thursday : 25 sep 2003

Idle thought: If I get all of my Life-O-Meter levels up to, say, four across the board, will I get a bonus life?

Last week was subdued in comparison to the previous week's rollercoaster ride. The mild depression lifted on its own accord as stress levels dropped and things returned to relative normality. Lows rarely last more than a day or two. And like most natural behaviours, they serve a host of valuable functions: imposing a physical and mental slow-down and prompting self-reflection, which allows you to gear-up and face the future with a fresh perspective.

(We are the children of biological evolution spanning hundreds of millions of years. When our bodies and minds shift into different modes, there is always a reason for it. Naturally I try to stay on top of things, we all do, but generally I tend to go with the flow and with let the under-currents of life carry me away for a spell – without losing sight of land, that is. Thanks to anyone who showed concern.)

The highlight of last week was a BBQ at Chong (an ex-flatmate) and Julee's place on Saturday night. Chong was outside manning the hotplate, while Julee was inside serving and chatting to us guests – mainly young doctors and lawyers and one IT pro, namely me. I ate more meat that night than I had during the whole month, bringing back fond memories of Lemore's in Caufield, where Chong and I suffered food comas after finishing a meat platter each. It was a cosy, undemanding evening at the BBQ with a vibrant bunch of characters.

The coming weekend is looking like a quiet one, too. I can handle that because I am heading to Sydney the following weekend for five days. It's a pity I have to be in Melbourne for the AFL final (groan), but it gives me more impetus to celebrate the end of the footy season in Sin-City a few days later!

sunday : 14 sep 2003

Work last week was full-on, with numerous support issues and a general avalanche of Things That Had to Get Done making the time fly. That is how I like it, but the added stress can catch you unawares if you are not used to it. On Tuesday I was in a pretty foul mood for most of the morning and afternoon – just got up on the wrong side of the bed. In contrast, Wednesday was paradise.

Marylu had supplied us tickets to see Certified Male on its opening night, which included an after-party in the theatre lobby. Beforehand we had dinner at a Japanese restaurant chosen by Alice. I ordered a "large serve of saki with a side-order of Japanese food." The show itself was hilarious, with a good mixture of visual gags and one-liners. Attending the after-party were the likes of comedians Mark (The Comedy Club) Mitchell and Elliot Goblet, news reader Mal Walden, another news reader Jennifer Hanson, who looked stunning in a colourful minidress that showed off her athletic legs, singer Christine Anu, and the members of the Certified Male cast: Frankie J. Holden, Peter Rowsthorn, Glynn Nicholas and Berynn Schwerdt. I also saw Martin, someone I know from a different circle of friends and an expert at installing PA systems. He is always up for an interesting conversation on any topic.

By 11pm everyone in our group had departed, so I decided to make for the train. Being dressed up and slightly pickled on rice wine and champagne had me running through the available options: (a) home by midnight, or (b) stay out and let the after party wind down, then visit a few bars, Crown Casino, a club or a strip joint, then pay for a taxi home. I went for (a) because Friday night promised to be a big one anyhow, and option (b) would have cost upwards of $100, not to mention facing work on Thursday tired and hungover.

On Thursday night I went to see Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl with Suzie, Euan, Chris and Kylie down at the local Village cinemaplex, which we and the crowd all enjoyed. Even though I watch more than my fair share of films at home, and like having control over the surroundings, nothing beats the buzz of a full house on opening night at the cinema. Chris and Kylie dropped me off home afterwards – I reminded myself that I need to buy a box of Savoury Shapes. Which brings me to Friday.

It all started routinely enough at work. In the afternoon, Michael and I did an RBA run – Redbull and Alcodol – in preparation for the evening's work social club function. It promised to be an interesting night, given the unique venue and the long gap since the last function. (Then again, when you're single and into going out, even a seven day break is too long between drinks.) Needless to say it all went well. I was avoiding beer in an attempt to make a dent in my waistline, hence the wine and champagne theme. Everyone else was getting into the spirit of the occasion, too. Once the bar closed and a group of us were outside walking toward town, things went pear shaped for me. And I'm not talking about my figure.

Someone took offence at a careless remark I made. I had no idea until I ran after this person, who was now walking way ahead of us for no apparent reason. Once I knew what was wrong, I apologised profusely, or as well as I could after a night of steady drinking. It had minimal to no effect, but what else could I do? She jumped into a taxi and disappeared. Feeling rotten, I retraced my steps but could not find anyone else. Unlike Wednesday night after the show, there was no debating about what to do next. It was only 10:30pm on a Friday night, and I had no commitments the next day.

Trudging down Bourke Street, feeling sorry for myself, I saw two goth chicks and a death metal dude. I asked them what was happening in the metal club scene, because I fancied some harsher music. Despite my knowledge of bands and the whole genre, they were not friendly, perhaps sensing my mood and inebriated state. We did not part on good terms. In the mall itself I happened upon a group of young Asian lads. They invited me to "tell a story" by standing soap-box fashion on a green metal seat. So I related the altercation with the fucked-up goths. We got to talking and they brought up their current woes: no girlfriends, no money, unhappy with their cars. You know, the usual. Specifically, they could not get into Club-X because they looked too young. I offered to not only take them in but also buy them some 'gifts', which I did. I will not detail the shopping list, but when we parted ways, they were much happier than the metal heads I'd left behind earlier.

Walking down Swanston toward Heat I had my suspicion confirmed. There was a metal gig on at the Hi-Fi bar. I chatted to some guys outside and confirmed that it would be a good show. The support bands had already finished; only the headliner remained, a Swedish band I didn't know called Soil Something. But I had no cash. Heading down Little Collins on the way to a Bendigo Bank ATM on Elizabeth Street, I noticed a trendy place called the Kitty Katt Club, and made a note to stop in on the way back. It was very swish, with an exclusive closed-off upper level. I got in by pretending I was with two blond girls ascending the carpeted staircase. A funky jazz band led by a female vocalist were entertaining the well dressed crowd. I purchased a G&T and sat down to soak up the atmosphere, then split to visit the metal gig at the Hi-Fi bar.

The band were already playing. I bought two Stellas for the guys I'd met outside and a bourbon and coke for me, which mostly ended up on my suit and grey dress shirt by the time I had walked into the mosh pit. It was crowded and hot and rough – I loved it. Half an hour later, the spillage long dried, I returned to Kitty Katt and more jazz funk. The contrast was almost comical. Toward the end of their set, there was a mishap. Some bloke was dancing on top of a narrow padded seat shaped like a banana next to the stage. The singer decided it would be fun to join him. Bad move. They lasted all of three seconds before the laws of physics took over and the seat toppled over, bring both of them crashing to the floor. He was okay, the singer was bleeding from a gash on her head. Since I was sitting nearby I got up to help, then chatted to the band members before leaving. Time for Heat. On the way down I talked to more strangers: metal gig punters pouring out of the Hi-Fi Bar who recognised me in the mosh pit (I guess I stood out), two Asian photographer guys shooting the Yarra river on time exposures, and a busker who demonstrated the various different styles of flamenco guitar to me. I gave him a generous donation. I poked my head into PJ O'Briens, but the band there would have been less interesting than the two I'd already seen – or three if you include the accoustic guitarist.

By the time I walked into Heat, it was 1:45pm. Probably too late, really. The commercial dance music I prefer had morphed into maudlin techno, therefore explaining the thinly populated dance floor. The R&B lounge was still pumping, so I spent most of my time there. That was easier to handle as well, because my energy reserves were dropping. I must have left at about 3:45am. For the second time I spotted a girl who seemed to be watching me again. As luck would have it, she and her friend arrived at the taxi rank outside on Clarendon just as I did. I only had time to ask the friend who that girl was. Her cryptic reply was, "That does not matter much." Next time I'll talk to them in the club, and see what happens. This was the second time a woman had driven away from me in a taxi tonight! I need to change my deodorant, perhaps.

As is customary, the rest of the weekend has been sedate. Not that I felt like doing much else. Angela and her daughter Rhiannon moved house and I was recruited to collected their male cat called Buffy, and also swing past Coles to get urgent supplies (Angela does not own a car). I had fun embarrassing Rhiannon at the supermarket checkout lane, where we were stuck waiting on a price check on my carton of milk. Last night I had 10 hours sleep, which is unheard of for me, then this afternoon I started teaching myself French with CD-ROM software, and tonight I had dinner with Chong, an ex-flatmate. We consoled each other with tales of woe over hot pizzas, grog and gellati at Fazio's.

While watching the convoluted machinations of Cruel Intentions this afternoon on DVD, I reflected back over the last few days – Wednesday and Friday nights in particular – and concluded that my life is, if nothing else, hardly what you would consider dull. Sad? Definitely. But as I said to Chris at work: if I am going to climb into bed alone, at least I will try to engage life beforehand then retire at 4:30am, rather than retiring at 10:30pm after being indoors doing nothing. That is my philosophy, for better or worse.

sunday : 07 sep 2003

Another eventful week has just gone by. Nothing major in the grand scheme of things, however, but enough to keep me from updating this journal.

Last Sunday morning I spent a few hours in bed reading and staring at the ceiling. Together with taking long showers, dancing and being 'out' tends to siphon off any emotional toxins I may have lingering in my system. We all have ways of performing this self-maintenence; my methods are pretty effective. By the time I lurched out of bed to make breakfast, it was almost time to see some stand-up comedy at the Espy Hotel with Chris and Kylie.

For starters, the weather was absolute shite: real end-of-the-world kind of stuff. Things improved once we were inside. Drinking beer on a Sunday is always a pleasant novelty, and on this occasion I had soon left a respectable number of empty glasses and bottles in my wake. The comedy talent was excellent considering the lack of fan-fare and the decrepit surroundings – that's the Espy for you. Dave Hughes, comedian in residence and breakfast clown on Nova FM, was watching from the back of the room. I would have been more distracted by him if the acts were less competent, and if Kylie's friend was not sitting across from me at our table. Ahem.

Monday night involved seeing a preview of the new Australian zombie film Undead at Hoyts in town with Harry, who supplied my ticket, and two Karens. The crowd was a mixture of educated swampies (black clothes, black facial hair) in the majority and office workers like us in the minority. Tuesday night was unremarkable except for slicing my right ring finger on one of two carving knives left in the drawer with their blades facing up. The cut was modest; getting a reminder of your own mortality is good, I guess. Wednesday morning I spilt my cappuccino on my desk, drenching paperwork that never got referenced anyhow. Disasters always come in threes, so I was on alert. That afternoon marylu graciously offered two double-passes to see the new Danny Boyle horror flick 28 Days Later, again at Hoyts. Since it was short notice, nobody in the office was available or willing. At the screening I saw Richard, an old acquaintance who runs the amusing site Merde (It's French for Shit). Thursday night was spent at home watching a DVD, which was paused midway to see the next episode of For Love or Money.

On Friday I was rejected curtly by someone I had my eye on. "Thanks but I'm not interested" was the line used. Direct, succinct, to the point. That was the third bad incident following the carving knife and coffee incidents. Better late than never? Not in this case. Anyway, Friday night was bloody good. Beers after work segued into drinks at two venues I'd never tried before at workmate John's suggestion. He left me at the Koo Koo Bar on Swanston – a lively, interesting place. Very crowded and huge. You would never guess it from the minimal street-level entrance.

But, as good as it was, being there alone was no fun, so I headed down to Heat after grabbing a snack. Heat was excellent – they have definitely gone more commercial in the main room, which suits me. The patrons were all typical Heat clubber types. The male strip review Aussie Storm had also lured many of their female audience members to the club with free passes, therefore it was even more 'steamy' in the R&B area than usual. Regular attendance at Heat is growing on me. I also tried to get into Fidel's for a quick cigar puff, but I had the wrong shoes on. Next time!

Yesterday was quiet. As I explained to Chris and Kylie, going out two nights in a row is unwise for a number of reasons, the most mundane being that the novelty wears off. Same vibe, same music, same drinks. We had a good time going to dinner then seeing Finding Nemo, which was great fun. See this film. Today I've been slumming around the cave taking it easy: eating the fresh groceries I bought yesterday, exercising, watching a film. Tonight involves another film preview with Harry, this time in St. Kilda. Thus, I do believe things have come full circle. I can, however, do without spilt coffee, injuries, or being rejected during the coming week.