Chapter Two

She puts the phone down. She never had any intention of calling him in the first place. Perhaps it's her age, something more primal, more hormonal that caused her to have a momentary weakness. Some need to partner up and nest. There would be no point calling and feigning nicety. She didn't want false pretenses where he mistakes politeness for interest. And to have to tell someone you're not interested would only just create unnecessary inconvenience for both parties. There was no desire to tempt friendship either, not when she was about to leave in a few short months for good. What kind of friendship would develop anyway? She certainly didn't want him to think she would oblige to a "mutually beneficial" friendship. She had had plenty of those in her youth, but now she had moved onto other goals in life. It is now time for emotional fulfillment.

A man who doesn't call a woman back is called a bastard. Are the issues at the forefront of a woman's consideration when she doesn't call a man back also rests so prominently in a man's mind when he does the same? I'd be very intrigued and pleasantly surprised if they were. But let's face it girls, men are bastards.

Piecing It Together

Any of my friends will tell you I have a useless memory. And it doesn't strike me how bad until I am jolted by a sudden return of a snippet of the past which brings on an involuntary Cheshire smile or a swell of uncontrolled embarrassment or even a flash of pure anger. Then the feeling disappears and I marvel at how strong that tiny piece of memory was, and feeling completely at a loss as to why I had misplaced that memory in the first place. It's like being half a person. I am never fully aware of myself and every day I feel like I am still premature, or delayed in my personal growth, when perhaps these feelings may be unfounded if I could just refer back to any minute detail of my past and find answers to my doubt.

Watched the end of A Streetcar Named Desire today, where Vivien Leigh's Blanche DuBois is having a conversation with Marlon Brando who plays Stanley. She talks about beauty fading, but that she has intelligence and culture and depth to offer, and being rich in that sense. Though she does lose her mind by the end of the film I do like this bit of self-confidence and don't feel it's at all part of the dementia she suffers towards her self-image. It was almost a glimmer of hope that she understands the reality of her situation but still holds a small flicker of hope for a better future...that is, until Stanley brutally demolishes her with his words.

Someone once did that to me, brutal to me with words. I was with him for a year and every day knew it was shit and literally counting down the days till I left. But the strangest, most unexplainable thing in that non-relationship relationship was that I'd wanted it to work so much that I kept defending him to myself. I still cannot explain to myself to this day why I felt like this about a man I didn't even want in the first place. Then I left. And I was a normal human being again. The hollows in my memory bank are serving me well.

Corner

Darkness. Music. Strobe lights. Smoke. He shows interest. You show interest. You grind together on the dance floor. Go home together. He asks for your number, then he never calls. You call him a bastard. Every girl has been there before.

Now reverse that role.

A girl takes a boy home on Saturday night. She had been out with a group of friends and had no particular intention except to enjoy a rare night out. As girls do, they giggle and talk about boys. Banded together they play that universal game of Spot, spotting for those they deemed good looking. He was one she had noticed early on, being a tall, muscular black man wading in a pool of Taiwanese people. A few glasses of liquid courage later, she approaches a white guy at the bar for a chat. The reception was cool, so she leaves him alone. Her friend, a married lady, helps by marching them both directly to the black man and asks if He is single. He is. He hits the ground running by asking them both to dance. A smooth move indeed on his part. Girls do believe in safety in numbers, though our girl has somewhat grown out of that need. A benefit of age she likes to think. Very quickly they take to each other. It is familiar territory for them both, that dancing is a kind of foreplay.

But did she really want what was presented to her or did she simply take what was being offered? He was an excellent lover, and sweet too. In the morning He asked for her number. She asks for his instead. In polite parlance it would have been gracious to call or text that day to say she had a great time. To play the game would have been to apply the Three Day Rule. To be a bastard was to do nothing at all. She effected option three.

Why did she choose to be a bastard? Why, if she herself had been through the disappointment of not receiving an expected phone call, would now do the same to another? There were many considerations. She wasn't interested in a fling. She was interested in a meaningful relationship. She wasn't interested in making a new friend. She was interested in learning through a lifetime of friendship. There was no time either; she plans to leave the country within six months. Though handsome and considerate, he also seemed young. There wasn't a trace of arrogance or bitterness. Just smooth lines of grace and positivity, of an unfettered life, of self-created adventures and explorations. It wouldn't have worked, she keeps telling herself. There is no point, her resolve weakening. She picks up the phone. She puts it down. She picks up the phone. And considers.

Sydney

Sydney is home. Its clear blue skies an allure that will never fade, the familiarity will never wane. Despite its constant face lifts. Sydney is my Sydney.

I went home two weeks ago to play bridesmaid to Clare's bride. Ravi, Clare's husband-to-be, has been known to me for almost the same amount of time as Clare. Amazingly, our friendships were forged on the dance floor. Hours and hours in night clubs in Sydney, weekends whiled away with music, sweat and laughter. So when one is called to duty, one accepts. With honor. And a little smirk too, at having always known I was right. But of course every thing associated with Clare and Ravi involves a small degree of personal risk. As much as they like to make fools of each other, they also like to make fools of you and two days before the wedding I am told to make a speech at the reception.

It was no demand but it was wrung with guilt: "You don't have to make a speech, we'll just ask them to take you off the list of speakers. It's just that you have so many stories to tell of the times we've shared." That last sentence sent a chill down my back. The Luddite has never been known to have a good memory and though I know I have true and treasured friendships I am already foggy of all of their details (I hasten to assure this does not desaturate the love I have for all my Near and Dears, and even the Far Aways).

In the end duty again prevails and I am still pen to paper at 4am the morning of the wedding, still trying to reconstruct some misty time, a darken place and muffled ringing in my ear to see Clare and Ravi again on the dance floor of our youths...

The day of the wedding arrives and the house is abound with nervous ladies, faces half-done, hair over-done and in all states of dress. Then photographers came and we hasten to shoot. Then it was time to scoot.

The procession from house to car to National Maritime Museum all led to a marriage ceremony on the decks of the HMAS Vampire. Neither of them or any of their relatives belong to the Navy. Clare and Ravi simply know how to do things with flare, but apparently I too, without intention. It was when we began our walk down the aisle toward the expectant and smiling guests. I followed Ravi's parents. They were able to avoid a small metal protrusion on the deck floor, what looked like a small hoop that ropes could be thread through, though I was oblivious to the fact concentrating as hard as I was to effect elegance and grace. I tripped on the thing and cantered at double time like a show jumping pony. To regain my composure and dignity I turned with class and yelled back to the bride "You betta watch this thing 'ere!". The rest of the evening proceeds unhindered.

When Clare and Ravi left for their one week honeymoon, they also left me the use of their car, a luxury convenience I've missed having (let's just say I wouldn't be The Luddite if I could afford it). A car means freedom, music and wind in your hair. It means the right to gripe at other people's driving and marvel at one's own parking. I was able to visit friends and relatives, run errands and the simple enjoyment at having control over my own transportation destiny.

I became reacquainted with the streets of Sydney, feeling an old familiarity rising. Every turn of the wheel led to a once frequented street and I marveled at the speed of change in the city. There is no doubt Sydney is a champion beauty, but it remains so even at such a dynamic rate. There is an appreciation of the harbour that is motivating the government's plans to move loading docks and cargo ships further south to Botany Bay. There is a general love of the good life in its people and a healthy sense of well being just to bask in its sun.

My trip home was purposeful, but even more significantly, my trip home gave me more than I realised I'd needed: a rejuvenated spirit and a greater love for my city, Sydney.

Rock Star

The vice president of the country is visiting our company right now. He's in the screening room viewing some of our works and all staff had to don company t-shirts (yay team... that was sarcasm in case anyone missed it) to welcome him when he entered the foyer. Our boss lady was drooling.

Lots of national security men are standing around our office space. I feel sorry for these guys, especially ones posted at areas of lesser security risk. It's a lot of standing around, being bored but not allowed to show it. But it makes me feel uncomfortable as well. I'm obviously not doing work but updating my blog and the guy standing behind me is well aware of this fact.

I wonder if I should offer him some Kangaroo jerky I brought back from Sydney last week.

But they do look a lot better than the guys that were guarding prime minister who visited earlier this summer. Those guys wore what I assumed to be regulation issued short sleeve business shirts designed to make anyone look like they are wearing a moo-moo. With a collar. So they looked like scrawny guys in over-sized shirts. The prevalence of glasses wearing among the men also took away from the hard body guard image.

I guess the vice president is about to leave, there are lots of cheering and clapping in the foyer. Though mostly led by one person. And Elvis has left the building.

I Got It!

Was at The Wall tonight. Finally! Yo La Tengo ("I got it" in espanola) created a night of eclecticism, writhing in softly tingling tones, bursting to massive guitar rifts, percussion upon percussion to individual piano keys. The venue was great, small but perfectly suited to the seductiveness of the sound emanating from the stage, drawing circles in the air then rocking the dust out of it.

The Wall
台北市羅斯福路四段200號B1
近捷運公館站1號出口
Tel: 02-2930-0162
B1, No. 200, Roosevelt Road, Taipei City
Near Exit 1, Gongguang MRT

He Looked Like Colin Firth

Having been a little miserable lately what with work clamping down on us like a bloody vice, I thought back to happier times and laughed out loud today at the thought of having slept with a guy many years ago purely because he looked like Colin Firth. Colin Firth, or Mr Darcy of acclaimed BBC fame, that tall dark smouldering man any woman with brains would give up her intellect for. It was one of those nights out that had become regular, with some really close friends, out for a good night at a small club in Kings Cross that was partly owned by a friend's friend or some other equally close non-acquaintance. Drinks and dancing, but predominately E-laced euphoria sustained by the energy of speed, that was always a favourite mix of mine. We'd laugh all night, crowded into the small rooms of the converted terrace house, where you could go onto the first floor balcony to take a cool sip from your drink and cool breeze through the leaves before you overheat and dehydrate. Always remember to hydrate yourself in that situation. It's so easy to forget. But we didn't and we were happy, and danced and danced and danced. And when I looked across the room in my happy state, I saw happy reflected. If not more. We danced together and chatted about this and that. Nothing was amiss, just a feeling of invincibility and utter understanding. Towards the end of the night friends began to dwindle away. We bade our farewells, and left together, back to his place. The sky was beginning to lighten and I remember looking at him in the growing light and thinking, my god, he really looks like Mr Darcy. He really, really looks like Mr Darcy. There was no hiding my delight. Then he says, my girlfriend is away at her parents this week so we'll be alright.

What?, I said. Didn't I tell you?, he said. In our state who remembers who said what when, but I know that he didn't say anything before hand. I calculated. He approached me. He spoke to me first. He suggested we come here. I was single. I didn't want anything except the moment. The beautiful moment. Nothing could be sweeter. I am still euphoric, and I was with Mr Darcy. Driving home, I made my usual call to a close friend to tell my secret. He was a perfect gentleman! He was exquisite! We were connected in our minds and souls. I even remember telling her, almost pontificating as I insisted that ecstasy played no part in my judgement of his agreeable manner and I was on top of the world and everything had its perfect ending. Everything was sublime. And it was. And I laugh that I have this strange, far away, dream-like memory.

The Impossible Dream

There is melancholy in the air. I am listening to Radiohead, and it feels like it should be raining outside, drops forming on the window pane, gathering, trickling down in haphazard streaks, colliding then molding to the sill beyond my vision where it all collects, held for moment by its own tension before breaking free and diving into the wet, musky soil of the garden below.

But it is not raining. In fact, it is a gorgeously bright sun-filled day, brighter and clearer than any other day I've seen in the city of Taipei. The diamond brilliance of the day is also burning the air that we breath and for once, there is no humidity clinging to our bodies. But the effusive sadness still lingers, heavy.

Inside the gleaming concrete building there have been a constant stream of politics being played, prejudices thrown against closed doors, misunderstanding on professional and cultural levels that though subtle are nevertheless available to anyone willing to see the truth behind the thin veneer. I write these accusations with guilt, but can it be false if a close friend has decided to leave rather than further injure herself in this house of polite impudence?

So, I am sad. And like her, I am tired of seeing the faults. Our castle of sand will stand in the late afternoon sun, still surrounded by playful children and families that watch on with pride at their joys. When the source of day dips below the horizon, the crowds depart, the moon will rise and entice the foamy tides to shore. Where then will our sand castle be?

I'm now listening to Masters at Work's Pienso en Ti (Thinking of You). If nothing else, the experience will be learned and let modified. The breathless air forgotten, the piercing light of that single bulb shaded, and we hold onto all that was good.

The Three Act Play

It was the Saturday after my birthday so I grabbed my best girl and we went drinking! It was always my intention to divide my birthday drinks into three though I almost thought the final act wasn't to take place. It had been a very stressful week and was additionally asked to do overtime for 6 hours on that Saturday. It was all very unpleasant. But thank god Kristen and I felt equally in need of letting our hair down after a very strange day in the office. All you need sometimes is just one good girlfriend who knows what's been going on and who's as ready to flush out work bullshit with alcohol as I was, if not more.

We went to a little basement bar where we'd been once before with a bunch of friends. We weren't sure what the vibe would be like. Luckily it was just what we were looking for. A quiet bar that night, but with a live band. The two waitresses that worked there remembered us from last time and gave us a couple free shots. One was their own making, which was an espresso flavoured vodka shot dropped into a glass of Guiness. They said something about it being a wake up call.

After the band finished for the night we chatted to them. The singer/guitarist was Taiwanese Aboriginal, the bass player and drummer were two Japanese guys who'd met in the US. They were a blues band. What an odd mix. But they were great.

My first of my three part 30th birthday celebrations in HK were just as I had expected. By the third part I had left it all to chance and accepted whatever befell me. Like I keep saying to myself and people around me, Taiwan has been a really strange experience and continues to do surprise me. A taste of what's to come in life in my 30s? Let's have it then.


L: What we saw when we left the bar. R: A reflection of the singer on glass.



Top left: Kristen and I. Top right: Japanese drummer and bass player from the band.
Bottom left: In the cab. Bottom right: At the lights.

Onwards and Upwards

It was a nail-biter to the end. The clock was counting down. Our meeting was delayed further and further into the twilight day. Half hour went by. Another half hour. And another. And we're still waiting. The room was then freed, but we experience technical difficulties. Ten more minutes. Then another ten. Anxiety intensifies. Only 50 minutes before the band goes on stage, and I am still at work preparing for a screening that will last exactly 49 minutes and 42 seconds.

The lights dimmed in the HD projection room. I gave up hopes of going out and seeing a band on the night of my actual 30th birthday, sitting there alone in that meat locker between the editor and the director. Afterwards we hashed out ideas for a tighter storyline which was very productive, but I couldn't help feel a little deflated.

It was just after 9pm. The night was still young. Off to the brewery we go!

Going to the brewery after work for a quick bite and beer with 5 co-workers in tow couldn't have been simpler or more effective. Too much food was ordered. But I couldn't resist all the dishes popular with Taiwanese people, being a Taiwanese person myself. 3-Cup Chicken, Drunken Prawns, fried tofu, octapus salad, duck blood and rice cakes. Just a few of the gourmet dishes we had.

Impromptu was the name of the game. I had expected to be drinking a beer listening to a UK band on tour in Taipei and picking up, but instead I was in a warehouse in a brewery having a great time, eating and drinking. Little did I know then, but someone at the table had bought a can of silly string for the occasion, and I was to be set upon by pink mucus on the way out. I loved it! The surprise attack was complete. I chased down the main perpetrator like we were a couple of school kids. Finally I panted my threats of keeling over.

So that ends the evening, or so I thought. Just to finish my weird and wonderful day, my cab driver who looked about 47, asked twice for my number during the ride home. So artfully he asked between in takes and chews on his beetle nut that I was fishing for the door handle before the cab came to a complete stop. And consequently, I left a pair of earrings I had received as a birthday present in the passenger seat.

I try not to be glum. I missed out on the band, but made it to the brewery. I got silly-stringed for the first time in my life. I got a lovely pair of earrings. Some dude asked for my number.

I look forward to Saturday night, when I'll be having my third and final round of birthday drinks to mark 3 decades in this Adventure.

The Never Ending Journey

Landed on Saturday at 1030am. The comfort and ease of catching the Airport Express into HK station was a great start to the trip. As the MTR traversed towards my destination, the clear blue sky and pillows of white clouds released me for the weekend. From HK station it was only a short ride to Yosy's place, but that cab ride continued to heighten my delight. Hong Kong is tall and modern, yet its narrow streets and hills make it a city of its own making and character.

Arriving at Yosy's new apartment building was like arriving at a boutique hotel. As I walked through its front door a man walked past. He was casually yet smartly dressed, wearing sunglasses and talking on his mobile phone. And gorgeous. I was liking Hong Kong so very much, and it was only the first hour.

Yosy and Ted lives on the 35th floor. The views from their apartment was amazing. Their apartment was equally impressive containing all mod-cons. Though not a huge place, it still boasted a kitchen that even Martha Stewart would be proud of. Which means I was positively drooling (they had a normal oven, a steam oven, dishwasher, 4 gas burners AND a built in grill).



I was reunited with Yos and Corrinne, two dear friends I had made in London. This was the first time we'd all been together in two years. Corrinne had moved back to Melbourne for a stint, then relented to her travel bug and Yos's current location at that time and the two lived and worked in Singapore. After Yos met Ted, the two married and moved to Hong Kong about a month ago. It was a perfect arrangement to spend my birthday in Hong Kong and have both Yosy and Corrinne to celebrate with me.

Lunch on Saturday was at a small, local claypot joint. Corrinne impressed us all with her fluent Cantonese and even ordered me a milk tea and coffee combo drink. Let's just say it was interesting. After lunch we made important visits, to Zara and H&M. Two clothing stores that are close to many women's hearts and quite obnoxiously not available in Taiwan. We like to pay our respects and homage to them.



A quick cool dessert of mango ice cream, fresh fruits and birds nest jelly refreshed us and we headed back to Yos's to ready ourselves for the main event: dinner at Aqua and drinks in Lan Kwai Fong.

I had chosen to dine at Aqua not because of its food, but purely for its location which boasted one of the finest views of Hong Kong. It was a short ferry ride from Hong Kong to Kowloon. From our private glassed room on the corner of the 29th floor restaurant overlooking the harbour, Hong Kong Island was lit up in candied-coloured lights. Its festive mood matched mine and I couldn't be happier with the setting and company. I had two additional friends join us for dinner, Kelvin who I'd first met in Toronto and Felix, a friend of Kelvin's I'd first met in Taipei last year who'd moved to China earlier this year. Three ex-colleagues would have been present also, if we hadn't miscommunicated and they hadn't changed their flights to arrive the week before! The girls were missed, both by myself and the boys I think.






Despite missing their presence, I had the good fortune of typhoons from two weeks ago delaying my friends' travels in Asia. Ant, an ex-colleague from London and his friend Louise are currently on a backpacking trip and circumstances aka natural disasters allowed us to all be in Hong Kong at the same time. Ant and Lou joined us for drinks afterwards in Lan Kwai Fong, possibly one of the rowdiest drinking arenas I'd ever been. It reminded me of Temple Bar in Dublin. Small narrow streets with pub after pub after bar after pub. And plenty of white folk which enforced that idea.



We first went into the Russian ice bar for a shot of vodka each, then it was followed by jellied shots from Australian bar. Later in the evening, as we stood on the street, a man approached us with a box and offered us its contents. We peered in and saw giant novelty syringes. Curious. The syringes were filled with a burnt yellow/orange colouration. Definitely curious. The man then enthusiastically explained they jellied shots and that these were on the house. We laughed thankfully and all grabbed a syringe each. Beside us were a group of people attending a pyjama party. In their pyjamas. Further down the street were girls dousing each other with beer. And the last memory of the crowd of the night was seeing famous a Hong Kong radio DJ wearing a black T shirt and black leather skirt and boots (he is a man), walking with three women linked to his arms. He only has two arms.




Corrinne and I walked back to Yosy's place at the end of the night. It wasn't a far walk, but our heels were giving us great grief. Ending the night in a comfortable bed on the 35th floor of central Hong Kong took the grief away in a jiffy.

Sunday lunch was a late affair. But we'd kept to our plans of eating the famous roast goose at Yung Kee, famous for, well, its roast goose. It's roast goose cooked in the same way as Peking Duck, though the meat tasted far more tender, the flavours were rich without being overly powering, and the plum sauce to dip into was superb. I also ate salted pork and preserved egg congee which is a Hong Kong staple and it was just as tasty as I'd expected it to.



After lunch we strolled around Hong Kong a little bit more and embarked on the travelators that go on forever. This is the world's longest outdoor escalator, officially known as the Central-Mid-Levels Escalators. Mid-Levels is an area that boasts higher rent for its elevation and views, and we passed an open inspection of a residential building on our way up. The queues for this viewing was large to say the least, it was as if it were a queue for tickets to a concert or night club. It reminds you of how little land/housing there is in Hong Kong and that they are actively filling in the harbour to make more land. Eventually, one of our cab drivers told us, Hong Kong and Kowloon will be connected by landfill roads. Not bridges and ferries.



We stopped for an egg-tart break once we had enough of the escalators and jealousy of the rich in Hong Kong that lived in this area. It was time to head back. At Yosy's, we relived our night and days in Hong Kong over champagne the boys had bought for me the night before. The girls also presented me with a pair of beautiful earrings from Bali as a birthday present. Corrinne and I then said goodbye to Ted and Yos and their newly wedded bliss and we made our way back to the airport from whence we came.

At the airport I said goodbye to Corrinne who was returning to Singapore. I was to return to Taipei. It was a perfect weekend but I was sad to be leaving behind friends. Yet again.



Hong Kong. The world's Chinatown.

Aqua
29th Floor, One Peking Road, Tsim Sha Tsui
Kowloon
Hong Kong

Why In God's Name Would Anyone Jump Off A Bridge?

Please spot the (a) insanity and (b) stupidity in the following exchange:
Person A: "Hey, I've got a great idea. Let's jump off a bridge."
Person B: "That sounds like fun. I'm in."

Sitting here, looking back, analyzing with the benefit of hindsight, I am astounded and confounded that anyone intelligent (meaning me) would think bungy jumping a "fun" activity. It is an act against nature. It is an act defiant of logic. It is a crude mean of entertainment and with utter clarity I scorn at its imbecility. I don't think I shall ever understand why I was so eager to participate, so happy to throw myself off the side of a bridge and have enjoyed the event so much.

But the brevity of the jump does make you ponder whether it was worth it at all. Within minutes I was back on top of the bridge, all endorphins and adrenalin evaporated. Yes I flung myself off a bridge. But I'm back now aren't I? Nothing to show for the seconds of exhilaration I'd experienced except a certificate stating so. Only by reviewing the videos and the photos later, did I begin to appreciate more of what had happened. Thankfully these replays fed my recall and helped crystallize the many stages my emotions went through in mere seconds.

Interestingly, I received this article in my inbox just two days after my jump, from a friend who had no idea I had bungy-ed over the weekend. It purports a list of "Must Dos" before one turns 30. This article, in my opinion, is written in the foulest, patronising, band-aid waving fashion, by some young barely-20-just-graduated-from-university- this-is-my-first-real-i-am-clueless-yet-i-tell-those -about-to-turn-30-something-about-how-to-live-life-even-though-i-haven't-lived-my-own-yet kid!

Let's see what it says. The idea of obtaining a fake ID (#30) doesn't appeal to me very much. Attempting to convince someone that you are younger than you are is just really,really sad. It was fun to do when you were under age, not the other way round. How about #25, showing up at a gay bar when you're not actually gay? Oooooh that's scandalous! I'd hate to think any gay people were hanging out in non-gay-designated areas.

I like #6. It's my favourite. It instructs you to "move out of home and live in a share house", like it is something you do off-hand, for fun, without a thought any sense of responsibility on either side. Akin to your best mate challenging you to jump off a bridge. And you do.

Correct answers: (a) Person A, (b) Person B

I Jump Off A Bridge

Watch me jump off a bridge.

Life As a Minion

Just read a friend's blog entry about a her recent work load. As a project manager for an electronics company, she would start her day in the office at 8am, be in and out of meetings through out the day, then go out and entertain overseas clients who are in town. Working over 12 hrs a day, this girl is worn out by the time she gets home. Each day's emails await her reply and only until they are answered does she turn in for the night. She writes that she's feeling the effects of stress, bad eating habits and little sleep.

I feel for her. She is describing my life to a certain extent. At my work, we are experiencing a hailstorm of stress, with a pressure front that has been building exponentially across the last two weeks. I clocked in a 60 hrs working week last week. Plus a full Saturday. Plus Monday just passed, which was officially declared Typhoon Day by the government as a warning to citizens to stay home away from work and school.

Currently I am sitting at my desk on a Friday night. Most of the office is empty except for a couple of suckers. I am waiting. Waiting for the bosses to come out of their mind-bending meetings so that we can forge ahead with their supervision. We will probably start work at 8pm tonight.

We are minions to our mortal gods.

Down the Rabbit Hole

My usual Saturday routine was in full swing. I slept in. I parked the TV on an AFL game and left it in the background. I ate a late lunch and I surfed a lot, of the internet kind. Then the phone rang and it was M suggesting a dinner and a movie. M's cool. I don't socialise with him very often but it's always a pleasure to chat to an intelligent human being, and sensing something is on his mind, I accept the invitation knowing I have the task of cheering a friend up.

M takes me to Lawry's which is for him comfort food. Inside, the bar has wood-panelling, high ceiling, and a suit of armour stands in front of an ornately framed, floor to ceiling mirror. The dining room was lit by chandeliers. We are shown to a comfortable booth by waiter in gold thread waistcoat who spoke polite, textbook English. Lawry's have been "Celebrating special occasions since 1938".

The salad was prepared on a silver cart that was wheeled to our table. Once all the main salad pieces were placed into a large stainless steel bowl sitting in a larger bowl filled with ice, the waiter spun the steel bowl then poured the dressing from high above his head. Salad was tossed and served with a chilled fork. Showmanship from a by-gone era. For dinner I had a rack of lamb which almost melted like butter, and M had chosen Surf and Turf. We rounded off our meals with coffee and port.

When dinner was over we retire to the bar. M lights up his signature cigar. In the faint haze of smoke and slowly sipped scotch we chat about life, people and of course, love. No matter who we are or where we are in the world, love is the one thing we are all hurt by.

Time came for us to leave the restaurant for the good people at Lawry's had kept the bar open only for us. We let them and the old world go and left in search of a night cap.

Only a few steps later we find The Queens. Posters at the door indicate this is a place that regularly host live rock bands. A girl in a tight demin skirt, tank top and heels stands near the door chatting loudly on her mobile. No doubt we'd get a drink here. There is only a handful of customers so we get seats and drinks promptly. The band is taking a break so the DJ is at the helm. The floor-lit dance floor is empty but the music plays as if it was full. The mirror ball and swirling spotlights shine like the inside of a school dance hall. When the band returns to the stage they play without hesitation. They have three back up singers who are also dancers. Or more accurately, dancers who also hold mikes and think they are singers. It's mostly R&B, hip hop and pop. Songs that pump up a party of students. Surprisingly the band's energy level is not been deterred by thin crowd. M and I watched the slender, almost pre-pubescent dancers gyrate, whipping their long black hair back and forth and push their flat abdomens out at us, mocking us. The lead singer even jumps onto the bar top telling us to wave our hands in the air, or something closely mimicking that effect. I was impressed. These guys were working hard for their pay checks.

When time came for the band and back up singers/dancers to take another break, DJ takes over and plays the same kind of hip hop tunes and dance floor fillers. Though at no point do any of the 20 people in the audience take preference of the dancer floor over their seats. After a quick break where we all make for the bathroom, the band mixes it up in a strange playlist of Beyonce, Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake followed by Bananarama and Tom Jones.

The girls put on a show. A stripper pole is installed atop the bar and each girl takes her turn with the pole. Minus the stripping. It was hard to take your eyes off. I found one girl to be more of a dancer than stripper, as she had more athletic moves than the other two who simply shook their bodies around the pole. And of course I am qualified to state this as I am both a veteran of dancing and stripping and judgement-laying. I am intrigued by this kind of display in this supposed respectable live band venue. I can't deny the presence of the live band, nor the style of music they played, yet this club is dangerously tipping the scale of acceptable sleaze for a rock joint.

During the next band break, the first lone male dancer of the night begins his routine on the floor. I breathe a small sigh of relief as the issue of Balanced Scales in the 21st Century deserved urgent addressing. He was no doubt well-built, with a washboard for a stomach but he didn't do very much for me personally. It was the attire. Baggy jeans with a black leather waistcoat (?), bare chest and a black arm band. He jumped around for a minute impressing least of all me then suddenly throws his waistcoat by the wayside and suddenly again his jeans were off too! Whipped in a flash the velcro seams of his stripper jeans flew apart and he was down to a pair of god-awful black leather briefs with an arrangement of silver chain links on it that nestled in the middle looking like a giant silver-backed spider was gobbling up his package.

Part of his performance included placing a chair in the middle of the dance floor, having one of the girl dancers in the chair and doing a polite little stripper dance in front of her. He then gets her up on her feet, partners with her in a wiggle before the finale of picking her up, she lying back in his arms, her arms and legs stretched out and he spinning with her in that horizontal position a number of times. It was pretty impressive considering entry to this show/club was free. We had no idea.

Once he and the audience of 20 got their breaths back, sweaty stripper man moves towards the closest girl in the audience. She turns out to be twice his size and completely reaction-less to his outstretched hand. Her companion, a middle aged man in a surfer shirt and happily sozzled since M and I walked in, spiritedly encouraged her. She stands, and is lead like a limp rag to the disco floor, arms half up in a very surrenderous posture.

He begins performing new stripper moves of the night. As she stands either in a drunken daze or wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole, he crouches to her feet and pretends to run his hands from her legs up to sides of her torso, ending up pressing rather close to the entire length of her body. A few more up and down motion he gets her in the seat that's still on the floor. Instead of lying back and having fun with the moment she sits slightly rigid. He stands astride her and grabs her hands in his and guides them to his back, butt, legs and back again.

M and I are laughing our arses off. But in a brief moment of guilt and reflection, I turn to M and say, "I wonder if it had been me, would I have been brave enough to do it?" M shrugs and I turn back to the show, only to see stripper man climb over sofas and offer his hand to me in the dark, where I'd been sitting with M. Up close, I notice stripper man is just a smidgen shorter than me. Do I accept?

Thanks

This is a very personal entry today, not written for any consideration of mass consumption, just simply a need to articulate certain truths I've felt for a very long time. Hope you don't choke on the corn.

Here it is, I offer you today's blog entry:

It's not thanksgiving, not that I celebrate the silly thing anyway, but I just suddenly came to a realisation that I really have to and WANT to give thanks to every single person that's made a contribution to my life, a life made absolutely wonderful because of their inclusion in it, because they've been the happiness and joy I've experienced, they were the lessons that I've learnt, they've made me strong, made me smile, made me angry and just simply made me the person that I am today.

Everyone should do this! Just look back at life and count your blessings. If you are reading this, it means you have access to a computer, the internet, the means and facilities are there at your disposal, that you are not society's forgotten people, that you can reach out and touch someone and have somebody to touch you back, that you have life and that my friend is reason enough to live it and be thankful.

To my longest and dearest friend Mel, who I've known the presence of for 19 years, but known really as a friend for only 15 years (cause we weren't friends before Year 10), though we may be thoroughly different people I love and appreciate you till eternity. Your beauty both inner and out, is just like the endless opal skies at summer's dusk; warm yet unassuming, your colours muted but absolutely mesmorising. And everlasting. Thank you for your friendship.

To my wonderful brother, whom I often regard as my third parent, it is your unwavering care and solemn nurture that I constantly look to and depend upon. You are a true gentleman and a big brother to be proud of. Thank you for your love.

To all of my past relationships, I thank you all for the role you've played at every stage of my life so far. I cringe, I cry, I stir at the moments you've given me. Everything has been bitter sweet yet I wouldn't change a thing because every moment has given me a new page in every chapter. Thank you for the exercise in emotions!

To every person I've met on my travels, those that were also in motion, thank you for making me feel like I belonged. Ours is a community that knows no boundaries, physical, geological, emotional, financial, sociological and any other "cals" you can think of. It is people like you that makes the world great, to carry good and decent stories and share them with your fellow man. Thank you for your intrepid spirits!

To every person I've met on my travels, those that were on home turf, I thank you for your generosity, your kindness, your openess and your benign nature. To receive me into your homes and your hearts, shows your genuine love for others. Could a stranger ask for more? Thank you.

To all my friends, both long and short term acquaintances, I can look at you and see moments in my life where you've made your mark. Those marks are marks of honour in my book of great deeds. You've shaped my existence, by either being there for me or by you needing me. It is the greatest gift of friendship I believe, the gift of trust and each of you have yet to fail me. Instead you grow more and more important to me everyday. Thank you for your soulful being, your intellect and your laughter.

There are only two people in this world that I want give my greatest thanks to. (it's not Mr and Mrs Claus). They are the embodiment of love in my universe. For in every action, every thought and every word, they give themselves to me selflessly and without expectations (well maybe some but nothing too ridiculous). As I grow older it becomes clearer and clearer to me how hard a life a parent's must be. The sacrifices you make, the ridicules you receive. It is a life long task that unquestionably take its toll, by its endless tearing of self-esteem and constant battle with common sense. For almost 40 years this couple has been a stalwart for their children, maintained a good relationship with one another, remained forever strong as people and been a guiding light that I still find hard to do without at times. They are the best people I know, the best parents one could ever have and I am honoured and grateful for them, and most definitely proud of them. I love them above all else. To my mum and dad, both heroes in my eyes, I thank you only as a daughter knows how. I thank you, I thank you, I thank you.

Some Snippets

A selection of photos from the last two weeks - dinner at Taiwan Beer Brewery 346 Warehouse Restaurant, Naomi's hotpot birthday, dancing at Primo, drinks at 2046. Addresses below.









Some highlights included meeting up with James, a backpacker I'd met two years ago in Sarajevo who'd recently arrived in town to learn Chinese; my best friend Mel visiting; Naomi falling asleep at 2046 after too many drinks, but still managed to smile for a picture; Sharon's sexy outfit that converted from dinner wear to clubbing wear by the removal of pants; the eggs.

VENUES
Taiwan Beer Brewery 346 Warehouse Restaurant
No. 85, Sec. 2, Bade Road, Tapei
(Cnr Bade Road & Jienguo South Road)

台北市八德路二段85號(八德路&建國南路交叉口)
Tel: (02) 2509-8346

Primo
2F, No. 297, Sec. 5, Zhongxiao East Road, Taipei
台北市忠孝東路五段297號2樓
Tel: (02) 2760-5885

2046
No. 24, Lane 205, Sec. 4, Zhongxiao East Road, Taipei
台北市忠孝東路四段205巷24
Tel: (02) 2711-5589