back to the endless I-did-this-today story….

I find that drinking black tea (or digger tea as it’s known in our house) after lunchtime makes it difficult to sleep at night. Yeah, yeah, call me pussy caffeine intolerance girl, but there you go. I don’t even try to drink coffee any more – it makes me nuts (though not as nuts as gelati made me on the ride into town last night … is it wrong for The Squeeze and I to take such great delight in riding through the crowd of seagulls in the parking lot of the Markets, yelling all the way and praying we won’t hit a bump in the dark and break a leg?).
So there’s some illicit pleasure in sitting down to a cup of tea at 5.53pm. But hell, I say, if you can’ty drink caffeine after 12 on a Friday night, you’re not really living!
Anyhoo, one week later I go in to Uli to have the experimental mass removed from the middle part of my head. We’re not just talking fringe here, we’re talking girly bits… no, wait, the girly bits are mostly there still, but smaller. Tidier. Anyhoo, after a week of deliberation, experimentation and consumerism ($15 for hair product? That’s crazy talk!) I decided a long fringe was not for me. Long as in longer than half a centimeter. I exaggerate not. Both The Squeeze and I had decided we much preferred the ‘pixie fringe’ as he calls it – I discovered it years ago when it was actually fashionable, and now I’m aiming to look like a serious feminist academic til the day I die. No fringe shall be longer than 2cms. No jewellry shall not be silver. No shoes should not be practical/comfortable, unless teamed with a hideously expensive handbag and black-rimmed glasses.
[diversion] Which reminds me. At a very interesting seminar on Thursday, I decided that breaking an icing sugar-coated biscuit with a spoon to make smaller nibbling pieces was a good idea. Of course, both pieces went everywhere, luckily not during the paper itself. Now, I didn’t freak as this shit happens to me all the time (let me repeat – all the time. I don’t fall down all the time any more, but I sure as shit drop stuff, knock things over, etc etc. And please, let’s not talk about the very public too-long-held-down-click-button-on-the-laptop-while-DJing-so-causing-a-song-to-begin-midway-through-another-song-on-multiple-ocassions thing). But the best bit was watching white powder fly out in all directions. Not so great a way to win friends in a room full of cultural studies types.* I apologised, giggled irreverently and perhaps shouldn’t have proferred a used hanky.
*this is a joke utiilising the stereotype that all cultural studies types wear black turtleneck sweaters, black rimmed glasses and black trousers. While they mostly did in the 90s, now most of them seem to have passed into the ‘comfortable’ fashion bracket. At LaTrobe, anyway. Phew – I wasn’t sure I could manage the dress code.[/diversion]
At any rate, I now have awesomely excellent super-short hair. With minor girly bits but major pixie fringe. All free and included in my original haircut price. Phew. And double phew for DJing – I dropped $60 on a fabulous colour – dark marooney red (which will lighten, I was assured, as the colour sets… which is hairdresser word for ‘fade’ I suspect). And boy did I score the gossip. Mostly restaurant related.
Apparently Bali Bagus (said Bar-goo) is ace. La Paelle (Spanish/Moroccan) is great for small groups but crap for large groups. There’s an Ethiopian place in Fitzroy called Lalla/Lulla/Lilla something or other and is amazingly wonderful.
I also met a local artist type person who does interesting ziney stuff (that one’s for you, Skirt).
I popped in to Spotty to get something for a subdued winter jacket/jumper. While I adore my bright pink and red micro-fleece hoody (Hello Kitty hood lining – pics will follow), sometimes it’s not really the go for a more conservative colour scheme. I can’t really wear bright pink with plum cords and a cream blouse. Well, I can, but it’s kind of…. vivid. So I got some blackey/grey stretch denim (no, don’t worry, I’m not tempted to make some low-riding tight, straight legged jeans… I was THERE in the late 80s/early 90s when that shit was cool the first time. And I am NOT going there again) and some black micro fleece to line a very basic jacket. It will have a metallic zip (ie black tape, but silvery teeth), and either a hood or a collar. I like hoods because they’re practical in this godforsaken climate (esp if they’re water resistant), and I’m tempted by the idea of a fleece-lined hood, but it could all go tragically wrong. We’ll see. The whole jacket will probably be like my waterproof, red, quilted one (sort of box-shaped), esp with the layers and all, but I love that red jacket (could be a little longer though – esp on the bike) so who gives a fuck.
Speaking of which, bike jumpers and jackets have a little lowered ‘saddle flap’ (is it just me who thinks of those curves on the bottom of men’s shirts as being like the flaps on a saddle…? Go horsey girl, go) to cover your lower back and crack. Because, of course, you bend over to ride your bike. Those low-riding trousers are awesomely obscene on bike riders (though very entertaining on the novice bike-kid – ha-HA I strike another blow against the horrid teen-groover invasion of B’wick!). The high-waisted trouser is very pleasing, as are stretch fabrics. In fact, the three quarter tracksuit pant is perfect.

yes, I think I had mentioned the importance of practical clothing for active lasses before. Whatever.
Back to the endless I-did-this-today story….
I picked up some of those FUCKING AMAZING sausages from Nino and Joe’s for dinner tonight. Is it wrong to drop in to a butcher just to browse? Is it wrong to be delighted by the close proximity of hairdresser to Spotty to butcher?
I declare Friday culinary day. Wait for pics. And will endeavour to start a meme. Can you start a meme if only, like 3 or 4 people read your blog, and only about 2 of them blog themselves? I reckon you can. In fact, I think you’re even cooler if you don’t start memes for other people. I think a meme can be cool with just one person in it….
Anyway: on Gastroporn* Friday (whichever and whenever Friday you choose), you have to write a post about a meal you have recently prepared or consumed. Photos are optional but certainly preferable. It doesn’t have to be great food. I will try to do this later today…btw, ignore the times on this blog as they’re a bit out of wack.
*I really wanted to type ‘gastropod’ there.

unexpectedly…

I should probably explain some of the more exclusive language at work in this entry, but I had planned on posting it on Swing Talk, so I reckon we should all just be grateful I posted it here instead of starting a shitfight over there. Let it be known, though, that these comments are partially in response to repeated comments by some ignorami that all DJs are in fact carp, except perhaps for Gary. I beg to differ with this somewhat limited observation and perhaps add that there is really only one truly carp DJ in Melbourne. And that’s enough about that…
So, read on. Or go do something else.
Expectations of DJs
I’ve been thinking about our expectations of DJs – mostly because I’m now having a bash at this gig I’m having to rethink many of my old ideas.
Perhaps the biggest deal for most dancers is what a DJ plays – they want to hear ‘more of X’ or ‘less of Y’, for whatever reasons (it’s more authentic, it’s less authentic, it’s more interesting, it’s faster, it’s slower, it’s whatever’). Now that’s all well and cool – we like to hear songs we like when we go out dancing. And perhaps, more importantly, we like to hear songs that make us dance like a crazy person. But there are some issues, here.
1. How do we let the DJ know what we want to hear?
There are a few options. The simplest and most effective is ask. But how? Frankly, asking for a song at a dance and then expecting it immediately is ridiculous. To even expect it that night is asking a lot – I mean, we have DJs rather than a juke box because we think that DJing itself involves some special skills, more than just wacking a CD in the player. We trust their judgement. So why not do that – trust the DJ to make the choices while you get on with the business of dancing?
But that fairly obvious point aside, hHow else might we request songs? Swing Talk? Sure, not a bad option. But I’ve noticed that some people tend to forget their manners, forget that they’re actually dealing with real people when they make requests on Swing Talk. I think it’s best to remind yourself that the ‘DJ’ is not some nameless, faceless, iron-constitutioned person we don’t know. They’re usually music nerds, who really worry about pleasing the crowd and doing a good job. And usually without any advice or training or constructive feedback. And at the end of the day, if you want something, it’s best to play nice, to say please and to not feel that you’re owed that song. Because the DJ owes you nothing if you don’t give them some love.
2. Should the DJ feel obliged to play songs specifically because they were requested/they know a particular person (note the singular there) likes it, etc?
On the one hand, they could do their best to put together a set that ‘pleases everyone’, specifically including songs they know people like. Or they could go with the flow on the night, mixing up new stuff, old stuff, favourites, wacky new stuff, etc etc. I prefer the latter approach, as a DJ and punter, particularly if the song(s) requested suck. And perhaps, even more importantly (and speaking as someone with a limited budget), I think about what it means to request songs from a DJ, or to expect them to have ‘everything’ in their collection. As someone who has very little money to spend on CDs, I make very careful choices in the music I buy. I mean, let’s remember – a DJ is usually forking out at least $30 a pop on music. If you’re me, living on my budget, $30 is a once-a-month deal at best. And when I go to buy that CD, should I choose a) to buy something that I really really like, b) to choose something I’ve carefully researched and found is excellent for DJing, c) choose something I hate because I know that 5 people love it? I’m looking at options a and b, here as most-likely.
3. To what extent should we expect DJs to pander to our tastes when they’re buying their music?
Personally, I’d feel like a poop if a DJ on a tight budget went out and bought some Vince Giordano which they loathed, just because I’d said I love it and want to dance to it. I’d much rather they went out and found an artist they adored and spent their money there. I like the idea of having a number of DJs, each with special interests, so that when I go to hear them play, I know what to expect, and I know I’ll be hearing X type of music, probably played by someone who’s devoted time to becoming a specialist in that type of music. I don’t expect one DJ to play everything – if they do, I’m damn impressed, because I know how hard it is to do ‘everything’ in one set.
4. How should the DJ play requested songs?
Do they just slap the CD in then and there – immediately, or do they work it in gradually? The first method is kind of problematic – sure, that one person who requested Sidney Bechet’s ‘Slippin’ and Slidin’’ will be happy, but the rest of the room will no doubt look up at the DJ with a puzzled look that seems to say “dood, we were digging that mellow 110bpm groove vibe you had going”. I like to assume that the DJ will have (or will soon develop) the skills to make the decision about when to play the songs, without my help. And if I want to choose the songs and in what order they’re played, then, hell, I’ll get up there and do it. You can’t DJ and dance on the same night.
5. Because a DJ is being paid, how much should we expect of them?
Firstly, let’s have a little look at how much DJs are paid, exactly. Now, if you’re lucky enough to live in a city where DJs are paid (and not everyone is), what’s the deal?
In Melbourne, I’ve been paid $25 for 2.5 hours at CBD. I’ve also been paid $25 for 1.5 hours at CBD. I’ve been paid $30 for 1.25 hours at the Funpit. I’ve DJed for free at Camberwell, and DJing at the Blues Pit is $25 (or $30 – I forget) for a 45 minute set.
Hmmmm.
Now, if I chose to work a shift at Safeway, I’d be better paid. And the working conditions would no doubt be far better – I could handball difficult customers to a manager, I wouldn’t have to spend hours, days, weeks researching my work, and there’s very little take-home work.
If you’ve read the discussion on DJs’ pay, on Swing Talk, you’ll see that any ‘profit’ from DJing is actually eaten up by things like buying music and equipment, dealing with APRA, travel and so on. Add to that the fact that DJs don’t get to dance, and….
Just how fair is it to demand that they then also spend their money buying music you like so that they can play them for you at a dance? And how cool is it, then, to heckle and harangue DJs for not playing the music that you want to hear (and let’s remember – you’re just one kid in a crowd of dancers, all with different tastes, which don’t necessarily coincide with yours)?
Sure, there are other benefits and advantages to DJing. DJs may get into a venue for free (so, you may actually be paid $36 at the Funpit, for example). They get the respect and accolades of their peers… no, wait, what was that about being hassled by dancers for songs…? Frankly, once the initial thrill (and fear) of DJing wears off, the fringe benefits of DJing are remarkably slim. The satisfaction of filling the dance floor and making people happy? Sure, yeah. Getting to hear music you love for hours on end? Hm. And not dancing to it? Assuming you get to play it at all, if you’re not busy dealing with requests…
And let’s not forget the other side of DJing – having to be at dancing exactly on time for your shift (add 15minutes for set up), and then if you want to do any kind of decent job, actually being there to hear the first DJ’s set to be sure there’re no repeats. Dealing with arseholes giving you a hard time (heckling online, in person at the doo, via email, etc etc etc). etc etc etc.
So, at the end of the day, next time you consider slanging off a DJ, or demanding they play your music, why not stop and think a minute. Cut them some slack. And if you really hate the music, why not DJ yourself?
I DJ because I’m enjoying the challenge of learning the skills of playing to a crowd. I’m interested in the music – I like the challenge of researching and hunting down affordable and excellent music. I like the thought of giving back to the scene a little – I’m volunteering my time and energy for other people’s fun. And I think of it as pay back for all the times I’ve had a fantastic night dancing to a fantastic DJ. And I DJ because the more DJs there are in a scene, the more variety of music there is, and the more chances the DJs get to dance!
BTW: please feel free to add comments to this article. Spamming and sledging will of course be triumphantly, gloriously and satisfyingly deleted arbtrarily, with the righteous and highly likely possibility of rubbing it in.

um… no, nothing to say

Finally the sun has come back, after far too long of dreary, overcast greyness and cold.
And of course, with the drear goes my recent – and somewhat startling – spate of super-productivity. In a week I edited two chapters quite aggressively and wrote two articles.
And now, of course, I’m left wondering whether or not I should go to the cinema. I think perhaps I shall, as the Nova, our local cinema has something wordy and all about human relationships on this afternoon that I’d like to see. Don’t much care what, so long as it’s got some nice cinematography. No, no, I’ve already seen Water (and yes, it was wonderful – I liked Fire and Earth, but this was probably the best). Something else, thanks.
On a side point, yesterday was ANZAC day, not something I care much about, but my attention was briefly caught by a little story on the news about how the RSL had ‘forbidden’ family members to march with photos of servicemen in the parade. Which I thought was strange – it seemed appropriate to me, and perhaps emphasised the fact that the march should perhaps be about memorialising loss as well as ‘appreciating’ soldiers… but then, I don’t know much about the issue, so…
…and I have nothing more to write. Seems I’ve used up all my words for the week. Oh well. Will go sew something in hot pink cordurouy instead (!!).

hey!


Look! It’s Frowy!
I like the thought of John Frow attacking anyone (though if anyone could provoke a gentle lefty acka to the offensive, it’d be our Fearless Leader).
Go read that article. It’s interesting. And it demonstrates why Howard could have done with at least one humanities subject under his belt: my first years could see how he’s exposed his ignorance.

rolled shoulders

So today I scored a new haircut (scored as in paid for).
It’s slightly different to my usual very-short. Uli said “what will it be this time? short?” and I said ‘Yes, but I think I want something different”.
So now I have ‘girly bits’ at the front.

Which is nice. And anyway, I tried to colour it myself. Two problems:
1. dud colour (some crap Loreal product – I need their oldschool hyper-red but can’t find it)
2. missed some bits at the front through conservative application of colour
3. I got no idea what’s going on at the back there.
I guess it’ll look ok. It’s kind of tame, though – it looks like a ‘natural’ red (well, as natural as a chick with black eyebrows and eyes can look with red hair) and I like toxicly unnatural reds.
Sigh.
Will see what I can find out at the shops tonight.
On other fronts, a trip to the hairdresser is always a great opportunity to secure local community gossip. Uli is a member of the Sydney Rd Assoc (I think it’s called) and has lots to do with the council. Apparently the giant Sortino across the road (Sortino = wonderful Italian furniture. Say yes to white, to gold, to marble) will soon become a Priceline. So I might be able to get my hair colour there soon. The big old reception place/furniture store place is to be an Aldi, which we’re not pleased about in Little Sweden’s home of Fine Hair: the local small businesses will suffer. And I agree. I’m not sure why they think a German supermarket will do well in Brunswick (land of Middle Eastern, Mediterannean and Subcontinental -ness), but heck.
I passed on the wonder that is Nino and Joe’s and we tutted over the urban renewal generally.
Speaking of Nino and Joe’s…
went in for a bunch of sausages, came out with $50 worth of fucking amazing meat.
We got:
– 8 fat sausages (2 pork spicey, 2 pork normal, 2 beef spicey, 2 beef normal) because I wanted to test them all. These aren’t the pale and insipid bangers filled with beige paste you find tagged ‘BBQ’ in the supermarket. They’re fat, they’re textured a little like my thighs (helloooo cellulite), they’re kind of blotchy-coloured, owing to the combination of stuff inside them. They taste FANTASTIC.
– 1 rolled beef shoulder roast (1.2kg at $12.99 a kg) – pancetta, swiss mushrooms, garlic, etc. It looks fantastic. It had better be.
– 1 pork chop (because)
– some beef ‘stir fry’. Ordinarily I buy steak and we cut it up ourselves, but I trust Joe. Well, I’ll trust him just this once
– 2 chicken breasts
– 1 pork loin (hellloooo stir-fry)
… and something else I’ve forgotten. At any rate, it took two bags and I had to squish it into my bike bag. This is enough meat to feed us forever. I should perhaps buy fresh rather than freezing, but I wanted to be sure we were stocked up.
I’m a bit excited about the rolled beef. The Squeeze barely tolerates roasted meats, but he likes beef. And I was excited by the pancetta. Though I’ll probably die from botulism, leaving cured and raw meat cohabiting in the fridge for 24 hours.
And from whence does the funds for all this bounty come?
Well, we can thank the Melbourne lindy hop community for the most part – I’ve DJed 9 times since the 23rd February. That’s 9 times in an 8 week period. Going from 0. DJ drought? Naaaah.
I’m certainly learning quickly. Well, I guess I’m learning quickly, because it seems to be going well. Last night was my second time doing the second set at CBD and the room was PACKED and FRENZIED til 12. I DJed for 2.4 hours for $25.
I was abused and been-mean-to by some loser arseholes, but everyone else seemd to really dug my action. I know that the floor was always full, and the reports from dancers were overwhelmingly positive – “Man, it’s really pumping out there. There’s a really great vibe in the room.” That’s really nice to hear, but it’s a bit hard watching your mates flail about in a sweaty, endorphine-charged euphoria while you have to stand up there playing the best music in the world. Thankfully, people seem to have grasped the idea that I like to be visited when I’m DJing, so I spent a large part of the set laughing so much with the Rubinator I thought I’d broken my face laughing.
The few dances I did have were quite awful: I have forgotten how to dance. But I think perhaps it’s recorded music. I only dance to live bands now. heh.
I’d like to end this post with a witty reference to sausages or perhaps rolled shoulders… no, I won’t go near that awful punnage about my own rolled right shoulder impeding my following. Even I won’t stoop that low. Though I could, now that I have super-dooper yoga-strength.

black – white dance


This is a fascinating photo from this book:
Gottschild, Brenda Dixon. Digging the Africanist Presence in American Performance. Connecticut and London: Greenwood Press, 1996.
This photo rocks because it emphasises the different culturally informed aesthetics of dance, in different dance traditions.
These dancers are George Balanchine (the white dood), Violetta Verdy and Arthur Mitchell. You may know Balanchine’s work from films like Cabin in the Sky]. He was a Russian-born American choreographer who revolutionised concert dance in the States (and internationally) by introducing Africanist themes to white dances like ballet (I have to note: this wouldn’t have been possible without the assistance of black dancers, and black dancers wouldn’t have been in white ballet schools if it wasn’t for the abolition of Jim Crow and other segregationist legislation).
These photos absolutely fascinate me. Check out the angles at Mitchell’s hips in the left photo – more exaggerated than Balanchine. Its off-centredness really creates some excellent angles, breaking up the ‘straight lines’ which are characteristic of white performance dance. And that from a black dood with ballet training – think of Frankie doing a Shorty George for a far more extreme example (or go way extreme and check out ‘Snake Hips’ Earl Tucker).
Joann Kealiinohomoku reads ballet as a cultural discourse in her article An Anthropologist Looks at Ballet as a Form of Ethnic Dance, noting the ways in which “all forms of dance reflect the cultural traditions within which they developed” (533). She describes “the long line of lifted, extended bodies, the total revealing of legs, of small heads and tiny feet for women, slender bodies for both sexes, and the coveted airy quality which is best shown in the lifts and carryings of the female” (545) in ballet. Check it out – you can see those long lines in Verdy’s immitation of Balanchine on the right. Note her straight line from hip to ankle, versus Balanchine’s serious angleage.
Jacqui Malone writes:

Africans brought to North American were no doubt affirming their ancestral values when they sang a slave song that urged dancers to gimme de kneebone bent. To many western and central Africans, flexed joints represented life and energy, while straightened hips, elbows, and knees epitomized rigidity and death. The bent kneebone symbolized the ability to get down

Isn’t that the most amazing shit you’ve ever seen/read?!
It just blows my mind that you can see a culture’s values and ideology in the way people hold their bodies and move. That is SO amazing! It’s also very relevent to the way we Aussie kids learn dance today – how are our culturally inscribed ways of moving and dancing affecting the way we ‘recreate’ these dances? You just have to look at the difference between someone like Ryan Francois and one of the Hot Shots to see how ethnicity affects movement – both are amazing dancers, but quite different.
And I think it is absolutely ESSENTIAL to point out that these ways of moving are learnt. No essentialist stuff here, thanks. For evidence of that argument you can check out the Malcolm X bio for descriptions of how class affected dancing in black communities in Harlem in the 30s, or you can check out the last 2 refs at the bottom.

This one is just as interesting. That’s Whitey’s Lindy Hoppers rehearsing for Hellzapoppin’ (Mickey Sales/William Downs, Norma Miller/Billy Ricker, Frank Manning/Ann Johnson). Check out the individual variation on the same basic A-jump.
And below there’s a final ensemble scene from George Balanchine’s ‘The Four Temperamentals’. The ballerinas have just come down from a ‘scissor kick’ thingy and are rested on the men.
How’s that for another neat comparison?

  • Kealiinohomoku, Joann. “An Anthropologist Looks at Ballet as a Form of Ethnic Dance.” What Is Dance? Readings in Theory and Criticism. Eds. Roger Copeland and Marshall Cohen. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983. 533 – 49.
  • Malone, Jacqui. Steppin’ on the Blues: The Visible Rhythms of African American Dance. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1996.
  • Friedland, LeeEllen. “Social Commentary in African-American Movement Performance.” Human Action Signs in Cultural Context: The Visible and the Invisible in Movement and Dance. Ed. Brenda Farnell. London: Scarecrow Press, 1995. 136 – 57.
  • Pietrobruno, Sheenagh. “Embodying Canadian Multiculturalism: The Case of Salsa Dancing in Montreal.” Revista Mexicana de Estudios Canadienses nueva época, número 3. (2002). (read it here)

my first meme

A meme from Jac by way of Alison.

Instructions: Go to your music player of choice and put it on shuffle. Say the following questions aloud, and press play. Use the song title as the answer to the question. NO CHEATING.

How does the world see you?
Sepia Panorama – Duke Ellington
(an instrumental, kind of mellow, almost moody track – indicative of ellington’s later penchant for orchestrated swing in his later years. good slower dancing)
…ok….so I’m complex, moody, yet positive?
Will I have a happy life?
Hurricane – Vince Giordano
(crazy fast charleston music – fun)
So, fun, exciting, interesting yet tiring?
What do my friends really think of me?
Kickin’ the Gong Around – Cab Calloway
The lyrics are worth repeating. Bracketed sections are the chorus replying to Cab
(Yeah!)
(No!)
It was down in Chinatown,
All the cokey’s laid around,
Some were high, and some were mighty low,
There were millions on the floor,
When a knock came on the door,
And there stood old Smokey Joe.
He was wet and cold and pale,
He was looking for his frail,
He was broke and all his junk ran out.
Nobody made a sound,
As he stood and looked around,
And then you’d hear old Smokey shout:
“Tell me where is Minnie?” (where is Minnie?)
“My poor Minnie?” (your poor Minnie)
“Has she been here, kicking the gong around?
If you don’t know Minnie” (don’t know Minnie)
“She’s tall and she’s skinny” (tall and skinny)
“She gets her pleasure kicking the gong around.”
(scat) (yeah!)
(scat) (no!)
“Just tell her Smokey Joe was here and had to go.”
And as he departed, (and as he departed)
The curtains parted, (the curtains parted)
And there stood Minnie,
Kicking the gong around.
Hmmm. Interesting, considering I’m all straight edge and all… Maybe it’s a song about me making funny songs about junky ‘hos and their pimps?
Do people secretly lust after me?
Boy Wanted – Ella Fitzgerald
(kind of dumb song where Ella sings about the boy she wants, and she starts: “he must be able to dance, and must make light of romance”).
Ok….
How can I make myself happy?
You Didn’t Want Me Then – Dinah Washington
(Dinah sings: hey, you didn’t want me then, that’s cool – I’ll carry on. I’ve found someone else that I like a lot more and they’re really nice)
Strangely appropriate…
What should I do with my life?
Night and Day – Sinatra with the Dorseys
(“Night and day,
You are the one.
Only you,
Beneath the moon and the sun.
Whether near to me or far,
There’s no matter darling where you are,
I think of you,
Day and night”)
Oh, so I’m back with the looking-for-love thing?
Will I ever have children?
Night and Day – Ella Fitzgerald (50s ella)
(same as last one, but cheesier and more orchestrated)
That’s weird. Does this mean there’ll be perpetual love making, or that I’ll never sleep a whole night through again (because of my many babies?)?
What is some good advice for me?
Put It There (shag nasty) – McKinney’s Cotton Pickers
(sassy, uptempo ‘charleston’ stuff – shag=the dance step, not… well, actually.
No, it’s mostly about crazy uptempo dancing)
Neat. Dance like a fool, shag like a fool.
How will I be remembered?
Jumpin’ at the Woodside – Count Basie
(crazy fast dancing, iconic in lindy for excellent fast dancing and the sequence in Hellzapoppin’)
…crazy fast dancing fool?
What is my signature song?
Gloomy Sunday – Billie Holiday
(sad, slow – she dreams that her lover has gone/died, then wakes up and discovers she was wrong, and now she really appreciates and loves her partner even more for having thought she’d lost them)
right.
What do I think my current theme song is?
I’ Shouting High – Louis Armstrong
(medium tempo, but energetic, a love-song)
whatever…
What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
I’m Gonna Live Til I Die – Barbara Lewis with Reg James
(about partying hard, living every day as it comes)
what-e-ver
What song will play at my funeral?
I Can’t Dance (I got ants in my pants) – Chick Webb
(lyrics (chorus in brackets):
Oh Baby,
Love to have a party,
(let’s have a party)
Let’s all begin,
(let’s all begin)
You bring the women,
(you bring the women)
I’ll bring the gin.
(i’ll bring the gin)
Let’s go for a drive,
(let’s go for a drive)
Ain’t goin’ far,
(ain’t goin’ far)
You fix the blow-out,
(you fix the blow-out)
Boy, and I’ll drive the car.
(I’ll drive the car).
…scatting…
I can’t dance,
(I can’t dance)
Got ants in my pants,
(Got ants in my pants),
I can’t dance,
(I can’t dance).
Boy, I can’t dance,
Got ants in my pants,
Oh, Chick can’t dance,
(why?)
Got ants in his pants!
A fun, energetic song about not being able to dance because i’m all wriggly in my pants, though it’s more about dancing and being excited-energetic and dancing kind of crazy)
Kewl. But I won’t be able to dance to it….
What type of men/women do I like?
Roll the Boogie – Lavay Smith and the Red Hot Skillet Lickers
(uptempo fun, ‘boogie woogie’ rhythm:
“My man likes to boogie, boogie with a steady roll,
When he boogies my woogie, satisfies my soul,
He boogies in the morning, boogies all night and day.
And when he gets home he blows my blues away”)
Nuff said, really…
What is my day going to be like?
What Shall I say – Billie Holiday
(“What shall i say,
When our neighbours want us to come to tea?
They don’t know you’re not with me,
What shall i say?
What shall i say when the phone rings and someone asks for you?”
– a song about having been left by someone, but in an uptempo, positive tempo and rhythm)
kind of ordinary, but positive?
Hm. well that was all kind of disappointing. It made me giggle, though. Esp at Shag Nasty and Kicking the Gong Around. Guess this would have more variety if I listened to less swinging jazz – there’d be fewer songs about party, sex and drugs or misery. Thank god I’m not a country and western fiend.

nice things about the bus

– you can wear impractical shoes and the hugest trousers ever to uni.
– you can sit and read or sit and stare out the window at things going by at speeds greater than 30 k an hour!
– you can overhear conversations about immigration and bringing out beloved brothers between a stunningly beautiful blonde Ukranian girl and one of your favourite crinkly Italian bus drivers (the one who beeps the horn as he approaches the corner shop/deli in Nth Fitzroy so the shopkeeper can get his coffee to him, but then shares the accompanying free cake)
– you can arrive at your destination not covered in (admittedly euphoric) sweat
– you can run into students of Tutorials Past, who hail you at the front of the bus with a bellowed “Yo Sam!” from the back and then engage you in a round of catch up, much the interest of the intermediary students on the bus.
– you can discover said students* are half way through a CREATIVE WRITING HONOURS THESIS (!!!!!!)** and then share a wicked moment when he smirks “because I can’t write”.***
– you get to share a few blocks with school kids from the local middle school who an old friend would have described as ‘liquorice allsorts’ – all sorts of colours and shapes and seriously sweet, including a Japanese kid and a couple of North African Kids yelling out “good bye! good bye!” out the window to each other with great delight and that sort of after-a-goody-day merriment that makes passers-by grin
– you can fart as you leave a crowded bus full of high school students and smirk.
*The ones whose high school teachers (who, if you ever find them, will be totally bashed up) told them ‘couldn’t write’ and ‘never would be able to’, and who so impressed you with their insightful take on a fairly prosaic second assignment you were moved to a perhaps-overly-empassioned shredding of past high school teachers and comments such as ‘this is the type of work that we look for in postgraduate research – interesting, unique and well-researched takes on ordinary stuff’.
**I was so thrilled I would have squeezed this giant boy then and there, if it weren’t for half a bus and a dozen students between us. So I settled for much “I’m so HAPPY” and other mothery/aunty/nanna talk.
*** and at this point you realise why you teach, why it’s wonderful to meet students long after you’ve both moved on from the dullest subjects and are doing new things (whether that involves hitting on undergrads or reading good books**** on the bus), and why you catch the bus
****yeah right – like I’m going to pass up a good book on a warm bus on a chilly Autumn afternoon to chat up chundergrads? Psft.