Theater.

I went with a friend to a preview of a play tonight, she had free tickets. It was "The Kid", an early 80s piece by Michael Gow (and no, I hadn't heard of it - or him - either). Edgy, controversial and whatnot.

I didn't get it. And when I talked with my friend afterwards, we agreed that the problem with theater generally is that it's so... well, theatrical.

DJ895

There was a young man on the flight sitting next to me this evening who was wearing a baseball cap AND who called me 'bro', which normally would have set me off into my usual silent frenzy of disdain, but he was quite polite (and a south african) and I was just grateful to be on the flight, having realised halfway through the afternoon that I had, in fact, booked for the wrong day and was scheduled to fly tomorrow instead of today. Which then cost me to more to change than it had cost to buy the ticket in the first place. I consoled myself by buying a can of diet coke for $2.50 which, when you think about it, is actually a pretty good price. In midair.

All other things being equal, I tend to fly Virgin Blue rather than Qantas for a couple of reasons: 1) DJ have a slightly better on-time departure and arrival record than QF, 2) I do like that thing where you can board and disembark using the rear stairs, which involves walking along the tarmac and seeing all the planes up close, which in turn appeals to my inner 9 year-old and has a vague Beatles-at-Idlewild thing going, and 3) Qantas is Telstra-with-wings in some respects.

Russian

I was watching television today with my kids (I'm a very lazy parent) and there was an ad for Domino's pizza. They were advertising, among other things, a 'Russian' pizza. The voiceover was a woman with a Boris-and-Natasha russian accent. The selling point for this pizza? It had lots of tomato, and various other things, none of which were remotely russian. If you don't believe me, here's a link.

I've been to Russia and there was hardly any food there at all, as far as could see. But a 'russian' pizza, if you were to make such a thing (why? why on earth?) would have... well, caviar, vodka, more vodka, borscht, cabbage, black bread. When I was in Russia in the early 90s the people looked as though they'd be happy to eat the bark off trees. So maybe you could throw that on as well.

Extra: as I was writing this I had a flashback to a fantastical menu item they had at Domino's for a while last year, the 'Meat Pie Pizza'. It's no longer available, but you can see a picture of it here. This is wrong in so many ways I can't even begin to start but at the same time it has a certain exuberant charm.

Busted

In Melbourne this morning, I crossed Spencer Street against the lights, on foot (of course). There was a break in traffic and I went half-way across, as one does, and waited for another break in traffic to go all the way across. I was thinking at the time how very Melbourne-y it all was; trams, slate-grey sky, a bit of wind and rain, agreeably chilly and whatnot. The light changed, I continued crossing the road.

As I got to the other side a policeman approached me with an 'excuse me'. I wasn't anxious or upset, I quite welcomed the interruption. The last encounter I'd had with cops had been at a very convivial barbeque where there was a lot of discussion about various LACs and PQDs (or PDQ? Pretty Damn Quick?).

He said that I'd crossed against the lights, but that it was good that I hadn't in fact crossed all the way, and that I'd waited for the lights to continue my crossing (which was only because there were cars galore). I tried to look contrite. He told me I'd get away with a warning, and that I should watch out if I'm in the city around Grand Prix time, as they were planning on having a blitz on jaywalking. He was friendly, almost apologetic so I tried to make it as easy for both of us as possible. He then asked for my name and address (maybe he was a bit like the cops at Tony's bbq after all? I can never tell) which I gave, and while it ocurred to me at the time that I could just make up something "John W Howard, Wollstoncraft"). I was also wondering whether I really did have to give my details at all but I figured I wasn't really in a position to make a big deal of it, and he was quite polite about the whole thing.

I really don't want this blog to degenerate into one of those grumpy-old-men whinges about how everything was better and more authentic when I was a kid and whatnot, but what's the deal with Rogue Traders? It's painful to watch; she's a soap opera actress who's playing a rock chick and it has this prefabricated quality to it. Wear these clothes, Natalie, pout like this, growl when you sing etc. It's like those ads where they get chimpanzees to pretend they're at a tea party, and just as dreadful. I was especially perturbed they were at the Mardi Gras party (Rogue Traders, not the tea-drinking chimps. Although that's possible too, you just never know).

Partner

The good news is that I beat my new tennis partner, Dan, 6-3 today. I was exceptionally studly about it too. And yes, I know he had a hangover, and he at one point got all twisted up when he was doing a backhand and managed to whack himself in the head with his racquet so hard that he was bleeding, but a win is a win. And it's not like I hit him with the racquet to make him bleed; you could even argue that he only did it to himself because of my superb shot-making, so in that sense it's an integral (even though seldom-seen) part of the game.

The bad news is that he announced he's just bought a round-the-world air ticket and is leaving on Tuesday. Aaargh! I finally find someone I can beat and he skips the country! I have to say, if I see him anywhere around town in the next couple of weeks I really am going to hit him with my racquet. I'm slightly suspicious that he only mentioned this "ticket" after we'd played out the set and I was basking in glory, but in a fairly restrained and dignified way (I thought).

Celtic.

Recently I was talking to a friend, a woman who has two children, and she told me that she was thinking of getting a tattoo. The tattoo would have her two children's names, done in a fairly stylised way and in celtic lettering (well it would be, wouldn't it? Why not helvetica? Times New Roman?). She was planning on getting this on her upper back, behind her shoulder. This, apparently, isn't unusual.

So far so good. I couldn't resist though, I had to ask "why?". As I expected, she said it was to commemorate them, to give her something on her body to remember them by. I let this go, of course, but on reflection this just sounds all wrong. Without putting too fine a point on it, she already has some reminders on her body, and, for another thing, what's the risk that at some point she'll somehow forget she has children? And if she does, she's not going to be able to see this tattoo anyway, it's behind her shoulder. The only chance is that she's walking down the street and someone says to her "that's an interesting tatt, what does it mean?", at which point she'll presumably slap her forehead, d'oh!.