Days Gone By of A Charming Nobody

A few weeks after I completed the last exam that would mean I’d knocked out a (very underwhelming) BA in 3 years; I took a flight to San Francisco. It was a stormy bumpy ride on a Pan Am plane that seemed to have bits missing. I swear I could see outside through this little open bit next to my foot.
I almost didn’t make it into the country which became my home for 9 years. For some reason after reading my visa application the immigration guys at the airport had this idea I was planning to overstay my holiday visa and work in the country illegally...They interrogated me, like really. “So you said you planned to stay in the United States of America and work”. I kept saying “No, I did not say that!” That’s the most indignant I’ve ever been. Here I was such a nice girl and they were so mean to me. They went through my luggage in the middle of the airport and pulled out my underwear and diary which they went through. They made me carry my bags around the airport. I was finally allowed to take my connecting flight from Hawaii to Fan Francisco, but they cut my visa down to a few days and told me to get to Mexico as fast as possible. I had to run what felt like miles to make my flight as the little bus that was taking people there had long gone. Thankfully they help the flight for me. And then there I was. Face to face with the boyfriend.
We didn’t really have a plan as I recall. The boyfriend I had not seen for 4 months, his slightly older sister and one of his smart handsome charming friends and I were to embark on a road trip which would take us to Mexico. Being an expert at living in the moment, I was just there.. Why not? What would I have done in Australia with an arts degree and no plan...? And PJ had asked me to come and I’d become driven in terms of making that happen. I’d begged and borrowed money and there I was. It was winter not summer.
I sort of remember what PJ was wearing when he picked me up from the airport. I also remember what I was wearing. I hocked a whole lot of stuff at the Balmain Markets before I left. Including 21st birthday gifts which were sold for stupid prices (that glass thing for jewellery turned out to be fancy crystal I later found out). Before I even left the markets I’d spent the money I made on new clothes.
We ended up in a bar, my first American bar. It was probably called Jacks or something like that. There seemed to be more bourbon than coke in my drinks (which is the opposite of the way things were done in Australia), and after 3 of them I had to go to the bathroom. I actually crawled on my hands and knees from the bar around the corner to our hotel without the others realising. I vomited and lay down sensing it was on my newish-and-chuffed-with garment and my hair and fell asleep. This is not the romantic reunited with PJ evening I would have expected.
The following morning PJ’s sister Chris introduced me to these bucket sized cups of drip coffee that had a caramel sort of flavour. I recall there were these Mexican food looking breakfasts and doughnuts everywhere at an ugly place we went to right around the corner- next to that bar. OK. So we sort out my visa situation. The Australian Consulate is very empathetic. It’s pretty impossible to call immigration. We go down there and get this thing called a visa extension form and pay a bunch of money. All the public buildings and infrastructure seems so old fashioned compared to shiny and new Sydney. This makes it seem more like the movies. Ed, (PJ’s friend the traveller/writer) says we absolutely must obtain acid because we are going to Vegas. (I have to tell the truth right now, I didn’t know who Hunter S Thompson was, but I was somewhat familiar with acid- but only ever in small amounts. Control freaks like me can only ever get a tiny bit into certain drugs). We go to Haight Ashbury and the boys are amazed how cheap it is. Ed had this weird fat bound-with-coloured-cottons ponyrat’s tail that happened upon his hair in India. Maybe that made it so easy to get the drugs. Not sure. Anyway, we seemed to have everything we needed and more...(in a fit of over excitement at how cheap luxury cosmetics and Persol sunglasses were I’d been downtown and spent half my modest funs. PJ notes I am spending money like a drunken sailor and I wonder why I’ve never heard this expression before............)

Bad Gift Shops and Gym TVs

The quinoa has been cooking for 3 hours and is still....crunchy. Something is wrong. Why do lint and weeds exist? These are the kind of things I ponder as I hang out the washing. Having just finished a radio brief on the middle class, I marvel that I fit into this group...sort of..as I've never felt so working class. I've begun fantasising about what it might be like to have somebody come to mow the lawns whilst I get a pedicure.

This is the kind of town that has many many many gym TV screens turned on at the same time, as well as endless gift shops filled with strange and ugly things, but no tarragon.

Family Life in the Country. Sound Sexy?

So yes, there is a mothers group I attend. Last week they held it at the local Greyhound Club. It's the kind of place where a schnitzel looks like a potato cake that fills up an entire plate, and children wolf down stuff parents ought not let them eat (particularly because it is fried and unrecognisable, and the parents themselves weigh 146 kilos)...the kind of place which brings on depression in me very speedily.

Interestingly enough, the other night the pastry chef turned breakfast radio presenter held me close as I cried deeply in some strange primal, animalistic suffering, moaning way. "Does all your family sound like this when they cry?" he asked. It was like the cry of every moment in my life I've ever felt I might be unwanted. It came from that deep hole inside we are usually trying to fill up. The country life seems to bring about a self in contemplation I've not experienced before. I get lots of flashbacks.

The town we live in has a very big lake. I walk around it everyday. Recollections of characters in San Fransisco I had forgotten, and conversations with people on street corners come into my mind as the pram makes it's noise against the now, very familiar, path . These memories are vivid. I'm not deliberately thinking about the San Francisco years, they just seem to be part of this release I'm having down here. I find this let down of memory interesting considering my consumption of so much really good Champagne, wine and Ma Huang over there; I had come to think of them as the hazeblurrdrift?cool years. Is it the country, or something to do with motherhood...family life...this relationship..and the meditative drives, paddles and walks we take which is bringing the past back with colour and pizazz?

A few evenings ago I attended a show at the local theatre- Interpreti Veneziani Baroque Ensemble. Absolutely fabulous. All these Italian men with string instruments and a triangle. Most of the audience had very grey hair..I didn't bump into anybody from mothers group or the supermarket. Then again...this is one of those towns where99.5% of shoppers definitely want a plastic bag even if they have less than three items. This is also the kind of town where a checkout lady once got very annoyed at me because I did not want my slice of watermelon in a plastic bag. In fact, she told me to stop being ridiculous and put it in a plastic bag anyway. The only place I ever experience traffic anymore is also in the supermarket.

I wonder if my city friends enjoyed the recent shows of Joan As Police Woman and the Tallest Man on Earth? Baby Wantons capacity to be entertaining, makes up for every show I have missed this year. I particularly like it when he does the wanton boogie and then shrieks with laughter. His papa is a bit of a showman as well. It's rather infectious actually. I find myself breaking into singing sentences to friends while on the phone. Hmmmmmm

Must be time to walk around the lake.

Consuming Skies and the Language of Rivers- Sequins and Gumboots in the Country

So it's my first time living in a country town. My mother,( intelligent, getting older, journalist, Anglican...), says it's wise that we stay here for a few years. She seems to think that tucked away in the country, no harm can come to us, and we can wait out the nasty 'world financial crisis'. She's very pleased about my friendship with the tattooed wife of the bishop I might add.

This is the kind of town where it is large enough to spend 1.5 hours searching for a good croissant, and it's also the kind of town where you will never find anything that comes close.

Not sure if I mentioned I now have a babe...my little wanton I call him..

Fancy Shoes and Socks in Luminous Pretty Doorways

Dinosaur Jr were grumpy....


Regina Spektor was cute....


The Shins played the other night in front of the most enthusiastic audience I have seen for some time. For me, it was a watching the clock and squirming in my seat kind of event. Perhaps I just can't handle wholesome- they were like The Wiggles. Robbie Buck, sitting behind me, was so excited by the performance...he seemed to be in an altered state. It turned out he was straight as my new fringe, and just genuinely elated by the performance. Sweet...

Something I did revel in was Blonde Readhead. A sexy show with so many pretty sounds. Nice crowd too.


The Shout Out Louds are here to make breakfast.

Lemon Against Parquet: Wearing Bangles

Exciting things that happened over the last few months:

Being in the same room as Jeff Tweedy

New albums from The Broken West( out on Longtime Listener which has a very fetching wireless dial logo) and The Clientele ( Popfrenzy can do no wrong).
Speaking of-

The pastry chef turned radio producer, myself, and others showed up to see Patrick Wolf last week. He was wearing his shorts, spinning great tales, and it was hard not to look at his hair a lot. He's 23. I'll be interested to see what he goes on to do. I made mention to the genius behind PopFrenzy, our Chris Wu, that young Patrick would be a pleasant lunch date. Chris confirmed this hunch to be a truth.

Buttercups and Glass Prisms

Why do people eat in underground food hall mall things? It's so ghastly. What is the opposite of this sort of aesthetic has been the last few performances I have seen by The Australian Ballet. Both New Romantics and Body Torque deserved a massive applause, unlike the feelings I experienced at Clap Your Hands Say Yeah last week, where I was yawning.

Garibaldi the Cuban dancer came in to visit Maya last week. I asked him if he found it boring here compared to Cuba. He said yes. He's going to move here anyway.

"The Shots- Robbie's Birthday" This is a note I have written to myself, and no longer remember what it means.

Paul Stanley from Kiss came in. He looked as 80's style well preserved as Jackie Collins, and he was wearing a very fabulous wig, or so a certain Dr told me.

I have had my very distracting other mother sort of person from Manhattan in town, hence the lack of recent input. Our trip along the great ocean road and other such sojourns are tales I've yet to tell. People still talk about Thelma and Louise, and adventures with D'Stucker, remind me why.