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I used to think that I would find the perfect place, and the more I think about Darwin the more I think that I have found it.
What Goes On
While I was in Darwin town I would eat breakfast in the little cafe at the bottom of the hotel. I was greeted each morning by the lovely staff, a wonderful coffee, muesli and a newspaper with 'Stabbed in the back while having sex' emblazoned across the front page. Apparently this sort of news is normal up there. So, as long as I am not the man being stabbed in the back while having sex, I think I could quite happily read about it in the morning over a cold, sugary grapefruit.
What You Can See
Crocodiles. According to the NT News they are everywhere.
I didn't see one, although I could feel them watching me from the dark of every street drain I passed.
You can also see very nice park areas and a bush turkey mound. I discovered that bush turkeys are avid recyclers as they collect those recycled/recyclable bags you buy in supermarkets. Apparently building a mound containing 'green' bags and other recyclable products widens the field of available lady turkeys.
Who Lives There
There is poverty and there is wealth. They are both obvious and are worn on Darwin's sleeve. The poor sit around in park areas (not the malls strangely) and the outer edges of the city. The rich people wear horse blinkers and can be found buying recycled/recyclable bags in your local supermarket. Neither group read the NT Times, however both feature prominently in its pages. The rest of the people, if they aren't tourists, backpackers or turkeys, are very relaxed, down to earth people.
The Weather
Brilliant. It is hot and humid and makes me NEED spicy food and gin and tonics. And beer. This is a climate made for me.
I wonder what the family will think...
I have always wanted to go to Darwin, ever since I found out that it was a place when I was a kid. It always seemed like this exotic far-away place that was yet to be discovered by most, but discovered enough so that I didn't have to hack my way through mangroves and fight crocodiles with my fists and a blunt razor to find it.
Now that I am here I have come to the conclusion that it is much pretty like Wollongong or Newcastle, except in a sauna. The first afternoon here I checked into the office, said g'day, and then went for an explore around the town. I stumbled across a pub that looks like it was there during the cyclone and no one bothered to whip around with a hammer and a few nails. The anthropologist in me said 'go and buy a beer and sit out the front on a bar stool like the other four blokes to get a feel for Darwin'. The beer drinker in me said 'go and get a beer, I don't give a shit where you sit'. So I grabbed a beer after much arm-twisting and went and sat on a bar stool. From this vantage point I worked out that the men of Darwin sit silently, sipping their beer watching traffic go past. They only turn their heads when young female backpackers go past. I finished my beer and wandered off with a strange sense of fulfilment.
I eventually found the ubiquitous backpacker precinct with the ubiquitous Irish pub with a name like 'O'Reillies' or Shenanigans or something. I would have been more tempted to name it something like 'O'What place does an Irish pub have in Darwin'.
I sat had a beer and waited for the restaurants to open. My stomach was of the opinion that the time really was 6:30 although the sun in the sky was convinced that it was only 5:00. Beer was going to my head violently and dangerously, and I was sweating so much my eyes were filling up. Using my pen was like writing with a bar of soap.
Time to move to another pub...
I ended up sitting across the road from the Indian restaurant, gin and tonic in hand, feeling even worse. 6pm came and went and there was no sign of movement in the restaurant, so I did what I was desperately trying to avoid all along. Sitting in the hotel restaurant, by myself, staring out at the world through sad, lonely eyes. There must be some sort of a look lone travellers have, because upon arival the waiter showed me to a single seat and brought out a glass of shiraz large enough to drown my sorrows and two large horses.
So there endeth my first day in Darwin; me, a meal, wine, a street view and the only company available was a boot that someone had thoughtfully thrown up onth the roof of the shed across the road.
Everyone has a favourite car. It doesn't matter if you are a hippie, with an outward love of an ironic people mover that manifested itself out of Nazi Germany, or a complete rev head that has to paint his 458 kilowatt 6.7 litre, supercharged V8 a shade of pink that would make the Mardi Gras jealous. For each and every one of us there is a car that we want and secretly need. Here are some examples:
- The Dalai Lama could cross the sub-continent on bare feet, but I am sure he would love to do it in a Tata Nano and really stick it to the Chinese
- Arnold Schwarzenegger, famous for his role in the movie Predator and nothing else, brought the Hummer into popular culture - a car with a reputation for violating trees and burning the evidence with raw coal, hippies and coral. He really wanted to import the Humber (my dad had one, therefore it is cool). Unfortunately people in Carlifaunya found his accent confusing and decided on a car made for serious military applications and suburban wankers. Arnie was so distraught and emotional he went and made movies about being pregnant and the end of the world in the future, which is really the past and is caused by machines. What?
- John Howard likes cars because he discovered them three days ago when he finally pulled his head out of George Bush's arse. He apparently likes humming, not Humbers.
- Kevin Rudd likes cars because they can be insulated, and they burn oil. His outward and open favourite is the Prius, but secretly he prefers anything made by Learjet.
- Paris Hilton likes the Hummer too. Apparently it was so 'like, yesterday'.
We all have a car, and mine is ths one:
This is the Dodge Challenger. It is made from sex, chocolate and the biggest, fattest, dirtiest Barossa Shiraz ever made. It also has a bit of chili beef jerky stuck between the front teeth. It eats Hot Dogs from a corner-diner and drinks beer with a bourbon/tabasco chaser. Apparenly corners are being phased out in 17 States because of this car's inability to accept the fact that it has to compromise power for practicality.
One of my first memories is of when I was about my son's age; 2-3 years old to be precise.
I was in the back of Mum and Dad's Honda Civic at the Narrabundah Drive In watching Star Wars. Aside from gaining an infatuation with Darth Vader, I remember thinking 'I can't believe I am at a drive-in movie, in the late 70's in a fucking Honda Civic. I mean, seriously Dad, what happened to the Humber, and why didn't you upgrade to a SRT-8 friggin Challenger?' My thoughts followed on eventually to 'geez, Darth Vader would have bought a Challenger, I mean, he cut off his own son's hand! That is pure dedication...' I went to sleep in the underwhelmingly proportioned back seat, breathing with great, profound depth.
My Mazda Astina recently blew up. It is dead. It is an ex-parrot. It has ceased to exist.
I told my lovely, patient wife that I needed a new car, and the safest option was something akin to an Abrams tank that could get out of sticky situations through sheer power. If needed. You know, for the safety of the kids...
I have to find a new favourite car. Apparently.
The Dreameth Hath Endetheth
Well I suppose it has, but in these times of fast writing, instant messaging and general mucking about I just haven't sat down and dedicated an hour to putting my thoughts into blog format. The other thing is that once you get out of the pattern and the drill you end up losing confidence, and worrying that you may make a goose of yourself in the end. Which I do regularly anyway. You also tend to focus on the negative things in life and dwell on things that just don't matter any more.I did start to write about the time my family, while we were living in the USA, visited Niagara Falls and camped there. But that is for another post at another time. The song you may or may not be listening to has something to do with that (click the play button above).
I suppose I had better catch you up with life in Bungers Central. AARON HAS STARTED WALKING!!!
I apologise for the quality, it is done with my phone. The quality is, however, much better than an iPhone even though my phone is two years old. Slam.
You may think that the music doesn't match, well I don't care for your opinion. It smells like a poo. An iPoo.
You may pick up that I am annoyed with iPod, iPhone or anything by Apple iPhuk. You may be right, but you may be more correct in saying that I am just a bit jealous of people in the other countries that managed to get them at decent prices or on decent plans. May your hard drives become as corrupt as Morris Iemma, and your battery life be as minuscule as Sarah Palin's intellect. And may your touch screen sue you for indecent assault.
Speaking of politicians, Turdbull has been awfully quiet, is he trying to seem intelligent, or is he actually intelligent? I hate to admit it, but if this is the trend, I might start to like the libs an eensy, teensy bit. They at least seem to be behaving in a constructive manner, rather than the old Dr. Nelson aka Captain Bitchy Pants method of 'let's be as negative as possible and see if people begin to like us'. It doesn't work, just take a look at North Korea.
Onward with the rant muthas! Where should I go from here. Oh, yeah, Qantas. Well don't flying turkeys come home to roost!
Where next? Um. I just had a look at this site, and it stopped my rant dead in its tracks. Thanks Frommelbin, I am going to bed now.
Having recently left one job, and started another I have come to a point where things that once made sense don't any more. Things that were once unclear are now lucid and transparent. I was comfortable in my stagnation; personal drive was destroyed at every burst. Life assumed a predictable course - until I was fucked over that is.
I am not going to take this little opportunity to lambaste the people that deliberately did me wrong. They don't deserve my full attention, the bottom feeding, plague-bringers that they are. They make the bile rise in my throat just thinking about them. On the other hand, I don't want you to misinterpret what I say here. There were a small handful of people that did what they could to keep me there. Mostly my friends and mentors. Thanks.
I am much happier now, however I just can't shake some feelings of regret. I am in a wonderful place, developing strong friendships and acquaintances, tonnes of opportunity being thrown at my feet, and my home life is much happier for leaving. I just can't get rid of it. Will it pass?
Sometimes I just want to scream and yell at the injustice people are suffering for the selfishness of others. Sometimes I feel such anger, hatred and animosity welling up inside me that I can barely control it. The other day I looked across the lake, up that wonderful parade and shed a tear for the innocent suffering of people that are trying to do their job for the right reasons, and get shafted for the wrong reasons. A bit like the poor men at the Nek.
People must have found it hard to walk away from a war, because I find it hard enough walking away from a job that I loved, and hated, but mostly loved.
I think Charlie Sheen (playing Chris Taylor in his best effort to emulate his dad) summed it up well in the movie Platoon:
I think now, looking back, we did not fight the enemy; we fought ourselves. The enemy was in us. The war is over for me now, but it will always be there, the rest of my days. As I'm sure Elias will be, fighting with Barnes for what Rhah called "possession of my soul." There are times since, I've felt like a child, born of those two fathers. But be that as it may, those of us who did make it have an obligation to build again. To teach to others what we know, and to try with what's left of our lives to find a goodness and a meaning to this life
Well, maybe not precisely, but you get the gist anyway.
Maybe I did it to myself, I doubt it, but surely some of it is owed to my stubborn pride, and the fact that I will always stand up against the Barnes's and fight for the Elias's of the world.
Much of my time there doesn't make sense now, I did really well, but I also did some things really badly. All I ever got were mixed messages when all I tried to do was the right thing.
Hopefully this post will put it all behind me now. I have much more important, beautiful, exciting and wonderful things to care about.
Sometimes things just work perfectly - like Dark side of the Moon and Alice in Wonderland . Well this moment came over me whilst listening to this...
That moment happened where all of the past rushed past and the most post-modern of extraordinary expressions happened. I cried and laughed at the same time. Really. The future is now consuming me.
Everything that I ever wanted to do with music, and everything I should have and could have done was tied up into that moment. It was all of my friends and enemies, and angst and hatred and love, and... music tied into one.
It truly was weird.
Tonight I heard a bit of garbage talking. Hang on, was that garbage or was it that bit of turd under my shoe. No, wait! It's SuperTurd.
I just sat and waited for a good fifteen minutes for Dr. Brendan Nelson to say something of substance. FIFTEEN MINUTES of watching Julie Bishop's head bounce up and down like a cheap toy dog in the back window of a cheap imported car. She is so cross-eyed it is like all she does is focus on objects really close to her face. Like one of those scantily clad women in one of those films you get in Fyshwick. I think the symptom is some sort of sucker cramp.
By the way, where was Turnbull? He was conspicuously absent, perhaps he was off doing what he does best - pretending to be George Clooney. Or maybe he was causing Joe Hockey's head to bob up and down. No, that was caused by the fact that he is a fat, spineless piece of whale blubber.
There were a few moments of sheer comedic brilliance, however. Moments such as when Dr. Nelson remarked "watching petrol prices does not bring them down".
Ha, ha, ha, big belly laughs.
Good thing Julie Bishop isn't watching them. Oh wait, she can't. Julie looks in the mirror and thinks she has two heads like Zaphod.
I suppose what Dr. Nelson really wanted to say is "watching the opinion polls doesn't make you popular" or "watching a doughnut doesn't make you Joe Hockey".
Another piece of comedic brilliance was when Joe Hockey nodded his head furiously to confirm Dr. Nelson's views on alco-pops. Taxing them is going to cause the kids to take harder stuff - like marijuana.
Teenager: I can't afford a six pack of orange, yummy tasting stuff, so I am going to share a dirty, disease spreading bong that tastes like pigeon shit crossed with syphilis.
Joe Hockey : Well, pass me the bong when you are finished.
Teenager: No worries, but by the way it's not a doughnut.
Joe Hockey: I know, but that horse I just ate wasn't a doughnut either. Do you have any ideas of what I can say in parliament tomorrow? I am sick of sounding stupid. Wow, its weird when you listen to what you say, it's like you forget what you said and just keep going and going and going and eating...
Julie Bishop: (lighting bong with incredible dexterity and accuracy) It is like my eyes were designed for this.
Malcolm Turnbull: Wow, its like I'm not here.
