoir Street Theatre
After the play, we headed to dinner at the aforementioned Vini, where the meal and conversation were excellent. We even ended up spending some time chatting to the people at the next table, which was also enjoyable.
Across the road from us, there was an art class in a shop window. Combined with instruction and a glass or two of wine, it looked like fun. As they walked out, participants in the class proudly showed us their works.
Art classes in Holt Street, Surry Hills
All in all, a lovely night, and home at a respectable hour. As the sign at Taylor Square says, in rainbow colours, “Have a great night”, possibly followed by, in brackets “But don’t stay out too late, it’s Sydney, after all” :)\
Centrepoint Tower, Sydney, Australia, as viewed from Castlereagh Street.
As I was standing at the bus stop on Castlereagh Street earlier tonight, I looked up and saw Centrepoint Tower. And for just a moment I reflected on my life and how Centrepoint Tower is nearly always visible to me. I live in Surry Hills, I work in Ultimo. Regularly, of course, I’ll visit The Rocks, Newtown, Lewisham and Glebe. It’s very rare for me to go “over the bridge”, although that might change. Occasionally, I’ll make a visit to Bondi or Coogee. You get the drift.
I’m back at work on Monday and I guess it’s probably a little bit of restlessness associated with the end of my holiday. For the past two weeks I haven’t ventured all that far from home. I’ve been catching up with people, going out for dinner and drinks etc, and I’ve been doing LOADS of family history. But basically, throughout it all, Centrepoint Tower has still remained within sight.
Although I’d planned to go and visit Patrick in Canberra this weekend, that didn’t eventuate. Something else has come up in my life and so, at the last minute yesterday morning I decided not to go. Although it would have been fun to go away for a couple of days it’s probably best that I stay here this weekend. Yes, I know I’m being cryptic. Sorry. And don’t embarrass me by asking to me say more.
It was Wednesday. I got up. I went to work. I ate a brief lunch. I listened to a few people complain. I met up with Damien. And then I went to the pub, as usual for a Wednesday night. It was a mixed day.
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Gotta disagree with you that dance music “hasn’t changed much in the last ten years” – a lot of interesting and innovative dance and electronica has come out during that time. Unfortunately the folks who hosted that party don’t know where to find it, based on that short sound bite. Truly awful.
Agreed, and I’ve bought it. But this stuff was just woeful, especially the next morning when they were playing the type of dance music you’d associate with late 90s dance parties… ”It’s almost daylight, the crystal has kicked in, I don’t know who I’ve had sex with, but I just gotta keep dancing!”.
Gotta disagree with you that dance music “hasn’t changed much in the last ten years” – a lot of interesting and innovative dance and electronica has come out during that time. Unfortunately the folks who hosted that party don’t know where to find it, based on that short sound bite. Truly awful.
Agreed, and I’ve bought it. But this stuff was just woeful, especially the next morning when they were playing the type of dance music you’d associate with late 90s dance parties… ”It’s almost daylight, the crystal has kicked in, I don’t know who I’ve had sex with, but I just gotta keep dancing!”.