When I was in college a new restaurant opened up. It was called Olga's Kitchen and I loved its food and the picture of the Mediterranean-looking lady who spearheaded the place. Who knew that Greek food could be so yummy?! I mentioned this to a classmate who snarled back that it wasn't real Greek food and it would never fly anywhere in Greece. Olga did well because she adapted Greek cuisine to the American palate.
Just like every other national cuisine adapts to the palate of its new home.
And that goes for "American" food in Australia. And we are not talking about McDonald's here but the staples that appeared on plates in just about every dining room in America--and in every American movie or TV show with a dining table in it. You knew Mom loved you when she served up meatloaf and mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, turkey with gravy/stuffing/yams/cranberry sauce, Jell-o with fruit in it, etc. You get the picture. So when I go to events here in Perth that have an American theme, my hopes rise high for a nostalgic meal. I should know better.
Yesterday's tourism industry event had a western hoe-down theme. Too hot for cowboy wear, we were OK'd for cooler clothing--I did wear my cowboy earrings, bolo tie and best John Wayne accent to get in the spirit of things. There was a mechanical bull to ride (no, thanks) and a real horse too spooked by its surroundings to oblige the promised rides (drats). Then there was the food: Old El Paso salsa with domestic corn chips, mac and cheese (inedible in any country), cracker crust pizza with either pulled pork or tuna on it (Really? Can someone look up Chicago-style pizza recipes and attempt that, please?), some kind of meat pie (totally Australian), pulled beef on a bun (not tooooo bad) and some nasty mess I cannot name nor could swallow. And all of it was served in miniature (an act of mercy.) The desserts were from a Swedish bakery named Miss Maud's and were a welcome--if not overly American--sight. The mini cherry pies had no solid fruit and too much crust but very edible, the brownies were more fluffy cake than dense treat (a common mistake) and the mini jam filled doughnuts were yummy and disappeared quickly. I softened my critiques (when asked) by mentioning how foreign foods are adapted to the local palate as I put my unfinished whatever on a passing tray. The above menu has pretty much appeared at other American themed events--with slightly better success. The menu is right, its execution....Australian.
For a moment I thought I should change vocations and go into catering real American food. But, would anyone eat it...?
Saturday, December 12, 2015
Saturday, December 5, 2015
Music : The Decade OZ Cannot Leave Behind
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.
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.
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.
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| Adelaide Central Market |
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| Botanic Garden Palm House |
Across the street is the Adelaide Zoo. Not run by the government but as an
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| Central Markets again! |
Next to this is the Migration Museum. It looks as if it has been yarn bombed. Because it
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| 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.
Sunday, March 29, 2015
Dior and I
It was a convergence of the right time and and right event [or motive and opportunity, if you prefer.] I am learning to sew and had one fraught-with-errors dress under my belt. Absolutely every step in its creation came with at least two mental "note to myself" admonishments against its repetition. I wore it in public once. Emboldened by failure, I was on the lookout for my next project and found it in Christian Dior.
"Dior and I" is a fashion documentary about the inaugural show of the new creative director of the House of Dior, Raf Simons. He had a mere eight weeks to research, design and create his first collection instead of the usual eight months. The film raises its interest factor greatly by also focusing on the seamstresses, pattern makers and the rest of the creative team behind the director. There are even flashbacks to Dior himself to weave the whole story together.
Luna Leederville cinema is making its opening of the film a real party. They've decorated the central stairwell with banners, posters, and flower garlands. Champagne and chocolates will be served to all arriving guests. A local modeling agency will be there to add glamor to the proceedings. And there will be a contest for the best dressed. THAT'S IT! For my second ever sewing project I will make a Christian Dior outfit that will win me a prize!
I raced over to the fabric store and spent a few hours pouring over pattern books and scouring the clearance tables for stunning but cheap fabrics. I will have to rely on luxe textiles to compensate for the lack of detail in the garment. Killer fabrics should shine on their own and not be burdened with fussy design elements. My first great plan which included a stylish 'very easy' Vogue pattern and reversible material would have costed $100 for fabric, pattern and notions. Aaaaacckk. On to Plan B. I will use the Kwik Sew skirt pattern (3254) from last time with some lavender taffeta. Taffeta is probably not the usual fabric for an eight-gore, elasticized waistline skirt but I know how to make it now. Kwik Sew comes to the rescue again with Pattern K3928--a top with no buttons or zippers but with a rolled collar. You may have to squint a little but I'll look just like some of those vintage Dior designs. I had so much trouble with the bottom facing of the top. It flares out in all directions. I look more like daughter Judy from The Jetsons. I had a few days and lots of fabric and interfacing scraps remaining, so I made a faux pillbox hat. I used a free online pattern and a library book to dream it up. Kev says I look like a flight attendant. I ignore him.
My sister-in-law Donna is excited to dress up and come with me. The theater is only a few blocks from her home. Good thing, too. It rained that evening. But that didn't dampen our spirits. Donna was stunning in a little black dress and lots of diamante bling. She had her hair done in a sophisticated style that took even her family by surprise. Many people dressed up for the occasion but the most impressive ones wore vintage Dior-esque dresses. Society photographers were everywhere shooting pictures of everyone...except Donna and me. The sillies. No matter. Donna and I are convinced that the title of the movie should be changed to "Chris and Us."
Since the lobby contained everything but the champagne, we stayed there looking spectacular and people watching. We wanted to get our picture taken on the staircase
with the floral garland. (**spoiler alert**) This was a rather lame mimic of the wall of flowers seen in the movie. A wall of flowers had been set up at the outdoor screening and enjoyed by the half dozen people willing to sit in the rain to watch the movie. Back inside, we noticed that floral confetti had been thrown on the steps. Even a few of those frizzy topped toothpicks were there. Then the toothpicks moved! Oh gee whiz, it was really just a few of the models hired for atmosphere.
"Dior and I" is a fashion documentary about the inaugural show of the new creative director of the House of Dior, Raf Simons. He had a mere eight weeks to research, design and create his first collection instead of the usual eight months. The film raises its interest factor greatly by also focusing on the seamstresses, pattern makers and the rest of the creative team behind the director. There are even flashbacks to Dior himself to weave the whole story together.
Luna Leederville cinema is making its opening of the film a real party. They've decorated the central stairwell with banners, posters, and flower garlands. Champagne and chocolates will be served to all arriving guests. A local modeling agency will be there to add glamor to the proceedings. And there will be a contest for the best dressed. THAT'S IT! For my second ever sewing project I will make a Christian Dior outfit that will win me a prize!
I raced over to the fabric store and spent a few hours pouring over pattern books and scouring the clearance tables for stunning but cheap fabrics. I will have to rely on luxe textiles to compensate for the lack of detail in the garment. Killer fabrics should shine on their own and not be burdened with fussy design elements. My first great plan which included a stylish 'very easy' Vogue pattern and reversible material would have costed $100 for fabric, pattern and notions. Aaaaacckk. On to Plan B. I will use the Kwik Sew skirt pattern (3254) from last time with some lavender taffeta. Taffeta is probably not the usual fabric for an eight-gore, elasticized waistline skirt but I know how to make it now. Kwik Sew comes to the rescue again with Pattern K3928--a top with no buttons or zippers but with a rolled collar. You may have to squint a little but I'll look just like some of those vintage Dior designs. I had so much trouble with the bottom facing of the top. It flares out in all directions. I look more like daughter Judy from The Jetsons.
 |
| Styling at 'Dior and I' |
Since the lobby contained everything but the champagne, we stayed there looking spectacular and people watching. We wanted to get our picture taken on the staircase
 |
| Dressed up toothpicks |
Inside the theater it seemed that everyone was wearing some shade of black or white. All my purple was startling in contrast. I tried to make everyone feel better by drinking two glasses of champagne. Neither of us won a prize but we were quite OK with the judge's decision. Four of the five winners were septuagenarians who refuse to go down without a fight. The fifth looked rather vintage Dior. We enjoyed dressing up and going to this event. The movie is well-made and an eye opener to the inner workings of haute couture. The seamstresses are a gas.
And I may wear my second sewing project again.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
$nail Mail and Australia Post
Australia Post, you are killing me! A 43% rate hike for domestic letters has been announced. Not only is the price of a domestic letter rising from 70 cents to $1 but the letter will take two days longer to get delivered unless the customer pays a premium above that. International mail got slapped around several months ago when international postcard rates ($1.70) were abolished with all international mail stamped at the letter rate of $2.75. Delivery is assured in 3-10 days but lately it has been taking two weeks for anything I've sent. The post office still has their prepaid picture postcards-usually with a native animal or big city skyline on it- I like sending aerograms (those handy sheets of paper that fold into a prepaid envelope shape) and Aus Post used to change its design frequently. The current design of a purple iris (aerograms are traditionally blue onion skin) has been in place for three years. Boring.
Australia Post wasn't always boring. They changed stamps monthly it seemed. And people didn't have to be dead to get their face on a stamp, either. Movie stars, captains of industry, notable natives have all been licked by the general public while they were still breathing. And they don't limit their merchandise to strictly postal products. Fun, yet still educational, toys and presents can be found in post offices. Calendars, cookbooks, cookie tins, mini personal DVD players, the occasional sewing machine (!), traditional Australian folk character toys like Snuggle Pot and Cuddle Pie, novelty USBs, art sets and my personal favorite: a build-it-yourself four-stroke engine that runs on batteries. Found only at Christmas time. In fact, Kev has been known to do his Christmas shopping for the nieces and nephews-especially when they were younger.
But the extra merchandizing is not enough to battle the loss of revenue from electronic communication the world now engages in. Post offices everywhere are trying to figure out how to cut unnecessary costs while still providing essential services. The USPS stopped selling aerograms ten years ago--and won't honor old ones without make up postage to current letter rates. We know this because Mom found a stash of old aerograms when her mother died and the post office required extra postage before mailing. Aus Post may get this nonbrilliant idea also. For about a year, the USPS also had a surcharge of $9 for all packages being mailed into the U.S. to cover the cost of security checks- regardless of what the postage was. This was almost evil. The surcharge was rescinded after about a year but I don't know if that was because of all of the bellyaching customers did or because the USPS lost even more revenue from packages not being sent through their service.
I like sending letters. I like nice stationery. I like the feel of paper in my fingers. I like the potential promise every envelope brings into a mailbox. Therefore, I will not stop sending snail mail. I'll just be a little smarter about it.
**And we used to howl whenever the USPS announced a rate hike of two cents!**
Australia Post wasn't always boring. They changed stamps monthly it seemed. And people didn't have to be dead to get their face on a stamp, either. Movie stars, captains of industry, notable natives have all been licked by the general public while they were still breathing. And they don't limit their merchandise to strictly postal products. Fun, yet still educational, toys and presents can be found in post offices. Calendars, cookbooks, cookie tins, mini personal DVD players, the occasional sewing machine (!), traditional Australian folk character toys like Snuggle Pot and Cuddle Pie, novelty USBs, art sets and my personal favorite: a build-it-yourself four-stroke engine that runs on batteries. Found only at Christmas time. In fact, Kev has been known to do his Christmas shopping for the nieces and nephews-especially when they were younger.
But the extra merchandizing is not enough to battle the loss of revenue from electronic communication the world now engages in. Post offices everywhere are trying to figure out how to cut unnecessary costs while still providing essential services. The USPS stopped selling aerograms ten years ago--and won't honor old ones without make up postage to current letter rates. We know this because Mom found a stash of old aerograms when her mother died and the post office required extra postage before mailing. Aus Post may get this nonbrilliant idea also. For about a year, the USPS also had a surcharge of $9 for all packages being mailed into the U.S. to cover the cost of security checks- regardless of what the postage was. This was almost evil. The surcharge was rescinded after about a year but I don't know if that was because of all of the bellyaching customers did or because the USPS lost even more revenue from packages not being sent through their service.
I like sending letters. I like nice stationery. I like the feel of paper in my fingers. I like the potential promise every envelope brings into a mailbox. Therefore, I will not stop sending snail mail. I'll just be a little smarter about it.
**And we used to howl whenever the USPS announced a rate hike of two cents!**
Friday, February 27, 2015
Booze, Ice skates and Dandelions - Random Musings #5
Every now and again I discover something interesting or noteworthy as I go about life in Perth. Sometimes it just not worth extravagant amounts of research for its own blog post. Others might be considered an addendum to posts already written. In either case, these bits and pieces bloat my 'topics to blog about' list and I'm getting them out of the way in another Random Musings list.
Perth is the proud home to Infusion, the national champions in synchronized ice skating soon off to Canada for the international championships. Ice skating? In Perth (or anywhere else in OZ for that matter)? It's hard to imagine such a sport (which is also known as precision skating) gaining any traction here. But there is the odd ice rink in the big cities. I live across town from the nearest one and have never been there. Along with so much else, I gave away my leather boot/steel blade skates when I moved here. Somehow I am so uninspired to drive a distance to rent plastic boot/aluminum blade skates to whirl around the rink. Maybe some day. In the meantime, Go Infusion!
A few months ago, I walked past a very familiar plant and was surprised. I don't believe I have ever seen a dandelion here in Perth. It had a straggly "Australian bush" quality about it but it was definitely a dandelion. And it was about thigh high. What? Don't people realize that they have to pull these weeds or it will take over the lawn? Of course they don't. They've never seen one before. But now, they see many...
There is no such thing as a Junior High or Middle School here. A public elementary school will go to sixth grade and high school starts at seventh grade. Private schools (which refer to themselves as "colleges") flex a bit but there is still no distinct transitional education atmosphere for this very transitional age group.
http://epostcardsfromoz.blogspot.com.au/2009/02/school-days-school-days-dear-old-golden.html
There is a culture of alcohol here in Australia. And it extends way beyond the youthful --and not so youthful--binge drinking. And it always comes as a surprise to people from other nations. My previous employment had me occasionally visiting law firms for hearings or depositions. Invariably, the visiting attorney from North America would be gobsmacked to see in the corner of the lounge or boardroom a silver tray well stocked with brand name bottles of booze. Jaws literally dropped at the sight. This wide open bar is like what you see in old movies. Certainly not in today's more cautious business atmosphere where liability or whispers of anti-social behavior from booze-soaked employees keeps every office a model of temperance. Parties or afterwork "sundowners" are frequently held at the workplace here in Australia. But I've only seen such extravagant tipple set-ups in law offices. Make your legal appointments near happy hour, folks.
epostcardsfromoz.blogspot.com/2009/07/culture-of-alcohol.html
Perth is the proud home to Infusion, the national champions in synchronized ice skating soon off to Canada for the international championships. Ice skating? In Perth (or anywhere else in OZ for that matter)? It's hard to imagine such a sport (which is also known as precision skating) gaining any traction here. But there is the odd ice rink in the big cities. I live across town from the nearest one and have never been there. Along with so much else, I gave away my leather boot/steel blade skates when I moved here. Somehow I am so uninspired to drive a distance to rent plastic boot/aluminum blade skates to whirl around the rink. Maybe some day. In the meantime, Go Infusion!
A few months ago, I walked past a very familiar plant and was surprised. I don't believe I have ever seen a dandelion here in Perth. It had a straggly "Australian bush" quality about it but it was definitely a dandelion. And it was about thigh high. What? Don't people realize that they have to pull these weeds or it will take over the lawn? Of course they don't. They've never seen one before. But now, they see many...
There is no such thing as a Junior High or Middle School here. A public elementary school will go to sixth grade and high school starts at seventh grade. Private schools (which refer to themselves as "colleges") flex a bit but there is still no distinct transitional education atmosphere for this very transitional age group.
http://epostcardsfromoz.blogspot.com.au/2009/02/school-days-school-days-dear-old-golden.html
There is a culture of alcohol here in Australia. And it extends way beyond the youthful --and not so youthful--binge drinking. And it always comes as a surprise to people from other nations. My previous employment had me occasionally visiting law firms for hearings or depositions. Invariably, the visiting attorney from North America would be gobsmacked to see in the corner of the lounge or boardroom a silver tray well stocked with brand name bottles of booze. Jaws literally dropped at the sight. This wide open bar is like what you see in old movies. Certainly not in today's more cautious business atmosphere where liability or whispers of anti-social behavior from booze-soaked employees keeps every office a model of temperance. Parties or afterwork "sundowners" are frequently held at the workplace here in Australia. But I've only seen such extravagant tipple set-ups in law offices. Make your legal appointments near happy hour, folks.
epostcardsfromoz.blogspot.com/2009/07/culture-of-alcohol.html
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
PIAF 2015 The Writers Festival
I have to admit that my favorite part of the Perth International Arts Festival is the Perth Writers Festival. I can't wait to dash over to the beautiful University of Western Australia campus in Crawley with its old buildings, matured vegetation, wandering peacocks and view of the bay to hear the literati discuss interesting topics. It isn't just for writers. Readers come along for the ride and senior citizens show up in droves for the mental stimulation. The brochure for the long-weekend event is well put together for people to chose and chart their way through each day. Half of the one-hour sessions are free and the other half are a reasonable fee of $13.50. My innate sense of thrift has me leading the blue hair charge to the freebies.
One of the festival days is designated as Family Day. I've learned not to fear attending on this day as there are so many exciting and well-supervised activities, kids do not have a chance to become bored (and thus unruly and bothersome to everyone else.) A couple of special activities are available to everyone and I asserted my place in line for the free popcorn, the photo booth and to peek at the book made by school kids for the Giants exhibition the previous weekend. One of the offerings was The Future Postal Service (which boldly promised to connect "children and adults one delivery at a time.") whereby kids would write a sentence on a postcard and (under supervision) run to an adult to deliver it. A toothy boy gave me this card. I gave him a baby carrot as a tip. I'm not sure this was the hoped for "connection" but it was what it was.
Some interesting topics came up: Medical fiction and storytelling (including psychiatry), literature and song lyrics (skipped it--mediocre acoustic guitar music gives me a rash), Kinfolk or slow-food dinner party trends (they are soooo behind my lead) and the emergence of magazines for home decorating. And there seems to be a general trend of has-beens, never-weres, and wannabes who seem to feel their lives are worth documenting in books or movies. Sorry, can't whip up much excitement peering into their delusions-of-grandeur windows.
I really liked the session on women in the media. Popular local columnist Ros Thomas and national broadcaster Geraldine Doogue shared their experiences with a standing room only crowd. Both gushed about the immediacy of radio (not a new concept) and the endurance they saw for it in the digital age. The older, personable Doogue expressed surprise that women seemed to "argue for their limitations" and that young women were most concerned about work-life balance. From my experience in the industry, these are essentially two fingers on the same hand. A vocation requires more personal investment than the job they may be looking for. Ros Thomas was concerned about the quality of journalism in the digital information world. "The craft is truth telling," Thomas said, "not repeating whatever is on the web." Sadly, we're still talking about pay inequality.
A few final observations:
"Medicine is not a business of victory."
"Short form (writing) doesn't have to solve everything."
If the writing is too Australian, it is less international. (yes, some translation or alteration required)
Writers aren't necessarily great speakers. ('fraid so, maybe that's why they write)
Young authors start every speech or reply with "Yeah."
New venue option this year. It's no longer just the traditional lecture hall, large tent or performance grove created by mature trees. Enter the very intimate caravan camper locale!
 |
| PWF 2015 mementos |
Some interesting topics came up: Medical fiction and storytelling (including psychiatry), literature and song lyrics (skipped it--mediocre acoustic guitar music gives me a rash), Kinfolk or slow-food dinner party trends (they are soooo behind my lead) and the emergence of magazines for home decorating. And there seems to be a general trend of has-beens, never-weres, and wannabes who seem to feel their lives are worth documenting in books or movies. Sorry, can't whip up much excitement peering into their delusions-of-grandeur windows.
I really liked the session on women in the media. Popular local columnist Ros Thomas and national broadcaster Geraldine Doogue shared their experiences with a standing room only crowd. Both gushed about the immediacy of radio (not a new concept) and the endurance they saw for it in the digital age. The older, personable Doogue expressed surprise that women seemed to "argue for their limitations" and that young women were most concerned about work-life balance. From my experience in the industry, these are essentially two fingers on the same hand. A vocation requires more personal investment than the job they may be looking for. Ros Thomas was concerned about the quality of journalism in the digital information world. "The craft is truth telling," Thomas said, "not repeating whatever is on the web." Sadly, we're still talking about pay inequality.
A few final observations:
"Medicine is not a business of victory."
"Short form (writing) doesn't have to solve everything."
If the writing is too Australian, it is less international. (yes, some translation or alteration required)
Writers aren't necessarily great speakers. ('fraid so, maybe that's why they write)
Young authors start every speech or reply with "Yeah."
New venue option this year. It's no longer just the traditional lecture hall, large tent or performance grove created by mature trees. Enter the very intimate caravan camper locale!
 |
| Intimate Writers Fest venue |
 |
| PWF tent venue |
Monday, February 23, 2015
PIAF 2015 The Giants
The Perth International Arts Festival always likes to start off with a bang. You know, get that party started right with fireworks or a water show or confetti falling on the main drag. But this year PIAF set their guns to 'stun' and indeed we were.
The Incredible and Phenomenal Journey of The Giants , created by the French company
Royal de Luxe, was a spectacular public art exhibition that walked around the Central Business District for three days. Giant marionettes, Young Girl and Diver, were escorted through streets (aided by 70 handlers dressed in red velvet called Lilliputians) loosely enacting a story that incorporated the Aboriginal peoples of Australia and the World War I ANZACS. A rather long bow had to be drawn to connect the two but most onlookers weren't bothered by the stretch. They were enchanted by the duo.
Young Girl, at six meters tall, had everyone wrapped around her little finger. She bathed and dressed in the mornings. She would walk or ride her scooter or don a raincoat and go on a boat ride. At rest, she would read a giant book made by local elementary schools or snore while napping in a huge lawn chair. At one point during her walk, unable to find a restroom, Young Girl crouched down, pulled her dress out a bit and peed on the road. The school kids must have howled with laughter.
The Diver, at 11 meters tall, was far less active but no less captivating. He stretched out to sleep just outside the train station downtown. Not your average rummy or vagrant lying about, Diver gained rock star status with commuters in no time who held off their morning trot to the office long enough to get a really cool selfie with the big guy. Diver's handlers had to be highly athletic as their swinging weight from ropes helped propel him along. I have to wonder if physiotherapists weren't on hand to help those folks out during the breaks. Click HERE to see some video that really brings the Giants to life.
Where was I? At a disadvantage for the big picture but a front row seat for the inner workings of working massive marionettes. The Diver had a mobility issue his very first time out on the second day. There is an elevated crosswalk at the train station that the Diver had to be craned over. He landed right in front of me. Careless craning would have shortened my height considerably. Once in position, the Lilliputians worked quickly to the Mission Impossible opening march (played by an accompanying live band) to reconnect the ropes, guy wires and hydraulics. They had to repel down, climb up and swing over to get this done and get him on his way.
Despite the fact that even Ebenezer Scrooge himself softened up to the Giants, they almost didn't happen. The price tag to bring this "free" exhibition in totaled over $5 million. Corporate sponsors contributed the biggest part of that but the State contributed $2 million of taxpayers money to make it happen. Oh, the roar, the stink, the outrage and the chin-wagging that followed this announcement. Was this how the state mishandled our tax dollars!!!?? was the hue and cry. The verbiage changed as skeptics and the curious fell beneath the Giants spell. It has been estimated that 1.4 million people saw the Giants. This does include multiple visits as there are less than 2.5 million people in the whole state. Someone did the math and determined that each taxpayer contributed 80 cents (or 27 cents per day) to the magic. Such a paltry sum people tutted.
And the conquering of Perth by two giants was complete.
The Incredible and Phenomenal Journey of The Giants , created by the French company
Royal de Luxe, was a spectacular public art exhibition that walked around the Central Business District for three days. Giant marionettes, Young Girl and Diver, were escorted through streets (aided by 70 handlers dressed in red velvet called Lilliputians) loosely enacting a story that incorporated the Aboriginal peoples of Australia and the World War I ANZACS. A rather long bow had to be drawn to connect the two but most onlookers weren't bothered by the stretch. They were enchanted by the duo.
 | |||||
| Giant Young Girl. courtesy T.Debski |
 |
| Giant Diver. courtesy The West Australian |
The Diver, at 11 meters tall, was far less active but no less captivating. He stretched out to sleep just outside the train station downtown. Not your average rummy or vagrant lying about, Diver gained rock star status with commuters in no time who held off their morning trot to the office long enough to get a really cool selfie with the big guy. Diver's handlers had to be highly athletic as their swinging weight from ropes helped propel him along. I have to wonder if physiotherapists weren't on hand to help those folks out during the breaks. Click HERE to see some video that really brings the Giants to life.
 |
| Repelling down Diver |
 | ||||||||
| Connecting the hydraulics. |
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| Feet bigger than mine! |
Despite the fact that even Ebenezer Scrooge himself softened up to the Giants, they almost didn't happen. The price tag to bring this "free" exhibition in totaled over $5 million. Corporate sponsors contributed the biggest part of that but the State contributed $2 million of taxpayers money to make it happen. Oh, the roar, the stink, the outrage and the chin-wagging that followed this announcement. Was this how the state mishandled our tax dollars!!!?? was the hue and cry. The verbiage changed as skeptics and the curious fell beneath the Giants spell. It has been estimated that 1.4 million people saw the Giants. This does include multiple visits as there are less than 2.5 million people in the whole state. Someone did the math and determined that each taxpayer contributed 80 cents (or 27 cents per day) to the magic. Such a paltry sum people tutted.
And the conquering of Perth by two giants was complete.
Monday, January 26, 2015
Australia Day 2015 in Victoria Park
I've talked about Australia Day before [see Australia Day in WA ] and wandered around to see much of this U.S. Independence Day type fun in the past. But today the temperatures were forecasted to be 100F/37C and I just didn't fancy getting hot, sticky and irritable to watch people hang out in OZ flagwear by the river. I can see tonight's fireworks right from my balcony-- so why move a sweaty muscle? How grumpy can I get?
Well, early mornings aren't too bad and this morning the Fremantle Doctor (cool breeze coming in off the Indian Ocean) was in. So I went to a special 9 a.m. church service and on the way home in the little memorial park next to the town hall was an Australia Day service in progress. New citizens were being sworn in five at time by the mayor Trevor Vaughn under the ancient giant fig tree. The newly sworn were from all over the planet. The dress code was quite obviously "your choice." Some new citizens were wearing their Sunday best or designer chic. A few showed up in ethnic garb. And yet others adopted their new country's relaxed attitude and showed up well...relaxed. All posed for pictures with their very fancy citizenship certificate. Big Day.
Then we went on to the local Australian of the Year and local Australian Group of the Year. Oooh, Victoria Park is loaded with do-gooders. All sounded worthy. Certainly worthy of better flowers than the collection of weeds in cellophane they received. Add a few politician speeches. And a few more. And a couple more for good measure. zzzzzzzzz Done! Now the nice little Vic Park Band played the entire Banjo Patterson catalog (this includes Waltzing Mathilda, soundtrack from Man From Snowy River, etc) and we all dashed up to the refreshment tables for wonderful finger sandwiches, mini-pastries and drinks. All seriously good stuff--Vic Park doesn't believe in scrimping on food at their parties.
I bumped into Mayor Trevor Vaughn as I was leaving (and trying to hide the extra goodies I was sneaking home with) and he inquired about my turn under the old fig tree. "Well, as soon as I know more words of the national anthem than my Australian born husband does." That occurred about two weeks after I arrived here. But don't tell.
Well, I'm still not going out to wander in the heat and I am sure I am missing some really cool stuff happening on the river. But I won't miss tonight's fireworks and I'm glad I didn't miss my little community's appreciation and induction ceremony. Happy Australia Day, everyone.
Well, early mornings aren't too bad and this morning the Fremantle Doctor (cool breeze coming in off the Indian Ocean) was in. So I went to a special 9 a.m. church service and on the way home in the little memorial park next to the town hall was an Australia Day service in progress. New citizens were being sworn in five at time by the mayor Trevor Vaughn under the ancient giant fig tree. The newly sworn were from all over the planet. The dress code was quite obviously "your choice." Some new citizens were wearing their Sunday best or designer chic. A few showed up in ethnic garb. And yet others adopted their new country's relaxed attitude and showed up well...relaxed. All posed for pictures with their very fancy citizenship certificate. Big Day.
Then we went on to the local Australian of the Year and local Australian Group of the Year. Oooh, Victoria Park is loaded with do-gooders. All sounded worthy. Certainly worthy of better flowers than the collection of weeds in cellophane they received. Add a few politician speeches. And a few more. And a couple more for good measure. zzzzzzzzz Done! Now the nice little Vic Park Band played the entire Banjo Patterson catalog (this includes Waltzing Mathilda, soundtrack from Man From Snowy River, etc) and we all dashed up to the refreshment tables for wonderful finger sandwiches, mini-pastries and drinks. All seriously good stuff--Vic Park doesn't believe in scrimping on food at their parties.
I bumped into Mayor Trevor Vaughn as I was leaving (and trying to hide the extra goodies I was sneaking home with) and he inquired about my turn under the old fig tree. "Well, as soon as I know more words of the national anthem than my Australian born husband does." That occurred about two weeks after I arrived here. But don't tell.
Well, I'm still not going out to wander in the heat and I am sure I am missing some really cool stuff happening on the river. But I won't miss tonight's fireworks and I'm glad I didn't miss my little community's appreciation and induction ceremony. Happy Australia Day, everyone.
Vale 6RPH - Information Radio AM990
6RPH, and its 17 surviving members of the RPH Australia Network, had a different mission from most radio stations. By charter, it catered to the print handicapped. Not just the vision impaired but those with a physical disability who found it difficult to handle printed matter. Many shows were dedicated to reading the daily and national newspapers, popular magazines and very subject specific printed matter. There was something for almost everyone including the commuters who would listen to the daily paper while driving into work. The audience was wide-ranging, it almost defied being put into a demographic pigeonhole--although officially they were categorized as female, 39+, household of four and approaching mid-middle class socioeconomically.
My radio show, What's On Where, was heard on 6RPH on Thursdays at 6pm with an encore presentation Saturday at 5:15pm. I miss my show. It suited this cowboy quite well. Far from a rip-n-read, WOW was your guide to what is happening in and around Perth that is fun and affordable. My first shows must have been dreadful until I refined the formula that worked: first segment were the Freebie things to do, second segment contained events that would cost a little bit of money but still tons of fun and the third segment was built upon a different theme each week (e.g. school holidays, Christmas, Perth International Arts Festival.) And WOW didn't just tell you where to go, we would send you there, too. I had developed a rather robust promotion schedule that gave away tickets to the latest events to the rather obscure but worthy of attention in on-air contests. I developed solid relationships with many venues and marketing agencies who kept WOW in the know and me in the occasional media reviewer ticket.
I MISS MY SHOW. I have lost my voice. It kept me connected to this area, its people and its exciting happenings every bit as much as my listeners. I managed the show well. It hurts to lose it within a mismanaged entity. I have kept WOW social media up but it is just not the same. I don't know when or where I or What's On Where will reappear on the airwaves but let me take this moment to thank WOW listeners and its wonderful sponsors for the last six+ years.
Vale 6RPH.
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