Statistically speaking I had a fabulous time. Seven people said I looked nice (they actually used better words than nice) some on several occasions. One person told me I looked very rock and this is the nicest thing to say to a Dale who is not sure about wearing fancy dresses. Five people complimented me on my haircut, two of them people I'd never met before. One person called me a cleavage witch but that was a specific comment about when I was wearing a giant witch's hat and I do mean giant. It was the best giant hat I have ever seen. Two people arrived from an anime convention, one of them in some sort of witch's outfit with a two metre witch's hat. I initially did not count Creamboy's compliment but in the car when I was accidentally stating out loud the overly high number of people who had said that I looked nice he asked if I had counted his and found that I hadn't.
I saw one ex with his wife and two children, spoke to seven people I have known for more than ten years, spoke to four bridal parents, one man I met in a pub once, on ex housemate of the bride, two siblings of the happy couple, one each plus their partners, five friends of the groom's parents and several strangers.
I cried once but was trying not to as I was in charge of racing inside and making the music go as soon as the vows were finished and before they started signing papers. I was astonished by the view and atmosphere on nine occasions. One pair of shoes was ruined by the terrain.
Two people had an entire conversation about my breasts but I found this disconcerting and went and fetched my wrap. I ate three pastizzi style things, dipped two carrot sticks in the chocolate fountain, twice stuck my finger in the icing of a cake and fished nine raspberries out of the fruit platter. I had four glasses of wine, half a bottle of sangria, one fizzy lemon squash, two glasses of water and most of a coke. I left the wedding clutching an unopened bottle of champagne, the groom intended I should drink this in the car on the way home but I accidentally put it in the boot. I was not the designated driver.
I got to hold the munchkin on one occasion, just before the ceremony when she nearly leapt out of her grandmother's arms when she saw me. She's quite tall now and not really a baby anymore, this is very exciting because soon she will be old enough to draw pictures with. Creamboy sang four songs in the car, one on the way to the wedding in the style of Bert & Ernie, one on the way to the Hydro Majestic in the style of Frank Sinatra and two on the way down the mountain.
I used three different toilets, one portaloo, the normal inside toilet and a toilet downstairs at the Hydro Majestic. I drove from Newtown to East Kurrajong Section 2, from EK to Emu Plains to fetch Creamboy from a different wedding where he was playing piano, from Emu Plains back to EK for the rest of the wedding. I was the passenger in a car with Creamboy driving from EK to Medlow Bath via Mt Tomah to deposit the happy couple at the Hydro Majestic, a fascinating and grand old hotel Similar to The Overlook. Creamboy then drove me to my squalid sanctuary in Penno where we had two cups of tea, one each.
I felt fabulous on twelve occasions, forlorn twice, bereft once, happy six times and wished I was somebody else twice. I went to sleep with one heart.
Curiouser and curiouser
Well then I've been to a wedding. I've spent several hours in a car, tripped around in the Hydro Majestic with Creamboy, me in a fancy dress him in a three piece suit. Narrowly avoided locking myself in a portaloo and seen the face of the future I narrowly avoided, it was short and in pigtails.
I have some things to think about. I have some things to avoid thinking about. I wish I had something to eat.
I have some things to think about. I have some things to avoid thinking about. I wish I had something to eat.
O mein papa
My Dad is the best aging rocker of them all. He's in Sydney for a few days so we agreed to meet after I finished work today. I hopped a train into Town Hall and waited near the steps but before I saw any sign of Dad a crowd converged, there were photographers, film crews, giant blue flags and suddenly everyone started jumping up and down dancing and yelling. Instant disco. I thought I'd better move away from the crowd but as I pushed past people my phone rang. It was Dad, he was right at the top of the steps in the midst of the pulsing crowd waving and pointing happily at the madness around him.
After we escaped from the crowd he marched me across to the Marble Bar in the Hilton where we sipped our drinks in heavy glasses. He'd gotten up early to go and see The Rogue Traders play in Martin Place for some inexplicable reason, after that he'd gone hat shopping and popped over to the zoo on a ferry wearing his new and excellent hat. He was pleased that the small brim prevents the hat from blowing off your head even when outside on a ferry.
His enthusiasm for the zoo was inspiring and soon enough we were discussing in depth the fantasticness of giraffes, elephants, tigers and gorillas. We sauntered over to Wagamama for divine duck and leek dumplings and some kind of curry after which Dad declared we would set out in search of hot chocolates.
Walking around a city with Dad is as interesting an experience as you're ever going to have. His knack for weaving anecdotes through spaces and his wide eyed wonder at the workings of everything from buildings to people is guaranteed to keep me spellbound for hours. We went to the old GPO and as we walked through the majestic building he pulled me back in time as he described with intricate fascination the smell and atmosphere of the place when he worked there briefly in the 60's, before his band made it big and he sailed for London.
My Dad is a strutting, complex and worldly man. He is all charm and captivating conversation. He is at once world weary and wide eyed. He is essential information for the mechanics of appreciation.
We met up with his wife and two of her four sons for drinks. I am a fan of his wife, she is wonderful. I am hoping to be a fan of her sons but this is proving more difficult than I had anticipated. Over the decade or so they have been together I have met them only a few times. The second eldest is my favourite. I had hoped that this time we might find something to talk about. He is something of a wroving writer himself with his digging for fire across Melbourne, but alas it was not to be.
The eldest one was there and though I like him immensely he is virtually impenetrable. My irrelevance to his life is astounding and once again I ended an evening feeling small and squashed, like I'd just run into Benito.
After we escaped from the crowd he marched me across to the Marble Bar in the Hilton where we sipped our drinks in heavy glasses. He'd gotten up early to go and see The Rogue Traders play in Martin Place for some inexplicable reason, after that he'd gone hat shopping and popped over to the zoo on a ferry wearing his new and excellent hat. He was pleased that the small brim prevents the hat from blowing off your head even when outside on a ferry.
His enthusiasm for the zoo was inspiring and soon enough we were discussing in depth the fantasticness of giraffes, elephants, tigers and gorillas. We sauntered over to Wagamama for divine duck and leek dumplings and some kind of curry after which Dad declared we would set out in search of hot chocolates.
Walking around a city with Dad is as interesting an experience as you're ever going to have. His knack for weaving anecdotes through spaces and his wide eyed wonder at the workings of everything from buildings to people is guaranteed to keep me spellbound for hours. We went to the old GPO and as we walked through the majestic building he pulled me back in time as he described with intricate fascination the smell and atmosphere of the place when he worked there briefly in the 60's, before his band made it big and he sailed for London.
My Dad is a strutting, complex and worldly man. He is all charm and captivating conversation. He is at once world weary and wide eyed. He is essential information for the mechanics of appreciation.
We met up with his wife and two of her four sons for drinks. I am a fan of his wife, she is wonderful. I am hoping to be a fan of her sons but this is proving more difficult than I had anticipated. Over the decade or so they have been together I have met them only a few times. The second eldest is my favourite. I had hoped that this time we might find something to talk about. He is something of a wroving writer himself with his digging for fire across Melbourne, but alas it was not to be.
The eldest one was there and though I like him immensely he is virtually impenetrable. My irrelevance to his life is astounding and once again I ended an evening feeling small and squashed, like I'd just run into Benito.
The mesmerising effect of hats or time limit fifteen minutes
I sat in my office staring at facebook and SMH online for close to an hour, painting my nails and smoking cigarettes. Soon enough it was time to launch so I checked the map one more time and headed out to The Last Bastion of Civilisation but as usual I was early. Happily enough I wandered about and found a $4 thai curry to munch on while I stared through the window of Mao & More listening to Mireille Mathieu on my mp3 player. Its like somebody put too many sugars in my world when I listen to her and her pink and gold swirls.
I was wearing a tie and was fairly confident that this would aid me no matter what occurred but I was wrong. A tall man in a sharp suit and a mesmerising hat came striding up the street and I thought who is that? He pointed at me and came straight over saying "You're Dale Slamma" and for an unexplained reason things went from shit to fuck in a hurry. It was Benito Di Fonzo and I don't know why but he took away my power of speech.
He invited me for a drink but it was like an afterthought or a nod to the gods of politeness. He bought me a drink and chuckled when I said "I'll have a shandy". I sat like a fucktard on a rock in a blanket of silence while journalists and short Romanian men came and went leaving trails of context glowing neon bright. My water had no fish in it and I didn't know what to do.
Time's up. More tomorrow, must sleep.
I was wearing a tie and was fairly confident that this would aid me no matter what occurred but I was wrong. A tall man in a sharp suit and a mesmerising hat came striding up the street and I thought who is that? He pointed at me and came straight over saying "You're Dale Slamma" and for an unexplained reason things went from shit to fuck in a hurry. It was Benito Di Fonzo and I don't know why but he took away my power of speech.
He invited me for a drink but it was like an afterthought or a nod to the gods of politeness. He bought me a drink and chuckled when I said "I'll have a shandy". I sat like a fucktard on a rock in a blanket of silence while journalists and short Romanian men came and went leaving trails of context glowing neon bright. My water had no fish in it and I didn't know what to do.
Time's up. More tomorrow, must sleep.
There is a season
I declare it spaz season. Everything I do and say pushes me further into the spazosphere. I don't know when its going to end. I get the feeling its only just begun, lock and load people, lock and load.
Swing too many times and you'll have to take a walk
Benito Di Fonzo is a man that could wear eyeliner if he wanted to. There are details but I am drunk and tired. Creamboy brought a date along and I wanted to say she's lovely, Hubbell. But that would be inaccurate and unkind but still the words are sitting cross on my eyebrows. I will just go to sleep.
Going Down Swinging
Going Down Swinging, that's where I'm going, just as soon as my nailpolish dries and I find an ATM and get something to eat and then locate The Last Bastion of Civilization. Easy, in theory.
Wish me luck I'm walking the streets armed with a map and a refilled bottle of water.
Wish me luck I'm walking the streets armed with a map and a refilled bottle of water.
Dale for a day or two
Once again I have two Dale For A Day contributors, both wish to remain anonymous.
Dale For A Day by Anon 1.
Part One: Him.
His heart skipped a beat.
It always did when her name appeared in the glowing electrons of his computer monitor. And there she was. Her IM avatar was a bright green car, and that was the image he associated with her. Every time he saw one on the street, she popped into his mind.
"This is bad," he thought. Very bad. It's becoming close to obsession, although "obsession" isn't quite the right word. Infatuation? Attraction? He'd never met her, and it was unlikely that he would in the near future. Still, he thought about her day and night (wasn't that a song? "Day and night... night and day..." Who was that? Cole Porter?). He looked for reasons to go online; to see if she was there.
He could only imagine her voice, for they had never spoken. He had a vague idea of what she looked like, from the many pictures she'd posted. Looks weren't important to him...not really. He'd dated all types of women, but she really was exceptionally beautiful in his eyes. He never told her this, of course. It seemed, well...kind of creepy. Besides, it didn't matter. They were having great conversations about life. Love. Art. Music. No subject was off limits, no secrets, no bullshit, no hidden agendas...
Well. That wasn't exactly true, was it now?
So what should he call this? A crush? Yeah. That was probably the best word for it. He had a crush on this amazing, intelligent woman that he'd never met. This was bad. Very bad. For a lot of very good reasons.
All this went through his head in the instant that it took for him to recognize that she was online again. His hands went to the keyboard. "Hey Sunshine!" he typed.
Part Two: Her.
"Hey Sunshine!"
The words appeared on her screen, and her heart skipped a beat. Just like it always did when he greeted her like that.
His avatar--a closeup photo of a rock on the sidewalk--always made her smile. Every time she kicked a stone, she thought of him. Not that she'd ever kick him, mind you. No, she had other things in mind for him that didn't involve kicking...
"No!" she suddenly yelled aloud. Her roommate shot her a glance. Shit. This was bad. Now she was talking to the voices in her head.
What was it about him that made her act like this? She'd never met him. She probably never would. And yet, they would IM each other for hours on end. At first, it was just cute. Then it became fun. Now, it was...well, it was something else.
He didn't appeal to her. For a lot of very, very, VERY good reasons, he wasn't her type. In fact, he was someone else's type, and for that matter, someone else's altogether. So they had an amazing friendship. A weird friendship, but a true one nonetheless.
Still...
Fuck. This can't become a crush. "You're smarter than this," she said aloud, as her fingers reached for the keyboard. Her roommate looked up from her book. "What did you say?" she asked.
"Nothing."
She pecked out the words on the screen: "Hey Stoney!"
SEND.
Dale For A Day by Anon 2.
And why won't I budge him? I think I've told myself that I'm scared. I think, and that's the cause of this paralysis/ I'm scared of the "I',- the "eye". the "I". -Twist of pronounciation and your meaning is too clear. It cuts. The "you" was hard enough to deal with,- they say it would have been easier if I'd "felt" rather than "dealt" but hey, they rhyme so they can't be that different. But put them in a poem, twist 'em round a bit, hell, they'll eventually say anything you almost think you want them to.
No, it's the "I", I ( I Claudius, I Heathcliff), I (the forgiven) take thee (the trapped) to be my lawfully wedded etcetera.
The truly stunning sunburst here is that you are (and always have been) unaware of my howl and roar, my tooth and fang.
This wail is the threnody of the woman who finds herself too late.
Dale For A Day by Anon 1.
Part One: Him.
His heart skipped a beat.
It always did when her name appeared in the glowing electrons of his computer monitor. And there she was. Her IM avatar was a bright green car, and that was the image he associated with her. Every time he saw one on the street, she popped into his mind.
"This is bad," he thought. Very bad. It's becoming close to obsession, although "obsession" isn't quite the right word. Infatuation? Attraction? He'd never met her, and it was unlikely that he would in the near future. Still, he thought about her day and night (wasn't that a song? "Day and night... night and day..." Who was that? Cole Porter?). He looked for reasons to go online; to see if she was there.
He could only imagine her voice, for they had never spoken. He had a vague idea of what she looked like, from the many pictures she'd posted. Looks weren't important to him...not really. He'd dated all types of women, but she really was exceptionally beautiful in his eyes. He never told her this, of course. It seemed, well...kind of creepy. Besides, it didn't matter. They were having great conversations about life. Love. Art. Music. No subject was off limits, no secrets, no bullshit, no hidden agendas...
Well. That wasn't exactly true, was it now?
So what should he call this? A crush? Yeah. That was probably the best word for it. He had a crush on this amazing, intelligent woman that he'd never met. This was bad. Very bad. For a lot of very good reasons.
All this went through his head in the instant that it took for him to recognize that she was online again. His hands went to the keyboard. "Hey Sunshine!" he typed.
Part Two: Her.
"Hey Sunshine!"
The words appeared on her screen, and her heart skipped a beat. Just like it always did when he greeted her like that.
His avatar--a closeup photo of a rock on the sidewalk--always made her smile. Every time she kicked a stone, she thought of him. Not that she'd ever kick him, mind you. No, she had other things in mind for him that didn't involve kicking...
"No!" she suddenly yelled aloud. Her roommate shot her a glance. Shit. This was bad. Now she was talking to the voices in her head.
What was it about him that made her act like this? She'd never met him. She probably never would. And yet, they would IM each other for hours on end. At first, it was just cute. Then it became fun. Now, it was...well, it was something else.
He didn't appeal to her. For a lot of very, very, VERY good reasons, he wasn't her type. In fact, he was someone else's type, and for that matter, someone else's altogether. So they had an amazing friendship. A weird friendship, but a true one nonetheless.
Still...
Fuck. This can't become a crush. "You're smarter than this," she said aloud, as her fingers reached for the keyboard. Her roommate looked up from her book. "What did you say?" she asked.
"Nothing."
She pecked out the words on the screen: "Hey Stoney!"
SEND.
Dale For A Day by Anon 2.
And why won't I budge him? I think I've told myself that I'm scared. I think, and that's the cause of this paralysis/ I'm scared of the "I',- the "eye". the "I". -Twist of pronounciation and your meaning is too clear. It cuts. The "you" was hard enough to deal with,- they say it would have been easier if I'd "felt" rather than "dealt" but hey, they rhyme so they can't be that different. But put them in a poem, twist 'em round a bit, hell, they'll eventually say anything you almost think you want them to.
No, it's the "I", I ( I Claudius, I Heathcliff), I (the forgiven) take thee (the trapped) to be my lawfully wedded etcetera.
The truly stunning sunburst here is that you are (and always have been) unaware of my howl and roar, my tooth and fang.
This wail is the threnody of the woman who finds herself too late.
Kitten killing time
I'm waiting on a Dale For A Day post, its coming from America so it may take a while to arrive. In the meantime I can disappointingly report that The Chaser boys are all tiny and beautiful, like dolls, here ends my fantasy.
Excellent breakfast
Now this may be controversial, I am still struggling with this but... brownies are better than cupcakes. I am new to the world of brownies having always avoided them on the basis that they are American but now, oh now, I am smitten. The chocolate cake goodness is almost unsurpassed, some of them have nuts, I like to avoid those as nuts interrupt the chocolate in an almost violent fashion. I had a brownie on Sunday afternoon and another one today. I intend to continue eating brownies with increasing frequency until I am happily reaching for one first thing in the morning. Despite being sweet I suspect they might be excellent for breakfast.
I'm off to see The Chaser being filmed in mere moments, or an hour or so really. I am planning on kidnapping the chaser boys, Grizelda wants Chaz, I'll pop him in my handbag for her, I'll take the rest.
This has been a post completely devoid of quality and content brought to you by Dale Stupid Slamma.
I'm off to see The Chaser being filmed in mere moments, or an hour or so really. I am planning on kidnapping the chaser boys, Grizelda wants Chaz, I'll pop him in my handbag for her, I'll take the rest.
This has been a post completely devoid of quality and content brought to you by Dale Stupid Slamma.
Some kind of fool
Sitting alone in my loungeroom pathetically eating vegan lasagne I cried watching the ABC news. It wasn't the result of barefoot nuns and monks protesting for democracy, it wasn't the clear and shining affection of Tasmanian Myer employees lamenting the tearing down of the burnt and broken historic building. It was the ten second clip of Marcel Marceau moving his hands in an eloquent counterfeit of the sea.
He said his art was searching and speaking of man's struggle with love, life and death and I believe him. I long for higher purpose, I long to be a small light, a still and calling beacon for my own humanity. I wish for more than rattling around this city pulling the heavy need to be, even for moment, adored.
He said his art was searching and speaking of man's struggle with love, life and death and I believe him. I long for higher purpose, I long to be a small light, a still and calling beacon for my own humanity. I wish for more than rattling around this city pulling the heavy need to be, even for moment, adored.
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