You read my mind!

My friend Dawn and I went to the ballet last Tuesday and saw Bodytorque DNA.

It was beautiful. And incredibly graceful. Young dancers with the most incredible physiques - they were mesmerising.

It consisted of five separate pieces. The first featured a troupe of seven or so dancers in varying partnerships and combinations which got me thinking. As the curtain went down and the lights came up, I wondered to Dawn why there aren't any boy-meets-boy romantic ballets. Much of the audience is women and gay men and to my observations, the older crowd at a modern ballet is like the theatre crowd - very open minded. And for goodness sake it is 2014 - keep up people!!

Dawn thought perhaps tradition has gotten in the way.

Two dances later and there it was: an entire piece with just two boys. It was romantic, moving, beautiful and graceful - but I could now also see why it's somewhat problematic.

When it is a guy and a girl, he manages to lift and place her... say 48kgs?.... with what appears to be effortless ease. Not quite so with two extremely muscular men. They managed it well but it was apparent that lifting closer to 70kgs was tricky. They were well matched, equally powerful and able to move each other, but there was much more effort involved. Not that that's a bad thing or it should be discouraged!!

In fact, I reckon there should be more of it! (And girls as well - let's not discriminate.)

The Party

Some years back, there was a spate of home parties here in Melbourne that got completely out of control, requiring police attendance. The main issue was open invitations on Facebook, leading to gate crashers and that combined with excessive alcohol led to violence and vandalism. Media attention was rife and the messages were clear - if you're having a party, ensure it has a closed guest list, alert the local police and for the young ones, make sure you have security.

So we were having a party at home about that time. Being the conscientious citizen I am, I felt it right and proper to let the cops know. I rocked up to the police station and the conversation went something like this:

Hi, we're having a party and I thought I should just let you know.

Yes, said the constable on duty, always a good idea. Let me get the book.

He dug out some beaten up book from under the counter and picked up a pen.

What date? he asked.

March 19th.

He wrote that down.

Address?

I gave him our address.

Number of people?

About 100.

Invitations?

By post.

That's good, he assured me.

Occasion?

My 40th.

He put the pen down and closed the book....looked me in the eye and raised an eyebrow.

We're really only concerned about teenage parties - but thanks anyway. 

I was dismissed.

How embarrassing.

However, I would like to add that on the night in question, the police did turn up twice to tell us to keep it down - so there - put that in your book constable!!!

Condiment Queen

Do you like a condiment? Someone in this household says condiments are for people who don't like the taste of their food - but I don't see it like that. I view them as they're meant to be - enhancers. But how many enhancements can you handle?

I had this conversation on the weekend with my friend Sally, who is trying to bring some order to their collection. She's suggested to her husband Andrew that he uses one until it's finished, and then another. I don't like her chances. The whole point of the condiment is variety. But how much variety do we really require?

Here's a selection in my fridge - it's not an exhaustive list, merely an indication:

• Mustard: Dijon, Hot English, grain, American, Dijonnasie and American & Tomato sauce (yes, together, quite good on a kransky!) 
• There's beetroot chutney, my mum's chutney, mango chutney and tomato relish
• Sweet chilli sauce, chilli jam and hot chilli paste, fresh chillis and chilli flakes in the pantry - and we're not huge chilli fans! 
• We have preserved lemons and capers (in brine and packed in salt); 
• There's  mint sauce, apple sauce, cranberry sauce, seafood sauce, tartare sauce and redcurrant jelly
• Jams of every flavour including pear, red wine and rosemary to go on roast lamb
• Buckets of marmalade and plum paste that I made
• There's fish sauce, soy sauce, tamari, tamarind, hoi sin, san choi bau sauce, oyster sauce, teriyaki sauce, etc
• Dressings for salads - Thai, creamy, lemon myrtle and a variety of home made ones

And that's without what's in the cupboard, like vincotta (plain, fig and orange), raspberry vinegar, balsamic vinegar, balsamic glaze, lemon scented olive oil, four kinds of salt (Murray River pink, Maldon, regular table and rock to go under oysters - so that's not a condiment!), seeds, dukkah, spices - oh, sorry, I said I wouldn't go on with the cupboard.

No wonder the cupboards and fridge can be full and there's nothing to eat!

I'm not going to include the selection of olives (although I do like to toss them over my spag bol with chilli flakes), sun dried tomatoes and other pickled things (although I did mention capers....) 

They seem not to have use by dates either - or if they do, they're well past my expiry date!

So, come on, confess all - am I a lone condiment freak or are things just as out of hand over at your place?

The Leenane Trilogy

Geoff and I spent an amazing afternoon at fortyfive downstairs yesterday. I have posted about this hot house of live theatre before but just when I think it couldn't get any better, it does!

Yesterday we saw The Leeane Trilogy, three seemingly separate plays over an entire afternoon and evening - seven hours in fact, but it was so engaging and enthralling it barely felt like two.

We arrived about 12.45pm, mingling with a glass of red until we were ushered into the theatre for the first play - The Beauty Queen of Leeane - with breathtaking performances by all four actors including Noni Hazlehurst and Michaela Banas. Like all my favourite kind of plays it had moments of humour through its emotionally harrowing roller-coaster ride. It was so good I wondered how the others could possibly measure up.

After this we were directed upstairs for lunch (included in the $85 ticket price and provided by the Spud Bar - hot, filling and tasty if somewhat pedestrian) which was served by Ally Fowler of Sons and Daughters/Chantoozies fame - what a bonus! We shared a table with a lovely, lively couple of elderly ladies and had another glass of shiraz.

Back downstairs for A Skull in Connemara, starring an almost unrecognisable Marg Downey and Christopher Bunworth and another probe into the human state, with plenty of laughs and few unresolved mysteries thrown in. Clever too, were the references to some of the characters from the first play.

Afternoon tea was served upstairs before the final play, The Lonesome West which equalled the first two. I couldn't possibly have a favourite - they were all so good.

Leaving the venue at 8pm, I was reminded how spoilt we are here in Melbourne to have such a high calibre of accessible theatre. 

It's playing until June 15th so I've deliberately not revealed any of the stories because if you get a chance, I couldn't recommend it more highly. Get along.

A World of Pain

Elle fell in a hole last week. She was warming up for cross country when it happened. Her ankle is very swollen and black with bruising. It required two trips to the doctor, an MRI, an x-ray and a physio appointment to determine that she has two torn ligaments. Surprising really, as I was quite sure she's been fortunate to inherit my 'sturdy ankles'.

I'm sure it hurts. It looks sore.

But it's been just as painful for me based on the following:

• Moans, groans and even whimpers every time I'm within hearing distance
• She can't take her own plates to the dishwasher
• I have to pack her lunch and her school bag
• I have to put up with demands like 'Can you make my lunch?' (Yes, of course she got a lecture about saying please - that was axiomatic)
• She divides her clothes on the bathroom floor between clean and dirty - for me to deal with
• I have to put her doona on her once she's in bed
• I fill her water bottle, open the car door, carry her bag into school.....

Getting a picture? And to top it off, it means she can't do an introductory shift for the interview she's meant to be having at McDonald's in some vague attempt of generating some of her own money instead of bleeding me.

It's painful alright.

The Wolf

His suit is a blue as deep as depression, the sharp cut is equally unforgiving.  The shine of his black shoes and hair is only surpassed by the diamond-hard glint in his eye. If it weren't for his private-school breeding, he'd physically be salivating like a wolf on the verge of the kill. But I guess that's exactly what it is.

His bitch, there to bear witness that protocol is adhered to, to ensure there'll be no come back, sits away from the table, shoulders slumped, arms and legs crossed as if by curling into herself and taking up minimal physical space, she is somehow emotionally removing herself from the inevitable blood letting.

'Please,' he says, indicating one of the sixteen plush leather boardroom chairs, all befitting the arses of the power brokers of this cut-throat, ASX top-100 corporation, 'have a seat.' I don't bother to verbally acknowledge him, fuck that, but I do sit and meet his cool blue gaze with one I hope is accurately conveying my nonchalant disinterest.

Naturally, I have rehearsed this meeting a hundred times in my head. In one version, I actually refuse to take a seat and just stand there which is incredibly awkward for him and amusing for me. But on reflection I realise this stance will give him an advantage - the school teacher to student. So I had already predetermined that I would sit. Might as well be comfortable - this could drag on. Or not.

'As you're no doubt aware,' he launches into his legal-department-approved speech, 'due to unexpected market conditions, the company is not fairing as well as we'd hoped and therefore not meeting budget.' I'm tempted to ask how that's got anything to do with m
e. No one asked me what I thought the market might do, no one asked me to have a crack at the budget and yet, here I am, being casually informed of the mistakes of the securely employed. 'That being the case, we are now in the unfortunate position of having to make some..... adjustments.' I almost laugh out loud. But then I remember I am one of those adjustments.

Again, in my usual smart-arse manner, the one that probably led to me being in this seat and in this meeting, I set my mouth in a firm straight line and nod sagely, as if he's just explained something to me that makes complete sense. It's only because he knows me that he gets a whiff of piss taking. One to me.

I could cut this short. I could just ask how much my severance is, what the exclusion and confidentiality clauses are and be done with it. But where's the sport in that?

He rambles on with his speech, clearly deriving a perverse satisfaction from his performance as the consummate professional, imagining himself secretly being filmed for the documentary version of Wall Street. Sadly, his audience, me and the cowering HR woman in the background, aren't the least bit dazzled. I glance at the clock on the wall and sit up a little straighter as I realise with pride that we're 15 minutes in and I'm yet to utter a word. Two to me.

He reaches the business end of his speech,'... so I'm afraid we have to let you go.' I nod and deign to speak for the first time. 'Okay.' Not 'okay' as in affirming or agreeing, that's a trap for young players who don't know me better. This 'okay' is merely an acknowledgment that I have heard what you said. A subtle but essential difference. I doubt he noticed, but I did and that's what matters.

'So,' he continues on, 'how would you like to play this? In terms of letting your team and the staff know? Moving on to pursue other interests?' He punctuates this last sentence with quotation marks etched in the air with his fingers. The wolf is starting to look a lot like a pussy.

I arrange my face to a look of boredom. 'Why don't you just tell them the truth? Unexpected market conditions, blah blah blah - you flung me.' He looks affronted. Not because I'm being blunt about my position but that I'm not being respectful enough of his brilliant performance. He looks just a little bit defeatist. Three to me. Time to sign and get out.



PS This isn't true. I just made it up. I have been retrenched in my career, just the once which is surprising in advertising. It was early in my career, the managing director who delivered the news was kind, even ringing his mate at another agency to get me an interview there. I got that gig and actually liked it more than my previous job. As is so often the case.

The Trap

Do you have a garage? A shed? An attic? A spare room perhaps? Somewhere you can store stuff that you don't require on a day to day basis or stuff that you're hanging onto because you might need it one day or you have some emotional attachment and can't let go?

We have an attic. They type that has the pull down ladder in the ceiling and Geoff has put some flooring up there and that's pretty much it. It's a trap. Why? Because it's far too easy to fling stuff up there rather than make an actual decision about it.

The door to The Trap! What lurks behind....

There is so much crap up there it's a fire hazard. So at Easter I decided the big project would be to check though what the heck was there and get rid of some stuff.

Here's a summary:

• Rationalising the enormous collection of soft toys down to just two huge stripy bags full. We should have gone harder I know but there's a lot of emotion in those stuffed bits of bathmat
• At least half a dozen good quality woollen blankets that Mum had given me when she and Dad moved house god knows how many years ago. We've never used them and as the weather grows increasingly chilly, I figure anyone sleeping rough would probably like one. Straight to St Vinnies.
• Three sleeping mats (we have bunk beds for the tent now) and about as many sleeping bags that have since been upgraded or that we no longer use. See above.
• A couple of Lladro figurines (not rare) that were Mum's - although she says she has no recollection of them. My cousin Amy likes that style of decoration so why on earth are they sitting gathering dust in my attic when she could be enjoying them?
• Just a few clothes that were Jazzy's and Elle's that I thought Sass might wear one day. Ha! Apart from a couple of pairs of wacky sneakers, the rest went straight to St Vinnie's.
• God knows how many crates of the kids' 'special art' and school journals - but could I get Elle and Sass to part with more than a small fraction of it? No. I'm thinking a sneaky clean out without them might be in order!

Here's a stroll through history:

• A huge crate of rolls for the pianola. We did have a pianola - it was my grandmother's - but do we really need so many old rolls of songs and music from the 1920s?? Probably not. But they're still there.
• A crate of memorabilia from my youth (yes, yes - all those years ago....)
• A box of family heirlooms from my parent's place (now minus a couple of Lladro figurines)
• A small crate of adorable baby things that I hope one day the girls might want for their babies
• Crates of photo albums - even though Geoff has pretty much scanned every photo we own
• The doll's house that was Jaz's, then Elle's, then Sass's
• The rocking horse that was Jaz's, then Elle's, then Sass's
• A crate of George's special things
• Some dioramas the kids did at school
• A crate of favourite kid's books (see baby things)
• Old trophies and awards

What's also staying that is useful:

• A couple of crates of ski gear - although we did manage to weed out the bits that don't fit anyone anymore
• Doona, pillows, mattresses and sleeping bags for sleep overs
• Some miscellaneous furniture we have pledged to rid ourselves of should any of it not find a home when we finally renovate
• Christmas decorations

I'm such a hoarder! I'm sure if George and Jaz were still with us, I feel sure I wouldn't need to hang on to so many tangible memories - but also suspect that space would just be taken up by other crap of theirs! I also suspect if one day it all just disappeared, apart from the useful stuff, we'd manage perfectly well without the rest.

So do you have storage trap? What do you keep and how do you let go of 'stuff'?? All tips gratefully received!