The bold caption of the photo above the fold on the front of the weekend paper read "Boys in black roar back with a bang." The first paragraph sums up the entire experience perfectly. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it--that's been AC/DC's motto since they first plugged in their guitars at Sydney's Chequers Nightclub 42 years ago." With the exception of a few new songs, the concert was identical to the one played at the same venue five years ago. Guitarist Angus Young, now 60, still dons his trademark school uniform and whips up an audience aged from 14 to 74. Television stations have cameras outside waiting to hear from the premier (governor) of the state and anyone else of note give a drooly critique of the magical evening. A reunion of legends? A final farewell of old rockers looking to spend more time in their chateau vineyards?
Hardly. This is business as usual in a nation whose musical clock seemed to have stopped in the 70s.
Acca Dacca, as they are affectionately nicknamed, has never stopped. The death of their charismatic front man, Bon Scott, three and half decades ago, nor the dementia nor legal troubles of other band members seems to faze anyone or soften affection. Bon Scott has a statue erected in Fremantle--practically a shrine for locals and visitors alike. Joining them in the Australian musical pantheon of bands never allowed to retire or change their act are groups like KISS and Cold Chisel. Yes, KISS. Still in platform shoes and greasepaint while padding their retirement accounts with regular tours in the sunburnt land. These bands appear on up-and-coming concerts posters along with current hot performers like Sam Smith. I think it provides a measure of comfort to folks who really want to keep the vibe of a happy time in their collective souls.
But what about those bands whose members fell off the perch entirely or insisted on retiring to their private Scandinavian islands? Well, thank heaven for tribute bands. Australia has the only ABBA-approved tribute band which goes by the name Bjorn Again. Agnetha has never had to shed her white bodysuit and we all sing merrily along to Dancing Queen. Tribute bands have long filled in the entertainment gap when bands like Queen, Eurythmics and Fleetwood Mac couldn't or wouldn't come in personally to perform. And it just doesn't stop there. Any performer who remotely looks like Dusty Springfield, Kenny Rogers, Dusty Springfield, Roy Orbison, Dusty Springfield, Johnny Cash, Dusty Springfield, Patsy Cline, Dusty Springfield (oh wait, I've mentioned Dusty before) can hit the solo artist concert trail. Their shows are sandwiched between performances by four suited guys with cereal bowl haircuts on a 'Classical Mystery Tour' and three sequin-dressed ladies in bouffant hairdos singing about baby love. And all keeping us permanently in our happy place.
Are Australians embarrassed by any of this? Far from it. Aussies embrace their quirkiness. They own their national musical psyche with fierce pride and unrepentant vigor. In fact, the average Aussie has a problem with a fellow countryman who feels a need to get above himself. Think INXS. Their music was just too slick, too over-produced, too "American". Why, that just isn't done. They would be ignored completely save for the fact the lead singer used to date a pint-sized, half-talent named Kylie Minogue who mostly covered others' songs. A bit of redemption there, mate.
Oh. I should mention that Jim Morrison of The Doors is not dead. He is playing at the Bickley Harvest Festival.
Saturday, December 5, 2015
Monday, October 26, 2015
Birthday Parties and Garage Sales
Some weekends are busier than others. We find ourselves rushing around from one place to another hoping to get in all in and still catch our breath. This weekend was one such experience with some rather interesting trends noticed.
First, it was the Garage Sale Trail - a national movement to reduce waste by encouraging reuse of items. People and businesses all across the country are exhorted to have a garage sale on the same day. Having everyone on the hunt --or sale-- on the same day benefits everyone: more traffic out looking for sales and more sales for wandering shoppers to find.
We joined the fray. We hoped to find a few pieces of furniture to replace the broken garage sale finds of yesteryear. Not much there but nestled among the usual collection of old toys, 40 year-old Tupperware being sold at new prices, dated clothing and chipped coffee mugs were a few treasures: a Sony Walkman tape player with a solar powered alarm clock, another portable tape player with the all important three equalizer quality controls (neither of these have I seen before) and the a most gorgeous peacock purse. This never-used, antique piece of art decorated with peacock feathers was selling for $60 and probably worth four or five times that. I was afraid to touch it. The seller was afraid to touch it. She kept this beaute either behind a glass hutch door or inside acid-free tissue paper. Which is what her grandmother did with the purse. One would be a hit at the Perth Fashion Festival with this lovely purse but who wants to push the cabinet holding it everywhere?
Highly disturbing and all too frequently found was make-up. Used make-up. Very used make-up. Ewwwwwww. Really, people, I know it's a Chanel compact but the powder is now three-quarters gone and who really wants to use the rest? Crumbling eye shadows, congealed nail polish and mashed eyebrow pencils all had price tags. I almost fainted when I spotted an unused eye shadow refill still in the box. We did not find this day what we have seen at garage sales in the past. Used booze. O.K., opened booze bottles being sold by people who don't drink anymore. And all priced accordingly--the 3/4 full bottle was priced at 3/4 of the purchased price, the half-full bottle asking for half the duty-free price it sold for and so on. I don't know how I made it to the car before bursting out laughing. The entertainment value of visiting garage sales sometimes supersedes the bargains found.
And then, a child's birthday party. My first since moving to OZ. I had not given any thought to what differences there may be but why wouldn't there be in a different place? This party was well-themed in Peppa Pig, an animated cartoon character watched by all little kids. Joining the plastic tablecloth and napkins sporting the image were cups, goodie bags, carrying cases, masks, cake decorations, balloons and little raisin boxes. Standard, thus far.
The food was different. What would a party be without Fairy Bread? Triangles of nasty cheap white bread spread with butter and doused in sprinkles (called Hundreds & Thousands here in Australia.) Paper cups filled with jelly (translate that to Jell-O) and lamingtons (a small vanilla cake rectangle covered in chocolate and rolled in coconut) all help get the party started. The cake has no ice cream served with it.
There is a bit of a shift in the party itself here in OZ. Fewer people live in homes with big backyards, so parties are in public parks or expensive party venues that have paint tag games or other amusements ($500 for a kid's party, anyone?) And in a public park many of the little reindeer games we all enjoyed--Pin The Tail on the Donkey, Musical Chairs, Pass the Parcel--are no longer done. But this park had Zipline (also called a Flying Fox) attraction and a big mud puddle, so all of the kids were happy.
After all this excitement, I took a nap. It WAS the weekend, after all.
First, it was the Garage Sale Trail - a national movement to reduce waste by encouraging reuse of items. People and businesses all across the country are exhorted to have a garage sale on the same day. Having everyone on the hunt --or sale-- on the same day benefits everyone: more traffic out looking for sales and more sales for wandering shoppers to find.
We joined the fray. We hoped to find a few pieces of furniture to replace the broken garage sale finds of yesteryear. Not much there but nestled among the usual collection of old toys, 40 year-old Tupperware being sold at new prices, dated clothing and chipped coffee mugs were a few treasures: a Sony Walkman tape player with a solar powered alarm clock, another portable tape player with the all important three equalizer quality controls (neither of these have I seen before) and the a most gorgeous peacock purse. This never-used, antique piece of art decorated with peacock feathers was selling for $60 and probably worth four or five times that. I was afraid to touch it. The seller was afraid to touch it. She kept this beaute either behind a glass hutch door or inside acid-free tissue paper. Which is what her grandmother did with the purse. One would be a hit at the Perth Fashion Festival with this lovely purse but who wants to push the cabinet holding it everywhere?
Highly disturbing and all too frequently found was make-up. Used make-up. Very used make-up. Ewwwwwww. Really, people, I know it's a Chanel compact but the powder is now three-quarters gone and who really wants to use the rest? Crumbling eye shadows, congealed nail polish and mashed eyebrow pencils all had price tags. I almost fainted when I spotted an unused eye shadow refill still in the box. We did not find this day what we have seen at garage sales in the past. Used booze. O.K., opened booze bottles being sold by people who don't drink anymore. And all priced accordingly--the 3/4 full bottle was priced at 3/4 of the purchased price, the half-full bottle asking for half the duty-free price it sold for and so on. I don't know how I made it to the car before bursting out laughing. The entertainment value of visiting garage sales sometimes supersedes the bargains found.
 | |
| I'm 3 years old! |
The food was different. What would a party be without Fairy Bread? Triangles of nasty cheap white bread spread with butter and doused in sprinkles (called Hundreds & Thousands here in Australia.) Paper cups filled with jelly (translate that to Jell-O) and lamingtons (a small vanilla cake rectangle covered in chocolate and rolled in coconut) all help get the party started. The cake has no ice cream served with it.
There is a bit of a shift in the party itself here in OZ. Fewer people live in homes with big backyards, so parties are in public parks or expensive party venues that have paint tag games or other amusements ($500 for a kid's party, anyone?) And in a public park many of the little reindeer games we all enjoyed--Pin The Tail on the Donkey, Musical Chairs, Pass the Parcel--are no longer done. But this park had Zipline (also called a Flying Fox) attraction and a big mud puddle, so all of the kids were happy.
After all this excitement, I took a nap. It WAS the weekend, after all.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Adelaide--the Pie Floater
Many places have special foods closely associated with them. Cornwall has its pasties, Russia has borscht. Boston boasts about its Baked Beans and one goes to Chicago for real pizza. Adelaide has the Pie Floater as its culinary crown jewel. Indeed, the National Trust now lists the Pie Floater as a South Australian Heritage Icon.
The Pie Floater, a classic Aussie meat pie doing some synchronized swimming in a pool of pea soup, can be traced back to the late 1860s and was sold from carts starting in the 1870s. Working men, and more recently after-party revelers, lined up to eat a meal that had everything going for it. Walk the streets today and ask about them. Everyone in Adelaide will say, "Yeah, Pie Floaters. Just look for the carts." But street food has fallen out of vogue in the last 140 years. Food has moved indoors. And what cart vendor wants to hang around until 3a.m. to service the inebriated falling out of bars? This icon is proving to be rather elusive but I was determined to try one before leaving Adelaide. Two options were uncovered and I will report on this local comfort food research.
The Homemade Pie Floater. Mr H, a friend of my host, stepped up to the plate (using a sports metaphor here, not a kitchen one) and offered to make us some if we invited him to the party. Deal. Mr H soaked blue peas in water and baking soda for several hours, rinsed them thoroughly and then boiled the peas in fresh water until soft. Think Britain's Mushy Peas here. There was no seasoning save possibly for a hint of salt. The thick soup was ladled into a deep bowl and a warmed up commercially made meat pie of his choice was carefully placed in the middle. These meat pies are not to be confused with pot pies, which have gravy in them. And I don't blame anyone for not taking the huge effort to wrangle a meat/onion/tomato paste mixture into a pastry crust in an artful way. Pull it out of a packet, I say. The mildness of the peas and pie suited me well but many might use the word bland. It certainly was filling.
The Pro--Vili's. Tucked in the middle of an industrial area is Vili's, but it's location certainly isn't a detractor for fans of the bakery. Vili's is busy and open 24/7 with customers crossing all age, ethnic and social lines. Skipping their dazzling desserts, I got to order from a long list of pie possibilities (18!) for my floater. I picked a Hungarian pie. Not shy on the paprika and with the the peas being amply peppered, this did a fair amount of dancing in the mouth. A lot of people like ketchup--ooops, sorry, I mean tomato sauce--on their pies and Pie Floaters and Vili's obliges in an artful way. But it looks more like a Pie Drowner than a Floater. I'm not sure why some places put the pie on the bottom with the soup on top (quicker to plate up?) or the instructions that sometimes suggest the pie should be upside down (again, why?)
I had thought of trying one more Pie Floater to better complete the research. There are two places in the heart of downtown Adelaide, one on William Street and the other in the Central Markets, that sell pie floaters. But neither was available for this research at the right time and, well, three Pie Floaters in four days is a bit more heroic than I feel. And it exceeds my annual quota I have decided. I say go ahead a try one. When in Rome...
The Pie Floater, a classic Aussie meat pie doing some synchronized swimming in a pool of pea soup, can be traced back to the late 1860s and was sold from carts starting in the 1870s. Working men, and more recently after-party revelers, lined up to eat a meal that had everything going for it. Walk the streets today and ask about them. Everyone in Adelaide will say, "Yeah, Pie Floaters. Just look for the carts." But street food has fallen out of vogue in the last 140 years. Food has moved indoors. And what cart vendor wants to hang around until 3a.m. to service the inebriated falling out of bars? This icon is proving to be rather elusive but I was determined to try one before leaving Adelaide. Two options were uncovered and I will report on this local comfort food research.
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| Mr H's homemade Pie Floater |
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| Vili's Pie Floater |
I had thought of trying one more Pie Floater to better complete the research. There are two places in the heart of downtown Adelaide, one on William Street and the other in the Central Markets, that sell pie floaters. But neither was available for this research at the right time and, well, three Pie Floaters in four days is a bit more heroic than I feel. And it exceeds my annual quota I have decided. I say go ahead a try one. When in Rome...
Adelaide--In Two Days
Adelaide, South Australia. City of Churches. Festival Central of Australia. Gateway to several World Class Wine Regions. Named after a queen and the butt of uncountable jokes by other Aussies. And where I recently spent a long weekend visiting an old friend.
I won't pretend that this entry defines everyone's visit or is the most comprehensive, Each traveller has their own experience. Their activities will define their trip in a unique way. Visiting during in March--the height of festival season that includes Adelaide Festival of Arts and Fringe Festival along with five others--will offer an entirely different experience from a trip made in winter's June. May being a fairly even tempered month plus the city center being very easily navigated on foot or free circuit bus meant that I was going to take in Adelaide's version of Tourism's Greatest Hits. Really, it's OK to be a tourist. Don't be afraid or embarrassed.
DAY 1: I start first at the Central Markets. TOTALLY love this semi open-air market filled with produce stands, butcher shops, bakeries, confectioners, coffee shops, smelly cheese shops, a mini tourist information booth and all sorts of other cool stuff under a weather protecting roof. Have a second breakfast, or a coffee. Load up on fruit. Get lost. Get found. Definitely get your lunch sorted for the day
Heading over to the Botanic Gardens of South Australia, I am surprised how central it is to the downtown area and just at edge of long string of universities and government buildings. What a haven! I'm not sure I could just wolf down lunch and leave this rolling greenspace to go back to an office. Green is really the only color here. This is not a garden chock o'block with flowers from all over, just trees and green grass. A little history museum has an impressive array of botanicals on display and their gift shop specializes in seeds and seedlings in very hard to find varieties of fruits and vegetables. Good place to eat one's lunch.
Across the street is the Adelaide Zoo. Not run by the government but as an
independent nonprofit organization, its biggest bragging point is a pair of pandas. And who doesn't like pandas? The admission here [and to its outdoor safari-style zoo, Monarto] is a hefty $33 per adult. Lucky me to have friends who have friends with membership cards and are happy to loan me one. I am surprised at how close people can get to the animals. Aren't they afraid of ne'er-do-wells causing trouble for the critters? And it seems that so many of the animals are old, alone and irreplaceable. I'm assured that there is a breeding program in place but how many chicks is a 73 year-old flamingo going to have? No shortage of smart aleck cops hanging around outside the gates, but that is a different story. And my legs are tired. I'll do more tomorrow.
DAY 2: One street alone, North Terrace, will easily keep one amused for the entire day. It's all here, all in a row, all inviting. First stop is , of course, is another hit at the Central Markets to breathe in the vibe and get lunch ready. And then hop the free circuit bus to get to North Terrace. Start right at Government House. The governor is the Queen's representative in the state with a role that is largely ceremonial. Government Houses are usually grand affairs but this building was sloppily painted all the same color of dried sour cream. Gov didn't bother to invite me past the locked gates for a cup of tea but don't call me sour grapes. Hmmmphh. Move right on to the impressive war memorial still sporting ANZAC wreaths.
Next to this is the Migration Museum. It looks as if it has been yarn bombed. Because it
has. The main building has the predictable exhibits one might expect depicting the migrant journey but the rotating exhibition in the outbuilding is all about knitting and crocheting. Knitting is not just about keeping heads warm and female hands busy. The patterns and designs of items reflect the cultural heritage of the knitter. Men knit. Why don't you knit? A basket of yarn and needles invites visitors to knit a line or two for scarves for the needy. Kind of a contemporary take on knitting socks for "our boys at the front" during the World War II effort. Some of the knitting and crocheting patterns are really intricate. Some of the clothes are really scarey.
What do you want to do next? Peek into the Institute to see the ANZAC through modern eyes exhibit? How about feeling a little Harry Potter-ish at the State Library and then go
ultra modern? The Art Gallery of South Australia? Good choices. Pop into the South Australian Museum. Its central staircase is grand, the exhibit space is compact. All of those animals packed in so close--and so close to you--one waits for that magical 'Night At The Museum' moment when everything comes alive. Still have legs? There are a handful of universities on this same street. A National Trust home beckons. The Rundle shopping mall is one block over and in the opposite direction is the riverfront. Boredom not possible. And you did not need a car.
Sorry to say that there was one festival going on that I just did not get enough of. And that was the History Festival. [Hey, History Month sounds way too boring.] A thick brochure full of the widest variety of cultural, social, historical, natural, mythological and mystical events all across the city, its suburbs and even into regional South Australia. Church tours, ghost tours, why do Lithuanians like basketball tours, walk the Mint's tunnels opportunity and join the South Australian fascination with its serial criminals of yore.
So stop the Adelaide jokes already. Next time I will share my research on that rare Adelaidean delicacy: the Pie Floater.
I won't pretend that this entry defines everyone's visit or is the most comprehensive, Each traveller has their own experience. Their activities will define their trip in a unique way. Visiting during in March--the height of festival season that includes Adelaide Festival of Arts and Fringe Festival along with five others--will offer an entirely different experience from a trip made in winter's June. May being a fairly even tempered month plus the city center being very easily navigated on foot or free circuit bus meant that I was going to take in Adelaide's version of Tourism's Greatest Hits. Really, it's OK to be a tourist. Don't be afraid or embarrassed.
 |
| Adelaide Central Market |
 |
| Botanic Garden Palm House |
Across the street is the Adelaide Zoo. Not run by the government but as an
 |
| Central Markets again! |
Next to this is the Migration Museum. It looks as if it has been yarn bombed. Because it
 |
| Migration Museum Exhibition |
What do you want to do next? Peek into the Institute to see the ANZAC through modern eyes exhibit? How about feeling a little Harry Potter-ish at the State Library and then go
 |
| South Australian Museum |
Sorry to say that there was one festival going on that I just did not get enough of. And that was the History Festival. [Hey, History Month sounds way too boring.] A thick brochure full of the widest variety of cultural, social, historical, natural, mythological and mystical events all across the city, its suburbs and even into regional South Australia. Church tours, ghost tours, why do Lithuanians like basketball tours, walk the Mint's tunnels opportunity and join the South Australian fascination with its serial criminals of yore.
So stop the Adelaide jokes already. Next time I will share my research on that rare Adelaidean delicacy: the Pie Floater.
Monday, May 11, 2015
Basements. They're Not Australian.
Has anyone ever waxed poetic about the humble basement in one's home? I mean besides the guys who have turned a finished basement into a "man cave"? I miss my basement. I NEED a basement. I just can't figure out why they are so not Australian.
Almost no one has a basement, finished for entertaining or unfinished for storage, in their homes here. Perhaps a few older homes might but any new build in the last 50 years is built on a concrete slab. It almost defies logic to me. It can get very hot in many Australian areas and so an underground basement would be a cooler asset to have. Only in the opal mining area of Coober Pedy are some sleeping arrangements made subterranean. And where do people store their off-season clothing, sporting equipment, suitcases and other bulky stuff that does not need to be upfront and center all the time? We have a metal cage in a room off a parking shelter on the far side of the adjoining property. Not exactly convenient, nor climate controlled in any way and the past has shown for it not to be entirely safe from burglary. A colleague pointed out that Mother England isn't basement happy either. Sure, people will have root or wine cellars but real basements? Why? Basements are not unAustralian, just not Australian by tradition.
Why not, I say? I understand why attics may be in short supply in a land of ten-month summers but my valuable stuff needs a home, too.
When I moved into this cutie little townhome, my first thought was where I was to put the few meager belongings I brought with me into the country. Kev said the small spare room would be perfect and so my Rubbermaid tubs and hat boxes went into it. And then a clothes rack (no space in his closet). And then a chest of drawers (no space in the bedroom.) And then a computer desk. And then my canning jars and food dehydrator. And the small suitcases. And the Igloo coolers, the Coleman lantern, wrapping paper, etc., etc., etc. Even more vexing was that this storage-space-challenged townhome rents for twice as much money with one-third less square footage than the townhome we had back in U.S.!
So the challenge is not to look like we're aspirants for a Hoarders Realty Show or 'need' what we really don't. But sometimes I feel like a squatting college student.
And dream of homes with basements.
Almost no one has a basement, finished for entertaining or unfinished for storage, in their homes here. Perhaps a few older homes might but any new build in the last 50 years is built on a concrete slab. It almost defies logic to me. It can get very hot in many Australian areas and so an underground basement would be a cooler asset to have. Only in the opal mining area of Coober Pedy are some sleeping arrangements made subterranean. And where do people store their off-season clothing, sporting equipment, suitcases and other bulky stuff that does not need to be upfront and center all the time? We have a metal cage in a room off a parking shelter on the far side of the adjoining property. Not exactly convenient, nor climate controlled in any way and the past has shown for it not to be entirely safe from burglary. A colleague pointed out that Mother England isn't basement happy either. Sure, people will have root or wine cellars but real basements? Why? Basements are not unAustralian, just not Australian by tradition.
Why not, I say? I understand why attics may be in short supply in a land of ten-month summers but my valuable stuff needs a home, too.
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| My valuable stuff. |
So the challenge is not to look like we're aspirants for a Hoarders Realty Show or 'need' what we really don't. But sometimes I feel like a squatting college student.
And dream of homes with basements.
Boychoir. The Movie and a Memory
Recently I went to the media preview of a movie now out in general release. Boychoir is the story of a boy destined to go nowhere fast until, within placement in a national boy choir, he realizes self-determination through music. A bit of a tear jerker with really solid performances by Dustin Hoffman and Kathy Bates as Headmaster and Headmistress, Eddie Izzard doing a version of his usual character, Glee's Kevin McHale on the other side of a music sheet and a straight-out-of-Hollywood-typecasting Garrett Wareing (complete with slightly shaggy hair and beesting lips) as the young boy Stet. It's school is a real one- a North American version of The Vienna Boys Choir.
And when in the movie the travelling choir from this school frequently rehearses in front of school groups when it travels through towns was I transported to a long ago memory. I sang in my church's youth choir. Our director, the wonderful Mrs. L., was a stickler for singing vowels correctly and not holding consonants at all. (I still tsk-tsk well known artists who are repeat offenders of this rule. Yes, you Barbra Streisand.) One evening, Mrs. L. was in a very excitable state. No, we weren't going to be singing at all. The Vienna Boys Choir was going to rehearse at the high school across the street that very evening and we were going join other youth choirs to hear them practice!! Yeah, OK, but what's the Vienna Boys Choir? Mrs. L. hustled us to the high school auditorium and we waited. The boys walked on stage in not too relaxed a fashion and the Choirmaster had them start with a popular selection from the stage show Oliver! A three part start: who will buy...Who will buy...Who Will BuyyYYYYYY? Who will buy this wonderful morning? Sounded fine to me but the Choirmaster was unhappy. Totally out of sync. And the Viennese boys started again with a precision doubtless envied by German engineers. And completely deflating to the ragtag youth choir of Our Lady of Fatima. Mrs. L. was raptured. I recall no other song nor any other detail of that evening but this one moment and it remains as clear as the boys' voices.
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| Benjamin P. Wenzelberg |
Annoyed that Garrett Wareing lip-synced all of the singing (and it was fairly obvious in some scenes.) Near the bottom of the credits--for which I remain in movie theaters until the very end--was the identity of the real singing voice of Stet. His name is Benjamin P. Wenzelberg. And Ben gets more credit here than in the movie. Perhaps a real member of the Boychoir.
Thursday, April 30, 2015
ANZAC Centenary
Only because I am not Australian can I get away with saying, "I'm so glad ANZAC Day is over."
On April 25, 1915, ANZAC soldiers [Australia New Zealand Army Corps] rushed the Turkish shores at Gallipoli in a World War I offensive. At an extreme disadvantage, the casualties were enormous. Ooh rah swagger met with a sobering war reality. The first world war was the young nation's first engagement in an international action. They were there by choice, not by monarch command. Australians remain curiously -and uncharacteristically- sentimental about the swagger and sacrifice of its young soldiers. ANZAC Day is a national holiday complete with parades, military flyovers, speeches and even a few re-enactments.
One hundred years on, this sentimentality has reached a feverish pitch. Communities have spent years planning their centenary celebrations. The federal government is spending more money to commemorate Australian involvement in WWI than on mental health treatment for current returning soldiers. Only quietly will pundits mention less than positive terms like 'Anzac fatigue' or 'military Halloween' or warn of the mythologizing of the war and the beatification of its soldiers and nurses. People get very protective of the ANZAC memory. The term ANZAC is actually trademarked so the use of it on hats, hoodies or beer can holders is strictly verboten as is making any cheap or cheesy reference to it in commercial advertising.
It is a remembrance everyone can and does get behind. I even wake up an hour before dawn and attend the local service (the Aussie in this house stays in bed, ahem) and even blogged in this column on ANZAC DAY. I didn't get to this year's service (the crowds were way too big for my comfort) but I did place a sprig of rosemary ("rosemary for remembrance") on the local memorial statue later in the day. I did enjoy free public transport that day. Transperth used to just offer free fares to military veterans but this year everyone enjoys a free ride.
And I enjoy the break from the nonstop media assault of war movies, newspaper and magazine special ANZAC pullout sections and endless weeping for long-dead people not known personally on the radio. I'm so glad ANZAC Day is over.
On April 25, 1915, ANZAC soldiers [Australia New Zealand Army Corps] rushed the Turkish shores at Gallipoli in a World War I offensive. At an extreme disadvantage, the casualties were enormous. Ooh rah swagger met with a sobering war reality. The first world war was the young nation's first engagement in an international action. They were there by choice, not by monarch command. Australians remain curiously -and uncharacteristically- sentimental about the swagger and sacrifice of its young soldiers. ANZAC Day is a national holiday complete with parades, military flyovers, speeches and even a few re-enactments.
One hundred years on, this sentimentality has reached a feverish pitch. Communities have spent years planning their centenary celebrations. The federal government is spending more money to commemorate Australian involvement in WWI than on mental health treatment for current returning soldiers. Only quietly will pundits mention less than positive terms like 'Anzac fatigue' or 'military Halloween' or warn of the mythologizing of the war and the beatification of its soldiers and nurses. People get very protective of the ANZAC memory. The term ANZAC is actually trademarked so the use of it on hats, hoodies or beer can holders is strictly verboten as is making any cheap or cheesy reference to it in commercial advertising.
It is a remembrance everyone can and does get behind. I even wake up an hour before dawn and attend the local service (the Aussie in this house stays in bed, ahem) and even blogged in this column on ANZAC DAY. I didn't get to this year's service (the crowds were way too big for my comfort) but I did place a sprig of rosemary ("rosemary for remembrance") on the local memorial statue later in the day. I did enjoy free public transport that day. Transperth used to just offer free fares to military veterans but this year everyone enjoys a free ride.
And I enjoy the break from the nonstop media assault of war movies, newspaper and magazine special ANZAC pullout sections and endless weeping for long-dead people not known personally on the radio. I'm so glad ANZAC Day is over.
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