A text message conversation that occured between 0600 - 0700 yesterday:
James > Stephen
Would you believe that I just a: walked past the PBH (Pyrmont Bridge Hotel) and saw someone I know drinking and b: stopped by and had an eye opening shot of sambuca? Jesus I'm crazy.
Stephen > James
How was it? Confrontingly honest?
James > Stephen
A bit rank. I regretted walking in, then snuck out when they were programming eminem on the jukebox and plotting to steal a bottle of johnnie blue. Breakfast?
Stephen > James
Yes.
James > Stephen
Nice. Do you realisee that if we weren't the staunch heteros that we are, these breakfasts would be considered dates?
Stephen > James
Some of us stauncher than others.
Nikki > James
When are you coming back? Can you please bring oj as well as milk? Thanks.
James > Nikki
Guess what? Steve just admitted he was gay!
---
The weekend came and went in the usual way: the working week winded up on Friday, and commenced again as everyone rose on Monday morning. Not so for James. As a shift worker, he enjoys a variety of working times, sometimes more, but usually considerably less total hours than his normal counterparts.
As a gent who enjoys heavy punctuation, Maggie Alderson's column in the GW and socialising with friends, this life suits him down to the ground. As a result, the routine tasks most people take care of on Sunday afternoons are usually reserved for anywhere between Monday and Thursday, but never ever Fridays.
It is this charmed life that allows people like James to do things like chuckle at his own blog, spend four hours doing one load of washing, and re-read a novel that he didn't enjoy the first time by a very pretentious 20-something from Perth. Note to self: when first novel is published, insist on the author's photo containing myself scowling with a longneck in hand (nothing fancy, maybe Melbourne Bitter). Sometimes James does nothing at all but walk laps of his big bedroom and think about things. James is a lucky boy.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
Just Three Shifts, This Week.
I either do a lot, or very little.
In year 4, in Mrs Merrick's class she complimented me on my involvement in extra curricular activities, which, on top of class time included the orchestra (violin, hey), the recorder group (descant, but) and cross country (running). I fit it in easily, while managing to maintain all my day to day activities like paying bills, cooking, banking and catching up with some old accquaintances for a quiet schooner and pub trivia most Wednesday evenings.
Fourteen years on, and I'm struggling to even log into blogger without one of the kids hassling me to take them to the shops, or having to shoot off to watch my partner referee footy on Saturday afternoons. Maybe age has ravaged me. Having coffee with some close girlfriends last week, once we had sarcastically pored over the gossip mags then earnestly discussed David Hicks, the vile issue of time management crept into conversation.
"I s'pose our priorities have just changed," suggested Sam. "My Sunday afternoons used to involve late-brekkie, a trip to the beach, a spot of market-shopping, then dinner and drinks consistently. These days I'd rather just stay in with the paper, and spend the afternoon perfecting my bechamel sauce for a mouth-watering lasagne for Andy and the kids."
"I don't believe it's just priorities, no way," said Jules. I used to be able to dance 'til 4am Friday AND Saturday nights, then be out of bed at 8 on Sundays for Dragon-Boat Racing, and feel like a million bucks. Now the twins drag me up at 9, moaning and hungover from the two glasses of riesling I had before I fell asleep on the couch! My stomach's a mess these days as well. Too many wines and rich foods go through me like the Bondi Tram - oh god, I just showed my age again!"
Maybe it's work. Maybe itself the stress and responsibility. Maybe our bodies are passed the biological used by date that nature set, rendering us obsolete after we fulfil our requirements of creating the younger generation. As the ABC's Doctor Karl Kruszelnicki says, "every year after 25 is just a bonus."
Am I the only one who is mildly depressed at the prospect of slowly losing grip of my youth, falling under the stampeding hooves of the Ipod wielding generation Y? Or should we embrace this feeling, allowing ourselves to grow old with dignity, safely accepting that our booziest nights and wildest sex are behind us? We could spend the rest of our thirties and fourties thinking about this, or we could just settle down on the couch with the Good Weekend and a cuppa, dozing off with a stomach full of lasagne, and a tired mind that still remembers the rattle of the Bondi Tram.
In year 4, in Mrs Merrick's class she complimented me on my involvement in extra curricular activities, which, on top of class time included the orchestra (violin, hey), the recorder group (descant, but) and cross country (running). I fit it in easily, while managing to maintain all my day to day activities like paying bills, cooking, banking and catching up with some old accquaintances for a quiet schooner and pub trivia most Wednesday evenings.
Fourteen years on, and I'm struggling to even log into blogger without one of the kids hassling me to take them to the shops, or having to shoot off to watch my partner referee footy on Saturday afternoons. Maybe age has ravaged me. Having coffee with some close girlfriends last week, once we had sarcastically pored over the gossip mags then earnestly discussed David Hicks, the vile issue of time management crept into conversation.
"I s'pose our priorities have just changed," suggested Sam. "My Sunday afternoons used to involve late-brekkie, a trip to the beach, a spot of market-shopping, then dinner and drinks consistently. These days I'd rather just stay in with the paper, and spend the afternoon perfecting my bechamel sauce for a mouth-watering lasagne for Andy and the kids."
"I don't believe it's just priorities, no way," said Jules. I used to be able to dance 'til 4am Friday AND Saturday nights, then be out of bed at 8 on Sundays for Dragon-Boat Racing, and feel like a million bucks. Now the twins drag me up at 9, moaning and hungover from the two glasses of riesling I had before I fell asleep on the couch! My stomach's a mess these days as well. Too many wines and rich foods go through me like the Bondi Tram - oh god, I just showed my age again!"
Maybe it's work. Maybe itself the stress and responsibility. Maybe our bodies are passed the biological used by date that nature set, rendering us obsolete after we fulfil our requirements of creating the younger generation. As the ABC's Doctor Karl Kruszelnicki says, "every year after 25 is just a bonus."
Am I the only one who is mildly depressed at the prospect of slowly losing grip of my youth, falling under the stampeding hooves of the Ipod wielding generation Y? Or should we embrace this feeling, allowing ourselves to grow old with dignity, safely accepting that our booziest nights and wildest sex are behind us? We could spend the rest of our thirties and fourties thinking about this, or we could just settle down on the couch with the Good Weekend and a cuppa, dozing off with a stomach full of lasagne, and a tired mind that still remembers the rattle of the Bondi Tram.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
These bland conversations and crap observations will in time outpace and outlive you.
Although I have finished studying, I find that people (mainly older) generally assume that I am still a student. I assume this is due to my surplus in free time, casual dress, frequent drunkeness and lack of obvious career direction.
---
"So how's uni going, James?"
"I've finished actually."
"So what does that leave you with then?"
"Well, I have an Arts degree in Australian history and Performance Studies and half of a postgraduate journalism diploma."
"So you're a bit of an actor?"
"Umm, no, it was more about the study of performance as art and ritual across different societies."
"Did you have to go to the theatre for assignments and things?"
"Not really. I went to Performance Space once, and part of the play was walking in the door through a group of naked people lying on the ground."
"God! They're teaching that in Universities?"
"I know. I probably should have done something more practical."
"But being a journalist is practical. There are alot of journalists on good money."
"Yeah. I don't like journalism very much though. There are way too many people that are better at it, and like it more than me. I don't really like the idea of competing with them."
"So what do you do now?"
"Well, I work at a newspaper, which is kind of journalism... But my job is pretty much me sitting in a room while everyone else is asleep. I quite like it though, haven't been sunburnt hardly at all this summer."
"Is that going to lead to a better job?"
"Well, I thought so. But the guy I relieve at nights is 41 years old and has been doing the exact same job since he was 15... So I don't know that the Arts degree was necessary in the end... But that guy doesn't get to sit and ponder whether Artaud was a madman or a genius at night, so, spirals and staircases."
"Spirals and what?"
"Ummm. I don't actually know what that means, sorry. Ricky Gervais said it once, and I just ram it cheaply into any context... Some people laugh. You're the first person that's ever questioned it actually."
"I think you misheard what he said. That is not a saying at all."
"Oh."
"Have you ever thought of going into the business world?"
"Yeah, but I don't like the idea of people in suits carrying backpacks to work. And I know if I got a corporate job I'd eventually stop carrying a briefcase because it weighs me down on one side, I'll just throw my important files and bottle of water into a backpack - probably won't even wear a jacket in summer. I just can't see myself pulling it off well, you know?"
"There's alot more to the corporate world than backpacks, James. And besides, we live in a humid city, it doesn't make sense for everyone to wear their jackets all year around."
"I know, I know. Look, I'll speak to you for hours about the cultural cringe, but I just feel it completely devalues the suit and the entire image. So, I've ruled out that entire field."
"Everyone ends up in a suit one day young man, look at Peter Garrett."
"Well, yes, but not everyone ends up a Labor MP. Look at Paul Hester from Crowded House."
"He's dead."
"Sad isn't it?"
---
"So how's uni going, James?"
"I've finished actually."
"So what does that leave you with then?"
"Well, I have an Arts degree in Australian history and Performance Studies and half of a postgraduate journalism diploma."
"So you're a bit of an actor?"
"Umm, no, it was more about the study of performance as art and ritual across different societies."
"Did you have to go to the theatre for assignments and things?"
"Not really. I went to Performance Space once, and part of the play was walking in the door through a group of naked people lying on the ground."
"God! They're teaching that in Universities?"
"I know. I probably should have done something more practical."
"But being a journalist is practical. There are alot of journalists on good money."
"Yeah. I don't like journalism very much though. There are way too many people that are better at it, and like it more than me. I don't really like the idea of competing with them."
"So what do you do now?"
"Well, I work at a newspaper, which is kind of journalism... But my job is pretty much me sitting in a room while everyone else is asleep. I quite like it though, haven't been sunburnt hardly at all this summer."
"Is that going to lead to a better job?"
"Well, I thought so. But the guy I relieve at nights is 41 years old and has been doing the exact same job since he was 15... So I don't know that the Arts degree was necessary in the end... But that guy doesn't get to sit and ponder whether Artaud was a madman or a genius at night, so, spirals and staircases."
"Spirals and what?"
"Ummm. I don't actually know what that means, sorry. Ricky Gervais said it once, and I just ram it cheaply into any context... Some people laugh. You're the first person that's ever questioned it actually."
"I think you misheard what he said. That is not a saying at all."
"Oh."
"Have you ever thought of going into the business world?"
"Yeah, but I don't like the idea of people in suits carrying backpacks to work. And I know if I got a corporate job I'd eventually stop carrying a briefcase because it weighs me down on one side, I'll just throw my important files and bottle of water into a backpack - probably won't even wear a jacket in summer. I just can't see myself pulling it off well, you know?"
"There's alot more to the corporate world than backpacks, James. And besides, we live in a humid city, it doesn't make sense for everyone to wear their jackets all year around."
"I know, I know. Look, I'll speak to you for hours about the cultural cringe, but I just feel it completely devalues the suit and the entire image. So, I've ruled out that entire field."
"Everyone ends up in a suit one day young man, look at Peter Garrett."
"Well, yes, but not everyone ends up a Labor MP. Look at Paul Hester from Crowded House."
"He's dead."
"Sad isn't it?"
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Applying Sam In The City's "How To Be More Attractive To The Opposite Sex" Guidelines To My Own Life
Being #1 and #2 most influential bloggers in Sydney to have grown up (she still lives there) within a stone's throw of St Ives Village Shopping Centre, it is my pleasure to invite Sam In The City's own Samantha Brett (smh.com.au) to give me a crash course in how to improve my "spunk factor."
As Sam says, being a young upwardly mobile singleton in the city goes both ways. While it's great "being able to shag whoever" and never having to "answer to anyone over who left the milk out or ate the last Tim Tam from the box" (IT WAS SO YOU SAM! LOL, ROFL etc), it's also nice to have someone to "share the mortgage with."
I totally agree with Sam on both fronts. So I thought I'd take on some of her famous advice (Sam In The City, 04/04/07):
#1 Sam says:
Stop whinging and get up off your couch.
No one has ever met the love of their life by watching Simpsons re-runs on a Saturday night - alone. When singles whinge about their situation and stand in corners looking glum, no fellow singleton (who is sober) is going to waltz up and ask to buy them a drink. Why? Because we're attracted to people who smile, laugh and are confident in their own skin. So stand in the middle of the room, dance by yourself, look in control of your life (especially if you feel you're not) and I guarantee your luck will start to change...
J:
Very true Sam, this is especially tough for people without Foxtel (Austar for regional readers). I also like your use of punctuation " - alone".
#2 Sam Says:
Stop trawling bars
Walking around a crowded bar with the stench of spilt beer and too many cigarettes is enough to turn anyone off before they've even set eyes on your new pair of jeans and shiny white shoes. Instead, there are better ways to meet people that don't include drinking yourself into a lull so that your beer goggles make anything on two legs look half decent. Surely if you've learnt anything from this column, it's to make an effort to think outside the box. Take cooking lessons, go salsa dancing, take a course in something you're interested in, go to a bookstore; that's where the likeminded ones (and plenty of hot, sober property) are hanging out.
J:
Until I had read this I was wondering what I was doing wrong, thanks Sam. There is nothing more attractive than a sober man in shiny white shoes fidgetting aimlessly in a bookstore, mincing over a book with a crudely drawn high heel, mobile phone and martini glass on the cover.
A few questions though?
1. How many is too many cigarettes?
2. Where can I find shiny white shoes? Please ask the male colleague we hear so much about next time you do coffee and he falls to pieces in front of a powerful and gorgeously single female colleague.
3. Please define the parameters of "the box". I thought I was thinking outside of it last week, but I kept making jokes about ice addicts "furiously masturbating" and was asked to leave the salsa class.
#3 Sam says
Get a sense of humour
I once dated a guy whom I had to shake every so often in the hope of making him laugh. Ladies and lads, laugh at yourself. I beg you, stop being so serious. Life is meant to be enjoyed, not to be frightened of. Take a quick glance at any Sam and the City poll in regards to what characteristic is most attractive in the opposite sex, and you'll find a sense of humour beats out a tight butt every time.
J:
A sense of humour is just SO IMPORTANT. I don't think the best way to make your partner laugh is to shake them though, Sam. I think this is more a reflection on yourself than your poor ex-boyfriend (probably called Joost). Try a few tricks me and my friends use to laugh:
- Making fun at people of different backgrounds - "he/she's a bit racial"
- The C-word is very degrading and equally funny. Lead into the word with something like "your a stupid," "I hate the" or "she is such a."
- Homophobia eg: "You're a total fag!" or "GAAAAY!" when someone suggests something undesirable.
- If nothing else works, just say the name of a high profile personality who has just either died or been charged with child sex offences eg: "Bob Woolmer" and "Milton Orkopulous" respectively.
I also enjoyed the image of you saying "Ladies and lads, laugh at yourself" as if you were a military operative in the Boer War screaming at the POWs you held captive. You should not make racial fags laugh at themself, they are minorities!
#4 Sam says:
Run. Dance. Swim. Whatever!
Speaking of taut buns, working up a sweat induces endorphins. You feel good, you look good, you get confident and things spiral onwards from there. You don't have to spend hours at the gym (quite frankly that gets rather boring) but 30 minutes a day is all you need to look and feel good. Plus there are a number of hotties at the gym, down at the beach and at the local swimming pool. Don't be shy!
J:
No kudos for the misleading title. Also, things spiral "upwards", not "onwards".
I do agree with working out though. Another good thing to do is join an all-male old boys football team affiliated with a local private school. It's a great way to exercise. You work out a range of muscles in a competetive environment, meet up with friends old and new, there's always heaps of girls watching on the weekends - and only most of them are rubbish! The aggressively-macho but homo-erotic club president is usually the best one to see about signing up.
#5 Sam says:
Get a wingman (or woman)
Lads, never underestimate the power of a good wingwoman. That's because girls love men who already have women interested in them. It's something in our DNA that makes us thrive on the knowledge that this guy has been pre-screened by one of our own kind. Just make sure she isn't secretly in love with you and is trying to sabotage your game. Or if she is, and you're into her too, then lady-hunting problem is solved.
J:
I put this strategy into play last weekend by chasing a female friend of mine until she screamed 'Rape!' and we all had a good laugh.
As Sam says, being a young upwardly mobile singleton in the city goes both ways. While it's great "being able to shag whoever" and never having to "answer to anyone over who left the milk out or ate the last Tim Tam from the box" (IT WAS SO YOU SAM! LOL, ROFL etc), it's also nice to have someone to "share the mortgage with."
I totally agree with Sam on both fronts. So I thought I'd take on some of her famous advice (Sam In The City, 04/04/07):
#1 Sam says:
Stop whinging and get up off your couch.
No one has ever met the love of their life by watching Simpsons re-runs on a Saturday night - alone. When singles whinge about their situation and stand in corners looking glum, no fellow singleton (who is sober) is going to waltz up and ask to buy them a drink. Why? Because we're attracted to people who smile, laugh and are confident in their own skin. So stand in the middle of the room, dance by yourself, look in control of your life (especially if you feel you're not) and I guarantee your luck will start to change...
J:
Very true Sam, this is especially tough for people without Foxtel (Austar for regional readers). I also like your use of punctuation " - alone".
#2 Sam Says:
Stop trawling bars
Walking around a crowded bar with the stench of spilt beer and too many cigarettes is enough to turn anyone off before they've even set eyes on your new pair of jeans and shiny white shoes. Instead, there are better ways to meet people that don't include drinking yourself into a lull so that your beer goggles make anything on two legs look half decent. Surely if you've learnt anything from this column, it's to make an effort to think outside the box. Take cooking lessons, go salsa dancing, take a course in something you're interested in, go to a bookstore; that's where the likeminded ones (and plenty of hot, sober property) are hanging out.
J:
Until I had read this I was wondering what I was doing wrong, thanks Sam. There is nothing more attractive than a sober man in shiny white shoes fidgetting aimlessly in a bookstore, mincing over a book with a crudely drawn high heel, mobile phone and martini glass on the cover.
A few questions though?
1. How many is too many cigarettes?
2. Where can I find shiny white shoes? Please ask the male colleague we hear so much about next time you do coffee and he falls to pieces in front of a powerful and gorgeously single female colleague.
3. Please define the parameters of "the box". I thought I was thinking outside of it last week, but I kept making jokes about ice addicts "furiously masturbating" and was asked to leave the salsa class.
#3 Sam says
Get a sense of humour
I once dated a guy whom I had to shake every so often in the hope of making him laugh. Ladies and lads, laugh at yourself. I beg you, stop being so serious. Life is meant to be enjoyed, not to be frightened of. Take a quick glance at any Sam and the City poll in regards to what characteristic is most attractive in the opposite sex, and you'll find a sense of humour beats out a tight butt every time.
J:
A sense of humour is just SO IMPORTANT. I don't think the best way to make your partner laugh is to shake them though, Sam. I think this is more a reflection on yourself than your poor ex-boyfriend (probably called Joost). Try a few tricks me and my friends use to laugh:
- Making fun at people of different backgrounds - "he/she's a bit racial"
- The C-word is very degrading and equally funny. Lead into the word with something like "your a stupid," "I hate the" or "she is such a."
- Homophobia eg: "You're a total fag!" or "GAAAAY!" when someone suggests something undesirable.
- If nothing else works, just say the name of a high profile personality who has just either died or been charged with child sex offences eg: "Bob Woolmer" and "Milton Orkopulous" respectively.
I also enjoyed the image of you saying "Ladies and lads, laugh at yourself" as if you were a military operative in the Boer War screaming at the POWs you held captive. You should not make racial fags laugh at themself, they are minorities!
#4 Sam says:
Run. Dance. Swim. Whatever!
Speaking of taut buns, working up a sweat induces endorphins. You feel good, you look good, you get confident and things spiral onwards from there. You don't have to spend hours at the gym (quite frankly that gets rather boring) but 30 minutes a day is all you need to look and feel good. Plus there are a number of hotties at the gym, down at the beach and at the local swimming pool. Don't be shy!
J:
No kudos for the misleading title. Also, things spiral "upwards", not "onwards".
I do agree with working out though. Another good thing to do is join an all-male old boys football team affiliated with a local private school. It's a great way to exercise. You work out a range of muscles in a competetive environment, meet up with friends old and new, there's always heaps of girls watching on the weekends - and only most of them are rubbish! The aggressively-macho but homo-erotic club president is usually the best one to see about signing up.
#5 Sam says:
Get a wingman (or woman)
Lads, never underestimate the power of a good wingwoman. That's because girls love men who already have women interested in them. It's something in our DNA that makes us thrive on the knowledge that this guy has been pre-screened by one of our own kind. Just make sure she isn't secretly in love with you and is trying to sabotage your game. Or if she is, and you're into her too, then lady-hunting problem is solved.
J:
I put this strategy into play last weekend by chasing a female friend of mine until she screamed 'Rape!' and we all had a good laugh.
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