"I fidget with the didgit dots...
But the matrix grid don't care."
- Mi-Sex, Computer Games, 1979
"Think about the old days
And all the friends I've lost
Darting back to Darlinghurst
Stations of the Cross."
- Spot The Dog, One More Roll Of The Dice, 1996
Sin City, day 11 minus 2
Overcast but clear, humidity 83%
My feet are sore; I have spent a bit of time on them in the past few days. Sin City is a place where the geography encourages walking and social life includes a lot of standing.
On Wednesday the ANZAC Day March wended almost past my front door, so despite the bouts of torrential rain I popped out to have a look.
This was my first observation of this city’s march, and I was impressed by the number of participants (the marchers stretched on forever) and spectators (numbers were reportedly down, but even so they formed impressive crowds). What struck me most though is how much the tone of the day has changed.
Even as recently as a decade ago, ANZAC Day was a select affair. This week, I saw people marching and attending who once would never have participated, nor been welcomed so enthusiastically. Many, many platoons of Vietnam War veterans; Korean War veterans; regiments from Hong Kong, Ireland, Malta, Turkey, Rhodesia, the UK and US; regiments of Gurkhas, Sikhs, Pacific Islanders. The crowd was as varied as the marchers, and everyone cheered enthusiastically for everyone else. One of the many bands marched past playing “We Are Australian”, an unexpected if apt musical selection.
True, there were some ‘old-style’ attendees – aggressive young men carrying beers and appearing drunk well before midday, scanning the crowd and apparently seeking trouble – but I saw only three little bands like this. The vast majority were respectful, inclusive and pleasant.
Last night, wonder of wonders, I had competing invitations! Good Lord, it’s been such a long time since my social calendar has bulged so expansively – one of the side-effects of exile in Tasnarnia is (yet again) the business of making friends and influencing people in a foreign land, a protracted and cumbersome process hampered by my slide into Grumpy Old Woman territory. Well punks, I felt lucky last night and went to both.
Both invites were from work colleagues whom I also regard as marvellous friends. The first, courtesy of Martin, was the opening (with drinks) of an art exhibition featuring painter Angus McDonald and ceramicist Fiona Myer in collaboration. Martin and his SO Amanda knew Angus when they were living in NE NSW; the third member of our party was James, who grew up in that area. Martin also introduced us to his Sydney friends and erstwhile temp-house-hosts, Paul and Penny, who were there. Wow, too much confluence. I enjoyed the sparse, lovely artwork, which made me think about technique and light. Then we stood on the street outside the Tim Olsen Gallery Annex in Paddington where drinks were served on the naturestrip under a mini-marquee. The Janz bubbly was a welcome Tasnarnian touch.
After some convivial conversation with these charming people, James and I took a turn for the nerd. He was heading off to a Sydney Webloggers meeting, which was convening at the beguiling Arthouse Hotel in the city, and being an occasional reader of the Chronicles felt I might like to join him. Having never been to the Arthouse nor talked with more than two bloggers at once (that’s talking using real words, face-to-face) I thought, why not?
Well, as dear James put it, there were no “potential stalkers and freaks”; I met some lovely people and consequently cottoned onto some fun blogs including those by Icy, Mark, John and Bryan (thanks Emily for the pic). I also bumped into one blast from the past, Brad Howarth, whom I last saw back in the 90s, condemned to one final year of skulking about the RMIT hallways I was fleeing. This too was another fine event – thumbs up for uber-blogger The Bargain Queen for organising. Anyone who’s motto is Live like a Queen, Spend like a Pauper is a winner.
* Try Morse Code. You know you want to.
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