melbourne is cold, windy, and wet, like a reluctant soviet gymnast demonstrating its abilities for the benefit of the foreign delegate. i have been recovering from the emerging writers festival, largely by hiding in brunswick and making obscene jokes about the concept of emerging.
the fest was good, but exhausting. it's hard to go from shed-in-the-desert to urbane sophistication in sixty seconds, even though i'd just spent the last three weeks doing arts festival stuff in alice. alice is much less intimidating - possibly because it's so far away from the establishment, we all know no-one's watching us and are able to go about our happy, eccentric business without much consideration for what's acceptable.
this lack of attention can translate into ignorance. "do you dress like that in alice springs?" one punter asked. quite a few melbourne people appear to be afraid of leaving melbourne. they must think the rest of the country is full of psychotic rednecks straight out of wolf creek. i say let 'em.
i hobnobbed and networked a little bit, without ill effects (besides a mild self-loathing). i also accidentally heckled someone quite important in publishing. i don't think he'd be able to pick me out in a lineup though - i was too far back in the crowd. i'm not going to give you any more details, just in case i incriminate myself further.
it was an involuntary thing. i just can't help taking the piss, especially as i was very sleep-deprived at the time; i'd spent the night in a soft, warm bed in a comfortable hotel where i couldn't open the window.
which is lucky, as this view might have made me want to jump.
it was ridiculous being put up in such surroundings. the last time i slept in a hotel i snuck in past a sleeping clerk and curled up in a broom cupboard. are they asking me to go soft, or what?
i eventually relaxed enough to make some friends (gravitating to the two older indigenous women from up north, and the middle eastern poets - there is safety in numbers, even for strangers) and spent my entire expenses cheque on books and liquor.
big smokes aren't my thing. it's been four years since i lived in one. but i am enjoying the food and the company. i'm enjoying the coffee. i'm enjoying the man in his pyjamas at 2pm yelling greek instructions to his roofer from the footpath. the smell of hashish and nargileh oozing from cafes. the shock of continuous suburbia. the coffee. no wonder all the bright young things are idle. (sort of - they're all organising camp betty, which i'm gonna miss)
i spent yesterday walking in the rain, feeling complacently anonymous - something i thought i had lost in australian cities. but somehow, my history here has been painted over. the status of stranger has been haphazardly restored. the phenomenon doesn't make me sad at all, just faintly relieved that the world has caught up - like an unfair, outdated law has finally been repealed. if i'm a little nostalgic, it's for having something to protest against.
this anachronistic need to rebel is a bit stupid, since i seem to enjoy acceptance almost as much. i just took out first and second prize in the alice news story comp, and now i don't feel half as terrible about spending all my money on books. especially not when they're alison bechdel's fun home - it is a luminous piece of work. give it up for graphic novels.
speaking of which, shaun tan won nsw premier's book of the year. shoulda got best fiction i reckon - but you still hafta be old and bearded to get that one. does that mean the world needs shitstirrers after all?
* "who really gives a damn for a flaky bandit?" - duran duran, notorious
the fest was good, but exhausting. it's hard to go from shed-in-the-desert to urbane sophistication in sixty seconds, even though i'd just spent the last three weeks doing arts festival stuff in alice. alice is much less intimidating - possibly because it's so far away from the establishment, we all know no-one's watching us and are able to go about our happy, eccentric business without much consideration for what's acceptable.
this lack of attention can translate into ignorance. "do you dress like that in alice springs?" one punter asked. quite a few melbourne people appear to be afraid of leaving melbourne. they must think the rest of the country is full of psychotic rednecks straight out of wolf creek. i say let 'em.
i hobnobbed and networked a little bit, without ill effects (besides a mild self-loathing). i also accidentally heckled someone quite important in publishing. i don't think he'd be able to pick me out in a lineup though - i was too far back in the crowd. i'm not going to give you any more details, just in case i incriminate myself further.
it was an involuntary thing. i just can't help taking the piss, especially as i was very sleep-deprived at the time; i'd spent the night in a soft, warm bed in a comfortable hotel where i couldn't open the window. which is lucky, as this view might have made me want to jump.
it was ridiculous being put up in such surroundings. the last time i slept in a hotel i snuck in past a sleeping clerk and curled up in a broom cupboard. are they asking me to go soft, or what?
i eventually relaxed enough to make some friends (gravitating to the two older indigenous women from up north, and the middle eastern poets - there is safety in numbers, even for strangers) and spent my entire expenses cheque on books and liquor.
big smokes aren't my thing. it's been four years since i lived in one. but i am enjoying the food and the company. i'm enjoying the coffee. i'm enjoying the man in his pyjamas at 2pm yelling greek instructions to his roofer from the footpath. the smell of hashish and nargileh oozing from cafes. the shock of continuous suburbia. the coffee. no wonder all the bright young things are idle. (sort of - they're all organising camp betty, which i'm gonna miss)
i spent yesterday walking in the rain, feeling complacently anonymous - something i thought i had lost in australian cities. but somehow, my history here has been painted over. the status of stranger has been haphazardly restored. the phenomenon doesn't make me sad at all, just faintly relieved that the world has caught up - like an unfair, outdated law has finally been repealed. if i'm a little nostalgic, it's for having something to protest against.
this anachronistic need to rebel is a bit stupid, since i seem to enjoy acceptance almost as much. i just took out first and second prize in the alice news story comp, and now i don't feel half as terrible about spending all my money on books. especially not when they're alison bechdel's fun home - it is a luminous piece of work. give it up for graphic novels.
speaking of which, shaun tan won nsw premier's book of the year. shoulda got best fiction i reckon - but you still hafta be old and bearded to get that one. does that mean the world needs shitstirrers after all?
* "who really gives a damn for a flaky bandit?" - duran duran, notorious
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