My job is not bad. Not by a long shot. I am not complaining about my job (although it does have it's moments) I really don't have much to whine about.
Today, I met somebody who has a right to complain.
Lunchtime saw me going to the doctor. A patch of cellulitis, which they treated with antibiotics last week, has diminished, but has not gone away. So, it was back to the doctors to see what else can be done for this slightly uncomfortable patch of inflamed skin on my leg. As I explained, I really didn't want to take an existing condition to Darwin to have it fester. As I said to the doctor, the last thing I need is for my leg to turn back and have it drop off.
I left the doctor's office with a prescription for some stronger antibiotics and an order to have and ultrasound and Xray on my leg to make sure nothing nefarious is going on. This is definitely a due diligence action. From a Millennial doctor who's also a bloke, it felt good to be cared for and listened to.
The imaging place is around the corner and up the road from the surgery.
On going in, I was told I could have the Xray today, but the ultrasound would have to wait until the weekend. It would be a 15-minute wait.
I don't think I've had an Xray in 30 years. The last time that I can remember it was in 1993. I was in Dublin, with a terrible chest infection. I was staying in a youth hostel. I knew I needed antibiotics. The doctor was concerned enough that they thought I might have pneumonia, and demanded I have a chest Xray. All I can remember was being sprawled up against the film like a bug on a wall and it took about ten minutes for me to stop coughing.
This time, it was just the lower leg that needed its picture taken.
I was asked to take off my jeans.
No worries there.
I'd showered in the hours before. No drama there. My underwear was clean.
The Xray technician put me in the positions they required.
"I'm glad I'm recently showered. It's my dread fear going to a doctor when you're not fresh."
"You're good," they told me, "I can't smell your feet. You can come back any time."
As I said, I think my job is bad at time. At least I don't have to deal with the great unwashed...
As romantic comedies go it's funny, relatable, with some very cool characters and daft situations, but mainly it's the story of two people who never should have met. Joanne (Kristin Bell), an atheist, chaotic podcast producer who has very little filter. And Noah (Adam Brody), a sold, dependable, likeable rabbi who oozes progressive thoughts with the laid-back California lifestyle. What could go right? Or wrong? Everything.
Also, it's like where do you find a Noah?
I mean, he's cute, a little scruffy, emotionally available, not afraid of his emotions and knows how to say no. And state exactly what he wants.
He's also okay with the different and a bit crazy.
And he knows how to kiss - and the internet has blown up over this.
Anyway, I'm not writing tonight because I'm watching Nobody Wants This.
The show has also brought back some memories of what it was like to be the 'shiksa'. You'll have to watch to find out. I never got to the stage of meeting the parents.
But the "Are you even a bit Jewish?" question was asked once.
It started this morning with the runny poos. He's not normally a runny poo sort of cat. This continued over the morning. Little visits to the little box yielded more runny poo. Complete with wiping his bum on the mat outside the kitchen. It's his thing. The mat is washable.
How does anybody do this with children? You don't even have a pooper scooper to use with children?
Things came to a head around lunchtime when he had a very large puke on the other rug.
Why can't cats puke on the floorboards? It always has to be on the rug.
Both rugs have been put through the wash.
And my normal, happy cat, who sleeps all day, was up and about, not asking for treat, and occasionally running to the litter box.
He just wasn't himself today.
And in-between scooping poop and cleaning up sick, my little fella was sitting on the bed, alert, but out of sorts. Normally he sleeps on his throne in the spare room for most of the day. His nose is cool and wet, like it always is.
I don't think he's very sick. More the cat equivalent of a 24 hour bug. If it continues, I'll take him to the vet, but I think that's more of a punishment to go there.
And the moment he's sitting next to me, gently clawing at my leg, looking for treats. He's made a good dent into his dinner. His behaviour is going back to what it normally is.
Still, I have no idea how I would cope with sick children. And they seem to get ill all the time.
An off colour cat is all I can deal with - and that's been hard enough.
It's a big weekend and I'm fitting in as much culture while I'm in Melbourne before returning to Darwin next weekend. So, it might be short answers this week.
Also, Daylight Savings start this weekend. Booo. More adjusting of the body clocks.
A few things. Politics. Women's rights. Abortion rights. Right wing politics. I can normally contain myself, but don't get me going on a bad day. You might not survive.
2. What makes a good life?
Friends, family, food, decent gin, pets, down time. Travel. Cat videos definitely help too.
3. What risks are worth taking?
According to the magnet on my fridge, life is sweetened by risk. I reckon any considered and calculated risk is worth taking. What can go wrong. (Okay sure, so much for sky diving... but it's low risk if you put the work in - then if anything goes wrong, it's bad luck)
4. Who inspires you to be better?
I'm not sure anybody inspires me to be better. It's something I want from within.
5. What do you have doubts about?
Everything, at some stage.
6. What fact are you resigned to?
Most people are stupid. It's unfortunate, but it's true. (I got some unsettling news tonight. I'm sitting here saying, "Stupid, stupid, stupid..." on repeat. I have to keep reminding myself that it's not my circus and they're not my monkeys.
7. What book impacted you the most?
That would be "Who Moved My Cheese?" by Dr Spencer Johnson. After a diabolical day at work hearing about the suicide of a colleague, I bought a copy and sat in Fitzroy Gardens and read it. It's only a small book so it didn't take long. There are messages written on the wall in this book. It challenged me to ask what would I do if I wasn't scared. The following day, I quit my job and moved to Greece. Things didn't work out in Greece, but it did move my life forward a lot. And if I'm feeling stuck, I ask myself that same question.
8. What irrational fear do you have?
Here's a few of them:
Huntsman spiders (If you don't live in Australia, google them)
Intimacy
Leaving books on page 13
Open water
When in Darwin, swimming in the sea because of the crocodiles.
Being photographed.
9. What is the hardest lesson you’ve learned?
Once your trust is broken, it is very foolish to let that person back in your life in any major way. I'll leave it at that.
10. What is something you’re self-conscious about?
My body. As much as I lovely my body and what it can do, I don't like its size and wish it was smaller. I'm working on it. I refuse to have it photographed.
11. What are one or two of your favorite smells?
Dogs and cat's paws first thing in the morning.
Freshly baked bread
The street on a hot day after it's rained (petrichor)
Freshly brewed coffee
Clean bloke
12. Have you given to charities?
Yes. I give monthly to the Fred Hollows Foundation and Canteen. It's good to give back and they're charities that do great work.
13. What is the best compliment you have received?
I don't get many compliments - but I remember one where I was told I was like a steam train. When I got a bit grumpy and asked why, I was told that I'm beautiful in an old-fashioned way and should be treasured. I have always loved steam trains.
14. What chance encounter changed your life forever?
I can't think of one. I've never had a partner so meeting them was never a thing. That's the answer most people will probably give.
15. What was the most memorable gift you’ve received?
I was once gifted a cock ring. I have no idea why. Sex toys are not something I'd ever give as a serious present and to this day, I have no idea what was in the giver's head when they bought this for me. It was in the bin pretty quickly.
And this one, despite being a little slow, is an absolute cracker.
Marthe de Méligny (Cecile de France) and the famous French painter Pierre Bonnard's (Vincent Macaigne) complex relationship is explored in the biographical drama Bonnard, Pierre & Marthe. The story follows the creative and romantic relationship between the two over the course of fifty years, illuminating how Bonnard used Marthe as a model for many of his most lauded pieces. Set against the background of early 20th-century France, the story develops through pivotal points in their lives, capturing the spirit of their love.
The standout performances of the film are definitely Cécile de France's Marthe and Vincent Macaigne's Bonnard. Bonnard is showed by Macaigne as a kind soul torn between his creative aspirations and the intricacies of his relationship with Marthe; Macaigne gives him a relaxed, warm charm. However, the dynamic between Marthe and De France is riveting because De France personifies Marthe's ferocious and even aggressive personality. In scenes where Bonnard's work shows how Marthe's influence on him is apparent, demonstrating how his creativity is driven by their personal struggles, their chemistry is palpable.
Within this two hours we get to see Bonnard's art and process. It was fascinating to watch as the paintings were developed as life went on around them. You also meet some of the luminaries of the time, including Claude Monet.
But this is a film which keeps its focus on the couple and their ever-changing relationship, even when Pierre leave to marry his mistress, Renee (Stacy Martin), in Rome.
Cinematographer Guillaume Schiffman does a masterful job capturing the intimate moments and undulating landscapes that make up Bonnard's universe. Its colour scheme is eye-catching and reminiscent of Bonnard's vivid paintings. Composer Michael Galasso's score adds a beautiful, wistful undercurrent to the images, heightening the narrative's emotional impact.
This is a gorgeous film. It's coming to the end of its run and is playing in the arthouse cinemas. It's definitely worth a look.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’VE NEVER BEEN TO THE CORNER? You live
ten minutes away. 15 if you walk.”
“More like 20 minutes if I walk. I’m up the dodgy Vietnamese
end of Richmond, remember.”
“Still, woman, how can that be?” After which, he rattled off
the number of his favourite Vietnamese restaurant on Victoria Street and left
me to stew.
Andy had a point. How could I not have attended The Corner
Hotel in Richmond to see a gig? In many ways, it was my own preferences and
prejudices. Not wanting to go alone. Or missing out on tickets (Hozier was one
of those tickets). Or forgetting whoever was playing and not getting there in
time (James Reyne). Like I pass The Corner Hotel at least twice a week. But I’d
never been in.
Andy passed away at the end of July at the age of 55.
As a part of the grieving process, and the mentality that life is too
bloody short, when I saw The Whitlams were playing there, and had added extra
shows, I bought a ticket. Andy would approve. I didn’t ask anybody else if they
wanted to come along. Often being the person who does the arranging and the
ticket buying, I decided that going alone, especially on a school night, would
be the best thing.
Yesterday, I checked the website, found out that they were
coming on at 8.45 p.m. At 8.20, I Ubered over there, because, like, parking in
Richmond is a no go, and the trams had replacement buses. Sod that.
And I arrived at 8.35, ready to get going.
First thing. The thrill I got from having a stamp put on my
wrist was out of this world. I can’t remember the last time I had a club stamp
my wrist, allowing me in and out (it used to be to have a smoke – this time, it
let you go to the loo, which was in the pub part of the hotel outside of the
auditorium). I remember getting these all the time as a young adult. I got the
feeling of being a big kid in this marvelous space.
Scanning the crowd, it was pretty much expected. A lot of
middle-aged people out for the night, with some younger ones (like in their
early thirties) who possibly got a liking for the band from their parents or
elder siblings. A nice, contained crowd. The sign about the merch stand reading
that crowd surfers would be turfed from the joint wasn’t needed.
I went to the bar to get a large soda water and time. The
barperson didn’t charge me. Result! And I made my way a little way into the
crowd, still up the back waiting for the band to appear.
Near the bar, the sound tech stood at his board playing with
the levels. Once again, a middled-aged fellow with glasses, greying hair in a
ponytail, wearing a black hoodie. What’s the bet his name is Dave.
“You should go up the front,” said Andy into my ear.
“I’m fine where I am. Room to move. You go up front.”
“Okay.”
On time, Tim Freedman and his band of musos arrived.
What followed was two hours of pure entertainment. Billed as
the Love this City tour, playing the 1999 album from end to end, with some
songs from The Eternal Nightcap and Torch the Moon. They were great. The inclusion of the brass section (okay a tenor sax and a trumpet) brought an added depth to the songs. Tight, in
synch, funny and very enjoyable. When Tim somehow accidentally forgot to play
Blow Up the Pokies, there was outrage in the crowd. He was joking...
To be a Whitlams fan, you will probably have a good sense of
humour, have grown up in share houses and see the world as it is.. With their music, you’ll be comfortable in the knowledge that you’re singing about love, and loss, and grief
and how things used to be. Songs about recording letters on a cassette or share
houses and pubs with sticky carpets (like The Corner. A colleague warned me
about the carpet – it was very spongy.) The songs of an Australia from 20 years
ago.
For me, I was happy to hear a lot from The Eternal Nightcap
– one of my favourite albums. I had it in my head that once I hear, You Sound
Like Louis Burdett, I could go home happy.
They played that as the last song of
the two-hour set. At which time, I went home happy.
And in the corner of my eye, I could see Andy, dancing
badly, wearing a band t-shirt, pint in hand, loving every moment of the gig.
There is something very cool about going to a gig by
yourself. You’re not beholden to anybody’s time keeping. You don’t have to get
in a round - even more important as I’m not drinking at the moment. You can
stand where you want. Drink what you want. And just take in the music. And in
my case, I found a very convenient air conditioning duct to stand under near
the back. It was brilliant.
This one really was for Andy. I’m so glad I went. On
leaving, I felt closer to him. I know he was there in spirit.
I got online this morning and bought the t-shirt, in
commemoration of not only a good night, but of a special friend.
