Chicken tonics and thunderstorms. You can't beat them.
(Chicken tonics is not a typo from me dictating into the phone - but it was last night, and I quite like it.)
Tonight was a good night.
After work, I went to the Silent Book Group - which had me reading my book while sipping on a drink and eating sweet potato chips. This was all fantastic with the exception of the book. At the end of our silent reading in this bar off Cavenagh Street, the group talk about their books. My comment about my book was that I wanted to throw the book against the wall and pick it up when I next cleaned and if it wasn't for the fact that this was a book group book, I'd have abandoned it 100 pages before. (The book is Zadie Smith's The Fraud. Sorry, Zadie, I don't rate it at all - too convoluted.)
After we wrapped up, I went for a drink with the colleague who introduced me to this fine institution
At 8.30 I was summoned by another colleague.
The message read, "Debrief. Pool. Now."
Which is what we do up here - meet for a chat in the pool in the evening when the kids are gone.
I bid farewell to my mate, ran home, changed, shoved on a load of washing, then went down to the pool, only to find my colleague coming out, a storm brewing and deckchairs flying around the pool deck."
"Umm, it's a bit dangerous here," they said.
"I can see that."
"Pity."
Lightning lit up the sky,
We had to pivot.
"I have gin. Fancy a gin and tonic and watching the storms from the 18th floor."
"Sounds like a plan."
And for the next hour we got to chew the fat while drinking gin and lemonade (ran out of tonic) while watching the best Darwin could bring.
For every showing of fork lightning, we cheered. We marveled at how Darwin Harbour lit up as the sheet lightning enveloped the sky.
And though we didn't get any exercise in, I couldn't think of a better thing to do.
Before I came up to Darwin, I took a photo of a couple of prompt cards from Catherine Deveny's prompt set, knowing that there would be a few days where I had no inspriation.
Today was one of those days.
My card today read:
“Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic.” WH Auden. Discuss.
I look back at the night as one of our best. A near perfect night, one which will not be forgotten. It was always the three off us. A triumvirate of oddities. A whip smart Asian and two care-worn Gen-Xers, clinging to our youth with the tenacity of a barnacle. We’d bonded over music, a sense of the absurd and workplace politics which were far from ideal.
We’d met up this evening for dinner at our Darwin-based colleagues place in one of the inner suburbs. What we found on that night was his home patch, surprised and bemused me in equal measure. Despite his scruffy exterior, our colleague was extremely tidy. He said an ex-partner had beaten it into him. We compared notes. As a neurodiverse woman living alone, I’m on the other end of the spectrum – clean, but terribly untidy.
Our dinner was held out on the balcony. He had planned to cook for us, and had steaks in the fridge, but he had hosted a dinner party in the days before, there was plenty of biscuits and pate and cheese to eat. Paired with a couple of gin and tonics, it was about as perfect to me as we could have.
We spent the night laughing and talking about nothing much in particular. We kept the music down low, just loud enough to tune into to argue the semantics of which band was better, who did it better and the best concert.
Over the hills, there were thunderstorms. Distant thunder. Dry storms in which didn’t seem to be any rain, well at least not from where we were sitting.
The light show was incredible.
But it was the thunder that remains with me. The storms were far enough to away that the rumbles were comforting rather than scary. Omniscient, omnipotent power, but a power that would cause no harm.
We watched the storms for a couple of hours, grateful to be able to witness such splendor. Indeed, we were grateful for each other’s company. It really was a perfect night.
That was six months ago.
My friend who hosted us passed away in July.
I don’t like to think that those storms were a portent to his demise. I don’t think the storms were a warning for anything. They were just a display of the greatness that is the world and incredible beauty of the Top End in the wet season.
The thing about distant thunder is that you never know if the storm is coming your way. It’s all about the potential, and the power contained by nature.
In many ways, the thunder provides the knowledge that we are such a small part of this enormous world.
And just like when I see a butterfly I think of my niece who passed away eight years ago, I think now, when I hear the sound of thunder, I will think of my friend, and the bond we shared, and the simple things can be so life-enriching. The simple act of eating and drinking and sharing stories and the lightning and thunder tore through the sky on a humid night in the Darwin inner suburbs. It's an evening I will always cherish.
It would not be a trip to Darwin without the ringing of the fire alarm. It happens at least once a trip, and it always happens at the most inconvenient out of times. Today I had just removed my bra. Other times I’ve been in the shower, or just on my way to falling asleep.
One great thing about the fire alarm is it in all of my time coming up here? I’ve never been evacuated. Some of my colleagues have.
Other than tonight, when the alarm woke me up, I was half scared that there would be an evacuation. The thought of walking down 18 flights of stairs in 30° heat doesn’t sound like fun. Yes, I'm on the 18th floor. In this weather, the stairwell would be excruciatingly, horribly hot. Well, without a bra, in my pyjamas, trip down would be even worse.
Normally, the fire alarm is set off by somebody shower or a toaster that’s going a bit too far.
As I said, it happens at least one a trip.
Then there's the thought of when you're finally downstairs, you're standing around in the University quadrangle at the end of the street, in your pyjamas, only to wait another half an hour to get back in the building.
Regardless, it's all a bit discombobulating these loud noises which wake you up, warning you that you that you might have to make a tit out of yourself.
Or maybe is just me exhausted and in need of a bit more sleep/
My flat is not the same without Lucifer. There's nobody pawing at my leg demanding treats, or wanting a cuddle. He was taken to his uncle and auntie's place last night where he will lord it over them for the next week.
I'm trying to pack a bit lighter.
I'm there until Saturday.
Four linen dresses.
Two pairs of linen trousers.
Two t-shirts.
Two spare bras.
Play clothes for after work.
Shorty pyjamas.
Four pairs of knickers.
Bathers.
Sarong.
Running shoes.
Birkenstocks.
Washing powder and fabric softener for one load.
Then there's the toiletry bag, the travel electric toothbrush, some makeup and medication for the week.
All in the bag.
I don't need to take a spare book - I've only just finished the one I'm reading and started reading this month's book group book today. I hope to be more than halfway through this one by the time I get back next Saturday.
Spare glasses and sunglasses.
Protein powder for breakfast for a week. No point buying it up there as I have more than enough for a week here.
Various charging cables.
My bluetooth keyboard.
My knitting.
I think that's it. And yes, this is my laundry list for packing. Thinks like my headphones, mints, wallet, phone and lipstick are all in my banana bag.
The work computer, book and peripherals are in the backpack.
I'm just back from dinner at Jonella and Stav's place, and it was a lovely, easy dinner which has left me replete. I am now home, missing my cat, who's happily ensconced down with his favourite cat sitters down near where Jonella lives. My place feels empty. It feels a bit tragic.
I will power through with this week's questions, which have been provided, as always, by Bev at Sunday Stealing.
Hobbies I've learned from a friend.
This is a strange one, but I took up running at the age of 40, and I have my friend Reindert to thank for that. Reindert is an ultra-marathon runner. I can run 100 miles in a day. I used to be able to do nothing like that, but in my time, I could run a half marathon in under two and a half hours, which if you knew me, you'd work out this was a bit of a miracle. I don't run anymore - too hard on the joints, but I miss it.
My physical activity preferences.
I'm in the gym about three times a week and I love this. I also enjoy walking as much as I can, at least an hour at a time a few times a week. When I'm in Darwin, I swim daily. I'd swim more if I could make myself get up earlier, but it's such a palaver swimming, going to the pool, having to get dry, get home, get the chlorine out of your hair. I still love it.
Music I think is essential for everyone to hear.
To get into the psyche and sense of humour of Australian, everybody should be introduced to The Angels singing Am I Ever Going to See Your Face Again, and see what we do with the chorus.
The same goes for Smokie, with Living Next Door to Alice. You can't play this in any form without this happening:
And no wedding is complete without Tina Turner playing Nutbush City Limits. It's an Australian thing. Some have called it the Australian Macarana. EVERYBODY will get up when this is played at a wedding.
Something I have to relearn every time I do it.
There are a few things in various computer programs I have to learn again and again. Confluence and Jira are the bane of my life and I'm forever going online to relearn stupid elements. Thankfully I pick up things pretty quickly.
When I start thinking about holiday season planning.
Oh, is Christmas coming. As my family aren't big into Christmas, my mind turns to how I am going to get the cat into the back of the car and drive ten hours to Victor Harbor in South Australia to my parents' new house.
Quirks & preferences I have about writing letters.
I can't remember the last time I wrote a letter on paper - though I do send post cards.
Generally, I email when I want to put pen to paper to a friend.
If I had to limit my reading to only 3 genres, I’d pick...
Literary fiction - unlimited fodder here.
Decent chick lit
And well-written young adult fiction (think The Hunger Games, still one of the best young adult novels I've ever read).
When joining teams, would I rather lead or follow.
I don't mind doing either. I can follow, especially if I feel out of my depth, but as a Leo, I'm quite happy to lead too.
What’s my dream concert, and who would be performing?
I would see David Byrne, with or without Talking Heads, any minute of any day. He's spectacular.
I'm seeing The Pixies, who are supporting Pearl Jam in a few weeks' time here in Melbourne. I love The Pixies, but they are just trumped by David Byrne.
The funniest, weirdest, silliest, animal/pet I’ve ever met?
My sister has had some funny animals in her time. Bozley the Golden Retriever used to dig me out of bed when I stayed with them. He mellowed out about five-years-old, but before than he was a terror.
She's also had some strange cats. Maggie used to love sitting on pelmets, watching the world go by from the top of the curtains. That was her spot. Sweet cat who met an untimely end. Cats have little road sense.
How has love changed for me over the years.
It's a lot mellower and nowhere near as fraught as it was in my younger days.
A book, movie, or song that brings me a sense of peace.
I'll answer all three.
Song: Reckless by Australian Crawl. I think it's the slow beat. I have a lot of history with this song.
Book: Captain Corelli's Mandolin by Louis de Bernieres. It's an old friend.
Film: Lost in Translation (2003). It speaks to me like no other film.
Names I like but wouldn’t suit me.
Okay, I don't love my actual name, but it does suit me.
I write under Pandora Behr - and I don't mind Pandora as a girl's name.
I also write under Trellawney Thom. I like how Trellawney is so unexpected. It also plays to my Cornish roots.
I love Irish names. A friend of mine recently amended her name, going from the 1960s standard middle name of Jane, to putting Seraphina Maeve in as her middle name. It really suits her.
If I were to amend my middle names I've probably throw in a Freya
I love the names Saoirse, Aoife and Roisin, but none of them would suit me. Being of Cornish descent, I'd be more a Tamsin, Morwen or Arwen.
What’s a part of myself I’m still working to understand?
I'm getting to grips that I'm neurodiverse - and about to get a diagnosis for ADHD. It's something that's a blessing and a curse, but I'm learning more and more about it as well as tactics to manage the challenges it provides.
Something I love about myself today.
I've managed to get through the day without eating anything with processed sugar.
And I finished a great book. (Blue Sisters by Coco Mellors). Now to start to book group book for the month.
I've gone for something rather benign tonight. The card reads:
"The best room in the world. Is this somewhere you know? Have you been there? Are you imagining it? Share why it's the best."
My best room is large. Large and wood paneled, and at least one wall is floor to ceiling bookshelves which are stuffed with all sorts of book. They books are loosely sorted into genres. There's the kids book section, where you'll find battered copies of Harry Potter, Lemony Snicket, Artemis Fowl and Philip Pullman. There's shelves of Shakespeare and Shakespeare-adjacent books, and a section of non-fiction to one side, which some might find surprising. The rest of the books are general fiction, and mainly paperbacks. There's a ladder on wheels which can reach all of the high up shelves. I love that the dark wood makes the room smell like an old library. You can imagine this room being used by scholars and writers of all kinds.
There's a big bay window which looks out over the sea, where one can sit on the window ledges, which have inbuild storage, and cushions on top, so you can not only read in the window, but ponder the sea for hours at a time.
Off to one side is a large chaise lounge, upholstered in a rich brown leather, a lot like my current Hemingway chair (which is also my cat's current throne) Soft blankets on rich tones hang over the arms as well, next to a couple more overstuffed cushions). This is the most perfect place to read.
Against a wall, not too far from the large fireplace, is a large wooden desk, with a battered leather top, which has meaningful, sporadic piles of papers, books and notepads. A laptop sits in the middle of the desk, with a large water bottle and a number of coffee cups, resting on notepads. There is no such thing as a coaster in this room. That's what notepads are for.
A large black cat slinks around the room, trying to decide what surface to sleep on. The windowsill? The chair? The end of the desk? Or in the cat bed which he has commandeered the space on a sunny shelf near the window, where the afternoon sun hits just right. He likes the shelf. It keeps him out of the eyeline of the Bernese Mountain Dog asleep on the large, colourful rag rug, which protects the floorboards.
A crystal pendulum hangs from the curtain rails sending light around the room. A lit candle diffuses the scent of sandalwood, amber and vetiver around the space. It's an earthy scent, very much in keeping with the room and its owner.
Although this is an imaginary space, it is very much my most perfect room, as it is near the sea - not the bay with its limited tides, but near a changeling ocean, which ebbs and flows with the moon and isobars, fickle in its placidity or ferocity, depending on its mood. There is a path which leads to the sea, which is used daily.
Although this place is imaginary, I like to think that one day I would own such a space.
And if not this, then my second most favourite room is at L'Hotel des Oranges in Sommiere, which is as close to heaven as I have ever been. This is the view from the bathroom.
I'm checking my privilege. I do this periodically so I can remember where my viewpoints have formed.
I was born in 1968, just before Czechoslovakia fell to the Russians and Ringo quit The Beatles for the first time. Bobby Kennedy has been buried two months before. Martin Luther King, two months before that. The Vietnam War was still happening. Australia had conscription. The average Australian house price in 1968 was $18,000. The Flower Children and the Hippies were beginning to bud. John Gorton was Prime Minister. They were still hoping Harold Holt was in a Chinese submarine.
I was born to parents who were both war babies. Both hold the scars and quirks of having parents born pre-World War One. One of my grandfathers enlisted in 1918, willing to do his bit for King and Country. They didn't take him. Too skinny. And the war was nearly over. And his mother had already lost one son. My grandfather's brother was a decorated war hero. One of the most decorated non-combatants in WWI. Look him up. Eric Roy Jarvis. He's my Mum's uncle.
I come from a family of Methodists. On one side, they are Methodist clergy. I went to Sunday School until I was about 16, when at that time, as it made no sense to me, and I had to drive myself, I gave it up, handing in my Christian ticket a few years later when I worked out what spirituality worked better for me. I think the only thing Sunday School gave me was the ability to argue about religion and a love of ritual.
Are you following?
I can be classed as:
CIS gendered
Heterosexual
Spiritual but not religious
Generation X
6th Generation White Australian of English (Cornish), Welsh and Scottish heritage.
I am a feminist
I like to think that I am kind
I'm reasonably well read
I love pop culture
And I'm an armchair political commentator
I am educated. My first degree was mostly paid for by the Australian Federal Government thanks to Gough Whitlam and the fact that Tertiary Education was basically free until 1988. My Master's degree I paid for myself, but as it directly related to my field of work was able to claim it as a tax deduction.
Being basically healthy, I've not had to over-utilise Medicare, the Australian health service. I am eternally grateful that, as I'm grateful that I live in a country with Government-sponsored socialised medicine, where if you have a heart attack, you're not sent bankrupt. I don't mind that a couple of thousand dollars of my taxes goes to Medicare. If I don't use it, somebody else will. It's there in case I need it. It's a bit like the theory of donating blood, which is not paid for here in Australia. If I donate blood, other people use it. If, by some misfortune, I need blood, hopefully somebody will have donated some enabling the saving of my life. You give. You get. What you put in, you get back. As above, so below.
Australia is also a country which has decent workforce laws, provides people, mostly, with a living wage. A waitress doesn't need to hustle for tips. People don't need to work three jobs to keep a roof over their heads or food in their bellies. (Though with the housing crisis, we shudder a bit)
I am secure in my reproductive rights. My body. My choice. Being one of the one in three women who have had an abortion in their lifetime, I know that this was one of the best decisions I have made. I have always had access to contraception, with no qualms from any medical practitioner. I know that if anybody in Australia presents with and ectopic pregnancy or other life threatening pregnancy complication, they will be treated with compassion and speed to have the situation rectified. Abortion is healthcare and is treated as such in Australia. There are limitations and guard rails around late term abortions, but these laws are enacted by medical practitioners. This makes sense to me. No conservative, pale, stale male dictates what I can and can't do with my reproductive organs. (We won't go into John Howard, Tony Abbott, Brian Harridine and the abortion pill debacle of the early 2000s.)
I live in a country with strict gun control legislation. I grew up around guns. There are reasons people need guns. But there is a difference between carting around a handgun, or owning semi-automatic weapons and having a single action shot gun, which was used for putting down ailing livestock and shooting cans off of fence posts.
Australia is a secular country with the right to religious freedom entrenched in our constitution. I love that I get to celebrate not only Christian festivals, but Diwali, Eid, Hanukah and various Asian New Year festivities. When being sworn in as a politician, you can choose to affirm your allegiances. No Bible, Koran, Talmud, Baghavad Gita, Egyptian Book of the Dead required. It's your choice.
I do not live in Utopia. There is plenty wrong about Australia. There's a hell of a lot that is not good at all. Dreadful politicians from across the board. Inaction over climate change. The cost of living. Aged care. Violence against women, Conservative politicians and their dog whistling.... the list can go on.
But for all that is not great about, I still find myself checking my privilege and give thanks for all that I have. For the freedoms our laws provide.
And that I empathise with those who don't have what has been bestowed on me, whether by luck, hard work, generational fortitude or sheer chance.
It's this empathy, the ability to feel for what others are going through, that makes me most grateful, and hopeful.
Because, in the words of the philosopher Hannah Arendt, "The death of human empathy is one of the earliest and most telling signs of a culture about to fall into barbarism."
I wish America would check their privilege and start to empathise with many of their own citizens. Have a look at see that there are other ways of doing things. You don't have to go all kumbaya to do this. As Harper Lee's Atticus Finch once said, "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it."
I've tried to get into the skin of a Trump-voting American.
I don't understand. I don't get it. I don't like it.
But it's not my country, not my government, not my president, and I can't do anything about it, but hope that some empathy, and foresight, and common sense starts to prevail.
Today's trip away from home saw me go out to Flemington, home of the big horse race I was doing my best to ignore. It also stopped me for keeping my eye on the American elections, which the world is watching with bated breath.
Instead of cow-towing to the masses who said I should be paying attention to a horse race, I went to a friend's place where there was a meet up of the wonderful women I went to France with last year.
It was a marvelous afternoon, filled with a lot of laughs and hugs and deep conversations and dancing and great food. In other words, it was everything a catch up with this wonderful group of women should be an more. Very soul restoring. It does much more than a silly horse race.
And there was this amazing playlist on in the background. Bangers all around. This too made me happy, but the music is always excellent at this friend's place. The only bad thing was it was a Spotify playlist. I must be one of the few people in the world without a Spotify account (I use Apple Music).
After having my soul restored with the girls, it was round to Blarney and Barney's for the tail end of a barbeque. I sat down and was told I had to eat. Which I did. Just a bit to placate Blarney and her need to feed people.
Then it was home for the Masonic Book Group Meeting, which was a very productive 90 minutes. The book we discussed (well, the first four chapters, anyway) was Yuval Noah Harari's 21 Lessons for the 21st Century. A stimulating discussion was had, with people across the country, and indeed, the world.
In all, I don't think you get much better than this.
I'll talk about the cards in another post. They warrant a post of their own.
In the meantime, I'm sending thoughts and prayers to my American friends. I'm trying to stay away from the internet. I find it all concerning and I don't need the anxiety hits at the moment.
This film had piqued my interest because of what it was doing with AI, more than for the actors or the storyline. In the end I enjoyed it, even if it is a flawed.
If you read reviews, you'll see that most agree - what director Robert Zemekis has done a good job of this film, especially around the AI features, but the plot and characters are all rather schmatlzy.
As an AI sceptic, I loved the premise in the movie. One view from a glimpse of Prehistoric America, to the first nations people, to when the settlers came.
Most of the action takes place when the house is built in the early 1900s. We see different people living in the house from the time they bought it, until the time they sold it on. A good percentage of the film is spent on Al (Paul Bettany) and Rose (Kelly Reilly), and their son Richard (Tom Hanks) and his wife Rose (Robin Wright). The CGI is used to age all of the characters both forward and backwards and to great effect.
What is not so great is the storyline and character development - of which there is little. I was more interested in where the story would take us. Scene changes always happened after some rectangular boxes appeared on the screen.
Technically, this is a great movie. Conceptually, it's sound. But that's about it.
There is enough going on to keep the synapses working, but high art this is not.
The Exhibition: Leonardo Da Vinci: 500 Years of Genius
Where: The Lume, South Wharf, Melbourne
Until 8 December
A change of plans left me at loose end last night, and on a whim, I took myself off to see the Da Vinci exhibition at The Lume, wanting to get to this before it left Melbourne. I've been doing a lot of that lately.
It was a change of plans I enjoyed a lot.
The Lume is something best enjoyed out of season. What I mean by that is it is at its best when the auditorium is emptier, and you don't have to wade through the crowds. There will always be little kids running around doing cartwheels, but you don't notice them as much when there's a lot of room to move.
I'd lucked out on a number of levels. Entering the DFO car park I saw the extortionate prices and took note that I needed to be back and out of the centre in two hours. There was no way I was going to pay $54 for three hours parking.
Thankfully, Lume ticket holders are entitled to $12 all-day parking, with a special parking ticket you get at the door. Win number one.
Big win number two. The place was nearly empty.
The Lume is at its best when it's quiet. The Da Vinci exhibition has been playing for a few months now, and 6.30 on a Saturday night is not prime viewing time.
Regardless, I loved every second of this exhibition.
For anybody who hasn't been to a Lume exhibition, the well-known paintings are projected onto the walls of the auditorium, normally with some context and a soundtrack of instrumental and classical music to set it off. If you're lucky, you can find one of the lie down bean backs to rest back on while watching the show in front of you. It's fantastic.
So far, I've seen Lume productions that look at the works of Van Gogh, Alphonse Mucha (In Paris) and a very good Aboriginal art display.
This exhibit was as good as the others, although it could probably be called Da Vinci and Friends, especially as the last 15 minutes displayed paintings by Da Vinci's contemporaries, including Caravaggio, Bellini, Raphael, Michelangelo and Botticelli.
The other wonderful thing about this exhibit is that it looks at his inventions, such as the helicopter, the parachute and the bicycle, among others. It's fascinating to see and learn more about this incredible person.
There is also a while room dedicated to the Mona Lisa, probably his most famous painting. Fun fact. Did you realise that the Mona Lisa has no eyelashes nor eyebrows. It's also unfinished in a number of ways. It was fascinating.
For me, this was a great way to spend two hours contemplating this incredible man. To be able to sit back in this cool, quiet space and have my senses massaged by the light was well needed.
Ans sure, this is art for the masses, but as we live the other side of the world to Europe, we Australians have to take our culture where we can get it. I love that by illuminating the works, you get to see every crack, crevise and line. It's marvelous.
I'm making the most of some free time in Melbourne. There are good thing about not being the other side of the country for the weekend - like movie theatres, and exhibitions, and weather where it's not hot and humid. I'm loving it. November is a good month. It's not yet high summer, but you can start leaving your jacket at home.
Anyway, here's this week's questions, supplied, as always, by Bev at Sunday Stealing.
Local events, parades or festivals – either in your hometown or state
Melbourne has some great festivals. Every March-April is the International Comedy Festival, which runs over a month and is excellent. Acts come from all over the world.
In March there's also something called Moomba, which I believe is a children's festival, with a parade and side show attractions, a Birdman Rally and waterskiing in the Yarra River, which doesn't really appeal as the Yarra never looks that sanitary.
We also get a public holiday for a football game and a horse race. The Melbourne Cup is on Tuesday - I'm going to a barbeque that day. Should be fun. It might be an Australian thing, having a public holiday for sporting events. It doesn't make sense to me.
Life update – what’s happened recently, moving house, family wedding, vacation, new pet, visited with a friend, and so on.
Nothing much has happened. I'm going back to Darwin next weekend for a week. Does that count?
Do you have any family traditions this month?
As I'm in Australia, with the exception of the Melbourne Cup on the first Tuesday of November, there is nothing much that happens in November. My family don't celebrate anything in November - a couple of my cousins have birthdays. That's about it.
The holidays are about two months away, Do you begin shopping or creating now or wait until December?
Christmas is not a big thing for me either. I'll start getting things ready for the trek interstate about a week before Christmas.
What is your favorite November memory?
I can't think of anything really. I know I use to like November when I was living in England because ti was getting colder. I like cold weather.
Now that the weather is getting cooler do you prefer? Staying indoors or going outdoors? What do you do?
Ah, I'm in Australia - we're going into Summer. It's getting warmer. I'm looking forward to being able to go for longer walks after work because it's daylight savings and not being cold. November is rather nice in Melbourne.
Describe your favorite local restaurant.
There are so many restaurants near where I live, but I keep going back to this place down Victoria Street called Vinh Ky. It's a Vietnamese/Chinese place and it does this one dish, Crispy Beef in Spicy Sauce which is just incredible. I take a lot of friends there, and they keep going back. It's cheap and cheerful and very tasty.
The pub around the corner does great meals, and there are many cafes which do great breakfasts. We're really spoiled for choice around here.
Thanksgiving or Friendsgiving?
As an Australian, Thanksgiving isn't a thing. I've been to a couple of Thanksgiving dinners at an American friend's place. I like the concept - but it's not a thing in Australia. The Black Friday sales are about as much as we get of Thanksgiving over here.
If you could take any class, what would you select?
I would love to get fluent in French, so I could see myself going back to regular French conversations classes.
There's also a part of me that would still love to learn to play the piano.
To celebrate November would you rather enjoy pumpkin pie or sweet potato?
Okay, this is another Australian thing - but both pumpkin and sweet potato are traditionally savoury foods. I've had both pumpkin pie and sweet potatoes with marshmallow - but I wouldn't write home about them. I reckon, if you're not brought up with these things they don't have any nostalgic value.
I like my pumpkin and sweet potato roasted and in salads.
How do you handle setbacks and failures?
Normally, after a short period of mourning, I pick myself up, dust myself off and get on with things.
If everything in your house had to be one color, which color would you choose?
Oh, this is a hard question.
Part of me says go with black, but that has its problems. It can be overwhelming.
But navy blue - that might work. It's still dark, but it's in some ways classier.
Who or what would you haunt if you were a ghost?
I don't like the idea of haunting anybody - it feels a bit vindictive. But I could live somewhere cool. Like the seal house at the zoo. I reckon watching the seals for eternity would be great.
Have you ever worn clothing with the labels still attached?
Do you mean the labels, or the price tags. Most of my clothes have the labels still on them. How do you know which way they go on without the tag? I'm normally pretty good about taking off price tags.
What's something weird that you recommend everyone try at least once?
Here are some things people should try that might be deemed a little strange:
Pickled herring (Source them from Ikea - the ones in mustard sauce are great)
Horseradish sandwiches
Vegemite on buttered toast, if you are not Australian
Learning a language for no reason
Reading crappy romance novels
Sniffing dog and cat paws (they smell good)
Going to a Silent Book Group meeting - I go to one when I'm in Darwin - it's awesome.
Saturday Night Live is not as big a thing in Australia than it is in America, however, now, with the internet, we're seeing a lot more of the show's revolutionary skits and entertainment.
This movie gives an insight into the shown inception. According to IMDB.com "At 11:30pm on October 11th, 1975, a ferocious troupe of young comedians and writers changed television forever. Find out what happened behind the scenes in the 90 minutes leading up to the first broadcast of Saturday Night Live."
What comes of this film is a look at the absolute chaos that was the first show of Saturday Night Live. We meet Lorne Michaels (Gabriel LaBelle) the producer who's trying to keep his merry band in order while keeping the executives placated. There's John Belushi (Matt Wood) who hasn't signed his contract is being a petulant arsehole. Of course, there's Chevy Chase (Corey Michael Smith) charming everybody and everything in sight. Rosie Shuster (Rachel Sennott) is trying to keep her marriage to Lorne a secret. Gilda Radner (Ella Hunt) is trying to keep Belushi in his place. And Garrett Morris (Lamorne Morris) and Dan Ackroyd (Dylan O'Brien) just want to get on with the job as Billy Crystal (Nicholas Podany) complains about his airtime being cut.
The stage is not built, the script is not ready and the executives, headed by Dave Tebut (Willem Defoe) are ready to pull the plug on the whole thing and put on an episode of Johnny Carson.
Saturday Night captures perfectly that time when things were on the precipice of change. A time where things were television was run by aging white guys. The show was about to sweep the floor with all of that. Even the censor, Joan Carbunkle (Catherine Curtin) has a hard time working out what's going on - and she provides some of the best laughs.
This film only looks at this bonkers hour and a half, and it is brilliant in what it does. Jason Reitman's direction keeps every moving at breakneck speed. The use of a handheld camera to give a shaky feel to the whole experience brings more urgency to the film.
Another great thing about this film is some of the cameos, which have you scratching your head and gasping at the brilliance of the casting. Nicholas Braun, best known as Cousin Greg in Succession, is wonderful as both Andy Kaufman and The Muppets Jim Henson. JK Simmons is a creepy as all hell as Milton Berle. And an unrecognisable Matthew Rhys embodies George Carlin.
The costumes and sets are on point for 1995. For the nearly two hours of the film, you are in 1975, that hard smoking, polyester lined era where OHS was an afterthought.
For lovers of television, history and a good chuckle, this comes highly recommended. They've done an excellent job of this one.
