Sunday Markets and Fairs

    Traditionally a day of rest, Sundays still remain a quieter day than the other six during the week. Many businesses either have no trading hours or greatly reduced times they will conduct commerce.  Except in Australia. The Energizer Bunny needs a full charge (done on the slow Saturday previous) to keep the pace with all the offerings on the 'day of rest.' Including church services, the following action was taken in on a single Sunday--with other options ignored.

Vic Park Mkts on Sunday

Holy Bagels!

    First, a stop to the Victoria Park Markets. Who doesn't love a local market?  The early morning vibe that's happy but not frenetic. Produce, baked goods, frozen meat/fish, hot food and coffee, entertainment, Girl Scouts selling cookies, cops showing off paddy wagons, etc., are all available.  I prefer my wholesale Canning Mkts on Saturday (much better bargains) but Vic Park Mkt is my next choice. My must-haves include: REAL bagels from The Holy Bagel Company! I despaired of ever finding a real bagel in OZ until these two guys showed up. Trained in New York, these genuine bagels are cured and boiled before baked. It's become a serious crutch and internal party starter for this gal. My standing order is for three salty and three everything bagels. They have other flavors but I can't be bothered changing the order or direction of my grin. I always wait until after church before biting into one.   Usually.

My lily arrangement

      Other customary purchases include yoghurt from a local yoghurt maker.  Certainly not the cheapest around and its a bit runnier than most commercial products, but I enjoy the product and the chat with the owner.  I don't have a budget that can really tolerate weekly flowers but Florescence (who ship Lillies In a Tube anywhere in OZ) comes way up from Albany with some of their overstocks.  I love the bucket of single stems--I pick a variety of colors of Asiatic lillies in the amount I want for $1 a piece. Sometimes I pick two or I pick five all depending on how many from the previous week are still hanging on. I do prefer the multiple bud stems, bang-for-the-buck and all. Unfortunately, other people have caught on to this fabulous offering and tend to buy the whole bucket. How greedy can they get?  This just forces me to go back to stealing rosemary from the neighbor...er, I mean, trimming the neighbor's rosemary bush...and pretending that's the bouquet.

Spiderchef @ Butchers Picnic

    Let's head downtown.  The Butcher's Picnic has moved from Russell Square to the much roomier CBD

location of Forrest Place.  It's part of the Eat Drink Perth month festivities.  I'm not the carnivore that Kev is but it is fun to watch the meat cooking, presentation competitions, try free samples of crocodile sausage (and everything else on offer), people watch, enter contests and generally soak up the atmosphere. Getting my picture taken with  Spiderchef was pretty cool also.
     Back at Russell Square,  India has moved in.  Or rather, a festival celebrating all things Indian.  I am not a fan of curries, vindaloos and other dubious delights but Kev adores it.  He breathes deeply as we pass the food stalls while I break out into a trot to fresher air. People are making themselves comfy in every corner. There are very old, very large banyan trees to offer shade, and a fountain surrounds a gazebo where little girls put on private dance shows for themselves.  At the main tent,

Miss Perth India  finalist

a Miss Perth India competition is going on.  Flowers and balloons are given to the finalists.  Not sure what all the duties are of this beauty pageant winner, but as a life long watcher of such pageants and a big fan of balloons, I am a captive audience member.

     OK, we're getting sunburned and some sporting event on TV is calling Kev's name. Can't spend all day wandering about...but we could.

Public Art Space in Perth

     I wrote about public art way back in 2009, Community Art,  because I was impressed how "a fishing village" (as someone from the eastern states referred to Perth) embraced the intangible delights and merits of public art projects.  The widespread employment of sculpture and artistic venues has never struck me as an inferiority complex kind of reflex but seen as having genuine value.  If you take a quick look at  Community Art , you'll see some of my basic shots on my Hannah Montana camera with its CIF (Crap, In Fact) resolution and understand how I was initially  impressed.

Cultural Center Beach

    Fast forward five years and you'll notice the upgrade in photography and in public art projects. I rather wonder if people sometimes complain under their breath that money spent making public spaces artsy wouldn't be better spent on relief projects for the impecunious.  Speaking  for the close-to-broke set, I like having a happy place to go to and enjoy for free.  As green space gets eaten up by cement and chrome buildings, it's nice to have a refuge.

Cultural Center Ice Rink

Penguins to the rescue

The Cultural Center, comprising the Art Gallery, Museum, State Library, Institute of Contemporary Arts, public garden and State Theatre , has a big open space which has been alternately  been turned into a beach complete with sand, umbrellas, "changing houses" and a free book cart.  Fast forward a few months and for the first time, Perth had an outdoor ice rink! A half hour ice time plus ice skates cost a fortune in this case but it never went wanting. People,  likely just about every northern hemisphere expat and a few natives ,  flocked to this opportunity to ice skate outside.  This rink was up for just a couple of weeks, but it was a success.  I spotted no Zamboni but lots of stabilizing penguins for youngsters for the easy Dorothy Hamill effect.

Yarn bombing bike racks

     It all sounds a bit brutal, but flash mobs and (blank) bombings are oh so popular. And the knitting nerds have joined the fun.  Mobilized by the city library, the local knitting circle and terrorist society made colorful covers for the bike racks on St George's Terrace--the main road in the CBD. Many are still holding up after several months.  I just love the whimsy.  I appreciate the whimsy that many Perth International Arts Festival public art installations provide. 

    Life just needn't be all Stalin-block gray and gloomy.  Bring on the balloons, bubbles and grins!

Perth Royal Show - The Hidden Competitions

    Some of the most interesting moments of the Perth Royal Show happen before the show, are never seen by the public nor represented during the show. Of these are the commercial competitions for wine and bakery goods.

PRWS Judging     c.RAS

     I had the pleasure to glimpse into these spheres held three weeks before the actual Show. Very enlightening experiences these were. First there was the Perth Royal Wine Show judging taking up an entire building. Over 2100 commercial wineries across the country submitted six bottles apiece in 93 classes. Count that. Over 12,000 bottles of wine occupied  part of a large hall.  Completely mind boggling. I feared for the wine stewards-and the Chief Wine Steward most of all-getting the wines mixed up despite their careful lines of six behind a table marker. There are three separate checks and balances to make sure a sauvignon blanc is never poured in a chardonnay flight nor one winery's product confused for another's tipple.
     On the other half of the hall were just about as many  identical wine glasses all with a one ounce pour lined up on many, many tables. Five teams of tasters carrying  clipboards wander some unspoken path through the tables and occasionally stop to swirl, sniff, sip and spit out the flight presented at that space.  I looked around for the spittoons. [You don't expect them to swallow all that wine, do you?]  They took the shape of large Rubbermaid garbage cans strategically placed throughout the testing area. These folks weren't just master tasters but master spitters as well. But they do so quietly.  It is very quiet in this cavernous building.  Wine Show chairman John Snowball insists that intense concentration is required and silence aids that concentration...for the three and a half days of competition. The judging is in two parts: first the medals for each class and then the winners of the classes compete against each other for  best of show trophies.  And those trophies translate into some serious benefits for the winery that earned them.

     Homebrew and Fruit Wines.   
     What about the little guy? Mr or Ms Home Brewer who has a passion for making alcohol based beverages but not the estate or large scale production equipment?   Are these just B-grade wannabes to the commercial products? You might think so as the 150 entries are tucked away in an out-of-the-way corner.  Not so, according to Chairman Snowball. The small Mom and Pop operations have a technique and flavor flexibility that the commercial operations wouldn't dare dream about.  There are some great drops that come out of home kitchens.  The judges need to think a bit differently when judging this section.  They are not thinking of large batch consistency but of liquid alchemy. It is mostly bragging rights for these folks, but they get an advantage the commercial wineries do not.  The winners of the homebrew and fruit wine sections get their entries displayed in the Cookery Building during the Show itself.  The commercial victories disappear from general public view at about the same time as the contents of the Rubbermaid trash cans.

    
 COMMERCIAL BREAD & PASTRY

PRS Pastry Judging

     In a smaller building nearby are more busy people in white coats. Compared to the tomb atmosphere at the wine competition, the Commercial Bread & Pastry competition is practically a party. Yeah, the adjudicators are all wearing starched white vestments and carrying the ubiquitous clipboards. They are not cracking jokes nor smiling too hard. I think the sugar fairies  sprinkled a little something in the air. Or perhaps it is because no one is spitting anything out in high projectile fashion.  
    The pastry judges work in teams of two. Thinking like very fussy customers, they view each entry from every angle-far away and close up.  They then gently slice a thin piece from the whole and stare at it for awhile. Take a bite. Chomp, chomp. Toss the remaining part of the piece into a cardboard box located under the table. Check off clipboard.

PRS Bread Judging

   The bread is handled slightly differently.  The loaves are gawked at and pawed, then a slice is taken from the center and it is gawked at and pawed some more.  A bit of deep breathing goes on now as the slice meets the judicial nose. But the bread is NEVER eaten! The judges rely on the very close relationship of the olfactory sense to the sense of taste to make the determination of joy in the mouth. Not all bread is the same.  Many bakers are thinking outside the rectangle with artisanal hand-shaped breads. Gluten free breads defy their wretched reputations in innovative recipes.  Fruit loaves, braided loaves, beautiful golden loaves.   Small wonder the head judge has to call over the official tie-breaker held on retainer on numerous occasions.  And all followed by more obligatory clipboard scribbling.

PRS Cakes

    So are all 12,000 wine bottles used up in competition and, if not, what becomes of them?  The official word is that the remaining bottles are used for "educational purposes."  The cakes and breads? The government Health & Safety trolls insist that all consumable items not held in sterile  conditions be thrown away.  I had some serious thoughts about secretly dumpster diving that afternoon.

     One last thought...and complaint by the commercial exhibitors in both the wine and bakery sections.  The commercial competitions are held three weeks before the actual Perth Royal Show dates.  But there is zero presence of these competitions or its winners at the Show-not the smallest of signs or banners with a few captioned photos or names of winners. This is a shame because the only way the general public will get notice of the winners is by walking into their shops or handling the bottle that has a special sticker on it.  Some committee members blame the media for not being out en force for  judging but there is a huge disconnect between what happpens in early September and the Show at the end of the month. Who can make that leap? I think the organizers can be a bit more creative even when space is at a premium.

                                                                *   *   *   *   *   *  
Some winners:
Aravina Estates - in the Margaret River region,  had a great showing this year for its wines.
Denmark Bakery  - in the very southern part of the state, is a perennial top winner.
Patisserie La Vespa - in Fremantle, scooped up nine pastry awards this year.
Strange Grains Bakery - Perth area, its gluten-free bread made from buckwheat impressed the judges.
Organic Loafers - mostly wholesale to very lucky retailers and their customers.     

Perth International Arts Festival 2014

    It was another tremendous festival for PIAF this year. Some offerings were oh so new and others followed a more visible trendy path.  A few of my favorites include:

Stonehenge Bouncy Castle

  Stonehenge Bouncy Castle. Yeah, that needs repeating.  Stonehenge Bouncy Castle.  Officially known as Sacrilege, it is a life-size, inflated art installation modelled after the famous Stonehenge.  Even if it weren't a free event, it still would have been a very popular attraction for people of all ages. Located in the Supreme Court Gardens in the Central Business District, it became a magnet for all the young adults in their business suits who would shed their shoes and run around with with wild abandon during their lunch hour. Private schools in the CBD would schedule their physical education classes on Stonehenge. Shoot, even someone like myself  who has no history with bouncy castles gave it a whirl.  It is made of very heavy rubber canvas which heated up spectacularly in the summer sun. OUCH!  It required frequent cold water hosedowns.

"Sacrilege" at PIAF 2014

     
     Now, something like this could attract as many troublemakers as it would funmakers. So it would be deflated at night and re-inflated in the morning.  Twelve little generators attached to twelve small 'pipes' took exactly three minutes bring back the joy of this rubber wonderland.

Not By Bread Alone post show chat

   Not By Bread Alone.  Step into another world as the Israeli professional theater troupe for deaf-blind, Nalaga'at Deaf-Blind Theatre Ensemble, walks the audience through the stories of their lives, dreams and ambitions while actually baking bread on stage.  Eleven performers with various levels of acute blindness and deafness communicate through carers/translators (except for two who speak clearly) and are kept on pace by the banging of a drum.  Director Adina Tal, a self-professed hard case ("I'm not a nice person.") who doesn't tolerate a 'poor me' attitude,  thought she would be working with this group at its beginning for about two months. Fourteen years later she is still leading this engaging group to international audiences. Their stories are engrossing.  The smell of the bread baking onstage is intoxicating. And the invitation to go on stage after the show to eat some hot bread and chat with the performers through their translators is too tempting to resist. These connecting short and  informal chats are particularly satisfying for both performer and audience member.
    A heightened sense of life without sight and sound could be had at the Blackout Restaurant experience. Forty people per show day (who were very fast with their credit cards at the ticket office) could eat supper in complete darkness served by blind waiters. Not By Bread Alone was a very interesting experience.

Bianco. copyright UWA

    Bianco.  The contemporary image of  a circus is a far cry from the days of yore where lions jump through flaming hoops, elephants dance on their hind legs, bearded ladies flex muscles and men are shot out of cannon.  Replacing this nostalgia  is the example set by Cirque du Soleil and now imitated and altered by many.  Bianco by NoFit State Circus  provided the physical artistry in trapeze, tightrope, man-spoke hoops, gymnastics , contortionism and movement that one expects in a modern circus. The big difference is in the audience. There were no chairs, so the audience stands during the entire performance. And this makes sense as the set design shifted often to accommodate a new act, so the audience needed to shift also. This gave a new point of view with every change and gave a highly immersive feel  to the whole performance. By the end of the show, the audience was entirely the center of the 'stage' and the performance was surrounding them.  It ended with snow shower--real, large flakes blown from snow machines. A rather magical final impression.

J.B. - Man of Action

    I want to change my initials to J.B. Why? Because all the cool guys have those initials.  Popular culture practically insists that all contemporary, super cool, tougher than tough heroes have that monogram on their towels. I'm not sure why this is but the evidence that it is so is overwhelming.
 
    Let's start with James Bond.  Ian Fleming's bloated and booze-soaked has-been was resurrected in the movies into the uber-cool international spy we either wanted to be or to sip Bollinger champagne with.  Add the 007 status (numbers that appear in an extraordinary amount of email addresses, by the way) and he is just hard to beat regardless of who wore the tuxedo.

    The enigmatic Jason Bourne.  Robert Ludlum's man of mystery, played by Matt Damon in the movies, is tough, whip smart and has ice running through his veins.  Although his lack of past bothers him personally, it doesn't slow this lean, mean, black-ops machine.

    It's all there, all the time, for 24's  Jack Bauer.  Played by husky-voiced Kiefer Sutherland, Jack is a tenacious loyal terrier (not rogue agent) who never needs sleep,  food or a bathroom while he almost single-handedly  diverts world disaster and fends off international terrorists in a single day. Every moment is fused with overwrought drama.  Thank goodness for Chloe and her laptop computer or Jack would be doing battle alone.

    How about some 'close enoughs'? Let's see:

    There is Jack (B)Ryan.  Obviously Tom Clancy's typewriter had a problem with the "B" key while he was creating these books but the never-say-never, true-blue character (played by many actors including Harrison Ford) is spot on for an MoA award.
    J.B. Fletcher.  The only female in our crowd, this amateur sleuth was hugely popular despite the fact she could not prevent Cabot Cove's population from being decimated.  Actress Angela Lansbury made being an old widow cool in Murder She Wrote.
    Jeremy Brett.  O.K. this is an actual actor's name, but no one portrayed the steely-intellect of Sherlock Holmes better than he did. 
    Joe Don Baker.  Another actor whose sloppy joe eatin' , hillbilly characters always managed to get the job done, usually in James Bond flicks.
    Opening the Biblical Characters category:  Jesus (born in) Bethlehem  doesn't really need an introduction.  And John the Baptist leading all those weepers on Jordan's banks.

    Am I missing any larger than life action personae?   Sorry,  Jack Black doesn't count.


   

Making Jam on TV

    I don't mean to disillusion anyone but there are many illusions created on/for/by television.  I should know, I worked in television for about 24  years.  Frequently, I made empty rooms look crowded, overweight people look less so,  boring meetings look as if Excitement itself, the malignant look neutral, and people I really didn't care much for look spectacular. But there are limits to the amount of magic one can create.  Have you ever watched a cooking segment on TV? Did you notice how the demonstrator had the same dish in about four different stages of finish?  With each instructional step, the next phase would be presented  instantly in its completed state. A meal that takes one and a half hours to prepare must be presented in this way--if given only 15 minutes to get from start to finish. 
    Recently I was asked, as an award-winning jam maker and competent public speaker, to demonstrate and talk about jam making on a TV program called The Couch - seen on Foxtel in Australia and New Zealand. In a heartbeat, I assessed this flattering request: jam making takes three and a half hours to do, the segment is 10 minutes, there is no hope of making a batch so I would just do a short fruit cutting demonstration and then turn to a finished pot of jam ready to be put into jars.  It's only 10 minutes. Some well placed questions (already written up by me, of course) would fill the gaps. I was confident.

A jam demo on The Couch

    Oh, the best laid plans of mice and men!   I had assembled everything I could possibly need or talk about (oops, forgot the ladle) on the set.  Very expensive apricots were used in this Dried Apricot Jam recipe--$32 a kg/$14.55 lb (this batch is going into show competition after all)--and it turned out beautifully. I liberated two lemons from my neighbors yard and set out.  And got lost. My nerves were rattled and I hoped it wouldn't show on air.
     I am calling Episode 496  a learning lesson.  I remind myself that I am not its producer or host so I don't get to call all the shots. Happy faces are a very good thing but perhaps I look a little manic. I blame the lighting for that. ahem.  And then there was the lemons.  I spent a fortune on dried apricots. Why not spend an additional 50 cents for a store bought lemon?  I silently asked myself this as I attempted to supreme one and then another dried and rotting liberated lemon on 'live' television. Supreming a lemon is an efficient way of extracting valuable citrus while leaving undesirable membrane and pith behind. Yeah, that lesson wasn't as clear as it could be.

Filling jam jars on The Couch

    Ten minutes can be an eternity if one has nothing to say. It is a mere heartbeat if there is much to tell. And this segment included a plug for my radio show, What's On Where. It was over in a flash. In fact, we went over time. I did get to keep my jars in a hot water bath for 10 minutes in the building's kitchen (the set had to be changed for the next guest) and I left a jar for the crew to try after the day's taping. Actually, I intended to leave them a mini-assortment but I forgot to do just that.  The episode went well enough in another's eyes.  Host Fred Mafrica has invited me back for up to five additional appearances of my choice.  The wheels of my mind are turning...

   10 Minute Instructions for Dried Apricot Jam

• Place 4 cups of finely cut-up dried apricots (use kitchen scissors) into a large, nonreactive pot.
• Add 4 cups filtered water and 2 cups of non-sweetened fruit juice, cover and sit overnight.
• In the morning, add more liquid if necessary (liquid should still cover the fruit) and boil pot on medium heat until fruit is soft.
• Mash to desired texture and consistency with a potato masher or hand-held stick blender.
• Add a 1/4 cup lemon juice (additional teaspoon of powdered pectin optional) and bring to boil for a few minutes. Stir often.
• Remove from heat. Add up to 2 cups sugar and bring back to a boil for a few minutes.   Stir constantly using a long-handled wooden spoon. It spits!
• When jam hits jell point (use spoon or cold plate method or check temp to 220F/103C) put into hot, sterile jars and cover with hot lids.
• Put half pint jars into a hot water bath for 10 minutes, pint jars for 15 minutes.

    The instructions may take 10 minutes but preparation and cooking will take closer to three hours. The hot water bath ensures a longer, mold-free shelf life. This can be made year round as it does not depend on seasonal fresh fruit. Feel free to experiment with your favorite fruit juices.


  

Visiting a U.S. Consulate

    I have to give terrorists some credit here.  They must be patient people. How they manage to keep their cool while waiting for the wheels of government bureaucracy to turn and endless protocols to be met, I don't know.  Perhaps this is part of what sends them into such desperate acts.
    I have held permanent residency in three foreign countries, traveled a fair bit, sponsored an immigrant and so on and so forth.  But until today I had never been able to breach  the front door of a U.S. embassy or consulate.  It would be easier to break into Fort Knox than get a toe in some of these heavily guarded fortresses.  Don't think so? Try driving past an American embassy very slowly and then stop near  the entrance.  You'll be greeted by some very surly men carrying seriously regulated firearms growling strong instructions to keep moving.  So it happened to a colleague.  To be fair, there are more people trying to weasel their way into the U.S. than say, Kyrgyzstan  or Burkina Faso, but we Americans  feel a sense of entitlement to our tax-supported government offices. At least I do and when my passport  needed renewing I decided  that Uncle Sam should have the pleasure of doing so personally.
    Not that he wants to.  The website exhorts its beloved citizens to do everything by mail instead of stopping by.  Still want to come in? Book an appointment online through our capitol office 3,000 miles away. Oh, did we mention that our hours are only 8:30a-11:30a, Monday through Thursday? Cool by me as the U.S. Consulate in Perth is in the office building directly behind mine.  Their back windows look into our back windows.  Hey neighbor, I'm coming over for a cup of sugar. Hardly.  Only one person is allowed past the heavy door on the fourth floor at a time where they are screened , their belongings  x-rayed (by a Scotsman) and then tucked into a locker. My cheapy, thin barrettes set off the alarms. The only thing you can retain is your paperwork.   This reception area has about a dozen chairs and some dog-eared National Geographics in it but I am not sure who might using either.
   Next you get escorted by a guard to the 13th floor where a Singaporean  behind thick glass points you to another door leading to a room with more people hiding behind very thick glass. The Australian lady who helps U.S. citizens is nice and extremely efficient.  The other Australian lady who takes your money ($121AUD for a 10-year passport) is also fast and efficient.  The only American accent you'll hear comes from a guy in the middle bullet proof booth who helps non Americans get  visitor visas. All this obscenely thick glass makes private inquiry about your spouse's green card  or your overseas conviction for theft  or your explanation  for letting that passport  get chewed up by your pet bilby difficult. All of this highly secured jockeying  will make you start to think that  those people who choose illegal entry into the U.S. aren't really escaping this bureaucratic noose as much as they are tightening the noose for those who operate above board. I am not impressed.

A happy traveler.

    I was impressed by the speed in which all this happened. I was warned it would take an hour. It took less than 25 minutes.  I was also delighted that my passport photo was accepted by  consular staff.  The American government is starting to join the rest of the world in insisting that passport photos look like tuberculosis patient rolls or recycled gulag IDs.  My photo defies any negative description.  In fact, I was gobsmacked by how good it looks.  I refrain from posting photos of myself but, for the moment, I'll share this one. It's a photograph of a photograph but the poor quality can't hide the "I am happy to be visiting you"  expression.
    All I need now is a plane ticket.
                

An Evening at The Theatre

    Despite the fact I host a radio program that alerts the greater Perth metropolitan area to all the exciting events that are happening or coming soon, I rarely get to see much of it myself.  And that includes media previews. So when Kev, normally a very reluctant escort to even these infrequent opportunities, heard of a play  about political intrigue at the Vatican, he made it a date.

    The Last Confession, starring David Suchet (best known for his portrayal of Agatha Christie's Hercule

Poirot) is about the the extremely short time- 33 days- that Pope John Paul I  served as pontiff and his dubious end at the start of his era of reformation. Many had much to lose. It is not so much a whodunit as a did-anyone-do-it.  A fictional play based on real people and events held at the glorious, velvet-seated His Majesty's Theatre starring no small amount of notable actors.

   Oh boy, my big chance to dress up!  I brush the dust off my black velvet dress (a bit shorter than it should be but lots of Australian mutton dresses like lamb so no one notices) and the archbishop purple cape I wear over it.  I decide against wearing my black velvet with pearl trim Juliet cap (it's not premiere night after all) but don real south sea pearls on my neck. Slip on those patent leather shoes with the one-and-a-quarter inch heel (which is as high as I go anymore), splash on some expensive perfume and grab the crocheted clutch for the finishing touch.  This gal was styling!  So were most of the women there.  The slender females wore impossibly artsy outfits. The less fashion forward put on their best earrings or a very sparkly brooch on their lapel. We know how to dress for an evening at the theater.

   The menfolk were sadly a different matter.  The best you  could say for some of them was that they remembered to wash their hands after the last time they went to the bathroom...and were proud of the accomplishment. A few turtlenecks surfaced and a couple of guys stayed in the business suit they wore during the day. Kev himself didn't get too exhausted in preparation. He wore heavily patched up blue jeans and a rugby top. He did manage to shave four days worth of stubble from his chin...and wash his hands. Perhaps he thought no one would notice as our seats were rather high up and behind two Strand stage lights.

    The last thing that remains is the upsell. Now, a pair of tightwads...er, thrifty people...like us walk on past the merchandising opportunities that exist in such a case.  The program costs $20.  A hardcover book about David Suchet's Hercule Poirot is priced at $40.  And for those who prefer to have the Good Book read to them, David Suchet obliges with a six-CD box set of the NIV version.  I suppose this is a natural tie-in with a price tag of $70.  Missing from the "merch" table was a selection of  papal-approved tee shirts.

    Kind of explains the disappointed look on the faces of several men shaking water off their paws.

Want To Work

    She was strolling along the central business district. Not in a hurry. Not smiling. Not really in focus, actually. Just a middle-aged woman neatly dressed but looking a bit frayed at the edges. She was wearing a homemade sandwich board around her neck. It was made from a brown cardboard box and measured about 12 inches by 15 inches.  She used a ballpoint pen to write on it instead of Magic Marker, so it was rather light. But the top line was unmistakeable. It read:

    "Want to Work."

     Below that was the line "Need Advice On:" followed by a list of several items  unreadable at 15 fifteen paces. Stunned at first, it was several moments before the vision made sense. I turned back to find her and confirm what I thought. But she was nowhere to be found. No matter.  I can tell you her story anyway.

     A woman with lots of work experience, yet too young to retire, finds herself without employment one day. No problem, she says to herself, I have a good resume and the economy in Perth is better than in many places.  I'll find a job in no time. But instant employment does not appear. She goes over to the unemployment office, Centrelink, to apply for her entitlement while making a mental note never to dress like the permanent down-and-outers also in line. She's obliged to prove that she makes at least five applications a week. Piece of cake, she thinks, I won't be doing this long.  But she finds that she gets no response to her applications and little useful feedback from rejectors. Our gal is eventually referred to a government contractor for help. This is an agency charged with  giving people the assistance they need to get employment. But she is deemed to be at the lowest tier of need: literate, educated, previously employed and not disadvantaged in any real way. So all the agent (half her age) can do is offer her the same advice given to the simpletons who also walk through the doors. Frustration mounts. Why am I not getting a job? I'm not even getting many interviews! Is it my resume? Are my cover letters out of date and ineffective? What about this "selection criteria" thing? Am I pre-interviewing myself properly? Why is my network letting me down?  She gets no help, no answers and no job offers.

    A critical mass is now forming.  Her employment gap is starting to get rather long and unexplainable.  Unemployment  benefits are woefully inadequate for anyone paying rent or making mortgage payments and her savings that make up the difference are rapidly being depleted. Panic is rising and her self-esteem is dropping. She is now being obliged by Centrelink to volunteer one day a week at any nonprofit organization that will take her to keep up her puny payments. During the 1980s, there was a phrase being bandied about in this state, "You're too young at 18 and too old at 22."  Could this ghastly maxim still be true? Facing financial ruin and permanent career damage, our desperate woman parks her dignity and reaches out in the only way that seems to remain.  She made a sign.

    I wish I knew what kind of results this lady got from her sandwich sign. She wasn't asking for a job, just effective, real life assessment of her CV presentation materials.  I  wish I could tell you that her case is unusual but that would be an untruth.  I don't bother to find empathy for 25 year-olds who wish 50 year-olds would fall off the perch already and open the top jobs for them.  I wonder how, in the face of this obvious ageism, the federal government can expect people to work until they are 70 to keep the pension demand down. Is this a First World problem? Probably, but this is a First World country. And it shouldn't be a problem.

    I admire your pluck, Lady, regardless of what brought you to it.

Disney's Tinkerbell & the Pirate Fairy

    The invitation came for the latest Disney animated film media preview.  I was looking forward to it. The Mouse was a happy part of my youth--I enjoyed the stories and absorbed the lessons. But the product has changed...one could say evolved...over the years to reflect a different world. 
     Some of the changes are a good thing. Young girls are empowered to use their talents, follow their dreams and that getting rescued by a handsome prince need not be a part every girl's personal history.  And I understand why "Song of the South" might not see the light of day again. But political correctness is starting to swing the pendulum a bit too far in the opposite direction.
      Embarrassingly so.
  
     I previewed the financially successful animated film "Frozen" and found an uncomfortable feeling creeping up.  The award winning song "Let It Go" didn't seem to fit and you could practically smell the politically correct messages coming at you. Men are increasingly being portrayed as insignificant at best or clueless jugheads at worst (so complained the men sitting near me.) Fearing this unnecessary (and potentially unhelpful to young boys' self image) observation had become an obligatory part of every Disney film is what propelled  me to the screening of  "Tinker Bell & the Pirate Fairy". 
    Expectation can be a distraction for general audiences and entertainment reviewers alike. Who has ever been able to completely focus on an Alfred Hitchcock film before his customary cameo is spotted?  Any number of movies will edit in a swear word or superfluous shocking scene to garner the movie rating the producers want in a move so obvious that movie goers are drawn out of the story momentarily.  "Then I'll see you in hell", growls Han Solo defiantly in the Star Wars movie, "The Empire Strikes Back".  The audience responded, "There's the PG rating."  I needn't have been on the lookout for overtly politically correct moments in "Tinker Bell & the Pirate Fairy", I was tied to the mast and flogged with it.  At one point in the film, the fairies seem to have recaptured the all-important blue pixie dust, rescued their friend and are in charge of the pirate ship.  One sailor says, "Wait, are we to be told what to do by a bunch of fairies?"
    CRACKKK!!! 
    Feel the pain of the Mouse's sledgehammer driving home its 'celebrate diversity' message into your skull. The action in the movie actually freezes while you catch the message, rub the growing lump on your head and start to refocus on the movie as the sailor is convinced by a flying knife that the answer is yes. This same lesson is handled correctly and naturally later on when  a guy gives a big effusive hug to another guy he is happy to see survived a sleeping spell.  But the once-bitten, twice-shy audience is now on high alert for another PC blow to the noggin and winces.  This assault on the audience's intelligence so unnecessary and potentially dates the film, keeping it from being the beloved enduring classic we expect from our friend The Mouse.

    A quick review:  When a misunderstood dust-keeper fairy named Zarina steals Pixie Hollow's all-important Blue Pixie Dust, and flies away to join forces with the pirates of Skull Rock, Tinker Bell and her fairy friends embark on a rescue mission to return it to its rightful place. However, in the middle of their pursuit of Zarina, the rescuers' world is turned upside down. Tinker Bell and her friends find that their respective talents have been switched and they have to race against time to retrieve the Blue Pixie Dust and return home to save Pixie Hollow.
    "Tinker Bell & the Pirate Fairy" has all the requisite lessons and action its target audience [girls aged 3-10] could hope for and will be bearable for their 12 year-old brothers quieted by an ice cream cone bribe.  The pirate song sung in chorus is very funny and it is a bit of a prequel for "Peter Pan" as there are many foreshadowing moments for many of its characters. 
    Parents may want to consider bringing a helmet.

 
  
   

The "M" Word - A Dieter's Woe

     I am determined to lose weight.  The reasons are numerous and they really aren't important here so I won't list them. What is critical is the word 'determined'.  I ramped up my exercise-for-the-sake-of-exercise to 250% of what is was in October. The sun came up at 5:30a.m. and I was out the door at 5:45a.m. I kept half an eyeball on my food intake and set this as my course.
     Three months later I had not lost any weight.  Not a single ounce.  Disappointed, I made a slight change to this already changed equation of my lifestyle.  I resumed the pleasure of a few small cookies in the evening, if I felt like a little treat. One month later there still was no change in my weight...in either direction. It was time to up the ante. I needed to put both eyeballs on the food half of my lifestyle equation.  I went to see a dietician on the advice of my general practitioner.
     The misgivings I had before the appointment were hardly assuaged by the first meeting.  The national health service doesn't pay much so she wasn't offering much in the way of customized advice.  The pre-printed sheet outlined a miniscule breakfast, a lunch that consisted  of a slice of bread with either tuna or peanut butter on it plus two (2) cups of celery and carrot sticks, and a supper that consisted of a tiny bit of meat or cheese plus a half (½) cup of cooked pasta [have you measured a half cup of pasta lately? TINY]  and two (2)  cups of cooked vegetables.  Could a ballerina exist on this? But, as I am determined, I give this lack of joy a try.  I don't have the patience for measuring everything all the time--my eyeballs work well enough--but I will keep a very basic food diary. And I will try some of the mostly unsatisfying but recommended commercial snack options she suggested plus a few more adjustments she would certainly approve of.  And stayed dedicated through to the first follow-up appointment two weeks later.
      I had lost a paltry 1.3 kgs / 2.8 lbs. in those two weeks. Is that all? Despite the copious amounts of vegetables, and exercise, I still have more in common with  Jabba the Hutt  than  with Margot Fonteyn.

      "Well," the dietician says, "middle-aged women like yourself are also dealing with reduced estrogen, lowering metabolism rates..."
      WHAT!!?!  MIDDLE-AGED??!?  I have been 29 for more years than I can count. How does three decades of life equal middle-aged? There's impertinence for you. I have never been called "middle-aged." Hmmmmpph.
       "...as I told my mother, expectations really need to be tempered. You won't look like Elle MacPherson by the end of the month."

       The good news here is that I managed not to eviscerate her tiny, barely post-adolescent self on the spot.  Instead I let her be impressed by my food diary and  nutrition comparisons of snacks she recommends versus the ones I appreciate.  And for my troubles, I received a minute amount of customization on my eating plan.
       A friend (slightly older than 29) recently confided that on her well-known diet & nutrition program she has lost 30 pounds in the last 11 weeks.  I am happy for her.  I just wish it wasn't going to take 11 months for me to accomplish the same thing.  sigh.

Cinema Culture Gap

    One can learn a lot from watching foreign films. They can say so much more about the culture and character of a people than a tourism marketing video. How do they view their life? Their environment? What is their reaction to the good and evil that comes their way? And do they really wear those funky costumes we see in publicity stills?  Truth is, no matter how many Danish films one sees, the true Dane will always be beyond one's grasp if films are the only measuring stick. Sure you can follow the storyline and laugh at the obvious jokes while scowling at the identifiable villains. But there will be smaller cues, reasons for behavior, significance of art or set pieces, specific clothing worn and other markers that will lost if you are not in sync with the culture already.  Read: you were raised there or lived there for significant time.
    This is why I get nervous when some U.S. films make it overseas. I know that the story will not be truly understood as told.  People like to think that because they have watched Dallas, Dynasty, Dukes of Hazzard, Days of Our Lives and visited Disneyland they completely understand the American psyche. They are convinced they can watch an American product and not measure what they see against their own cultural yardstick.  As I watched the Oscar award winning 12 Years A Slave  in a media screening, I knew this film would be misinterpreted from opening to closing credits. This film does not ask the question, "Is slavery wrong?" Of course it is, that is a given up front.  This film does not assert that all slave owners were cruel, evil wretches--some weren't (Benedict Cumberbatch's character, for instance) but everyone was mindful of the cheap labor it provided as an economic necessity. (Cheap labor being a topic of business concern to this day.)  At its core, this is a story of a man's painful journey from freedom to slavery and back again.
     Movie reviewers here in Australia, whether on TV shows, magazines, large daily papers or small community weeklies, all seemed to view 12 Years A Slave in the same way.  Let me share one example that reflects most reviews.  This excerpt was written by  West Australian (newspaper) movie reviewer Mark Naglazas.

           "This adaptation of freed slave Solomon Northup's memoir...has been described as the Schindler's List of the country's original sin--and rightly so. 12 Years A Slave tells an enthralling individual story..., the appalling treatment of blacks by whites in the founding years of a nation that we hold as the symbol of democracy. (Director Steve) McQueen keeps his distance, giving us the full force of the horror but forcing us to reflect on white man's inhumanity to black man."

     I won't nitpick on his poor history (this movie's era is almost a century after the "founding years of a nation") but I am astonished that modern day Americans are being taken to task for an institution abolished by the U.S. Federal government 150 years ago. [The sins of thy father's father's father's father's father.] I am absolutely gobsmacked by the hubris of Australians who dare to claim a higher, enlightened path when talking about "white man's inhumanity to black man" when the Australian Federal government waited until  1967 --over 100 years later-- until fully recognizing Aborigines as human beings with full citizenship! [Throw away those dog-tags, 'black fellas'.] So intent on looking for the splinter in someone else's eye that they fail to notice the log in their own. Unbelievable.
    But the culture gap flows in all directions.  I really like the movie, Saving Mr Banks. But I found myself startled by the depiction of the protagonist's father Travers Gibb, played by Colin Farrell.  Travers Gibb is portrayed as a hard-drinking, reality-avoiding, Peter Pan wannabe.  Ninety years later, this is exactly how Australian men were described to me by a friend after I announced I was marrying an Aussie.  Contemporary Australians may disagree with the description but image beyond its borders remain.
    I enjoy watching foreign flicks every now and again but I'm a little wiser in their interpretation now.