Author Archives: dogpossum

speed

I know, I know, I’ve not been around much any more. But I can’t help it! I’ve been editing like a crazy editing fool, and then I move from the computer to the bike to ride off to yoga or into the city or wherever the fuck I want to go – because I can ride my bike as fast as the wind, certainly faster than Commonwealth Games stalled traffic. And it’s much easier for me to get onto my bike than it is for a cranky commuter to get onto a tram these days as well (PT users city-wide are ‘amused’ by the little notes at the tram stop: avoid using trams during peak periods. Nice one – two thumbs).
Though I am worried about the disappearing bike lanes. Melbournians will be familiar with the Games Lanes marked in blue on on CBD streets. Not so many will have noticed the way several key bike lanes (a few-block section on Swanston Street, all of Queensberry Street) have completely disappeared. I’m paranoid – really worried – that they won’t come back after the games have finished. But this hasn’t stopped me speeding into town or off to Brunswick Street or to the cinema. 20 minutes to town (official time down 10minutes on previous personal best). Still 20 minutes to Carlton, but surely that’s a timing error? Yoga, however, is down to 10 minutes.
I am truly In Love with Blacky. Though its first service seems in order… how could we bare to be parted?
On other fronts, I’ve DJed no less than four times in the past three weeks. It seems there’s a bit of a DJ drought in Melbourne atm. My skills have necessarily taken a serious up-turn and I’m sure the groupies are moments away. They are no doubt waiting for a tram somewhere on Swanston Street.

contemporary 20s jazz recreationists – rough ideas

Listening to a new CD by the Charleston Chasers, I was struck by the short musical step between British brass bands and the earliest jazz and ragtime. The story goes: Afro-American slaves took up the instruments abandoned by fleeing southern American soldiers at the end of the 19th century and invented ragtime. Ragtime moved to New Orleans and was made over in that multicultural city to become hot jazz. You can hear the sames sorts of instruments in early jazz and ragtime as in marching bands – tubas, trumpets, clarinets, big drums. The difference being the African influence. Or, more specifically, the difference being the blues.
The specific similarities in the history of jazz and the history of British brass bands are worth noting. The more obvious online sources refer to the relationship between brass bands and miners in the UK. Brass bands, as with jazz, were the creative work of marginalised or working class people in both countries. The clearest difference, however, lies in British brass band’s role as competitive performance bands, and jazz’s more comprehensive position in Afro-American vernacular culture. The parallels could continue, if we referred to American – specifically New Orleans – marching bands, but that’s not my concern here.
The Charleston Chasers are a British band, and I was struck by the similarity between their music and the brass bands of British tradition. The Charleston Chasers, despite my high hopes, aren’t such a great band for swing dancing – for charleston or other 20s dances. I suspect that it is because they lack the blues. To me, that translates to their music feeling like it lacks soul. It doesn’t make me want to shake my arse.
I have some reservations about some of the larger ‘society jazz’ type bands recreating 20s jazz, mostly because I find they reproduce the more mannered jazz you might associate with a ‘high society’ band of the 20s, rather than the grittier jazz from the 20s which I prefer.
That hasn’t stopped me liking Vince Giordano‘s work (including my new CD, and I tend to sort of audio-ly skim over the shinier aspect of this music.
I’m also struck by the vast superiority of the original music and bands from the 20s – is it a race thing? An ethnicity thing? Part of me – somewhat suspiciously – simply feels that these new, predominantly white recreationist bands are simply too ‘white’ to make for good charleston. I like a little grunt, a little grit in my charleston music.

not sure i want to go rollarskating, but you know.

I’ve just suddenly been caught by a strange [insert smartypants theory word here like ‘existential’ or ‘postmodern’ or whatever here] moment:
How does the touch pad on my laptop work? No, I mean really, how does it work? How does it know that I’m touching it?*
Meanwhile, back in the concrete, undertheorised, Pragmatic Feminist world:
today I had chuckguts. It started at 6.30am (which is more considerate than starting at, say 10pm and continuing on for 12 or so hours, a la Taswegia (do NOT eat at a restaurant called ‘Blue Skies’ in Hobart. It will make you vomit until you bust eyeball blood vessels)). It meant that I couldn’t go to my first yoga private today, which I was quite looking forward to. It meant that today I couldn’t eat the chochy we made last night (that’s chocolate brownies to you – last night The Squeeze brought me a mug of milk and the hot chocolate powder in a moment of confusion. I guess it’s kind of the same as a chocolate brownie and a glass of milk. There was also some comment about our old couch, but I forgot what exactly). I guess I could have eaten it, but I kind of like to keep my saturated fats/gross sugars in my body for more than, say… 3 minutes.
But I’m pretty much ok now, thanks. Not sure I want to go rollarskating, but you know.
*I want to make a joke about playing “I’m not touching you”, but I can’t. I can, however, make a mental note to make Clever and Witty Joke Entry about Dave’s Riki massage joke some day soon. It makes us both laugh and laugh. Which is perhaps more an indication of how much time we’ve spent at home over the past couple of months, but I like to think it’s because we’re witty and also carefree and lighthearted.

i experiment with style

As my girth steadily decreases, it occurs to me that increasing my weekly exercise would make it possible for me to eat more.
I can think of nothing more perfect.
At the moment I do dancey practice at home twice a week for an hour. Step-step-triple-step, step-triple-step and very little else – so dull it’s almost frightening. The dullness has not deterred Crinks from declaring – regularly – that she’d like to join me. I’d like to think that it’s my scintillating personality that attracts her, but I’m actually sure that it’s more a combination of extreme dance nerdery and a lack of daytime occupation. I say no to her pleas because I’m not sure I want anyone else to see me jiggling up and down like a fool, determined to keep my hips parallel and ankles strong. It’s not even something I can share with The Squeeze.
Beyond that, I also go to yoga twice a week for an hour and a half, onesies and bubs. I love it dearly, have a smarting crush on my teacher (it’s an alignment thing), and have discovered that my Ankles Are Weak. I dread the thought of being thought weak ankled, or having anyone notice my less-than-stable ankles, so I am working on them. Both my Down Dog and my 20s Charleston basic have improved imeasurably since making the ankle discovery.
I also social dance three times a fortnight, from 8.30 til 11.00 and 9.30 – 11.30 or thereabouts. I ride to dancing on Thursday nights (half an hour each way) and ride my bike everywhere. The new bike is truly Built for Speed. And I am increasingly looking as if I too were designed in a wind tunnel. So to speak.
On other fronts (no, that wasn’t a clever way of moving on to further discussion of my physique), I DJed for the first time to a Melbourne audience. It seems I’ve completely reneged on my previous decision to abstain from DJing, and have suddenly decided I like it Very Much. The $25 for a 1.5 hour slot has in no way influenced my thinking, nor has the contribution it will make to my private yoga class next week.
And I am sure that my new interest in entertaining the swing dancing masses has absolutely not a thing to do with my new found love of the stage. New found in that the stifling stage fright of my teens has been replaced by a definite interest in standing in front of a large group of people and doing exactly as I like, sure that it is all about Me for anywhere between 5 and 95 minutes.
If I do seem in danger of becoming a crazed megolamaniac, limelight-grabbing glory hound, be sure to step in, will you?
To round off this week, it seems the Ps have discovered the previous post about their house and the included accusations of mental instability. I have not denied it. In response to my father’s comment that “all our friends have said they like it” I could only respond: “all your friends are polite.”
I’m sure he’s now sure that I am the most conservative member of the family.
This does not mean that I am ashamed of my parents. It’s far too late for that – I would never have survived adolescence if I was that delicate.
On the topic of familial decoration, my brother has acquired his first ink.
While he is 29 this year (4 years younger) I don’t doubt that my father is still imagining he’s 14 and somewhat in shock. I’m sure my mother, however, is secretly terribly excited and has already broadcast full details to all of Hobart, Brisvegas and now Melbourne. My father did concede that though he wasn’t comfortable with the thought of the pain involved, he did think that it was a very nice piece of art. I will post photos as soon as they come to hand.
I, however, remain undecorated, and offer only this post as my contribution to the family’s Experiments with Style.

blue house

My parents have gone insane. Why did they think smurf-blue was a good idea?
Well, at least it lends itself to creative gardening…
You know how there are ‘feature colours’ in the pre-packaged colour packs at the paint shop? My parents tend to choose all of the feature colours – they don’t waste their time with dull filler colours.
And yes, that’s actually the front of their house. Mostly because the back is where the action is, with a wall of windows looking out onto these views:
mood #1: daylight over Mt Wellington and whatsit bridge
mood #2 pensive afternoon
mood #3: sunset. Yes, that’s the real, genuine, actual colours of that evening. I have a million more, but you’d expire from boredom.