I had a bit of a breakthrough at Swedish class tonight. I normally loathe grammar, but I quite enjoyed the exercise we did tonight. Best of all? I think I actually understood the principles behind what we learned, and can possibly even apply them in real life. That’s a real breakthrough, let me tell you.
To “celebrate”, I came home and put on a CD which Grant bought back from Stockholm for me, called “Sthlms Liv”. It’s a collection of mostly jazz songs from the twentieth century with lyrics about or inspired by life in Stockholm. There’s also an accompanying booklet which explains in both English and Swedish a little of the background to the songs, and features some wonderful photographs mostly from the 1950s and 1960s which demonstrate how little/how much Stockholm has changed.
I find it fascinating how much the Swedes sing about their capital city. Although we have lots of songs about Sydney – including reasonably overt lyrics and titles – the Swedes seem to take it to a higher level. For example, one of the most popular television shows has as it’s theme song a track called “Stockholm i mitt hjärta” (Stockholm in my heart).
As I looked through the track list, I recognised a couple of tunes instantly. There’s “Sakta vi gå genom stan” (Slowly we walk through the town) which is actualy a Swedish translation of “Walking My Baby Back Home” by jazz-legend Monica Zetterlund and “Min egen stad” (My own town) by former ABBA member, Anni-Frid Lyngstad. So I guess when I put on the CD I was half-expecting a bit of a nostalgia trip. Not so, it’s an album full of wonderful surprises.
That said, there are quite a few songs which have that nostalgic feel. And I can imagine lots of older Swedes would have bought the CD purely for its nostalgic value. “Sakta vi gå genom stan”, for example, is a great song, sung well…
But the CD is much more than that. It’s a genuinely wonderful collection I suspect you coud enjoy without any Swedish language skills. Calling it a jazz collection is both correct and incorrect. There’s certainly a “jazz feel” to the CD, but in a very broad sense with a range of musical genres from “tango” to “beat poetry”.
The first song which really stood out for me was “Jag vill ha en gondol” by Zarah Leander. It’s got a wonderful “tango” feel about it, and is sung in a very dramatic style.
I was also transfixed by a piece called “Stockholmsmelodi” by Sven-Bertil Taube. It’s a piece which opens again, quite dramatically, with what sounds like a bit of a mad-man ranting on the sidewalk. The level of Swedish is too complicated for me to understand instantly, and so I’m going to have to do a bit of research and translate to see if he’s as mad as he sounds.
There’s also some wonderfully relaxing, evocative pieces including “The Midnight Sun Never Sets” by Quincy Jones and “Var blev ni av” by Freddie Wadling.
But the one track I’ve been playing over and over again is called “En självbiografi” by Sonja Åkesson. To a “beat poetry” style jazz backing, it’s the story of a “suburban housewife” talking about her life. Again, I’m going to need to translate this one to get a better feel for it, but it’s a piece which has really captured my attention simply because of the instrumentation and the lyrical presentation.
We’ve had a series of warm nights in Sydney. You know? Those nights where you wake up in the middle of the night, look at your phone, and can’t possibly believe it’s 27 degrees. It was one of those nights last night, and so when I woke in the middle of the night, I hopped online for a while, chatted with an overseas friend, and found myself unable to get back to sleep. So I went for an early morning walk down to Circular Quay. Just as hot and sticky as at home, but with hardly anyone around, it was a really lovely place to look around. Gorgeous views, of course.
I’m the first to admit there was a slight sense of trepidation in our steps as we walked up the stairs of the venue of Cleveland Street offering Dance Classes.
Minutes earlier a colleague had told me she had gone to dance classes twenty years earlier, and often overcome with nervousness, never made it into the class all that often, choosing instead to remain outside in her car.
A colleague suggested we go along to an after-work dance class several weeks ago, with the twin goals of fitness and fun in mind.
As we argued for several weeks over which class suited us best, the final consensus ended up with Monday and a decision to undertake the Hip Hop Class.
Although four of us had agreed to attend, only three turned up.
But what great fun we had.
As we walked into the already warmed-up class, we found ourselves a space towards the back of the class and began to follow our instructor, a young bloke called Masaki, who was probably about twenty five years old.
Being a little bit older (ok, a lot older), the three of us found it a little difficult to keep our feet firmly on the floor, as appears to be the custom for hip-hop dancing.
“I found the twirl the hardest bit”, said one of my colleagues.
As the hour progressed the dance routine became increasingly complex. But somehow – goodness knows how – we managed to end up being able to perform a basic hip-hop routine.
I’m sure the instructor must have had to stifle a grin or two as he looked at the three old people in the back row who were slightly behind everyone else.
That said, there was a young bloke not far from me who was completely un-co.
But the great thing about this class was that it wasn’t about judging who was good and who wasn’t. It was just loads of fun, the music was surprisingly good, and there was a genuine joie de vivre in the class. $16 for an hour was great value, we all thought.
The music was also really good, though I was a little disappointed they failed to play my current favourite “We Made You” by Eminem. Yes, seriously… it’s a GREAT song.
As we walked out of the class, gulping down water, we looked at the dance schedule for the next few weeks.
“The Bollywood Class looks like fun”, we all agreed.
But then, as we walked towards the stairs, we noticed to our right the Hip Hop/Funk Beginner class which had just started. They were dancing to a Michael Jackson song.
“I like songs with words”, a colleague commented. And we also noted the class was maybe a little older, and moving a little more in the dance style to which we all were accustomed.
“OK, let’s do that”, we all agreed. And even though one of us has a young child at home, we agreed we could work our schedules for a 6.30 class next week.
There’s been a bit in the papers lately about Facebook photographs. I guess it all started with the Australian Olympic team and those photographs of them being very drunk and disorderly. I’m sure there are some photographs of me in a similar situation just waiting to be uncovered (and no, that’s not an invitation to drag out of the shoe box, scan them, and share them with the rest of the world).
I share these concerns about workplace embarassment, which I guess labels me oh so “Gen X” in oh so many ways. While “Gen Y” have had little to worry about in terms of of unemployment, old blokes like myself remember when youth unemployment was 40 or 50%, and so we worry about holding on to our jobs, and anything that might cause embarassment, and maybe compromise job security.
But there must be a little “Gen Y” about me, as well. Because today, when my friend Cathy posted some older photographs of me (and her, and our friends) from our university days on Facebook, I immediately showed them to everyone at work. Phrases such as “Oh my God, you were so hot”, and “You were so skinny!”, poured forth from the mouths of my colleagues.
In sharing them here in a more public way, I’ve cropped out everyone else, leaving you with an image of me in 1985 and 1986. For some reason or other, it’s a period of my life for which I didn’t have a lot of photographs previously.
My immediate reaction was to realise how skinny I was and how much hair I had (blonde and flowing – though maybe starting to thin). On a deeper level, you can see in my eyes the absolute joy of life as a twenty year old embarking on life’s big adventure. Thanks Cathy for reminding me of that time.
On a more disconcerting level, I’m beginning to wonder if I ever got out of my pyjamas!
My final complete day in Beijing was one of some rather intense socialising. It all began with late afternoon drinks, which then morphed into dinner, and then a bit of bar-hopping.
The drinks were lots of fun with an arty-expat crew in a swish apartment overlooking the Grand Canal. The kind of apartment that would be worth several times more now than its purchase price off the plan a few years ago.
Baijiu comes in a bottle just like Jeannie
The drinks then morphed into dinner, and that’s where baijiu comes into it. I’ve never been one for “shots”. It’s all a bit too “competitive drinking” for my liking. And so when it was suggested that we purchase a bottle of the Chinese high-spirit alcohol, I was a little nervous. “What does the smell and flavour remind you of?’, a friend asked me. “Amyl nitrate”, I replied.
With a few drinks under our belts, we wandered to the nearly located Russian nightclub, Chocolate. The first thing you notice as you walk into the bar is the sheer size and faux opulence of the place. We have swish bars in Sydney, but nothing like this. And the second thing you notice is the dancing girls. Yes, dancing girls on the stage and around the tables. It was quite a site to behold to watch what you thought were reasonably sensible men pulling out their wallets and extracting some of their hard-earned cash to hand over to the girls.
Inside Chocolate Night Club
After a couple of hours of dancing girls, the last remaining hint of heterosexuality was so completely exorcised from my existence that I can now absolutely confirm myself as a perfect “Kinsey 6”. It was well and truly time for some gay bar action. Our destination? “Destination”, is arguably Beijing’s best-known “exotic bar”, as they’re known euphemistically here. I’d read on the internet that it was reasonably quiet during the week, though Wednesdays were often quite popular. That certainly wasn’t the case on this particular Wednesday, with just a handful of people sitting around. Still, it looked like a nice bar, and if I return to China, I’d definitely schedule a weekend visit there.
Destination Night Club in Beijing – or the cover of a 1980s new romantic CD
As the last drinks were called at “Destination”, and our evening not quite complete, we went in search of something a little edgier. We ended up in a small bar which I subsequently went on to describe in a text to a friend as a “student slum bar”. The crowd was young, straight, and completely pumped for a night on the town. Hey, they even had a pole for pole dancing. I resisted the temptation, though the call was too much for a friend of mine and, within minutes, he was having the time of his life.
“You know we’re gay?”, my friend, who speaks Chinese, said to the girls hanging around us. “Yes”, they replied. Meanwhile, I got chatting with a guy whose girlfriend/wife’s face had an almost permanent scowl on it, seemingly directed towards us. Very strange.
So that was my final full day in Beijing. And what a way to top off an amazing holiday.
“You caught me”, he said with a slight look of fear on his face. That fear turned to a smile when he realised I didn’t really care what he was doing. “Don’t do it, again”, I said as I continued my walk home. I was more interested in getting home than chastising a graffiti artist in my back laneway. Contrary to the stereotype, he wasn’t a young kid in baggy pants and trainers. He was in his mid to late 20s, rather conservatively dressed, and quite cute in that nerdish way that I like.
It was one of a number of random incidents which has happened to me in the last six hours or so.
It all started earlier in the night when I went along to the opening night of the new Bill Henson exhibition at Roslyn Oxley Gallery. Two years ago, you might recall, there was a certain degree of notoriety associated with his previous exhibition. The Other Andrew and I never got to see the exhibition that night, as it was cancelled due to a raid by NSW Police.
At issue was the portrayal in provactive poses of a number of under-age models. There’s an under-age model in this exhibition too, except it’s a marble statue this time. “Is that a child in the photograph”, asked a rather random elderly woman with poor eyesight standing next to me. When I reassured her it wasn’t, she told me, “you know he got into trouble last time for that kind of thing?” “I was about to give him a piece of my mind”, she added. The conversation continued for at least fifteen minutes later as she told me stories about her life, and informed me that I “exuded Irishness”.
When Sam arrived I thanked him for coming over. “I was concerned you were going to stand politely in the corner”, I told him. He said whenever he seems someone talking to someone random he always come over because a) they could be really interesting or b) his friend needs rescuing. It was a little bit of a) and b) for me tonight.
Bill Henson exhibition opening at Roslyn Oxley Gallery
I never got to see the last Bill Henson exhibition, though I saw the one before. This one is quite conservative, I thought, featuring some island landscapes (including some beautiful waterfall features inside a cave), portrayals of some Roman antiquities (where the statues seem to come to life), as well as a portrait feature of a young woman. I think the images are quite beautiful, as he deals mostly in darker colours. As you might expect after the controversy of the previous exhibition, this one was absolutely packed to the rafters. Sam and I left soon after the speeches.
From there I went to the Message Sticks indigenous film festival at the Opera House, where my friend Michaela had an opening night sensation with “Boxing For Palm Island”. The film, to be screened on ABC-TV later this year, contrasts the negative stories about Palm Island, with the inspiring story of the island’s amateur boxing group. It’s a story which featured a couple of years ago in “The Monthly”. Along with director, Adrian Wills, Michaela co-wrote and produced the film which got a standing ovation. The main characters in the documentary are real winners. They have such inspiring stories. They’re all people who’ve recognised the darkness in their lives, and who’ve made an effort to turn things around. REALLY INSPIRING STUFF!
Message Sticks
They all came down to Sydney for the premiere tonight, and it was wonderful to see them having the times of their lives. The film screens again over the next few days. And in case you’re interested, all films are free for this festival (except tonight), so if you’re interested check out the Sydney Opera House website.
And then a further random moment occured on the bus coming home tonight when a man came up to me and said, “You don’t know who I am, but…” He didn’t need to say anything else. I instantly recognised him as Victor from Someone for me, a blog I’ve followed for quite some time now. Victor had just been to the Opera House also, though to see quite a different show. We chatted for a while until it was time for me to make me way home, and then of course, to run into Mr Graffiti Artist.
Fresh graffiti in my back laneway
Three random and unexpected conversations in a six hour period: and it’s not even a full-moon!
Don’t you just love Sydney? It’s Sunday night and I have just been for a walk down the road to take some photographs for Yvette of “A Very Carpenters Christmas” at Shannon Reserve, near the Clock Hotel. As I was walking back into the apartment block, I noticed a group of young men dressed only in speedos in the carpark. As a car arrived, I heard a voice say, “do these boys know where they are going?”. Presumably it’s some kind of festive event… or it may just be one of the many sex parties which are held in Surry Hills? It reminds me of this one time (at band camp), when a friend and I were walking home and we discovered a group of people doing what appeared to be porno photograph in the street behind our apartment block.
I spent most of the afternoon at work covering the bushfires. While later this afternoon a fire threatened the historic Hydro-Majestic Hotel at Meadlow Bath, the situation has largely been contained. By Tuesday, the Rural Fire Service Commissioner, Phil Koperberg expects the current bushfire crisis to be averted, thanks to a favourable change in the weather. Nonetheless, the whole of Sydney remains covered in bushfire smoke, as you can see from this photograph taken at the Sydney Cricket Ground on Friday. Thanks to an eerie red glow, the sunset was spectacular. Shame about the fires.
I also went to the cricket on Friday. It was a One Day Match between England and New South Wales, though the NSW Blues had much of the strength of an Australian side, with the inclusion of people like Glenn McGrath, Steve Waugh. Michael Bevan and Brett Lee. At the last minute Michael Slater was also included, replacing Mark Waugh who had an injured groin, which, because he had been fighting bushfires, had not had time to heal. It’s just as well Slater was included because he scored more than 100 and thus was an important figure in NSW’s defeat of England. But he made us wait for the century, scoring only 1 or 2 runs at a time in the run up to the century. And so the crowd became bored, resorting to Mexican waves (everywhere except the Members Stand), and to collecting huge stacks of plastic cups, forming large plastic “slinkies”, which the police confiscated, until the crowd embarked on a mass civil disobedience by passing the cup stacks through the crowd as the police approached.
With ABC Radio’s Angela Catterns in the ABC cricket commentary box
I stayed at the cricket until about nine o’clock (just after Slater scored his century), coming home because I was sooo tired. I spent yesterday afternoons at Colin’s place (lunch and some computer repairs), and last night watching television (my usual Saturday night routine).
I also spent some time on the internet reading other people’s blogs and came across a funny post from a bloke who was obviously sick to death of spam offering him penis enlargements. He writes: To all you spammers out there, please read and take note of the following: I am quite happy with my penis size. Thank you very much. I am not interested in increasing my size (well maybe a little. who isn’t?), my hardness, my strength, or my endurance (maybe the wife is. what women isn’t?). When I shower at the gym or stand at a public urinal, I do not worry that the guy next to me is packing more punch than me. When I am “with” the wife, I do not pain over whether or not she is enjoying herself as much as she would be if I were to upgrade to TrouserSnake v. 2.0. My confidence is fine. Or at least it was until the spammers started. My confidence is not shattered, but perhaps there are some cracks appearing around the edeges. Apparently a large part of the spamming world feels that I do, indeed, need some help in the masculine equipment department. Each day I get no fewer than 3 or 4 adverts telling me that the power to improve my penis is at hand (pardon the pun). While I believe that I am doing just fine down south, I wonder if I should take advantage of theri easy and effortless ways to increase size and improve perfomance of my mannly hydrolics. I have my choices: herbal, creams, pills, and powders. I fear anything that involves gadgetry. Never hook your John Thomas up to a piece of machinery, even, or maybe especially, if someone says you’ll be better off for it. I used to go through my day without thinking about my penis, except for the moments (almost always private) when I needed or wanted to use it. Now, I can barely think of anything else. I walk the downtown streets wondering if the guy next to me has tried the latest performance-increasing techniques newly imported from Asia. I grab lunch and wonder if the cashier has recently pleasured his lady with his increased length and width! My infernal member is consuming me! That was actually a dream I had once, but that is between me and Dr. Freud. I want to go back to old days, when I was entirely confident about Mr. Willy. We’ve had a wonderful relationship for so long. I would hate for these spammers to damage that relationship by continuing to bombard my fragile male ego with suggestions to the contrary. I think I need a filter.
This morning I had an assignment to write, followed by the bushfire coverage at work.
Came home tonight, checked the phone and Damo had rung, asking me if I wanted to have a drink earlier this afternoon. Almost exactly twelve months ago we were attending “A Very Carpenters Christmas” in Taylor Square. It was an odd – but entertaining mixture – of the Sydney Gay & Lesbian Choir and a Carpenters impersonation band. There have been posters around Surry Hills the last few weeks promoting the same event would be held again, but at Shannon Reserve, near the Clock Hotel, as Taylor Square is being dug up again. Obviously, that hideous design during the Gay Games was only a temporary measure. I attended the event last year with Damo, Yvette, Jacqui, Katie and some others.
Anyway, it was supposed to be the Carpenters again, albeit for a last-minute change which South Sydney City Council have announced on their website as Margi Di Ferranti, Sydney’s celebrated Cabaret performer will headline South Sydney Council’s FREE Christmas Carols Concert this Sunday as a replacement to the advertised performance by The Carpenters…Once more due to illness. Margi di Ferranti is well known to Sydney’s cabaret and music theatre aficionados and is acknowledged as having a voice to die for. After winning the inaugural Sydney Cabaret Convention in 1997 Margi was flown to New York to perform her show It’s Delightful, It?s Delicious, It’s de Ferranti! Her versions of Burt Bacharach and the Carpenters hits will have you Wishing & Hoping for more and by the end of the evening you will be On Top of the World.
Anyway, as Yvette is in Sweden, I thought I’d pop down the road,anyway, and take a few pictures so she could imagine what it was like this year… even if the Carpenters look-a-like band were not involved. And who should I run into but Jacqui? We had a chat and a photograph. Actually, I couldn’t actually stay for long, as I have a few things to do tonight, but it was nice to have a look anyway.
Not much planned for the week yet… or at least not that I recall, but I’m sure something will spring up!
