You know how I often take photographs of crap people leave in my back lane-way and call them “discarded posts”. And then I rabbit on about similar items I’ve had on the past. It’s usually some crap old furniture nobody wants any more, but tonight I found something actually quite useful. I found a 17 inch computer monitor to replace my ten year old 13 inch computer monitor. Yes, seriously.
While I know I come across as being very “tech-savvy” and an “early-adopter” and all that, I’m also quite frugel, believing you should only really replace equipment when it’s absolutely necessary. That’s part of the reason why I’ve held off on buying aDVD-recorder (because I have a perfectly good VCR), and part of the reason why I don’t have the latest and greatest flat-screen television. It’s not because I’m tight (far from it), it’s just my way of doing my bit for the environment, I guess.
But tonight when I saw the computer monitor in the back lane-way, I decided immediately that if it was still there when I returned home I would bring it upstairs to see if it was a suitable replacement for the old Tatung monitor. And yes it is! I’ll keep the Tatung just in case I need it, but in the meantime…
Lagom is a Swedish word which, roughly translate means “in the right balance”.
It’s a commonly used word, and one which many have said sums up the Swedes as a whole, everything being “in the right balance”.
But it’s also a word I’d use to describe the evening’s activities.
After an interesting and varied day at work I came home briefly before heading off to the Allen and Unwin twentieth birthday party.
Allen and Unwin is an Australian-owned, independant publisher, though with UK origins.
Generally speaking, they publish good books, and along the way they’ve had a hit or two with thinks like Harry Potter and the Chris Masters biography of Alan Jones.
I saw Chris Masters as the function, along with a range of other “journalism celebrities”.
In the midst of drinks and canapes there were some speeches celebrating twenty years of independant ownership.
And guess what? They didn’t go too long. They were about the right length, were well thought out, and hit the mark absolutely.
Thirty minutes for a speech in the middle of a party seems like a lot, but when those making the speeches have thought them through, have a point to make, and use the old adage of “get on, say what you have to say, and then get off” you know you’re in luck.
I met some interesting people through the night including a woman writing a series of books about teenage sexuality.
I also met a freelance journalist who moved from Melbourne a few years ago because there “wasn’t much work in Melbourne”, and who has no regrets about the move.
There were others too, all with an interesting story to tell, and of course I ran into a few people I knew already.
Overall, a lovely way to spend Friday night. Lots of balance.
“You don’t need to go on a tour of Soweto, I’ll show you around”, Paddy told me as we sat and chatted on Sunday night at the Ratz Bar in Johannesburg. Paddy introduced himself earlier in the night, asking if I would take a photograph of him and his mate David. “Would you please take our photograph and then would you like to join us”, he said to me. Paddy runs a restaurant and David works as a set designer in television. They were both absolutely delightful, and I hope we’ll stay in touch.
David and Paddy
I would have taken Paddy up on his offer, as he was born and raised in Soweto, except for the fact the fact we both probably had far too much to drink that night, and might have struggled the next day.
Instead, I went on the group tour I’d already booked on. I’m not sure why (maybe it was a Monday) but there were no other tourists booked on the tour, so I had an incredibly personal tour from a bloke who was born, raised, and still lives in Soweto.
There were actually two other people on the bus, but they were “in training”. One of the two, a young guy, introduced himself to me as coming from the East Cape. He told me he had completed a tourism course, and now had a six-month internship, hoping to gain a job working in the tourism industry at the end of his internship.
Visiting Soweto – Transformation
It can’t be easy finding a job in South Africa at the moment, though. “The unemployment rate is about 45 percent”, the tour guide told me as we travelled around Soweto. Despite the high unemployment and the obvious poverty, I actually felt some optimism about the future of Soweto.
The guide explained to me, for example, how much of the shanty town accommodation is being transformed with new housing. Despite much of the negative commentary I’ve heard over the last few days about corruption in the South African government, it sounds as if transformation of Soweto is a major priority for them, and so hopefully this will mean an improvement in the living standards of people there.
Nonetheless, there are many sad things to remember about Soweto, including the memorial for the many thousands of children who died protesting the extremes of apartheid. The coal power generator towers (now beautifully coloured, and the site of bungy-jumping on the weekends) are also a reminder of the many health problems experienced by people in the region.
There were lots of things about Soweto which surprised me which included a visit the house of Winnie Mandela (quite large), the house of Nelson Mandela (he only lived there for one month, before being moved to protect his safety) and the house of Desmond Tutu (surprisingly close to the others).
There’s something wonderfully re-assuring about a middle-aged drag queen in a purple wig – think Dame Edna – seeking to represent Sweden in the Eurovision Song Contest.
In the midst of all the young things of Swedish pop these days who sing only in English, it was great to see someone who broke the mould.
Not that it’s all that odd to see drag queens in Melodifestivalen or Eurovision, these days. In fact, it almost seems compulsory to have one.
Interestingly, compared to last week when there was only one Swedish language song, which I grumbled about, this week there were quite a few Swedish language songs this week, including Babsan, which I think is a good thing.
Elisabeth Andreassen
To win Eurovision, it’s pretty obvious they really need to sing in English these days, but I reckon it’s pretty cool if they could sing in Swedish for the domestic finals. Same for the other countries too.
And besides, singing in English is not without its risks. There was a song this week, for example, “My Heart Is Refusing Me” which I thought had a title which sounded like something Swedish which had been put through Google Translate. It’s like that line from ABBA’s “Fernando” when they sing, “Since many years I haven’t seen a rifle in your hand”. In Swedish it makes perfect sense to say “sedan många år” (since many years), though it fails terribly in English.
The Moniker sings Oh My God
The same with ‘Like Suicide” by Christian Waltz. I quite like his work, but you just know you’re going nowhere at Eurovision when you title your song, “Like Suicide”.
Speaking of song titles, there was a repeat this week of a title from last week. Last week, “Oh My God” was a bright, happy pop song by by Le Kid. This week, “Oh My God” by The Moniker was something out of this world with Mika-like vocals, and a guy singing the song who looked like Phil Collins in a Hare Krishan outfit.
I thought the songs, overall, were better this week than last. Despite the dodgy title, “My Heart Is Refusing Me” was probably my favourite from this week, though I also liked Brolle, the uber schlager-campness of Elisabeth Andreassen (who has competed for both Sweden and Norway on many occasions) and the schlager-pop stylings of Elektrisk.
Speaking of electricity, the chemistry between the hosts seems to have improved also. Last week, they were very stiff. This week, they were much better.
Overall, I’m feeling more confident about Melodifestivalen this week then I was at a similar point last week.
One of the most exciting things I’ve done recently is book tickets for Liza Minnelli’s performance at the Sydney Opera House in October.
When pre-sale tickets went online, I was there hitting re-fresh as the bookings website went into melt-down mode.
I’ve put a copy of the seating plan on my window at work with x’s where are seats are located (great seats, by the way) which always gives everyone at work a warm smile.
I suspect my workmates think it’s “all a bit gay” that I’m excited about seeing Liza, but I can assure you it’s a long-term and genuine desire I have. From an early age (like 5 or 6), I loved Judy Garland, Liza MInnelli etc. Make of that what you will.
Anyway, in anticipation of this all, Sydney Film Festival this year has had a special screening of “Liza with a Z”, a made for television program from the early 1970s, recently restored, and so tonight Colin and I went along.
Oh my God, it was amazing. The energy levels, the strength of her performance, the goose-bump-inducing moment when she sang (though not overtly) about her mother’s death. It was an amazing performance.
For the first ten or fifteen minutes of the screening, you could sense the audience was wanting to applaud, though of course that’s something you never do at the movies, is it? After a while though they relented, and when Liza gave a great performance, they responded with applause.
One of the night’s plans, to have a hook up with Liza, didn’t eventuate. It would have been six o’clock in the morning for Liza and she’d just won a Tony Award for the show she’s bringing to Australia. I think the whole theatre understood completely it was just not going to happen, given Liza’s lifetime of parties, drugs and alcohol.
And in some ways it was probably for the best. “Liza with a Z” is about youthful energy. Her performance in October will be much different. She’s in her 60s now. To contrast the two probably wouldn’t have worked. It would have been a disappointment in some ways. I think it’s best to separate the two performances with three or four months in between.
“That came off quickly”, my friends commented with surprise as I removed my prosthetic leg.
We were having our annual get-together lunch at La Capannina, an Italian restaurant at Milson’s Point. As it’s a once-a-year occasion, I was both excited and trepidatious about attending. I had to give a fair bit of thought about the logistics. Would I need my wheelchair? Could I be comfortably seated for such a lengthy period of time?
“Are you okay?” one of my friends asked me, as I adjusted myself during lunch. Though I wondered myself, I quickly realized that the readjusting was likely the kind of thing I would normally have done after being seated for an hour or so anyway.
The confidence that resulted from this week’s experiences of walking with crutches was with me again on Friday morning. I took a brief walk by myself down the street to get a haircut, and I planned my visit to the restaurant without my wheelchair, and in a “regular” Uber, and not a wheelchair taxi as originally planned.
Nonetheless, I reached out to a friend and asked him if he could meet me at the other end of the trip from home. The main entrance to the restaurant has a lot of narrow stairs, though there is another entry via a sports field, which was smooth and flat. I ended up arriving before my friend and waited briefly before his arrival.
Lunch, as always, was a wonderful experience, as we enjoyed conversation, food, and wine.
Inevitably, the conversation came around to my health, and in particular, questions about my prosthetic leg. And that’s when I whipped it off.
Like many, my friends had no idea about the practicalities of my prosthetic, including how it was attached to my leg and whether or not I would be able to walk without assistance in the future.
“If all goes to plan,” I explained, “I’ll be able to walk with only the prosthetic. This time next year, I hope I won’t need support getting here, but you never know.”
There may be days, weeks, or even months when I’m unable to wear the prosthetic and may need to get around in my wheelchair.
We talked briefly about the “olden days” when prosthetic legs were attached directly to the bone of the missing limb. In my own case, I have a latex sleeve that goes over my stump. The glove has a bolt on the end that “clicks” into the prosthetic. I need to be aware of how many “clicks” occur, in case my stump begins to “bottom out”.
To help with that, I have a series of woolen socks that I may need to adjust according to the time of day or the year. This is because my leg can adjust in size due to a range of factors, including the weather.
To release the prosthetic, there is a button that simply unclicks.
I was happy to talk about my experiences and show my friends what was happening. Due to the weather, I’m still wearing shorts and probably will do for some time. My disability is quite “visible,” I’ve mentioned to quite a few people.
But what about next year? What about when I’m wearing long pants during winter? My disability will be far less visible then. Generally speaking, people I meet won’t know I have a prosthetic. They’ll be less inclined to ask those questions, I assume, but in the meantime, I’m happy to chat and explain what’s happening.
Walking Update
Armed with new, shorter crutches, I went to visit the prosthetist Thursday for a few minor modifications.
Here’s an update on how my walking is coming along.
It’s Wednesday night and I’ve got my voice back. I had a theory that, when push came to shove and when I had to return to work, it would mysteriously re-appear. And it did!. It’s amazing, isn’t it, how your body just responds when it knows it has to. I went back to work yesterday, and when I woke, there it was, back as good as new. Or almost as good as new, at least 80%. Mind you, I’m still resting up hoping for a proper return of those meliflous vocal chords.
I spoke about it with a colleague today at work and she told me she’d had a problem or two in the past, but that the only thing you should do when you can’t speak is just not speak. Don’t whisper, it only makes things worse. Her advice – just shut the fuck up.
Although I’m a little tired tonight, the return to work has been good. In just two days I’ve managed to achieve a fair deal and it’s almost like I haven’t been away. And yet, of course I have, and it’s made a huge difference to have had so much time off. Quite a few people have commented on how relaxed and refreshed I appear, which I assume means I must have looked pretty awful before heading off on leave.
And so all of this has just re-inforced for me how important it is to take regular breaks. When I did the sums, recently, I realised I haven’t really had a proper holiday in quite a few years. A day here, a long weekend there, just a week every so often, just isn’t enough. You need a good break every now and then.
And yet, after taking four weeks off, I’m still owed about 7 weeks annual leave. I am owed 30 weeks long-service leave. I could take up to 45 weeks of sick leave.
Although my heart tells me it’s important to save leave up for when it’s really needed (I’m not one for taking sickies, because you could end up needing that leave if you’re diagnosed with cancer), my head tells me it shouldn’t mean you wait until you’re half-crazy and in desperate need of a break. For a Catholic, I’ve got a lot of that Protestant work ethic inside me, haven’t I?
Is it the birdsin the sky making that noise….
“cheep, cheep. cheep, cheep..”
woo hoo! a win for the worldwide fellowship of scavengers. you know i love you for it. :)