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Below are the 25 most recent journal entries.
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2012.04.09 10.13 In God We Tr... 'In God We Tr' read the neon sign atop the building that lies beyond the construction outside my hotel room's window when the party returned for an after-dinner glass of wine. When I'd arrived in March the sign, and the others atop the buildings surrounding the hotel, had read 'In God We Trust,' but after the crashes with cranes I'd noticed out my window, it seems they've been abridged. We'd been out with Laura, Bryce's girlfriend who had arrived for the Easter holidays, and who, it turned out, I have come close to meeting at Oscar's Law benefits in the past. It was an enjoyable dinner, and I even delighted in having company in my hotel room afterwards, despite the initial embarrassment at having notebooks spread across the room from the two days spent locked away working on Lychee Wine. John had tried to convince Laura and Bryce to join him on a trip to some waterfalls the next day, but Laura had already determined that she wished to spend the day filling her proudly empty suitcase with the shopping she planned at the various malls, so I sent her and Bryce with my own shopping list, since they'd be there already. I agreed to go on the trip with John since I enjoy boat travel, and I'm glad I did. We all said goodnight, since John and I had an early morning ahead, and I finished the wine whilst watching fireworks once again out the window at twelve.15am. Our preferred driver from the last trip, Jess, would not be joining us, and we had a more heavily accented driver named Larry. He told us lots of stories about the history of the country, which I peculiarly found charming, possibly because of his simplified English delivery. He also warned us that, in this country, a woman will not be flattered if you tell her 'You look like a homosexual man.' As we arrived in Laguna, Larry also told us that we would be offered snacks and drinks for the ride, and that everyone would be trying to sell us things. He recommended not buying anything but giving our boat drivers a tip. He also told us that we would be travelling through terrain that served as Vietnam in Francis Ford Coppola's Apocalypse Now. I don't recall seeing the movie, though I'm sure I have, but I assume I didn't like it as much as Full Metal Jacket, since I haven't felt compelled to watch again. We were given helmets and taken to a narrow canoe that was not what we were expecting.  After paddling briefly, another, motorised canoe pulled up alongside ours, and one of the boat men, Ronato, latched a towline from our boat to the motorised one. A little later down the river, a second boat connected to our own. Shortly after, as prophecised, an old woman and a young boy rowed up in their own canoe and gripped the side of our boat. 'Coca Cola?' she asked me, holding out a can, her eyes pleading. 'Or a cold beer?' I declined, but she continued. 'But for your boat men, sir? They are thirsty! Please, sir?' We stood our ground, and the boy steered their vessel to the boat trailing behind ours. There was only so far the motorised boat could travel, and with rapids in sight in the river ahead, Ronato unlatched the towline and started paddling, kicking expertly off rocks along the way, dragging the boat across the rapids. When the going got tough, John and I moved to assist, but were given strange looks from the other boat driver, who I think was called Andy. 'No, sirs,' he said, gesturing for us to sit. 'Enjoy your ride, sirs.' At a rest stop half-way up the river, we were again accosted by salesmen offering beer and Coke, and what looked like whole chickens on sticks. We declined again, but this time asked if our boat men wanted anything, and did end up buying them Cokes. Halfway up the island, the valley we were travelling through really started to look like something from a movie.  Trickles of water that we'd passed falling down the edge of the green cliffs on either side of the river started to grow more common and heavier as we moved past the rest stop. We were warned to inspect a certain type of tree for pythons, though we didn't see any. We were also told that if we were lucky we might catch a glimpse of monkeys playing in the vines, and I was pleased when on the way back down the river we did. After turning a corner, the peace of the river was suddenly broken by the sound of rushing water. Ahead of us we could see the main Pagsanjan Falls which supply the river, and what we would soon be passing under. The canoe could go no further, and we climbed from it, over a rocky island, and onto a bamboo raft that looked like a set-piece from Gilligan's Island. The raft was taken out towards the waterfall, and as we drew closer and felt the mist and turbulence of the water, I wondered if it had been such a good idea to bring my camera, stored as it was in the small plastic bag that had been recommended. The water pounded down on top of us as we went through the deluge of water and came out inside a shallow cave. I climbed inside to find out how deep the cave went, while John jumped straight into the water for a swim. I took the front of the raft for the return journey back through the waterfall, and we met with our canoe crew, who had wisely held onto John's camera. In the cave, he'd marvelled at the survival of his cigarettes in the plastic bag, so I held hope for my camera. The journey down the river was even more enjoyable, as the drivers now simply steered our boats through the rapids. At the base, we enjoyed a buffet lunch in a pavilion made of bamboo and grass, and were serenaded by a pair of guitarists and hula girls playing the hits of ABBA and The Monkees. I whispered to John that I thought they would continue playing until we offered them a tip, but he waved them away after a few songs, made awkward by the fact that we were the only people in the establishment. As soon as they were gone, an old lady appeared with photographs of our journey, which we also declined, but she pleaded for $200 pesos for the pair of photographs. We declined again, and left for the journey home, which we knew would take longer than the drive in due to church and funeral traffic. Larry's conversation turned to the political virtues of the Marcos family, who I foolishly noted as being the only Filipino people I know, and the history of Jeepneys, which was more interesting. When the conversation turned to the political again, I inspected my camera, and was pleased to find it working perfectly. |
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2012.04.07 13.23 Love, Angel, Music, Baby... For our first full day in Japan, we wisely decided to head out for some shopping in Harajuku and Akihabara. We knew that it was best on the weekend, for even though it would possibly be crowded, the Harajuku girls would have school for the rest of our stay. We departed early and arrived at Shinjuku Station and realised that with the multitude of different exits and platforms, the directions that we'd looked up were next to useless. Blinded by the dazzling lights and shopping opportunities, Julie drifted across a busy intersection to the department stores, much like I had to the bright lights and noise of the pachinko parlour the afternoon before. We headed into giant, multi-level versions of familiar little stores. I realised that the preppy look was clearly 'in,' and we looked in a few more shops and down the laneways, discovering a queue at what looked like some kind of music venue, but it was before midday. Escaping the narrow, chaotic grid, we spotted a street that I'd written on my directions that would lead us to Harajuku Street. Of course, we didn't know whether we needed to go up or down the street. Luckily we spotted a familiar sign at the top of a black, marble staircase: 'Tokyu Inn.' We headed down the stairs, which seemed immediately more glamourous than anything in our own Tokyu Inn, and explained to the desk clerk that we were staying at a sister Tokyu Inn and needed directions. When we told her we were going to Harajuku, she told us it was too far to walk, and would take twenty minutes by foot. We confirmed that she had said 'twenty minutes,' and when she confirmed, we asked if she would humour us and give us the walking directions. She obliged and scribbled some arrows on a map. The directions were straight forward enough, but we were still just a little concerned about the clerk's advice that it would be 'too far to walk,' especially when we noticed the thinning of human traffic and proliferation of closed stores, especially those that looked like places we'd like to look around. When we saw a building featuring a glass elevator, I suggested we go inside to see if we could see anything of promise. The only nameplate we recognised on the list of floors was one for an Audi showroom, so we pressed the button for the top floor. It turned out to be some kind of ultra-classy hair salon, and when the lift-doors opened and we were greeted cheerfully by a receptionist, we waved 'hello' and played the ignorant white tourist part (admittedly not too much of a stretch of our acting ability.) From the top, we had an impressive view of the roof-top gardens of the kind of diagonally-climbing apartment buildings that I think of when I imagine Tokyo. We could also see, not far from where we were, plenty of people weaving down narrow streets leading to a station. We'd found Harajuku. We nodded politely to the receptionist, and pressed the button for the ground floor. It wasn't long until we were passing underneath the stylised overhead lettering welcoming us to Harajuku Street. We quickly learned that the shops at street level were rarely the most interesting, and I insisted on going down into every narrow stairwell to all of the basements filled with platform shoes, spiked leather, and multicoloured breathing apparatuses. The one thing we noticed missing was the famous Harajuku girls. I wondered if the winter air was too cold for their extreme outfits. Crossing over to Takeshita Dori, we noticed that the streets were filling, and previously closed shops were finally opening their doors. We figured that the shops opened much later on a Sunday. I could consider the trip a success, having finally found a bolo tie from a shop that advertised itself as selling wares for 'Cool Rockstar and Trendy Outsiders' It was only when we were breaking for lunch at a diner that we finally encountered the Harajuku types we'd been expecting, hanging out near the station. They looked like characters in a Maximum The Hormone video clip.   Akihabara, the electric city, brought out a side of Julie I'd never seen before. We were immediately faced with our choice of hundreds of towers containing video arcades. I suggested one simply because it's bold red sign advertised it as being 'Space Invaders World,' where the word 'World' was printed after a picture of a Space Invader. Julie headed straight to the fighting game level, where several games tables were interlinked. She chose her character, and I sat next to her, while a Japanese guy sat at the other corner as her opponent. Although he didn't say it, I think he was surprised and perhaps a little embarrassed when she beat him easily. 'I might be here for a while...' Julie told me, and I went around the other levels, trying a music game that involved pressing tiles on something that looked like a giant Rubik's Cube, and played a shooting game. When I found Julie next, she was playing the prize games. Before we left, I noticed a sign pointing to a maid bar, but we didn't visit. I did insist on visiting another pachinko parlour, because this one was billed as being the 'Evangelion Casino.'  Other than being photographed with Rei, there wasn't much else to do. We saw some themed slot machines and more pachinko. Giant screens displayed soundless clips of highlights from the series, and the prizes looked like things I might like to own, but I knew that attempting to play pachinko would no doubt be as futile as the last time. We had to leave quickly after being overcome by the smoke inside, and found our way to a place that was strictly non-smoking - a vintage video game store, that invited us in from several blocks away by projecting the immediately recognisable tunes from Super Mario Brothers into the street. We went level by level browsing the various vintage games for sale, character toys, and Japanese video games accessories whose use we could only imagine. We played some of the old games, and I sat in a throne made from Coca-Cola bottles, before we left into the darkening street. Heading back to Harajuku, I convinced Julie that the chocolaty, fruity, creamy crepes were a suitable alternative to dinner. |
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2012.04.06 13.12 Tokyu Inn... Our opinions were divided on the Tokyu Inn from the very beginning. When I asked to check in, the lady behind the counter took my details and confirmed the reservation, then told us that we wouldn't be able to check in until four.pm. We checked the time and found that it was only around three, so we asked if we could leave our luggage and look around the block whilst we waited. She looked at us like we were strange, and told us to take a seat in the lobby, and that our room would be ready in fifteen minutes.  We marvelled at a device in the corner labelled 'Air Shower,' and I flicked through a display of vouchers for local restaurants and attractions. Julie discovered that the air shower was locked, and after only two or three minutes, the desk clerk brought over a key, and told us that our room was ready. Based on her initial statement regarding check in, I wondered if we had set our watches incorrectly at the airport, but we soon discovered they were correct, and wrote off the interaction as the result of a language barrier between us. Since the hotel had been quite cheap, I'd proposed we spend a little extra on a room in what was advertised on the website as 'the brand new wing.' The elevator certainly didn't reflect this, and as we traversed the jazz-filled hall to our corner room, nothing changed. When we opened the door and found typical 1980s hotel décor, we wondered if perhaps a mistake had been made, and went back to the lobby.  The woman who had initially greeted us didn't seem to understand what we were asking, so I took out the print out of the reservation that I'd made and pointed to the information in question. 'Oh, yes,' she nodded. 'The south tower is the new wing.' We accepted her statement once we were sure all parties had understood, and returned to our room, wondering what the other tower was like and vowing to visit. Our first concern was that the Japanese practice of issuing only a single room key which should be left at reception during outings would leave us in a difficult situation if, for example, one member of the party wanted to stay in the room and watch some TV before going to bed while the other was out, as the room key was also required to switch the room's power on. This was quickly resolved by the discovery that the door stop could be used as an alternative in the key-holder to leave the electricity connected. Julie was disappointed by the room's size, though I was just glad it was large enough to fit our bags inside and still allow room for movement, unglamourous décor and view. On the other hand, we had some laughs at the expense of some things in the room we didn't understand, like a piece of bedding whose purpose we couldn't determine, and, though I was disappointed that we didn't have the view of the Tower that I'd been hoping for (especially if we faced a Godzilla attack) I was pleased that the view of the city out the window looked just like how I expected Tokyo to look. We even had our own horse shrine to look onto. If there was anything I was disappointed about, it was that the toilet did not feature as many buttons as I'd hoped for, and that the panties for sale in our hotel's collection of vending machines were new, and not used by a schoolgirl as urban legend would have us believe.  That evening we took a walk to the station that would feature in each of our adventures in the coming days, and visited a pachinko parlour, where I thought I'd failed dismally, but actually wound up breaking even. We thought our dining options would be limited to those venues with pictures on the menu, but in the end decided upon a trendy place that had converted beer-crates into cushioned stools for furniture, even though a man outside had rushed to warn us that the food would be too oily and expensive. As it turned out this wasn't our experience. The waiter had gone to lengths to attempt to explain to us what the menu items were, offering an assortment of the languages he spoke, but sadly none of them were English. In the end, we ordered from the specials menu at random, and I pointed to a tap behind the bar that I had previously seen deliver a ready-made whiskey sour to another diner. After our meal I was brought a warm sake, though Julie missed out and I shared with her, and we discovered at the hotel later that the entire meal had cost only 21 Australian dollars. We started to wonder if the stories we had heard about Japan being an expensive place to visit were all wrong, as we looked out the window over the monument of a horse and rider in the laneway next to the hotel, and over the disco-like flashing signs that warned motorists of the road and construction work that was being conducted 24 hours per day. |
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2012.04.04 20.28 Bulletproof Corolla... I had been summoned to the office of Circuit Magazine, and it was important that I get there before six.pm today. Most of the city is already coming to a halt due to Holy Week, which extends beyond the Easter long weekend, it seems, to the Wednesdays either side. The response to my email yesterday thanking the magazine's editor for a pair of guest passes to next Tuesday's Cranberries concert had suggested politely that I pick up the tickets before four.pm that day, despite the advertised office hours for collection of eleven.am to six.pm weekdays. Given the twelve and fourteen hour work days which have become customary since arriving in this country, this was obviously not a possibility, so I suggested that I would make every effort to visit before six o'clock today. When I called the hotel from work and told them my intended destination, they needed to check some details. I'd looked online when I was first sent the invitation from the magazine's editor after telling locals about my former occupation with Buzz Magazine and whether there was anything similar. I was given a copy of Circuit, a much less grungy and perhaps more mainstream magazine than Buzz, and contacted them about their promotion of the Cranberries' concert. When the editor had sent me the address, I'd done a search in Google Maps and come up with a destination six hours away from Manila. Upon showing the address to colleagues, I was corrected - the name of the town I needed to go to was the same as the name of a province six hours away. They suggested it would be around twenty minutes by car, so I knew to allow at least an hour. The car that arrived to pick me up from work wasn't one of the usual silver sedans that comes to pick us up each day. It was a dull, black Toyota that pulled into the taxi rank, but I recognised the plates as belonging to the hotel. I told the driver my room number, and he checked it against his records. 'Mister Daniel?' he asked. I nodded, and he kicked open the door and confirmed the address when I got in, introducing himself as Arnold. It seemed he had driven some of the other people from the company, and wondered what business I had in this other part of town. Once that was explained, and we'd cut in front of the modest traffic - there were no Jeepneys because the drivers have all headed home for Holy Week - I asked about the different car, and whether the dull black colour was due to the car's exterior being made of carbon fibre. 'No, sir...' Arnold paused, searching for the words in English. 'It is made of... bulletproof.' Arnold found the street easily, but we needed to drive slowly down it to find the address. Eventually he pointed to a building without numbers at the corner, baring only the initials C.G.B. on the alcove. He checked the address I'd sent and told me this must be the place. The Cacho González Building. The lobby reminded me of the hotel from Barton Fink, but instead of being greeted by Steve Buscemi as the overbearing Chet, I was asked what business I had there and to present ID by two armed guards. They gave me a temporary access card to the eighth floor, and I rode one of the four alarmingly narrow elevators. Level eight was a little confusing. Outside of the lift well, I eventually found some locked, wooden doors. None of them had any identifying features like a name plate, though I did notice that some had numbers. I knew I was looking for 8C, but couldn't find that number on any of the doors. I found 8D, and went around the corner to the next one. A man was holding open the door opposite to the one I expected I needed, so I asked him if this was 8C. He didn't respond, and watched suspiciously as I pressed the doorbell. When there was no answer, I knocked. Still nothing. Eventually I remembered that the editor had left me her telephone number and that I had activated international roaming on my mobile. When I called the number, I heard a telephone ringing inside, and explained who I was when it was answered, and that I was just outside. I'd found 8C. I heard the door unlock, and the editor invited me inside the small office, filled with four or five Apple Macintosh computers. The walls were adorned with autographed posters, presumably from bands the paper had interviewed. It felt familiar. I was offered a seat with the back decorated with someone's old Cupid costume wings, and the editor quickly returned with my tickets, and many questions about where I was from, and how I had even heard about Circuit Magazine. On my way out, I realised that the Cacho González Building was probably a retired hotel, or maybe apartments that had been converted for cheap office space. Even though, in content and design, Circuit is quite different to Buzz, the combination of the office and the reluctance to stick to already minimal office hours and meeting the editor made me think there are some things about the music media that must be universal. |
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2012.04.01 11.07 Pokérail... Saturday seems like a good day to go grocery shopping in Manila. Demonstrators from almost all of the manufacturers stalk the sprawling shop floor shouting 'Hello, Sir-mam, Good morning! Would you like to try?' The disadvantage is that the already confusing layout of the aisles becomes a whimsical labyrinth of unfamiliar products after a few of the liquor samples at the end of each of the 36 aisles. After our fascinating and confusing night in China, it was a relief to finally land at Haneda Airport in Tokyo and make our way unobstructed to the monorail terminal. I was excited, because monorails are my favourite mode of rail transport, but was even more excited to see the Pokémon Monorail pull into the station. So too, it seemed, were the children of families also shoving their luggage on board.   It was a clear afternoon as we took our first look at the Tokyo skyline - less cluttered than either Julie or I had expected it to be - and I quickly spotted Tokyo Tower, our destination, peeking between buildings. We'd been warned that taxis are expensive, so when we alighted Pokérail, we searched Hamamatsucho Station for the connecting train that I'd researched prior to departure. We wouldn't find out for a few more days that Tokyo is serviced by a multitude of rail companies, requiring passengers to change platforms at stations that sometimes stretch beneath entire city blocks, or require passengers to leave the station and cross the road to another station with the same name, but serviced by a different company. After hefting our luggage up and down a few sets of stairs trying to spot the name of one of the stations close to our hotel on maps that seemed to change at each corner, we gave up and followed the arrows that pointed to the taxi. The driver lifted our bags into the boot before I had a chance to establish that he could understand where we needed to get to. I asked for the Tokyu Inn before I entered, and he tilted his head trying to understand me. I sorted through my pockets and backpack until I found the map I'd printed and pointed to the destination. 'Ah, hai!' he nodded. 'Tokyu Inn!' He held the door open with a white-gloved hand and I joined Julie inside. We discussed the elaborate uniforms worn proudly by staff almost everywhere, a feature of the country that we would come to admire, particularly when compared with the Australian preference for polo shirts and baseball caps as official uniforms. I knew that our hotel was only a short walk from Tokyo Tower (along with price and proximity to railway stations, this had been a deciding factor when booking accommodation) so we could only laugh when, the moment the taxi pulled out of the terminal, we found ourself directly under the landmark. The drive took us past a plethora of colourful shopfronts, shrines, and a store called 'JuJu,' all of which we would never see again, and after only a couple of minutes, we were delivered to the hotel, where we would the first of many confusing interactions which proved the futility of the Japanese lessons I'd been taking on my Gameboy DS for the weeks between booking the holiday and the flight. |
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2012.03.25 18.32 Taal... After the rain and storms of yesterday and last night, it turned out to be a fine morning when I went downstairs to meet John and Bryce. For the first time since I arrived in Manila, I felt like sleeping in this morning. I guess it is a sign that I am finally adjusting to local time. The guys were waiting with our driver, Jess, a guy who seemed young, but told us that he was the father of four children with the eldest being sixteen. This was the first time since my arrival that I've really been out of the city, and after passing the malls, we came to the destitution and absurdity I'd seen under the cover of darkness when I arrived. Lamborghinis and Porches overtook trucks performing impossible turns as they passed roadside stalls constructed of pieces of billboards and cardboard which I suspect double as homes to the families selling things like juice and counterfeit t-shirts. Once we drew closer to Tagaytay and stopped for Bryce to get some breakfast, we were overwhelmed by children offering to sell us something like caramel corn. I suspected that we exuded an air of rich, white business men, something which I have never considered myself to be, but evidently am. Meanwhile, Jess seemed taken aback when we bought him a Coke. My suspicions were confirmed when we started the drive down a dizzyingly high and winding road. In the breaks between trees, we could see the volcano, but it was also evident that we were descending into the innards of an even larger volcano which formed the basis of the lake we'd be crossing to get to the mountain we'd be climbing. Upon spotting our private car, men waved signs offering boat rides, which Jess waved off. Most understood his gesture, but the particularly eager chased the car, holding the 'Boat Tour' signs against the car's windows. A pair of men especially enthusiastic about gaining our business gave chase on a motorcycle, waving their sign alongside the car as they matched its speed. We shook our heads, and I even reverted to the Japanese 'Iie' gesture. It wasn't until Jess wound down the window and hollered something in Tagalog that the men turned away. When I asked him what it was, he told us that he said that there was a car a distance behind us who needed a tour boat.  At the base of the mountain, a cyclist emerged from almost nowhere and waved to our car. Jess followed him to what turned out to be our destination, and the host showed us to a gazebo where he asked us what we'd like for lunch. I made some choices, unaware that I was choosing for everyone, and we were shown to our boat, impressively similar to those seen on the Philippines leg of The Amazing Race once. I later learned that this had actually been where teams had visited, after John pointed out a red and yellow Race arrow, and I spotted similar boats sporting the flags. We were told that the classic, conical, hollowed-topped mountain we'd spotted was actually Binintiang Malaki, which hadn't erupted since the 1700s, and that we'd be traversing another volcano beyond that which last had a major eruption in 1911, but had been placed on various levels of alert regularly since 2008.  We asked, perhaps jokingly, whether Jess would be joining us on the volcano, and he responded 'Maybe.' When we boarded the boat, he came with us, and kept going as we went to the ticket box. We declined the offer of tour guides and horses to ride. I had made clear before we arrived on the island that I had absolutely no interest in riding a horse, which was construed as me having a fear of horses. I needed to clarify that I was fine with horses, just not being on top of one. The walk to the edge of the crater had been billed to us as a gruelling test of endurance likely to take several hours. Instead, I think the four of us made it to the top within an hour, though footing was sometimes hazardous on the uneven ground, particularly for Jess who was wearing business shoes and dress pants and shirt (thought he took the shirt off and just wore the t-shirt he had on underneath once we arrived on the island.) At the top, we were greeted by more vendors offering us cold beer or coconuts to drink. Considering we'd been told that there was no electricity on the island, I wondered how the drinks were kept cold. I soon saw that the drinks were stored in huge blocks of ice, which I thought justified the 50 peso cost for my Coke, the most expensive I've had in the country. After admiring briefly the view into the crater, and watching as some people took up the vendors offers of golf clubs and balls to hit into the lake inside, we took a more adventurous path around the edge of the crater. We'd seen a few slivers of steam rising from cracks in the mountain on the way up, but around the edge there were even more, with steam pouring out. We sat briefly on the edge as the road narrowed, and at some point stopped being what could even be considered a path as we climbed over rocks, which were too hot to hold onto for too long.  Jess looked nervous as John, Bryce and I crossed over some burned vegetation to a patch of steaming rubble. Pieces of rock broke off under our feet, but we still had a certain footing, despite appearances. Bryce followed John down a steep incline to be surrounded by vents of steam. I told Jess not to worry, that I would stay at the top with him and wasn't planning on going any deeper into the volcano. While they were down there, I felt a few drops of rain, and looked across the wide crater. At the other side, I could see a wall of falling water moving towards us. It was quickly upon us, the air instantly cooler compared with the sauna-like humidity produced by the volcano. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen, but as soon as the rain had reached us, it had past, and we made the trek back to the boat. John asked to be photographed with some local children, and I warned him that they would expect payment. Again, Jess looked nervous, as the children held out their hands. Jess explained that they wanted coins. John confessed he didn't have any, so I gave the children a few pesos, which seemed to delight them more than is probably reasonable. Back on the boat, Jess took the rear seat, as he had on the ride over, and this time the boat passed through a little more rain. Bryce and I talked about our surprise at Jess actually joining us all the way across, and concluded that, although described to us by our hotel's travel desk as being our driver, he was possibly also acting as bodyguard. He had certainly displayed interest during our discussions with the local traders and a policeman, and when our actions appeared to put us in a measure of peril. Whatever the case, we decided we liked his service, and after inviting him to join us for lunch (something which he reluctantly accepted and seemed to enjoy,) we agreed to give him a substantial tip and ask if he would be available to escort us on similar journeys we may plan. |
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2012.03.25 01.57 Slippery When Wet... While I was waiting at the luggage carousel a week ago in the desolation of night at Ninoy Aquino airport, I'd tossed around the possibility of perhaps hiring a car to drive to the amusement park I'd seen online. This idea went quickly by the wayside after my luggage had arrived and I'd found my driver. He was, delightfully, holding a sign baring my name, and invited me into a vaguely air conditioned office where he asked me to wait for a car to arrive. The office sported a wildly inaccurate wall clock and a gigantic and ancient desktop computer featuring harshly glowing orange letters on its text-only display. When a car became available, the driver loaded my luggage and took the left-hand driver seat. We weaved in and out of traffic for what was a longer journey than expected, passing several of what I now know to be Jeepneys, and driving in a jerky, stop-start fashion to avoid the motorcycles piloted by children. I'd thought that we were immediately in the CBD, but later learned that we were just surrounded by an assortment of towering, free-standing billboards. My first impression of the country was that it is reminiscent of the Dandenong Market, and now, a week after my arrival, little has changed. My colleagues John and Bryce came up to my room shortly after arrival, drinks in hand, and invited me to some kind of Spanish fort the following morning. I declined the offer as soon as the told me the early hour of departure, and settled into the most extravagant hotel room I have ever occupied. After a somewhat awkward first couple of days in the office, I was finally assigned some real work in assisting agents in commencing on the phones. 'Mister Dann?' asked one of them, upon dialling a number. 'It has called the ambulance!' I thought, for a moment, that this may have been a problem. Perhaps the phone link between Manila and Melbourne had some how resulted in these agents taking calls designated for the ambulance service, a not unlikely situation given my understanding of the phone system and routing. I asked why the agent thought that they were dialling the ambulance, and listened into their headset and heard an alarm sound, indicating that an incorrect number had perhaps been dialled. I asked the agent why they thought someone had been called, and they told me that they didn't speak to anyone, other than the ambulance, and I realised that they were referring to the siren-sound coming from the phone. I've only had my class for a couple of days, but so far they have outshone my local audience immensely. Assessment results, which I am forced to facilitate significantly earlier than I would at home, have been universally almost perfect. The staff are happy to work through the day without ever whining for breaks or to leave early, and even offer to stay back late. That said, days are still long. As well as waking at four.45am for a seven o'clock start, we've had to stay back most days, in one case opting to bring work back to John's room so that we could relax with jazz and drinks until we finished at ten or eleven, though most days have ended before seven.pm. The hotel have a themed Friday night cocktail buffet, with last night being American night. I went there with Blaithin, who I trained in Adelaide and is now working in Manila, and some of the other staff staying at the hotel. A duet playing covers played a song by Elton John which was not what I requested, and followed it up with a rendition of Daniel which they directed at me. Bryce and John and I had planned to spend today taking a boat to a volcano, but wisely decided not to due to the weather. Instead, we went to the movies, and, for the equivalent of five Australian dollars, bought three tickets to see Hunger Games and bottomless popcorn all round. It was the first time in a while I have been to see a movie in its opening week, especially when it is one that has been so widely reported as being... something. I know it has been mentioned on the front page of The Philippine Star every day since I arrived, but didn't know too much about it except that it was based on a book. Most of the cinemas here are playing it exclusively on all of their screens to meet the apparently unprecedented demand. Considering the seemingly wide appeal, none of us particularly enjoyed the movie. I thought it was a little derivative, tackling the same kind of area as films like Starship Troopers, without the same wit or success. It was hard to root for any of the characters in the movie because I cared so little about any of them. It was a little like Hostel in that regards, although, unlike Hostel, Hunger Games was not without its merit. The soundtrack was very good until the last third of the movie when deviated wildly from the rest of the picture, and was composed by someone I'd never heard of, though reminded me of some of Danny Elfman's soundtrack work. I also thought it ended well, daring to leave matters unresolved - presumably for a sequel - but at great risk of alienating an audience who will be left thinking little has happened. Earlier today we went to a mall that was - like the rest of the country - more like a marketplace, where a young man had dared to stray from the usual marketplace catch cry of 'Hi, sir. You buy, sir,' by holding my shoulder, and attempting to physically drag me towards him. 'Hello, darling!' he smiled. 'Come in! Buy a bag!' Although it was true that I was looking for a bag, none of his imitation Louis Vuitton products quite seemed my scene. I thanked him as he hollered after me. Due to John's shopping needs, I was forced to pass him again later, it seemed to his delight. 'Hello!' he said this time. 'Do you remember me?' I told him that I did, but that I was just waiting for my friends to finish. When I looked back to see if John had finish, the vendor misconstrued it as interest in him, and started waving enthusiastically and blowing kisses. I ended up buying a bag today, but from a regular (i.e., giant and Las Vegas-esque) mall for a comparable price, and on the way home was caught in a downpour that seemed to emerge from nowhere. Now I've returned to my room, and am looking over the city, half in darkness due to widespread blackouts, that is bathed intermittently by flashes of lightning coming from clouds I can't see. |
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2012.03.17 10.14 Fistful of Dollars... I panicked briefly at the Ludlow Formation's (presumably new) bar at the airport as the bartender was mixing my drink. I had changed a whole lot of money over to pesos for the Philippines only an hour ago, and as it slowly became clear that the time for payment had dawned, I riffled through my wallet, seeing only those and Japanese yen. Luckily, I still had an Australian twenty hiding between them. I found a missed call while I was at the bar. It was from my work, asking if I'd found the email with my airline tickets which had been sent during the night. I was already packed and ready to go before the ticket had arrived, and I wondered only briefly what would happen if I didn't answer the call at all. By the time the clock strikes midnight tonight, I will be in Manila, a city I didn't really think I'd ever visit, and it still feels like I'm recovering from the trip to Japan. I'd turned up at work after Japan 2012 expecting to regale my colleagues with the souvenir tales of the Orient I figured they'd want. I'd compiled a highlights reel to discuss in the back of my mind, but I didn't get a chance to use it. As soon as I arrived at work, I was sent to the client's new office - a nicer building, with a fine view, but in a duller part of the city - to hear about a brand new training campaign that was apparently expected to be delivered that weekend. This presented a problem, because I had made plans - for Craig's proposed Melbourne Reunion - but I agreed that as long as the training in Mill Park would commence early in the day, it should present no problem. It turned out not to be, and I arrived at the party (which during the trip to Japan had evolved into a barbecue at Mordialloc beach) in good time. Whilst it was a nice afternoon, it was hardly the reunion I felt our circle of friends deserved, and, with Craig in town, not the wild night I'd expected, and prepared for. And before I skipped town, I made sure I was present for the Aqua concert, with Vicky and Jason. It was a very good show. Unlike the Vengaboys they will inevitably be compared with, I admired Aqua's ability to play musical instruments on stage. It was a very good concert, even though I wasn't as much a fan of Aqua as I was Vengaboys, and they played my favourite song within the first few minutes. But now it seems like my flight that is being call. It seems a shame that the Ludlow's bar only looks upon the the domestic runways, because it would have been nice to have snapped a picture of my plane from here. |
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2012.02.27 12.56 Waylaid... And so we begin the eight hour wait at Shanghai airport for our next flight. Customs were much more forgiving this time, taking a more flattering picture for their files, and calling the Chief Of Police over to our counter instead of making us wait in his little kiosk. When we came out of arrivals into the terminal, there were more people waving signs than I have ever seen in all my (admittedly limited) airport experience. Amongst them was someone looking for a Thien Do - probably nothing remarkable whilst in China - and I gave the lady looking for Thien a wave. Once we found the the departure queues, we were pleased to find that, even with over seven hours until departure, our flight was listed as 'Common Check-In.' We assumed this to mean we could check in, and dump our luggage and go Duty Free shopping, but once we waited through the queue, we were told that we are actually not allowed to check in until 4pm, and there was nowhere to leave our suitcases until then. We were offered a luggage trolley in lieu, but chose to decline since we were going to be using escalators anyway, and we've already conquered the Tokyo subway without the aid of trolleys. Now we've been hanging out in an airport bar critiquing what Julie has dubbed one of the best aeroplane meals of our journey. On Misa's sound advice, we had planned to check out of the Tokyu Inn about an hour later than our original plan, after she had found us a more direct route using the subway instead of the JR line. We arrived at the airport efficiently, and found everything closed. We travelled with an old Japanese man in the window seat next to us who Julie thought was a vision of myself, forty years into the future. He was just reading the paper when we arrived, but once the plane took off, he produced a tiny pair of binoculars (kind of like opera glasses, but more technical,) and carefully scoured the passing scenery. He pulled us to the window at one point to show us this view of Mount Fuji, from above.  So now I can boast that I have seen it from above, as well as from upside down and coming towards me at at a speed of 172kms per hour. |
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2012.02.25 20.11 Music Is The Language Of Us All... So far, Julie and I have looked for, but not found, any bars, as we know them to be. We've been to the hostess bar, and little sake houses, but never any bars just for a casual drink, like we're used to. I think I may have just found out why. I've just left a live music club where I arrived late at around five.PM. (Doors opened at three.30, and the opening band started at four o'clock.) Julie had some things from Harajuku that she wanted to swap, so we went our separate ways today. I'd attempted unsuccessfully to visit the Godzilla tribute at Toho Studios a few days ago, and wanted to try again. I found a Godzilla statue, but not the man-sized one I'd been looking for. I asked for directions, but it turned out to be futile, because almost everything in town is called 'Toho.' Later, meandering through Shinjuku, I heard music coming from a basement, and went into a room scarcely a fifth of the size of a single level of DV8. The club was called WildSide, and the sign had boasted 'We welcome foreign tourists!' The band currently on stage had dynamic, gravity defying hair, and were dressed in what could be called a remix of business attire. Despite the club's sign's subtitle, the staff member had trouble informing me that the club wasn't open yet, and that I should come back later. I guess they were doing soundcheck. I too swung by Harajuku, then Akihabara before returning to WildSide. The doorman had just as much trouble charging me admission as he did asking me to leave earlier. He showed me a line up which clearly stated that the price of admission was ￥2500, and I presented this much cash. He tried to explain something, then reverted to a calculator, to type '500.' I gave him 500 yen and he gave me a small leather tag, embossed with the name of the club. 'For drink...' he stammered. So I'd bought admission and a drink. It seemed like a pretty good deal. I went inside and found the bar unattended. Unlike before, the small room was now full. A band of dedicated supporters were bouncing around pretty tamely for some insanely stylish kind of NuMetalish band, and would break every now and again for bouts of insane head banging. I found out later the group were called 魅桜セッション, though I don't know what that means. I was surprised that when the band finished a curtain came down on the stage. The house lights came slightly up, and I could see that the sound mixer doubled as the bartender, explaining his absence during the set. I also noticed that small children seemed to be welcome in the club, as well as uniformed school students (even on a Saturday.) When the curtain opened, I noticed that a girl who I had spotted in the audience wearing a jumpsuit who had been most enthusiastic about the previous band was now on stage. She was joined by a slight girl with stars tattooed on her face and aerodynamic blue hair. Chains linked her fingernails to one another. The group were called ましゅまろ☆CLOWN. As soon as she started singing, I thought that she sounded a bit like Gwen Stefani, and I thought the same about the singer from the next band, Bla☆cky. I guess it is a trend for girl singers in Tokyo, as well as having stars in the middle of band names. Nevertheless, I enjoyed both bands. The last band I saw had a charismatic boy singer and were called Xtasy. They mixed shades of glam-rock with Ramonesy punk and metal. The who band danced and posed all over the small stage, and he leaned over the audience. Even though I didn't know what the group were singing about, I could still jump around to the music, and I guess the singer picked up on that, because he grabbed my head at one point and embraced me, though he didn't give me a kiss on the lips like he did to the guy next to me. When I turned around, all the audience were making heart signs with their fingers, something else that the Japanese perceive as the language of us all. And by eight o'clock, it was all over. Everyone seemed to be going home. Tomorrow we are meeting with Misa, and perhaps she will tell us what we've been doing wrong. Or maybe people just like to have early nights in this country. |
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2012.02.22 23.54 China Willy... It was drawing close to midnight by the time we arrived in Beijing. The stop in Shanghai had had one advantage - we were now travelling on a domestic flight, so could find our way straight to Air China's desk. They were providing us with a hotel because we had what was originally described as a night between arriving in China and transferring to our flight to Tokyo. When we found the counter, an enthusiastic young man gave us a slip of paper and pointed to a bunch of crowded benches. We guessed that there would be a bus coming to take us to our hotel, which we had presumed would be one of the several adjoining the hotels. Each time they called for people in Chinese, we would eagerly show our slip to the attendant, only to be met with a negative sounding word. Finally, our presentation was met with a more positive sound, thankfully from the friendly young man who had first given us the hotel voucher at the counter. He assembled a surprisingly large group of people, and took us down a set of stairs, where he told us we were to take bus number 14. He took us first to an exit to the bus terminal that was closed, then we exited through a door he had earlier forbidden us from taking, but changed his mind when he found the desired entrance closed. Outside, Julie again remarked at the cold (the temperature had been advertised on board the plane as being -5°C) as we shuffled towards bus number 14. Looking back, we noticed that no one else in the group were coming with us, and we wondered if they were perhaps destined for a different hotel. I gripped the slip of paper the man had given us earlier like a safety blanket, and showed it to the bus driver, who didn't show any sign of recognition, but equally did not object when we joined the queue for the entrance. Just as we were about to board the bus, the young man from the Air China terminal came running over to us, indicating for us to come back, shaking his head. We guessed this was the wrong bus, and he had saved us from disaster. I tried to stick close to the man after that, but he was moving so quickly, weaving in and out of so many people (who do actually look alike when you are trying to keep your eye on one person) that it was easy to lose him. Julie suggested instead that we tail a guy she called 'China Willy,' so dubbed for his impeccable fashion sense which defied the cold of the night as he nonchalantly smoked a cigarette and navigated the crowd. China Willy lead us to a closed bus that was noticeably not the one in bay 14, and there he waited. Meanwhile, I kept an eye on the Air China man, who was still running around smiling, and seemed to be looking for us. He dragged us away from China Willy again, before eventually returning us to China Willy's bus, where a queue had formed. The moment the bus opened its door, the queue disintegrated into a frantically pushing mass of chaos as everyone tried desperately to surge past the frail old woman trying to board who I had foolishly allowed ahead of me. Julie groped her way on board admirably and saved me a seat. And finally we were moving. The bus past the Airport Hilton, and most of the other hotels adjoining the airport, but there were still the smaller independents. Eventually they thinned too, and we could see little more out the window than broken down shanties by the side of the road. There was little traffic. The road narrowed, as we entered an area dominated by vacant blocks and broken-down buildings that looked like they might have once been considered official. We had to give way to an incredibly long freight train that was passing on a railway crossing without gates or alarms. Eventually I pointed out a building outside lit up like a gaudy casino, the Golden Phoenix Hotel, and figured - with some excitement - that this was where we were going to spend the night. But we went past this one too. A few more like it dotted the road intermittently, before the bus finally pulled into a similar hotel, still displaying Christmas lights in its conical trees, called the Konggang Xinyue Business Hotel. At the check in counter, a similar unruly mob formed to that which had boarded the bus, but the pair of ladies behind the counter worked efficiently. When it came to our turn, it seemed they had been expecting us. They took our names, and asked what time our flight was leaving, and advised that we would need to leave at four.30am, and would have a wake up call at four o'clock. This was acceptable to everyone, but it seemed we may have had a problem. When the lady asked for a security deposit and I presented my credit card, she said that she needed cash. Julie and I looked at each other and admitted that we didn't have any Chinese currency. 'Do you have Australian dollars?' the girl asked, when I explained that we'd only brought the apparently unacceptable Yen with us in cash. I stammered that we did, but without much certainty. I knew I had only the left over money that I'd saved in case I felt like a drink or something to eat at Melbourne Airport, and didn't know what Julie had. The girl pulled out a calculator and discussed something with her colleague in Chinese before returning to us. I dreaded the figure she might tell us. 'We require ten Australian dollars.' Next to me, I heard Julie chuckle, and I reached into my wallet as the clerk assured me that the amount would be held securely in their safe over night and returned to me when we checked out. |
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2012.02.16 11.16 2011... When I was working for Buzz Magazine, I was invited at the end of each year to compile a list of 'favourites' from the year. I have maintained the habit, and find myself wondering, as each year advances, what might be in the running for that year's list. Luckily last year I wasn't required to do one, because there wasn't anything particularly pleasant about 2011. For one thing, I think I only purchased two albums in the whole year, and only one of those was current. Seeker Lover Keeper's debut did feature several good songs, but none that I feel deserve to see it elevated to the status of 'Best Album' in a list. The only other CD I bought was Beck's The Information. Again, whilst I think he has crafted a good album, carefully running an appealing leitmotif through, it doesn't seem like something that will be on high rotation from my record collection. Similarly with films, there was nothing particularly memorable that I watched in 2011. As far as television, I realised upon arriving home from one of my trips to Adelaide that I could probably recall every one of the few hours of television I watched last year because they were so few. I did stick with US version of The Killing which I thought was quite good, but otherwise didn't see more than an episode here or there of anything I thought might have been good. As a whole - for my life in general - the year felt uninteresting. On January 11, I started a new job that I had thought I might enjoy, but quickly learned otherwise. In the lead up to the change, from April 2010 until that day, I'd been working not less than 29 days per month, and was suddenly thrust into a life where I was not required for work on the weekend or evenings or early mornings, and found myself at a loss, not knowing what I should do. At first, I looked forward to the time off, but then discovered I do not enjoy anything than the pursuit of wealth, however futile it may be considering my current wage. If there was one thing that the year I've now worked in the role has proven, it is that those who say that one needs job satisfaction to perform well are incorrect. I believe I did a very good job, despite hating every single moment of my role, and will continue to do so until the day I am fired which I have found myself increasingly looking forward to. Market researchers continuously called me asking for my opinion on various topics, and my response was usually 'Indifferent,' because that is all I have really felt about anything for at least twelve months, and possibly longer. When asked to elaborate on that once, I think I asked if it was possible to be 'especially indifferent' towards something. It is the only way to describe how I have felt, and the lack of stimulus around me. Nothing is wrong, but nothing is particularly outstanding, either. Meanwhile, my work implemented a social network of its own called Yammer, which they encouraged me to use, as apparently people look up to me. The programme prompts the user to update it with 'What are you working on?' or 'What are you doing right now?' Each time I was asked to update the programme, all I could think to answer to those prompts was 'Nothing good.' That said, I did see some good shows in 2011. I think my favourite would have been Pulp at Festy, but it was closely followed by Andrew W.K.'s show at the Hi-Fi, which hosted several good shows that year, including another highlight towards the end of the year, Misfits. I don't think, however, that the passing of one year into the next will magically change things. I've never seen much point in celebrating new year's eve, so this year I didn't, again. I don't know if people are celebrating that one year is over or that another is beginning. Even when I did celebrate, I usually saw the changing of the calendar as little more than an excuse for a big night out. |
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2012.02.15 23.31 Roses... I spent some of yesterday picking the thorns from roses out of myself after a Molly Meldrum-esque ladder accident. I had expected to be spending the afternoon with Vicky, but she changed our lunch plans to Monday, which saved me the need to wonder if I should feel any kind of emotion when taking another man's wife out to lunch. I started that day early, going for an MRI at the hospital. Some parents were there with a baby who also needed an MRI, and I was pleased to note that the hospital now has four machines so neither of us needed to wait for the other to finish the procedure. I was also taken to a machine, which, whilst it was not positioned in such a way so as I can see the door and control room from inside, was advertised by the technician as being a new machine since my last visit - which he pointed out was well over four years ago. I was surprised first at my lapse in concentration that meant that I forgot the date of the last test, and secondly that it has been so long between tests, considering I am under instructions to have them quarterly. The technician warned me that the machine would be loud and that the test would take around half an hour. This was impressive, because previous equipment has made the test run for two or more hours. It was also noticeably quieter. After a stop in the hospital's cafeteria to examine the MRI results (which showed my brain to be less riddled with voids than I had imagined,) it was off to Parkdale to enjoy lunch with Vicky. I haven't seen much of her since Christmas so it was good to catch up before Julie and I leave town, particularly if my absence is going to be long term. She arrived with Joshua and since it was a fine day we dined alfresco. I ordered a breakfast special - Malaysian-style eggs served in roti with ham and what was advertised as a tomato, avocado and capsicum relish. The waiter described the meal as being as big as my head, and it was not too much of an exaggeration. It turned out to be heavy on the avocado with no sign of either of the other ingredients even present, and apparently the eggs in Malaysia are simply served scrambled. It wasn't a bad dish, but suffered from the hype of exotic language used in its description on the board, hype it couldn't meet, leaving me wishing I'd ordered from the standard menu. On a whim, it was decided that it would be a good evening to finally watch The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. This version of the film was much more complete than the original (perhaps understandable, given that it had been a contraction of a mini-series for international cinema release) which I thought would have been confusing had I not previously read the books. More focus was given on the investigations into murders of the past in the US film, which felt rushed in the original. They were allowed to open like a complex flower here, whilst Holger Palmgren was afforded more time, something which paid off. As with Saw, though, it was Trent Reznor's score which made this film complete. I was able to forgive the off-putting inconsistencies in the actors' accents by sinking into the music, which was suitably reminiscent of The Fragile. I still don't get why the movie was set in Sweden and not localised for somewhere else (which would also have negated the need for actors to attempt accents) but perhaps those behind the film thought it essential. Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed the movie, especially that the moments of humour have finally been translated to the screen successfully. |
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2012.02.12 16.29 Emergency... I will eat you alive... - Radiohead - Where I End And You Begin (The Sky Is Falling In.) By the time she was Jessie's age, Ruja had been lost, found, had a seizure, rushed to the emergency vet, and trapped on the garage roof. So my mum's panic yesterday when Jessie had her first emergency seemed kind of unreasonable. Unlike Ruja, Jessie isn't much of a hunter. Ruja would cautiously stalk her prey, kill efficiently, ensure there was no further threat, and parade her kill around - but she only killed when there was some challenge involved. I've no doubt she could have taken that pigeon my mum feeds any time, but she never did. Jessie doesn't have the same mentality. She was frightened a few weeks ago when she discovered a rat. Yesterday, she found a mouse, and ate it. Since we know that there is poison around, we wondered if the mouse might have been already on the way out when she caught it. I wasn't there at the time, but dad said she didn't play with it long, she just ate it as quickly as she could. It was hard then to gauge the creature's health at the time. She eats bees regularly, and I suspect she once ate a spider, but this was the first time we had cause for alarm. Whilst my mum panicked, I opened the internet and did a quick search on the effects of Warfarin poisoning on dogs. The most alarmist reports I read were of dogs bleeding from their eyes and mouth, but Jessie didn't exhibit such symptoms. Nevertheless, mum called the emergency vet, who suggested inducing vomiting as a precaution, and recommended the use of some product. It turned out to be no longer commercially available, due to its appeal to the bulimic. Instead, I found a home remedy, involving eating salt, which I explained to mum and she immediately put into practice. It worked, but because mum had acted so quickly, she didn't get to hear about the precautions until too late - there was the possibility that Jessie may not be able to stop vomiting, and would require supervision for three days, if not a visit to the vet again. Luckily Jessie recovered after a quick nap, and even wanted an evening walk. |
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2012.02.06 22.00 Tales Of Lost Children, parts 1 and 2... When I was an infant, we were taught in school about 'Stranger Danger' via a picture book in which a friendly looking man wearing a bomber jacket and glasses like Wheels from Degrassi pulls up in a station wagon and smiles as he asks a child if he or she would like to come to visit his new puppies. The child in the story actually did go to the house, where the man really did have some new puppies which the child enjoyed playing with, but left to find the mother concerned, but not angry. If I remember correctly, the child cried about worrying the mother, but in the end the mother gave the child a comforting hug, stressing kindly but firmly that although she wasn't angry, it is important for children to always ask their parents' permission before absconding with strangers. It was a message that was also repeated at home, and featured in countless television specials. I wonder if Architecture In Helsinki sought to re-introduce the lesson when they released It's 5! on In Case We Die with the opening chant 'Stranger Danger!' It is something I have been thinking about a lot lately, mainly because I have been spending a lot of time walking a new puppy, and have had countless children approach me wanting to talk, making me feel like the modern-day equivalent of the guy with the bomber jacket and Wheels glasses. But it should be noted that it was without the aid of a puppy that I successfully lured a pair of children into my grasp, and with surprising ease. The first instance was several weeks ago, early in the new year. Since returning to the city, I have mostly been avoiding the surface during daylight hours, traversing as much of the CBD as I can using the network of subterranean tunnels that lies beneath the streets. It was on a rare expedition to the surface to use an ATM that encountered the first child. I'd just finished counting my bills and was crossing the road to Flinders Street Station when a young girl toddled towards me. Meanwhile, I could see a woman in the station attendants' uniform waving her arms and pointing wildly, hollering in an indeterminable accent 'Whose child is this? That child is unattended!' I stopped in the girl's path and said 'Hi,' and she stopped too and said 'Hi,' as well. I told her that she should come with me, and she did as instructed, the station lady still shouting something. When I arrived at the lady with the girl following close by me, the attendant asked 'Is this your child?' I responded that she wasn't, and the attendant started asking me a barrage of noisy questions which I ignored as I left the girl in her care and entered the station to find which platform my train would be leaving from. The second instance also happened on my way home from work, but this time I was further into my journey on Friday afternoon, and had already finished travelling by train. I was driving home when I small boy all but leaped in front of my car. I only needed to maneuver slightly to change my car's trajectory to avoid hitting the boy leaning into the gutter. I pulled into a street ahead and parked and went to find the boy on a whim. I supposed that it was possible its parents may be looking for him, potentially offering a reward for his return. The boy stopped waving to traffic as I approached him and smiled at me. I asked him where his parents were, and he told me that his mum is 'At the doctor's.' I somehow figured that he meant the clinic at the corner ahead, but that was five blocks away. 'Maybe you should come with me,' I suggested, and the boy agreed, and offered me his hand, which I declined. Because we were so far from the ultimate destination, I asked him to wait while I locked my glove box, and the boy actually requested that we drive there in my car. I told him that I didn't think that was a good idea - I was already concerned that a bystander may contact the authorities - and started walking, and the boy ran to catch up, like the children chasing Tim DeLaughter along the railroad tracks in the Polyphonic Spree clip for Soldier Girl. When we arrived at the clinic, I held the door open for the boy to run inside, and wondered how I would explain myself to staff. Luckily, he ran straight to a woman signing Medicare paperwork at the counter and clung to her leg. 'He's your son?' I asked, possibly redundantly. 'Oh, yes!' the mother said, looking up from the documents briefly. I told her I'd found him outside. 'Oh!' she commented vaguely. 'I didn't even realise he was missing!' And that was it. No real expression of concern or celebration at having the son returned. No offer of financial gratitude. No offer of gratitude of any kind. For some reason, I thought that modern parents would be more concerned about child safety than those of twenty-five years ago when I was a similar age, but I guess I was wrong. If nothing else, I know that my parents would have been more likely to notice the absence of a child, and to heap praise upon the person to rescue said child, although I concede they would have been unlikely to offer a reward of a financial nature. I was surprised in both cases of the willingness of children to go along happily with someone with whom they were not familiar, someone who could have been any kind of paedophile or villain. Luckily for them, it was only me who found them. |
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2012.02.05 20.54 Free whoopie... One day last week, I came home from work to find three identical envelopes waiting for me in the mail. It was clear that they were the regular updates which come from the pokies clubs I used to frequent, and still visit occasionally. Even though I rarely redeem the coupons that come inside, they do elicit wonderful visions of 'What if...?' scenarios. What if I spent $20 to receive a $5 venue voucher? Would I win any money with that $5? What if I presented the 'free coffee and cake' voucher? What kind of cakes would be on offer that day? The vouchers are usually fairly standard in their generous offers. As well as the aforementioned, one might also find vouchers for free standard drink, or a certain percentage off the price of a main meal. This month's voucher was for something new, though:  There was no indication of exactly what they mean by 'Whoopie,' but I have coupons for a serve at the Sandbelt, Royal Oak and Vale hotels. I read the letter from beginning to end, but the only thing I learned was that the Baby Animals, Troy Cassar-Daley, Shannon Noll and even 10CC are soon to play at venues near me. There was nothing more about the Free Whoopie. One thing is certain, though. At some point between the valid dates of March 12 and 25, I am going to redeem at least one of the vouchers to get some Free Whoopie. |
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2012.02.01 22.55 Likeness... I'd thought that once the mX started printing a picture of their now-regular contributor Daniel Gardner alongside his Monday columns people would stop confusing the two of us.  Unfortunately, that isn't what happened. Upon my return to the city from MP, as well as the wishes of a happy new year and questions about how my holidays were (which I found oddly insulting, perhaps because I didn't actually have holidays) a lot of people told me that they had enjoyed reading my stories in the mX. One of these was my friend Daniel, also known affectionately as 'D.S.,' though more of a way of differentiating between two people who have the same name working in the same field (although in this case, it is only our first names which are the same.) I wasn't so insulted when D.S. asked about it, though. I guess it was just good to see him. In that particular example, I guess I could understand how the error was made. The author does, after all, open with a sentiment similar to one I also make about ten-pin bowling - that it is a sport that allows even those lacking in eptitude in other sports to succeed. Surely his latest article, in which he praises camping, will end the confusion once and for all. |
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2012.01.30 16.02 Funkytown... I've had to spend a lot of time both in Frankston in the past couple of week, which I don't have a problem with, and driving to and from Frankston. I discovered, however, that I do have a problem with the Frankston Freeway. It used to be one of the roads which I enjoyed driving on, but, after taking it once last week I discovered that it can now be added to the list of roads that I find terrifying to drive upon. I was en route to my uncle's house to feed his dog, Trigger, when I made this discovery. My uncle is ill. Apparently his kidneys are damaged beyond repair, a condition which lead to Ruja's death - the anniversary of which passed by without a lot of ceremony last week (although Jessie chose that day to discover a bag of Ruja's old toys which she spread across the floor for me to find when I came home.) I mentioned this to Angela at work when I announced that I was leaving early, and when she expressed her concern, I told her that I suggested to my uncle that he write a will leaving his house to me in case he dies. She found it insensitive that I had offered to care for his dog in the event of my uncle's death conditional on his leaving me the house. I explained that, since I don't have a home of my own in which to store a German Shephard, there would be no convenient way for me to do so otherwise. I also drove - sensibly via Nepean Highway - to Frankston for my final appointment with the Associate Professor. He responded to my accusations of animal cruelty via the guise of medical experimentation with the claim that reports have been greatly exaggerated. This didn't stop me from maintaining my stance that I would like a referal to a different specialist, and one was reluctantly given, along with the advice that 'just because a doctor has his rooms on Collins Street doesn't make him any better.' My latest symptoms (which I have have come to describe as NewType) were brushed off as being little more than headaches, even though I stressed that lately my headaches have been mostly managable. The final trip was the following day. I'd planned to ressurect my formerly annual Hottest 100 party, which ceased the year Ruja died (even though, as it turned out, she was dead by Hottest 100 anyway, and her comfort was therefore no longer a concern,) but just as I was preparing a string of SMS invitations, I received an SMS invitation to an event at Shelly's house. It was a surprisingly grown-up affair. I made a chocolate ripple cake, and when I pulled up outside, some girls waved to me, giggling, apparently having never seen a convertible close up before. They were wearing miniature Australian flags in their hair and decorating a letterbox of Shelly's neighbours with similar flags, but still pointed to the flag on Nick's car in front of me, declaring 'Oh my God! How embarrassing!' It was an afternoon of liquor and industrial trance, developing into an evening of debates on topics as diverse as media bias and government emergency responses over doughnuts and imported biscuits. Later, and moving inside, discussion turned to cinema whilst we enjoyed wine and imported cheese. It was later than I realised when I finally left on dog-feeding duties. I have continued my visits even though my uncle is home, because I think Trigger could use some of my diverse dog walking, and even battled the smoke from a nearby fire to make a visit. |
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2012.01.25 16.27 Hazzard... It was important, I was instructed, to ensure the Mini was travelling at precisely 44 kilometres per hour when it hit the ramp to ensure that it would neither fall short of the landing ramp, nor overshoot it and presumably cause significant damage to the front end of the car. One of the more thoughtful gifts I received for my birthday (in fact, I believe it was the only gift I received) was a voucher to redeem for stunt driving lessons. It was an ideal gift, since I had requested vehemently that I did not want any gifts due to my recent enthusiasm for getting rid of or destroying all the things which I own. Frustratingly, the lessons had to be used fairly quickly, so I had to do them almost as soon as training at MP was finished. So I headed to Sandown Racetrack, which was an exciting enough drive for me (it included an overpass) and was directed past a traditionally yellow Lamborghini Gallardo into an exclusive parking lot beneath a grandstand. I was led up to a bar which overlooked the racetrack. I didn't get a chance to look at the menu, and the bar was closed, but it seems like somewhere I'd like to eat, though I suspect it is only serving when horse racing is on, so I would therefore not use it. One of the instructors arrived and gave the seemingly too-large group a superficial briefing about being safe and having fun, before we were taken back downstairs to select a helmet and a BMW Mini.  I selected helmet number 13, and the pale blue Mini. Before I could take the Mini out though, I put my hand in the air for one of the stunts that was offered, driving on two wheels. So I headed over to a Yaris that was clearly not street legal.  This is where I realised that the operators of the Stunt Driving School were a little deceptive in their advertising. Whilst they say that drivers get to experience things like 50 foot ramp-to-ramp jumps, and handbrake turns, they say 'Finally we'll take you for a wild ride on two wheels...' And that is exactly what they did. Unfortunately, they didn't teach me how to do it, and I could only sit as passenger in the car whilst the instructor took it on two wheels.  Back in my first choice of Minis, I finally got to take the driver's seat and try the jump. Despite being instructed of the importance of maintaining a speed of 44 kilometres, it turns out the cars have been fitted with digital speed limiters, so as soon as they hit that speed they just level out and remain at 44 for as long as the pedal is to the floor.  The picture of the jump could probably have not been taken at a less exciting or opportune moment. After they had driven many of the participants spoke excitedly about how it had felt like they were driving much faster, and how the distance travelled in the air felt like a long way. I disagreed, but perhaps that is because I have more experience than them driving cars which are low to the ground. I was mostly disappointed with the jump, because I thought that the speed limiters removed all aspect of challenge from the activity. Next I crossed the track and pushed in line for the 180 degree handbrake turn lesson, because I wanted to ensure that I was able to drive the dark blue Mini. Inside, I feel like I asked the instructor to repeat herself several times before I attempted the activity, but apparently I did it quite well. I was told afterwards that the other participants applauded my performance at turning the car, in a single fluid movement, to the opposite direction to where it had been travelling. The instructor also commented on how unusual she found it that I down-shifted to first whilst the car was turning, but that seemed safest to me, and something that I tended to do naturally when the car's speed lowered so dramatically.  Finally, I went back across the track and again pushed in, because I wanted to take the red Mini out so that I would have experienced all four of the stunt cars. The final lesson was doing 360 degree spins. Luckily for this, and the previous activity, the speed limiters were switched off, but this one, whist kind of fun, was a bit too chaotic and unreliant on skill. Afterwards, everyone was presented with a certificate of completion. So, though I enjoyed the activities, I was certainly glad I hadn't paid for the day myself, because I would have felt ripped off. It was hard to think of any practical use for most of the skills learned, a point I mentioned to the instructors, and they recommended a defensive driving course, but I said that I had already completed one of those and found it less than useful, and wondered about offensive driving courses. An advanced defensive driving course was suggested, and I left. |
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2012.01.23 10.48 Temper Trap... I have been going to sell-out concerts quite regularly since 1995. I have only missed out on tickets once, for Metallica in 2010. The show sold out quickly whilst I was waiting for the ticket printer that always seems infuriatingly slow when you are second or third in the queue at nine.01 on the on-sale date. Of course, I was offered several tickets for sale in the months leading up to the concert. I even managed to barter with a scalper down to close to fae value. I the end, I didn't buy the ticket. I wanted General Admission, and all the scalpers seemed to be selling was seated tickets. On the other hand, I have had friends promise to buy event tickets, only to report back that they had sold out too quickly. That's okay, though. I don't hold it against them. After all, I have missed out on tickets before too. Sometimes I discuss an upcoming show with someone, and the decision is made to attend. Frequently, I will be nominated as the one to purchase the tickets. I've never minded that, either. After all, I have the aforementioned track record of scoring tickets to big name events (save for that one.) Plus I enjoy visiting the box office. I like the slowBurn excitement of occassionally not being first in line (although increasingly I am the line, or am joined by only one or two other people.) It is quietly exhilerating trying to catch a glimpse of the ticketing computer, trying in vain to guage its progress. The to be successful, and hold the freshly printed tickets. The usual arrangement has been that money will be exchanged when we are having a ball at the gig. What does bug me is to be told at the last minute that the other party is now not attending. It has become an all too frequent occurrence. In some instances, it has meant nothing more than a few last minute phone calls to organise a replacement date. In other, more dire cases, it has meant that I have lost out financially, or sometimes been left standing outside like some degenerate scalper trying to barter with the public for some return on my investment, depriving myself of the enjoyment of the support act. But not any more. I've been burned too many times. From now on, if I agree to buy a ticket for someone, they should know that they're important to me. Otherwise, no problem. Let's go to the show, sure. I'm buying my ticket as soon as they go on sale. I'll see you at the gig. |
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2012.01.19 13.45 Summarium... Which of the following options best describes your gender? This was a question posed by a market research survey I completed. I'd have seen nothing wrong with the question, had there been more than two options - male and female - to select in response. During those Mill Park months, I celebrated a birthday. I almost forgot that it was my birthday, but luckily, on the way home from a screening at the Japanese Film Festival with Adam, we were overwhelmed on the train by a swarm of Foo Fighters fans returning from their concert. My first thought - after noticing that AAMI Park must serve the same beer as Rod Laver Arena - was 'Isn't the Foo Fighters concert on my birthday, though?' I vocalised this, to which Adam checked the date on his phone and wished me a happy birthday. Luckily a second show had been announced, and we were actually in the midst of the return home from the second show to go on sale, which took place the night before my birthday, because I had tickets to see the Misfits on my birthday which I would have otherwise have missed. Other December highlights included braving tumultuous weather to attend Kip's birthday party, and later in the month Gaz's famous Christmas party. Gaz wondered at some point in the evening whether this was actually the ten year anniversary of the tradition, and he seemed to decide that it was, but in the end resolved to make next year special. That said, I thought that this year's even seemed nice as it was, even though it was perhaps not as raucous as other years have been. (I was even asked to keep the noise down.) If for nothing else, the night will be memorable for the fact that it was spent on tornado alert. I learned that December 30 is a bad date to visit the Espy, despite it being an otherwise fine evening for a trip to the venue. It was a good night - Adam had invited me to see some band called Snowy Belfast, hometown heroes, apparently - with different genres of music appearing in each room. After watching Snowy Belfast in the front room, who had a few good songs but were mostly too country for my liking, we had a drink or two in the evening air in the courtyard before being told that we had to move inside due to New Years Eve licensing laws coming into effect as of midnight. Downstairs I saw a Sum 41 style band who used the small space to good effect, then later went to the Gershwin Room where I was a little upset to have missed most of some Rock and Roll band's set. After a discussion of music and career aspirations with a guy named Joon - described by Adam as 'a Korean awesome musician' - a big band took over in the front bar which provided a fine atmosphere, and in the end I had not had too much to drink to drive home, and felt particularly surprised by my driving ability. For my mum's birthday, I'd considered making a breakfast of blueberry pancakes again, but since we had had that on Christmas only a few weeks before, we decided on going to dinner the night prior to her birthday, because they would be out of town on her actual birthday. This also suited me, because her birthday coincides with Adam's, and I had RSVPed positively to his party invitation - at something called Big Slide. It turned out to live up to its name, being an indoor playground intended for children, and the staff made no secret of their disgust at a grown ups' party being held there. 'You know the party started at twelve?' the lady behind the desk told me when I told her my name and the group I was a part of at one.30. 'It's ridiculous! Even the birthday boy... or the person whose birthday it is didn't get here till one! I didn't book this party. I wouldn't have booked this party!' She eventually let me in, and, whilst I had originally thought Adam's birthday theme clever - dress like you would have to a birthday party twenty years ago - I disliked the venue. It would have been fine if dogs were allowed, but personally I don't have as much interest in slides as Jessie does. Furthermore, despite the presence of wine glasses behind the counter, I was sternly told that there was no alcohol. Still, it was good to see some people I haven't seen in a while, particularly Claire, who I haven't seen in possibly five years, and is now married. I felt some contentedness in telling her that nothing is new in my life.  The following week I saw the Vengaboys, where I did something I never have before - what is known to more sensationalist media outlets as a 'stage invasion.' Appropriately, I felt as though I had ruined the show for everyone, even though it was the last song before the weird encore. I had expected it would be more glamourous. Perhaps I thought I would be applauded, or involved with the band in some way. In reality, the arms wrapped around me almost immediately were those of a security guard, who efficiently marched me off the stage. With delusions of riding into the moonlight aboard the Vengabus, I'd arranged to take Friday off work (my first since commencing in 2009) and, since I didn't go anywhere in any bus, finally went to use my ticket for Melancholia. I had been really looking forward to seeing the movie, but wasn't as impressed with it as I had hoped. I guess I thought it was okay, but a lot like Titanic: the first half seemed to drag whilst waiting for the inevitable excitement of the second. Luckily the credits played over silence, because I couldn't contain my laughter at the ending. And after months of not seeing any movies, I went to the movies again on Monday with Julie and watched Tintin, which I liked a lot. At lunch with Jitka and Rob the previous day, Julie had asked if I modelled myself after Tintin, a boy-reporter accompanied by a small white dog. Though I acknowledged the similarities, I had to deny that they were anything more than coincidental. My adventures are, after all, much less exciting. |
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2012.01.17 10.47 finalList 2011... Alexander Ebert - Truth Architecture In Helsinki - I Know Deep Down Bleeding Knees Club - Teenage Girls Boy In A Box - The Longest Road Digitalism - Circles Does It Offend You Yeah? - Pull Out My Insides Horrors , The - I Can See Through You Kasabian - Days Are Forgotten Regurgitator - One Day Seeker Lover Keeper - Even Though I'm A Woman My bookie said that the odds of Gotye and Kimbra coming at number one are so overwhelmingly in their favour that many people this year are looking at four-figure returns if their song wins. I didn't put any money on this year, but if I had, I think it would have been on Tonite Only's We Run The Night, based upon how often it seemed to have been requested throughout the year, although it could have been forgotten by a lot of people since it was an early release. Evil Eddie could rank highly too, and, had the song not been released so late in the year, Luke Million's Arnold would probably have done well. I also recently learned that Grouplove's Tongue Tied is in a commercial at the moment, which could see it end highly, and not undeservedly so. |
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2012.01.14 21.10 shorterList 2011... Alexander Ebert - Truth Architecture In Helsinki - I Know Deep Down Art Vs Science - Higher Aston Shuffle, The - Won't Get Lost Bleeding Knees Club - Teenage Girls Blink-182 - Up All Night Boy In A Box - The Longest Road Bring Me The Horizon - Blessed With A Curse Charles Bradley & The Menahan Street Band - Stay Away Digitalism - Circles Does It Offend You Yeah? - Pull Out My Insides Drapht - Down Getaway Plan, The - The Reckoning Horrors , The - I Can See Through You Illy - Cigarettes Kasabian - Days Are Forgotten Regurgitator - One Day Seeker Lover Keeper - Even Though I'm A Woman Tom Ugly - I Was Somebody Else {Ft. Pez} Washington - Holy Moses |
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2012.01.14 11.44 shortList 2011... 360 - Boys Like You {Ft. Gossling} 360 - I'm OK 360 - Killer [Me] - Naked 2 Bears, The - Bear Hug Abbe May - Taurus Chorus About Group - You're No Good Active Child - Hanging On Albert Salt - Fear & Loathing Alex Metric - End Of The World {Ft. Charli XCX} Alexander Ebert - Truth Amaya Laucirica - No Excuses An Horse - Not Mine Anna Calvi - Desire Anna Calvi - First We Kiss Anna Calvi - I'll Be Your Man Anna Calvi - Love Won't Be Leaving Anna Calvi - Suzanne And I Architecture In Helsinki - Contact High Architecture In Helsinki - Escapee Architecture In Helsinki - I Know Deep Down Architecture In Helsinki - W.O.W. Architecture In Helsinki - Yr Go To Arctic Monkeys - She's Thunderstorms Arctic Monkeys - The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala Argentina - Bad Kids Art Vs Science - Bumblebee Art Vs Science - Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger Art Vs Science - Higher Aston Shuffle, The - Won't Get Lost Ball Park Music - Rich People Are Stupid Band Of Skulls - The Devil Takes Care Of His Own Bayside - Sick Sick Sick Beastie Boys - Make Some Noise Ben Folds Five - House Benny Benassi - Cinema {Skrillex Remix} Betty Airs - Juvenile Big Pink, The - Stay Gold Big Pink, The - Hit The Ground (Superman) Big Scary - Mix Tape Black Joe Lewis & The Honeybears - Booty City Blackout, The - Higher And Higher Bleeding Knees Club - Teenage Girls Blink-182 - Up All Night Bluejuice - Act Yr Age Bluejuice - Cheap Trix Boy & Bear - Feeding Line Boy & Bear - Golden Jubilee Boy In A Box - Glitter, Gold, Ruin Boy In A Box - The Longest Road Bright Eyes - Shell Games Bring Me The Horizon - Blessed With A Curse Buckley Ward - So Pretend Bumblebeez - Summer Bum Busby Marou - Girls Just Wanna Have Fun {Like A Version} Cage The Elephant - Around My Head Cage The Elephant - Shake Me Down Cairos, The - Listening Party Calling All Cars - Autobiotics Calling All Cars - Worlds Collide Chairlift - Amanaemonesia Charles Bradley & The Menahan Street Band - Stay Away Charlie Mayfair - Tell Her Chiddy Bang - Ray Charles Citizens! - True Romance Clairy Browne & The Bangin' Rackettes - Love Letter Cold War Kids - Royal Blue Cold War Kids - Skip The Charades Convaire - The New You Cosmo Jarvis - Gay Pirates Cosmo Jarvis - My Day Crystal Fighters - At Home Cut Copy - Need You Now Daniele Luppi/Danger Mouse - Black {Ft. Norah Jones} Death Cab For Cutie - Codes And Keys Decemberists, The - This Is Why We Fight Deep Sea Arcade - Girls Def Wish Cast - Dun Proppa Digitalism - 2 Hearts Digitalism - Circles Does It Offend You Yeah? - Pull Out My Insides Does It Offend You Yeah? - The Monkeys Are Coming Drapht - Down Drapht - R.I.P J.R Drapht - We Own The Night {Ft. Mantra & Urthboy} Dream On, Dreamers - To The Lost {Ft. Matthew Wright} Dry The River - No Rest Elbow - Lippy Kids Elbow - The Birds Ellesquire - On The Prowl Emperors - Plastic Gun Enola Fall - I Am An Aerial Eskimo Joe - Love Is A Drug Eskimo Joe - Somebody That I Used To Know {Like A Version} Eskimo Joe - When We Were Kids Evil Eddie - (Somebody Say) Evil Example/Skream - Shot Yourself In The Foot Again Fair To Midland - Musical Chairs Faker - Dangerous Faker - Hearts To Break Fearless Vampire Killers, The - Tell Me What You're Trying To Say Feist - Graveyard Fire! Santa Rosa, Fire! - Panther Shrine Floatingme - Spirals Florence & The Machine - Breaking Down Florence & The Machine - Never Let Me Go Florence & The Machine - Spectrum Flume - Possum Foo Fighters - Arlandria Foo Fighters - Dear Rosemary Foo Fighters - I Should Have Known Foster The People - Helena Beat Foster The People - Houdini Foster The People - Life On The Nickel French Horn Rebellion - Up All Night Frenzal Rhomb - Knuckleheads Frenzal Rhomb - When My Baby Smiles At Me I Go To Rehab Frowning Clouds, The - All Night Long Fucked Up - The Other Shoe Ganglians - Drop The Act Getaway Plan, The - The Reckoning Getaway Plan, The - Phantoms Ghostface Killah - Ghetto {Ft. Raekwon/Cappadonna/U-God} Ghoul - Lodum (Rising) Glasvegas - The World Is Yours Gold Fields - Moves Gotye - Save Me Gotye - Smoke And Mirrors Gotye - Somebody That I Used To Know {Ft. Kimbra} Gotye - State Of The Art Grates, The - Sweet Dreams Grates, The - Turn Me On Grates, The - Young Pricks Greenthief - Vultures Grouplove - Close Your Eyes And Count To Ten Grouplove - Spun Grouplove - Tongue Tied Guineafowl - The Lie Is Gung Ho - Twin Rays Harpoons, The - Keep You Around Herd, The - Clash And Collide Herd, The - Market Forces Hey Geronimo - Why Don't We Do Something? Hey Rosetta - Yer Spring Horrors , The - I Can See Through You Howler - I Told You Once Howling Bells - Into The Sky Illy - Cigarettes Jack Ladder & The Dreamlanders - Cold Feet Jagwar Ma - Come And Save Me James Blake - Lindisfarne James Blake & Bon Iver - Fall Creek Boys Choir Jane's Addiction - Irresistible Force Jay-Z & Kanye West - New Day Jay-Z & Kanye West - That's My Bitch Jay-Z & Kanye West - Welcome To The Jungle Jebediah - Apartment {Like A Version} Jebediah - Freakin' Out Jebediah - Oxygen Jebediah - The Lash Jens Lekman - An Argument With Myself Jezabels, The - Endless Summer Joe Goddard - Gabriel Joelistics - Glorious Feeling Junica - Living In My House {Ft. Pip Brown} Justice - Civilization Kaiser Chiefs - Little Shocks Kasabian - Days Are Forgotten Kasabian - Velociraptor! Katalyst - The Clapping Song {Ft. Coin Locker Kid} Kavinsky - Nightcall {Ft. Lovefoxxx} Kimbra - Cameo Lover King Cannons - Take The Rock Kitty, Daisy & Lewis - I'm So Sorry Kooks, The - Is It Me Kooks, The - Junk Of The Heart (Happy) Lana Del Rey - Video Games Lanie Lane - Ain't Hungry Last Kinection, The - Are We There Yet? {Ft. Simone Stacey} Laura Marling - Salinas Laura Marling - I Was Just A Card Laurels, The - Black Cathedral Lisa Mitchell - The Ship Song {Straight To You: triple j's tribute To Nick Cave} Little Red - All Mine Living End, The - Heatwave Living End, The - Song For The Lonely Living End, The - The Ending Is Just The Beginning Repeating Low Budget - Hard Act To Follow Martin Solveig - Ready 2 Go {Ft. Kele} Mastodon - Black Tongue Middle East, The - Hunger Song Mini Mansions - Monk Muscles - Koala Muscles - I'll Follow You Nantes - Fly National, The - Exile Vilify Nero - Me & You Other Lives - For 12 Owl Eyes - Raiders Panda Band, The - The Fix Panics, The - Endless Road Papa Vs Pretty - Darkest Way Patrick Wolf - The City Pigeon John - Buttersoft Seats Pluto Jonze - Plastic Bag In A Hurricane Psyde Projects, The - Kay-Pee-Em Radiohead - Lotus Flower Rapture, The - Miss You Redcoats - Dreamshaker Redcoats - Kay Trucker Regurgitator - One Day Scientists Of Modern Music - Because If I Die SebastiAn - Embody Seeker Lover Keeper - Even Though I'm A Woman Seeker Lover Keeper - Going To Sleep Seeker Lover Keeper - Everytime Seeker Lover Keeper - On My Own Seeker Lover Keeper - Rely On Me Seeker Lover Keeper - Theme I Sparkadia - China Sparkadia - Mary Stonefield - Black Water Rising Talib Kweli - Palookas {Ft. Sean Price} Those Darlins - Screws Get Loose Thundamentals - Paint The Town Red Thursday - No Answers Tom Ugly - California Tom Ugly - I Was Somebody Else {Ft. Pez} Tom Waits - Bad As Me Vasco Era, The - Child Bearing Hips Voltaire Twins - Animalia Washington - Holy Moses Washington - Plastic Bag Wombats, The - Techno Fan Yuksek - The Edge |
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2012.01.10 15.45 Epilepsy... In November I requested an emergency appointment to see my neurologist, and was granted one in early December, but had to cancel due to work commitments. The appointment has been rescheduled to the end of January, and I have booked some annual leave days to go to what will be my final visit to this particular doctor. As such I have decided to document the symptoms I have been experiencing since my return from Final Adelaide 2011, and chart common symptoms for my next doctor's evaluation. Throughout my life, I experienced debilitating headaches that saw me having to stagger out of classrooms to vomit during the school day. Little was thought of this until the night before a free dress day when I was in year eight. On that night, I was discovered in the midst of a seizure, and my dad took me to hospital. Not much came of this, but it did lead to a referral to Dr Lindsay Smith, the hospital's resident paediatric neurologist. Although I have heard conflicting reports of his abilities, I could not fault him, so remained a patient until I was 21 and could no longer remain on his paediatric roster. After that initial visit, he sent me for an MRI, which he noted in subsequent visits 'wasn't very exciting,' and MRI, which revealled not less than three scars along my temporal lobe. He also ordered what he referred to a Sleep Deprived MRI, since the seizure which had been witnessed had taken place whilst I was asleep. This showed more abnormal brain activity than the initial MRI, but was still nothing notable. With the new context given to my lifetime of headaches, I was able to form links between things. I noted that the worst kind of these headaches - the kind that had, for the course of my life, left me occassionally in such pain that I was unable to move for a whole day - coincided with the seizure, and, as I experienced a couple more, seizures. Dr Lindsay also raised the question of whether I experienced any kind of hallucination, and at the time I didn't think I did, but I have since realised that I have and still do. They aren't hallucinations like in the movies. I don't see things like The Green Fairy or lizard people in lounge-bars. Instead, they are more like uneasy feelings. I sometimes feel distant from things, like everything is far away from me, and moving around me as a central point. Any kind of movement I make during this sensation feels somehow grander and more elaborate than it really is. In a more typically epileptic hallucination, I see a pulsating globe of light at the periphery of my vision, frustratingly always just at a point where I am unable to focus on it. It is sometimes accompanied by a pounding bass beat in time with its pulses. Also coinciding with seizures was a reoccurring dream which may or may not be classified as an hallucination. In the dream I found myself, unextraordinarily, in my own bed, however the bedroom was otherwise devoid of furniture, and had been converted into a perpectly spherical space. It is unclear how the bed managed to remain stable in a round room, but I doubt it is relevent. The walls were overlaid with a black and white chessboard pattern, in which the black squares seemed to pulse at the same rate as the aforementioned sphere of light. Featuring prominently in these dreams was Marvin the Martian, always desperate for my attention and casually concerned with some matter, however in recent times, though I still dream of the round black and white room, Marvin has been absent. Perhaps it should also not be included in the same category as hallucinations, but I would, usually after a suspected seizure, experience heightened awareness of everything around me. During this period, until the time when I inevitably fall back to sleep, I can hear sounds as 'layered' and focus upon them, like turning the volume up and down on the individual tracks of a mixing deck. I can filter out background noise, like the hum of the refridgerator and birds outside, and clearly understand quiet conversations taking place in other rooms, or the house next door. My attention is also drawn specifically to certain objects which, for not obvious reason, emit an extreme reverence and importance. This increased awareness of everything has to be balance with the feeling of being distant from everything to ensure - if I do get up - that I don't trip over, and is usually coupled with an intense craving for vitamin C which has seen me consume litres of orange juice in a matter of minutes. Since commencing a course of medication, these incidents have been restricted to around one or two 'episodes' (as some employer I had once referred to them) per year. I have been on a series of different kinds of medication which I won't detail, since I know that a satisfactory history of dates, dosages and reasons for discontinuation and toxicity reports exists in my medical records. In the late afternoon of October 31, 2011, I decided to sleep for a while. I woke up at some point and didn't realise anything with wrong until I tried to get up and noticed a lack of balance and fell into my bar fridge. I didn't have any of the usual epileptic after-effects, like a cripling headache. Nevertheless, I went back to bed and hoped I would recover by some miracle. This was, to my knowledge, the first incident of its kind. In the subsequent nights (or other times I attempted sleep) the same thing happened, often several times during the night, and sometimes accompanied by a headache, and other assortments of the symptoms described above. Most troubling about this has been the fact that I have clearly been moving around, doing things ligically and sensibly, however I have no memory of them. For example, one time I found a pool of drying blood on the carpet of my room, suggesting that I got up during the night, injured myself in some way (I have also been finding various cuts and bruises on my body, and especially knuckles) and then climbed back into bed. I have no memory of any of this. Another time, I woke to find an assortments of my shirts folded neatly and packed into my suitcase. At this point I made the December appointment, which was ultimately rescheduled for late in this month due to work commitments. When I realised that this was happening every time I slept, I tried an experiment of restricting my sleep to short blocks, which seemed to stop anything untoward from happening, because I feared that this could be leading to a more major seizure, which would impact upon the busy eight weeks I had at work. So everytime I slept, I set an alarm to ring every 45 minutes to wake me. For the most part, the experiment was a success which continues to this day. To my knowledge I have not had any seizure since commencing the experiment, however other side-effects similar to those I have experienced previously have crept into my waking life since late November. To begin, I would have the feeling of everything being distant from me variously throughout the day. It wasn't long until this became permanent. I have also become aware of the fact that there are blocks of time during the day which I cannot account for. So far, nothing dramatic appears to have happened during these times - as I wrote before, I seem to have behaved rationally - but I nevertheless became terrified when I discovered that I had no memory of the driving along a certain stretch of road on my way to work one morning. There have been other examples of what my mother calls 'lost time' too, and they are of great concern to me. I have read articles about how there is allegedly increased evidence of psychic ability amongst those with epilpsy. I have written about this, and my doubts previously. As stated, I don't believe I have any kind of psychic power. However, I have noted that since November, the heightened levels of perception that I experience after a seizure have become a permanent fixture. It has meant that it has been very easy for me to - for lack of a better term - filter out irrelevent sounds and focus only on what is of interest to me. I also discussed previously how hallucinations have been appearing before me, and seem to draw my attention to certain items which require my attention. I put this down to some kind of increased environmental sensitivity, and I suppose this assistance in focus, combined with the lack of interest in anything which I have developed, allows me to calculate, very efficiently, what is most likely to happen. When I have pointed this out I have been accused of being psychic, but it is just an unexpectedly useful symptom. I wondered if allowing myself to have a regular seizure would perhaps stop all of these symptoms. Maybe they are caused by some kind of build-up of epileptic pressure somewhere within me, and could be aleviated, like a pressure-release, but allowing myself to have a seizure. Since I had New Years Day off work, I attempted to have a full night's sleep, but was woken at around the same rate as my alarm would by the sound of illegal fireworks, so I won't be able to present the results of my experiments to the doctor for forwarding to whomever he refers me to. |
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[ livenudeDann ]
