Festivearama
Finally caught the festival spirit.
Did I mention my life is privileged? As a resident of Adelaide (listed in the top 10 cities to live in), I have access to health, education and culture that makes me very lucky.
I have been working on appreciating the life that I do have. And being patient with my husband and our marriage. Always hard, to clear the head. Our mothers group addresses this issue each week, how do we look after our heads? Walking seems to be the key, the easiest to achieve and most accessible. One mother talked about how she'd initially been waiting until her partner was home, before ducking out to the shops/on errands, but now she takes both of her kids along, has decided they need to be a part of the life she leads. Hurray to her.
I took a leaf, and took Lu out to the pub Wednesday night. With the smokefree laws expanding, there are more public places where it's safe to take a baby, and with a carrier and a wrap and me, I knew he was safe. And he was great company, smiled at the people I joined and then slept in my arms as we moved indoors. Two of the people I drank with, I had first met exactly 12 months ago, though unfortunately for me, I didn't blog about it. Which meant I couldn't remember one of my companions names, nor could I "check my diary for it"; this after debating art classes and book clubs and an appropriate response towards his young Gen Y colleague who apparently is always boasting about how rich and successful he is. I suggested he should nickname him "Picasso", given that Picasso was the man-charismatic, talented, successful, many lovers and capable of causing women to lose their mind over him. This in turn reminded me of the fun/agony of being tortured about someone who doesn't reciprocate your feelings (ahem, it's just agony) and also the fun/agony of being passionately in love/lust/infatuation with a head case, a fictional example being when Miles, from This Life, enthuses about Betty Blue. Is it better to be all calm and settled? I think so, but the passion is something I also feel nostalgic for, it's like oxygen, like being alive. How to have passion without the tears and frumpy looking meltdowns (saw a girl slumped in a doorway sobbing into her expensive mobile phone which reminded me of what a bad look public meltdowns are).
The Gilbert Street pub is quite nice, though the intensely ornate decor will rapidly date. It reminds me of how I used to enjoy going to the Prince Albert back in the day (that day being 2003-2004). I like the south west corner of the CBD and the mix of residential and light commerce, access to the markets, and the variety of cultures/incomes. It's not too genteel compared to the south east corner, or ruined/soulless like the north east corner.
David Byrne, in the bicycle diaries, describes the learning effect of cycling around a city, how they tell the real story of the people who live there, their dreams, their values, their goals, their aspirations and their failures. The East End, to me, is a dated failed dream of a developer who make a lot of money putting in boutique apartments which gradually killed the street/artistic vibe that would entice people to live there. There isn't a neighbourhood feel there, to me, unless it's a Friday evening. It's a great book, thought provoking and very enjoyable.
Last night I went and saw Big Stories Small Towns, which my friend is the interactive producer for. I really liked this, liked the simplicity of asking film makers to live in these small regional towns until they knew people well enough to tell their stories using film; the filmmakers described how it always took them 3 weeks to break the ice. I also liked the fact that I would otherwise never know these stories, not by visiting, possibly not by living there. There was a theme that came through, for me, of redemption, of the places or retreats that people had found, after events such as prison or the battle for sobriety.
Other films/books/things?
Am going to see Here I Am and Bill Cunningham, at the film festival. Watched The September Issue (which did, in it's own way, show the side of fashion that I do like, when it is artistic and creative, such as the block colour spread styled by Grace. Overall though, I don't like the fashion consumerism, the disposable culture, nor how the western appetite for fashion is partnered with sweat shop practices). Am watching The Misfits, which "appeared" in my library reservations. The character of Nathan is very very amusing, very well played by the young actor, a reckless motor mouth who isn't afraid to be insulting and funny. Reminds me of my Year 8 classmate Jono, who was always in trouble with our teachers and would never give up. Some secretly loved his spirit, but they had to officially disapprove, others found him exasperating and stubborn. My favourite moment was when our entire group had our Grampians bushwalk delayed, all of us sitting on the itchy ant-ridden grass wearing our sensible bushwalk attire of backpacks and jackets and hats and sunscreen whilst he argued until he was blue about why he didn't need a backpack to carry his supplies and be handsfree during the walk. He was happy to argue against his own interests if it exasperated teachers; they thought he'd get his comeuppance when they "volunteered" him for theatresports but he proved them wrong.
Did I mention my life is privileged? As a resident of Adelaide (listed in the top 10 cities to live in), I have access to health, education and culture that makes me very lucky.
I have been working on appreciating the life that I do have. And being patient with my husband and our marriage. Always hard, to clear the head. Our mothers group addresses this issue each week, how do we look after our heads? Walking seems to be the key, the easiest to achieve and most accessible. One mother talked about how she'd initially been waiting until her partner was home, before ducking out to the shops/on errands, but now she takes both of her kids along, has decided they need to be a part of the life she leads. Hurray to her.
I took a leaf, and took Lu out to the pub Wednesday night. With the smokefree laws expanding, there are more public places where it's safe to take a baby, and with a carrier and a wrap and me, I knew he was safe. And he was great company, smiled at the people I joined and then slept in my arms as we moved indoors. Two of the people I drank with, I had first met exactly 12 months ago, though unfortunately for me, I didn't blog about it. Which meant I couldn't remember one of my companions names, nor could I "check my diary for it"; this after debating art classes and book clubs and an appropriate response towards his young Gen Y colleague who apparently is always boasting about how rich and successful he is. I suggested he should nickname him "Picasso", given that Picasso was the man-charismatic, talented, successful, many lovers and capable of causing women to lose their mind over him. This in turn reminded me of the fun/agony of being tortured about someone who doesn't reciprocate your feelings (ahem, it's just agony) and also the fun/agony of being passionately in love/lust/infatuation with a head case, a fictional example being when Miles, from This Life, enthuses about Betty Blue. Is it better to be all calm and settled? I think so, but the passion is something I also feel nostalgic for, it's like oxygen, like being alive. How to have passion without the tears and frumpy looking meltdowns (saw a girl slumped in a doorway sobbing into her expensive mobile phone which reminded me of what a bad look public meltdowns are).
The Gilbert Street pub is quite nice, though the intensely ornate decor will rapidly date. It reminds me of how I used to enjoy going to the Prince Albert back in the day (that day being 2003-2004). I like the south west corner of the CBD and the mix of residential and light commerce, access to the markets, and the variety of cultures/incomes. It's not too genteel compared to the south east corner, or ruined/soulless like the north east corner.
David Byrne, in the bicycle diaries, describes the learning effect of cycling around a city, how they tell the real story of the people who live there, their dreams, their values, their goals, their aspirations and their failures. The East End, to me, is a dated failed dream of a developer who make a lot of money putting in boutique apartments which gradually killed the street/artistic vibe that would entice people to live there. There isn't a neighbourhood feel there, to me, unless it's a Friday evening. It's a great book, thought provoking and very enjoyable.
Last night I went and saw Big Stories Small Towns, which my friend is the interactive producer for. I really liked this, liked the simplicity of asking film makers to live in these small regional towns until they knew people well enough to tell their stories using film; the filmmakers described how it always took them 3 weeks to break the ice. I also liked the fact that I would otherwise never know these stories, not by visiting, possibly not by living there. There was a theme that came through, for me, of redemption, of the places or retreats that people had found, after events such as prison or the battle for sobriety.
Other films/books/things?
Am going to see Here I Am and Bill Cunningham, at the film festival. Watched The September Issue (which did, in it's own way, show the side of fashion that I do like, when it is artistic and creative, such as the block colour spread styled by Grace. Overall though, I don't like the fashion consumerism, the disposable culture, nor how the western appetite for fashion is partnered with sweat shop practices). Am watching The Misfits, which "appeared" in my library reservations. The character of Nathan is very very amusing, very well played by the young actor, a reckless motor mouth who isn't afraid to be insulting and funny. Reminds me of my Year 8 classmate Jono, who was always in trouble with our teachers and would never give up. Some secretly loved his spirit, but they had to officially disapprove, others found him exasperating and stubborn. My favourite moment was when our entire group had our Grampians bushwalk delayed, all of us sitting on the itchy ant-ridden grass wearing our sensible bushwalk attire of backpacks and jackets and hats and sunscreen whilst he argued until he was blue about why he didn't need a backpack to carry his supplies and be handsfree during the walk. He was happy to argue against his own interests if it exasperated teachers; they thought he'd get his comeuppance when they "volunteered" him for theatresports but he proved them wrong.
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