May 2007

  • strict warning: Non-static method view::load() should not be called statically in /home/standing/public_html/sites/all/modules/views/views.module on line 906.
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Not Another Bloody Festival

Melanie Howlett, Standing There Captain of Industry, double-dared me to do this.

Not exactly bungee jumping but shoosh. I was double-dared to go to literary festival. In my opinion, that makes me hardcore.

A Day Off

Today I had a day off.

No work, no Standing There Productions stuff, no gym, none of The Guilt.

I spent a few hours with my cousin who is over from WA and we had a beer and I had a curry and he had a club sandwich and our phones had no reception in the cafe we were in. Life is so simple when you take away the context.

Then, my friend, who has virtually the same head as me, got her hair cut with a fringe. It looks way cool. Now I have to decide whether I mind being a copycat from Ballarat (while looking heaps cool) or whether I would prefer to remain slightly uncool but retain my integrity. Tough call. Uncool, I think, is possibly the best option when you take into account my finances.

Anyway, my out-of-context day off has finished now, and I'm looking at all the work I've got to do, and I'm considering going to the movies to see my boyfriend (Johnny Depp) in his latest pirate movie, but methinks The Guilt is taking over again. Since I've been home I've put on a load of washing, done the dishes, and paid an overdue bill. Clearly The Guilt is trying its best to make me a model human being.

Keep trying, Guilt. Maybe we'll meet each other halfway.

The Universe At Large

So I went for a run today, against the instructions of my body and also my mind, both of whom have decided they rather enjoy having cups of tea and sitting in warm rooms thinking about how satellites work (seriously though, how do they work?)...

Anyway, although my brain and my body disagreed, and my shoes punished me because they are well past retirement age and would much rather be at home near the end of my bed being tripped over when I am getting ready for work, my Greater Sense Of Things combined with The Guilt meant that I decided a run was in order.

I ran around princess park, or prinny, as the fit people call it. As I came back around to the Carlton Cemetery side, I looked across the green oval and saw the following, all happening at once:

- the sun, sinking shyly behind a residential college, acting as though it wasn't responsible for the huge orange and black clouds moving with purpose in the foreground.
- rain coming in from the city.
- trams, lit up little boxes with heads in them, tearing towards Brunswick.
- people turning on the lights in their cars as they drove through the dusk.
- a car beeping at an Italian man, crossing too slowly on the parade.
- in the foreground, a dozen enormously tall African men leaping over a soccer ball.
- up ahead, looking to see if I was watching, far too many anglo boys playing aussie rules in their undies (look at us! How daring! Undies! Aren't we crazy!)

And to my right, a cemetery.

Another thing that happens when you finish a full time project: you realise you've been missing out on stuff. HEAPS of stuff.

Also, you realise how easy it is to get a stitch and a blister in your foot when you haven't walked more than a hundred metres since April.

Oh my lordy. Anyone got any dencorub?

Welcome Back The Guilt

I haven't written here for ages.

I haven't written because I've been living my actual life and because that life has not consisted of me being near a computer.

Since the festival, I have had:

a bit of a nap
only 7 cups of coffee
only 2 sessions in the gym during each of which I almost passed out/collapsed
1 trip to the beach (stayed inside by the fire and looked at photos of beach on Dad's camera)
a notice to vacate the premises served on our house
eggs on toast
a sudden and so far unrelenting fascination with satellites

... and The Guilt

One of the problems with working for yourself or being freelance or working part time or whatever is The Guilt. Your time is your own. You waste your time and there's nobody there to tell you off. You waste your time and the only person who suffers or who judges you for it is... you! No key performance indicators. No performance reviews. No pay rises or pay cuts. You are the enforcer of your own authority. The kids are in charge of the detention.

What this means is that any spare time could always be spent more productively. If I have a cup of tea, I usually make sure the radio is on so that the tea pouring time wasting time can be classified as research.

Only kidding.

Sort of.

When I broke my wrist and found myself almost totally out of commission, I must admit I was kind of relieved. There was absolutely nothing I could do about it. SWEET LIBERTY!

Anyway. It's back. The Guilt is back. At least I have some motivation for my next project. Sheer lack of ability to justify my doing anything else.

Inspirational!

The dropping of eaves

Writers are supposed to be eavesdroppers, right?

Even so, it feels so wrong. So delicious when you hear some pearl worth keeping, but so wrong all the same. Almost pervy. It is pervy, I guess.

Here's the latest. Smith Street supermarket:

Short Size 16 Woman: (Bumps into someone) Oh, gosh.

Tall, Dangerously Skinny Woman: Sorry.

SS16W: You scared the hell out of me.

TDSW: I know, I know. Sorry.

SS16W: No, sorry, you're right.

TDSW: I'm used to it.

SS16W: Beg your pardon?

TDSW: I'm used to it.

SS16W: What, scaring the hell out of me?

TDSW: No. Scaring people. Freaking people out. I freak people out. I'm sorry.

Tall Dangerously Skinny Woman backs away during last sentence and leaves. Small Size 16 Woman stands next to the beetroots with her partner.

Partner: What'd she say?

....

This is the point where the couple choose to leave the beetroots in search of breakfast cereal or eggs or chicken or cheese.

This is the point where one of three things happens:

1) The eavesdropper (that's me) stands among the crates of vegies, wondering what the Small Size 16 Woman says next.

2) The eavesdropper takes that pervy habit a little bit further, and follows the couple to the cereal section, where the eavesdropper repeatedly turns over a box of porridge while straining to hear the analysis of the previous conversation (already overheard near the beetroots) pretending that her interest in the nutritional facts on the porridge packet is nothing short of forensic.

3) The eavesdropper is interrupted with not even a moment's consideration by the person the eavesdropper has gone shopping with, who wants the eavesdropper's opinion about something particularly inane, such as the eavesdropper's choice between two different sorts of bread. No matter how many times the eavesdropper tells the people she loves that she is an eavesdropper who MUST NOT BE INTERRUPTED WHEN SHE IS OBVIOUSLY WORKING, people she loves insist on interrupting at juicy conversational climaxes with inane questions... or even interesting questions... hell, even if they interrupted with CAKE AND ALE, it is still no excuse. Having invested so much in the conversation about the skinny tall girl and her presumption that the shorter, not-so-skinny girl had been referring in an inapropriately personal way to her body, the eavesdropper wants closure!

... Anyway, in this case, the very well-trained person-who-I-love has come to realise that asking me questions in supermarkets requires a pause and a head-check before lift-off. So, in this case, option (1) was settled upon, because I was in a hurry.

Still, these conversations happen all around me. This means they must also happen all around everything else. This means that RIGHT NOW, I am missing out on overhearing a conversation. This is an appalling state for a writer to live in.

I must go out immediately and stand around in Safeway.

This will all be claimed on tax. I'm watching you, Peter Costello. And my ears are peeled.

Da Bug

So I've got the post festival bug.

This time, it comes in the form of the common cold. Touch wood. If it becomes the post festival secondary infection, then I'll be really annoyed.

By the way, here is a reason why finishing your show in the comedy festival can be good:

... other stuff exists!...

Here's some other stuff:

Anthony Lane has reviewed Spidey 3 here. Worth it just for his description of Harry Osborne's "agonized, drawn-out desire to make Spider-Man pay", which Anthony Lane reckons "makes Hamlet’s revenge look like a snap decision". Apeehee.

Since the comedy festival, I have also read What Is The What, by the ever so slightly clever Dave Eggers. It's an astonshing story, about this guy. Wow.

Also, check out this film. Stew and Rita worked on it, which is obviously why it's getting such brilliant reviews. (The involvement of Matthew, Trevor, Laszlo, and the entire rest of the cast and crew might have something to do with it, but you guys can make up your own minds. Who am I to say?).

Other things I have found myself doing on the way to recovering from the comedy festival:

1. Saw this sci-fi movie, despite the flimsy premise.

2. Saw this, which is a massive waste of money, especially if you compare it with the book I've just finished reading.

3. Slept.

Hello Again

So now I'm back in the real world and I'm crawling through work and I am so tired I can hardly see. I'm basically walking around with arms and legs but that's about all I'm doing. I'm doing an impression of myself. An impersonation. I'm doing a Lorin impersonation. Not a very good one.

Tonight, after another day catching up at work, I had a shiatsu massage at my favourite place in Melbourne, possibly the universe: the Japanese Bathhouse. Oh my lordy, that place is really something.

Aaaaaaaaanyhoo, once the goddess there had finished turning my body to liquid, she asked why I was so tired. I said I'd just done a comedy festival show.

She said, "Ah. The Comedy Festival. We've had a few of those."

I felt like I was the veteran of some shattered, defeated, crippled, brave army.

And in a way I guess I am.

Look at me, back in the first week of production, setting up my office outside the Kino Dendy in Collins Place. Just look at me. So awake. So focussed. So ready for the challenges of the weeks to come. WHAT A FOOL!

IMG_6137.JPG

What a crazy, carefree fool!

I think, for now, I will aim for loftier things.

I think perhaps I should aim for more of this....

IMG 0223

.... Now that's something I'm good at.