A gig on dodgy Washington Avenue

Well, I’ve done it – spent 10 on a ticket Wednesday night to see Explosions in the Sky and The Microphones (and others) at the smallest, seediest looking bar (shed) I could imagine – in what looks to be a highly dodgy Mexican neighbourhood. I walked about 15k on Sunday to see this place in daylight and I’m glad I did – I would never have found it at night. Looking like a cross between a derelect petrol station and an abandoned rural post-office, FatCats certainly looks like it will implant some memories on my psyche pretty soon. It’s impossible to believe that CatPower played here a week ago – the place is smaller than my house at Bagshot. Can’t wait (though already cringing at certain sinus headache).

Dodging cars in Greenway Plaza

I made it to Houston for work earlier this week, and it has been quite a nice surprise in lots of ways. Here are a few that immediately spring to mind: * It’s actually really green and lush. * There are stacks of non-barbeque restaurants all over the place. * These same restaurants have good food. * The people are extremely friendly and welcoming. Even bus drivers talk to you. * The workplace is all Ikea with blonde wood, loud colours and functional furniture. Most meeting rooms are equipped with touch screens, wall-to-ceiling world maps and 8 world clocks, tea rooms have 4 blends of coffee brewing continously, and icemakers are in every fridge. * You really do need a car in this town, but the bus system is functional and is not frequented by drug addicts and scary folk. * The nearby neighbourhoods are unbelievably affluent. For some reason most houses in these areas sport dual gas flames in lanterns on either side of the front door. Bizarre. * Suburban bars look more like run-down corrugated iron sheds (without windows). * As per usual I wish to state that I could easily live here. Typical houses are less than $200k AUS. Well, that’s it for tonight. More later..

Healesville

For our 11th anniversary, I took last Friday off and we took to the road in our dirty station wagon heading towards Mt. Dandenong off all places. The weather was more than kind, and it felt just great to be going somewhere other than Bagshot for a change. Kim had heard about the William Rickets Sanctuary, and so we stopped and paid out 6 for a half hour stroll along mossy paths through fern-lined, mountain-oak understory. The guy who created the hundreds of clay-fired, surreal and spiritual sculptures would have been quite a fellow, judging by the 1970’s inspired aboriginal diaramas. Did he die of overwork or overdose? We drove on (mildly inspired) and talked about happiness, leaving a legacy and how the Kenney’s had missed some awesome weather. At Yering Station in Yarra Glen, we dared to be a bit different and walked away with a Marsanne Viognier Roussanne (MVR) blend and the most expensive bottle I’ve ever bought – a cheeky 2002 Shiraz Viognier for 58. I saw a review of it in the newsagent the next day which pretty much said “drink in 2017”, so I’ll have to hide it well. They had a wine journalist in the tasting room, so they’d broken out the good stuff and were being extremely friendly. They were even more friendly when we said we’d buy one. Our destination was the innocuous Healesville Hotel (known to foodies everywhere as a rural holy grail) where we were sat along bench tables of 30, and were plied with courses of good Italian fare (Chicken Broth, Lasagne with Venison, Roasted Quail, Rolled Lamb with figs and green beans). To finish, it was Tira Misu and the smallest expresso on the planet. We picked the longest sounding Italian wine we could (Umani Ronchi Montepulciano D’Abruzzo) just so I could write it in my weblog – it was fine. Kim spewed up later, being unused to all the rich food. Ha. Next morning we cursed our noisy drunken neighbours – tap dancing on the upstairs balcony at 2am (egad!) and slugged our way through toast and coffee across the road before scooting home in glorious sunlight. I’ll say this though – that place had great sheets. The dogs were excited and restless to see us again, so they got a walk – much to the dismay of the Fergus.

The new beer in my life

Saturday saw us tramming it into town for the film festival again, where we witnessed the charming “Kitchen Stories” from Norway, which described a bizarre scientific experiment to track the motions of Norwegian bachelors in the post WW2 period. Funny, sad, and uplifting all in one package – a terrific film we both thought. Sitting in my backpack during proceedings were four bottles of the most exquisite, herby dark brew imaginable – purchased from Nicks on Swanston St. Probably the nicest beer I have ever tasted. Hitherto known as Coopers Extra Strong Vintage Ale (7.5%). We got home, glugged them down and then felt terrible because they are supposedly hard to come by, and watched weekly favourite “Red Cap” together on the ABC. Another weekend passes with not a lot of work getting done around the place. Oh well.

The heart is a lonely hunter – Carson McCullers

It’s amazing what they can do with a nice cover on an old book. The story had a real “To Kill a Mockingbird” feel about it – the 1940’s, life in a small American town where a lot of drink and race problems exist. And a bunch of the loneliest malcontents you could hope to meet – all loosely linked to the central deaf mute character, who is seemingly impossibly content and self-contained. Very satisfying, and with a better ending, this would be a lot more famous than it is.

Tea leaves, Malt and Toffee

Steadily nosing through “The Heart is a Lonely Hunter”, I was encouraged by all that liquor talk and found myself reaching for a bottle of All-Saints Tokay. It’s annoyed me for awhile that I’d struggle to name the difference between a Port, a Muscat or a Tokay, so I tried again and again to REALLY TASTE IT FOR ONCE. Kim said “Bugger it – just call them stickies and don’t worry about the difference”. For now I just have to remember – Tokay is Tea Leaves, Malt and Toffee. Time to try another tonight for practice.

A day at the movies

On Sunday I went to the 2004 MIFF and plonked myself down amongst the faithful. It’s not normally my thing to go to movies at all, let alone by myself. Kim had decided to sit this one out and do housework at home, so it felt indulgent of me, and I sat hemmed in on all sides amongst what I imagined to be knowlegeable filmgoers. The first film was a documentary about an Australian man in the 1940’s who was the first to try chemical (i.e Lithium) means to cure schizofrenia and other manic afflictions in people. He killed a hell of a lot of Guinea Pigs in the process. The director and the producer talked about their inspiration and said that a lot of former patients were in the audience at the back. I didn’t dare turn around and look. In the age of the Hollywood blockbuster, it was great to hear real people speak about an UNSUNG HERO, who right till the end maintained he was just a guy who got a lucky break. To carry on the morbid theme, the second film was about how the Anaconda Copper Mine company arranged for the killing of a Union agitator in Butte, Montana in 1917 and who, many years later, managed to create a huge toxic lake in the remnants of the open-cut mine when they pulled out. Virtually all evidence (of the killing – where he was dragged behind a car in his underwear for several kilometres) had been burned, lost or rewritten in the company-owned town newspaper a long time ago, so it might as well have been fiction although it seems unlikely. At regular intervals an annoying “Ode to the striking workers part#3” would start up and you would have to watch lyrics flash on the screen one word at a time, till you just stared at your lap until the music stopped. Luckily most of the music was by Dirty Three, Will Olham and Low. Lastly was G-Sale, a funny story about the petty rivalries between fellow 60’s kitch collectors and about a near-priceless board game called Pot ‘O Gold. It was a lot of fun, and will do great on DVD I imagine. I caught the tram home and walked the dogs in the near dark – we couldn’t throw balls in the park because kids were playing, and we all know that means Fergus would get way too exuberant.

Tax Shmax

A few nights ago, having come full circle, I sat down to put my yearly tax return in via the ATO’s e-tax software package. Years earlier, on the tail of delighted yelps from family members, we signed up with a dodgy greek accountant in Coburg to do his magic and deliver us a big refund each. He did a lot better than we were able to do, and we duly returned. 3 years in, loopholes had been closed, he grew more cautious and we decided it wasn’t worth it anymore. In hindsight, I don’t know why we succumbed in the first place – I’ve never been one to be obsessed about “the tax the government is ripping us off” or been one to scream for tax cuts. Come to think of it, exactly WHO ARE THE MYSTERY TAX CUT BOOSTERS that the major political parties are bending over to right now? Most people I know say they’d prefer Medicare to be fixed up – or for the money to go to government schools. I know why I have never been inclined towards shares, investments and rental properties. It’s because it MAKES LIFE HELL IN JULY at tax time. To be honest, I really can’t be bothered and I’m lazy. I stuck in some basic deductions like my Amnesty International donations and 50 bucks for professional magazines (Owner Builder and Renew – hmmm). The nicest part about it all is that I’m still going to get 450 or so back and it took me all of 20 minutes. Until next year.

Hijinx

A funny old weekend where nothing of consequence was achieved and yet a strange sense of relaxation and calm pervades…A 5:30am Saturday start in the dark with Ash to the Kilmore footy ground wearing snow gloves and layers of clothes. A car heater turned up to 3. We took tripod shot after shot and hoped liked crazy it would all be worth it, and that the sun would show. More driving to Kyneton after watching reluctant “I’m freezin” workers at the Lancefield Bakery put Lavazza Coffee barriers up “for the smokers” outside – whoever they were. Ash took photos of an odd little eating house next door to the Kyneton Mineral Water factory, only to be accosted by a chubby lad in a stained T-shirt who thought we were out to rob his clientele. An afterthought of a diversion to Mt. Macedon on the way home saw us in fields of snow and joyous toboganning by youngsters. We nervously spun our wheels through the slush and escaped. I suspect we both slept well that night after the early start and the dramatic Godspeed CD’s that featured heavily.

A death in the family

At 11:01 we fronted up late for my nana’s funeral. It’s only a 10 minute drive to Heidelberg yet we got our timing all wrong and speculated about the evil looks we’d get from mum for not sitting in the front row. After being shunted into a side wing we relaxed in the low-key feeling – fully visible to the priests and speakers, yet away from the main crowd. Everyone was wonderful. They gave tributes that were well thought out and generous; reminded us of her phrases like “I’m only a girl” and told stories of her puritanism and love of euchre and football. My favourite part was when Joy referred to her ability to emotionally blackmail people – I had long thought my mother must have learned her craft from an expert. It was a tiny coffin, and at the gravesite in Kingsbury they had it down in a jiffy as the rain was coming in and umbrellas were being turned inside out. Most people threw in a few rose petals, had a few quiet tears and it was all over – really a lot more straightforward than I thought.