Guess who?

 
A few weeks back I attended a conference near the birdy. He’s located in the middle of a traffic island in the Docklands, with no real pedestrian access, so I had to dodge heavy traffic to get this close for the photo. Drivers were amused.

Then I thought, screw it, so I ran all the way up to the birdy and gave him a hug. A very awkward corner hug with straight arms at a 90-degree angle because he’s so big. And square. You would have to get eight or so people to hug him completely.

Then I said the first thing that came to mind — “Hi Birdy, I love you.” — before running away.

No, I am not kidding. And in case you’re wondering, it felt great. I totally recommend it.

And, to continue this thread that I am a sentimental dork, I cried while watching Ben Lee’s portion of the Commonwealth Games closing ceremony last night. Cried like a BABY.

It was a combination, really, of the lyrics to the song We’re All in This Together, and thinking how it’s been so great to watch Ben Lee grow as a person and a performer after he got dumped, and to watch him really enjoy the experience. Plus the old happy photos of migrants (which depressingly reminded me they used to *pay* people to move here but permanent residency is so far away for me). Then all the people lifted their pink cards to spell out I ♥ M(elbourne) in the middle of the MCG and moved the cards in and out like a heartbeat.

Sarah Blasko’s rendition of Don’t Dream It’s Over by Crowded House, with the fake snow, was also beautiful and started the tears again.

I think I’m in one of those periods when every song on the radio (or TV) is somehow about me.

On a happier note, Paul Kelly also performed, with Dan Kelly, which meant DAN KELLY WAS ON TV! Woo!

And another: Did anyone see Crate Man? He was created to make commuters happy. One of the many reasons I know I’m in my city.

CRATE MAN UPDATE: I’ve changed the above link: it’s the same lot of pics on another site but with a string of comments, which say Crate Man was still standing/sitting as late as Thursday. I could’ve sworn I read in one of the dailies that he didn’t last very long. Can anyone confirm this?

Singapore vs. Wales: the men’s table tennis semifinals at the Commonwealth Games

 
Divorce is trendy.

Well, that’s what someone said to me last week, but I don’t believe it. It does seem to be making itself much more visible in my vicinity, though. In some ways this saddens and worries me, but I suppose the bright side is more shared experience.

This weekend I attended a show by a musician I’ve long admired. I thought Ex-Mr Honey might attend because he was a fan also. Instead, in walked Ex-Mr Honey’s friend, with whom I hadn’t kept in contact. Our initial conversation was thus:

HIM: How are you doing?
ME: I’m doing really well. How are you?
HIM: I got divorced, too!

We had a funny conversation about the similarities of our circumstances. The friend later introduced me to the musician and we got to talking, too. After telling him how much I identified with some of the lyrics on his latest album, he revealed that he wrote it after going through his divorce, at roughly the same time as us. It was very surreal, to say the least. And cathartic.

The next day I attended the table tennis semifinals at the Commonwealth Games — very fun, and I couldn’t believe how crazy and complex their serves were. Such serious, sneaky ping-pong.

Then who should I see wearing an official photography vest but one of my wedding photographers!

I toyed with whether or not it would be too awkward to say hello, but he and his wife were the loveliest people, and I still recommend their services to people regardless. Luckily, he was quite receptive. It was great to see him and know they’re doing well and see photos of his absolutely adorable daughter. And I had to laugh when he said they still use my wedding photos in their portfolio.

First stop on the Cremorne tour: the studio of Bruce Armstrong, of Bunjil-sculpting fame

 
My weekend, part two
On Sunday I had invitations to two parties. The first was Carolyn’s, which I was excited about because Carolyn knows how to throw a fabulous do (there is a tiny bit of Martha Stewart in her) and there was mention of a walking tour of Cremorne.

Most people consider Cremorne to be part of Richmond, if they’ve heard of it at all. If you want an SAT analogy, Cremorne : Richmond = Westgarth : Northcote. It’s one of those forgotten neighbourhoods that don’t even have their own postcode, but very rich histories indeed.

 

 

looking up at the sign above the old Slade Knitwear factory

 
We learned about gangland murders, prostitution and Stan Hall, the neighbourhood barber/tobacconist/bookie. The best bit was an anecdote about Carolyn’s grandmother, who used to swim in the Yarra and knew when she was near the Rosella factory because the river was red from tomato sauce.

 

the Cremorne Pleasure Gardens mural

 
We also learned of the Cremorne Pleasure Gardens, which sounded a bit like Neverland and lasted only 10 years. All sorts of animals, hot-air balloons, gondolas, carousels. We visited a very, very long mural that hinted at some of what went on there (with some artistic license, I presume, given that the tiger in the mural was much bigger than the gondola).

 
All in all a very satisfying day.

Jan Juc beach

 
My weekend, part one
Saturday was spent at my favourite beach, after a lazy morning and a few pit stops along the way (including the time I yelled, “Giant thrift store!” and a U-turn was abruptly performed by the driver).

 

I like the hint of wild-woman hair in my shadow

 
I love this beach because:

 

seaweed everywhere

 
How lovely to read the Saturday papers with a gorgeous view and sand in your toes. As the day grew longer, we kept moving our beach chairs to keep ahead of the cliff shadows. A bit like my own attitude to autumn, I suppose — I’m always trying to fight it because summer seems to disappear so quickly.

I had an interesting discussion with someone last night about Melbourne’s negative reputation for crazy weather. Really, though, it’s so much more interesting than other places you could live (like Los Angeles, or London, for example, where the chap has been living). When it’s 30 degrees or more in Melbourne, everyone talks about it like it’s news. People get excited and try to make the most of it — you never know when the last really hot day of the year is going to occur.

 

So smooth — my toes get excited just thinking about it.

This is for my sister, who wondered how I was so confident the ferny pillow in the U.S. would match the chair and green pillows in Australia.

 
This is not the true colour of my walls. It is closer to the colour I wish they were, but, eh, close enough. I was hoping for something dirtier and more interesting, but what I got looks a bit more like pastel Easter candy. It doesn’t really matter, I suppose, because it looks 10 times better than before, and it feels more like home. Ahhh.

 

still not the true colour

 
I think something my naturopath gave me has been giving me strange dreams. Many, many, many strange dreams, that make so much sense at the time but seem ridiculous later. So ridiculous I have to share them.

This is the point where you either laugh and say, “Why yes, these are crazy dreams, ha ha,” or, “Honey is psycho and I can’t believe I read this crap.” Some examples from the past week:

1. My sister and I were in a horror film in which we levitated at random times and didn’t know why or how to control it. At the end, in a scary Blair Witch kind of way, we saw this creepy guy eating buttered toast, with long hairs stuck in the butter — our hairs that he had collected. It turned out he was controlling us from our fallen-out hairs — we levitated when he licked them. For about 10 minutes after I woke up, I was convinced this was going to be the best idea for a horror film screenplay EVER. Seriously.

2. My cat was one of my employees. She sat in her napping position on one of the desk chairs at work, and she didn’t look any different to how she does now. She didn’t talk either. When someone asked who should take on a particular project, I said definitely not Miko because it would take her too long — she’s not as fast or capable as the others. Naturally.

3. Loobylu’s daughter Amelia was five or six years old and competing on a TV game show for kids, where the host asks questions and the kids draw their answers (with extra points awarded for creative interpretation). One of the questions was: “Draw something nice you can do to help others.” Other kids drew things like helping old ladies cross the street or weeding the garden. Amelia’s answer was “drawing skeletons”, and she had drawn a funny cartoon image of herself drawing bones on someone’s skin. At the time I thought this was hilarious and highly creative and was sure she would win.

4. I was getting married again, in Australia again, and somehow I’d also won the lottery. I paid for all of my immediate family to fly out for the wedding, but my sister-in-law’s family got really angry because I didn’t pay for them to go too. After all, I’d won the lottery.