18 April - Melbourne.
0700: Six hours sleep. Oww.
0845, Coburg: Before b/f try Syd Rd, too early for anything to be open. Seems like the shit parts of Parramatta Rd.
Indignant bogan conversation on tram, along the lines of "Cab drivers can't refuse to take drunks: it's your fucking job." Talk about how also refusing to drive-though @ Hungry Jacks. Cabbie: "No I don't do that."
Bogans joke about "Oh can I get a scotch and coke? 'No I don't do that. I can give you a beer though.' " Variations on the joke go for 3 blocks.
A block in Melbourne is a fucking eternity. Welcome to Coburg.
0930, Hardware Lane, Melbourne: B'fast @ Jeremy's. Toast & ginger-fig jam. Coffee I can barely taste anymore. I'm going through a pack of tissues/hour. Three stars, for service and cheapness. The Age's story about survivors of Port Arthur getting on w/ their lives is touching also.
I've been asked directions at least once a day since I've been here.
A runny nose means my immune system is defeating the bacterial invasion, right?
1100, Sydney Rd, Brunswick: Oh good. The hipsters have come out. I no longer feel threatened. I forgot how early I awoke & how late they did. Must've been a good Friday night Melbourne.
At OKOK, nice trousers but probably too small. When ask where similar stores are, owner ums & ahs & sends me to SAVERS.
Savers: where hipsters and the desperately poor come for clothes. Most of the stuff seems to have been on the racks of in Target in the mid 90s.
1300: Schnitty @ Retreat Hotel. No rating because how can you rate a pub schnitzel. Schnitzel is God's lunch.
Pages of poetry plastered on the cubicle walls of the unisex toilet (this is a pub w/ a family beer garden, odd).
I'm about to go ask who the poet is when I see one titled 'Desolation Row'. Would've looked a right fool.
MP3: My Chemical Romance - Desolation Row
Dylan playing over the stereo also. Barmaids playing handball.
1615: Pretty sure I just saw Wil Anderson crossing Bourke St wearing track pants with triple speed strips down each leg. Listening to iPod. Hid my recognition. As a famous comedian I know what a bore it is for people to keep recognising me in the street.
1700, Tullamarine Airport: 45 minutes in two queues for check-in. So glad the woman about to complain to Tiger about her miscomprehension of the check-in fees is behind me.
Twenty minutes of solid bitching. Lady. Your children are listening to you complain. You're raising complainers.
I want to ask the check-in lady not to seat these people near me. I don't.
1800: Lovely chat w/ the Irish lady doing the random explosives test. Good to know government employees still have heart.
1830: Just because I'm wearing a flashy jacket and reading a book people seem to think that I have all the info on the boarding times. I don't. I just happen not to look like a stupid tourist.
1835: That's three people who think I have the answers.
Maybe people confuse me with someone who has information b/c I don't have that indignant look of someone left in the dark about their fate. Just I'm not curious about why the plane is half an hour late. My knowing won't make it come quicker.
1845: Angry lady is complaining to the lady scanning boarding passes. She has also pushed in front of me with her mother, aunt, and four children. They are not sitting together. This worries her.
How hard is it to lose your child on a plane. Jodie Foster did it but that plane was enormous. Settle down. Complaining makes the process take longer.
Complaining on the plane.
God damn it they're sitting near me.
2030, Sydney airspace: This lady is a walking crisis. Return to your seat, they're trying to put the plane onto the ground and once again you're holding everything up.
I slept through the flight.
I bet your flight was awful. I hope it was. I hope your children grow up awful.
A small child behind me is crying as a result of the effects of turbulence and decompression on his eardrums.
He needn't. Like an animal, he is spooked easily by unusual, unexplainable phenomena.
2040, Sydney arrivals terminal: I like to dress well when I travel. Travelling is filthy, communal, and lowering. Dressing well is the only way to add dignitas to the process. There is little to distinguish air travel from the transportation of livestock.
Cranky woman's bag is 1st off the carousel. I hope the last is also hers.
MP3: Orba Squara - The Trouble With Flying
0700: Six hours sleep. Oww.
0845, Coburg: Before b/f try Syd Rd, too early for anything to be open. Seems like the shit parts of Parramatta Rd.
Indignant bogan conversation on tram, along the lines of "Cab drivers can't refuse to take drunks: it's your fucking job." Talk about how also refusing to drive-though @ Hungry Jacks. Cabbie: "No I don't do that."
Bogans joke about "Oh can I get a scotch and coke? 'No I don't do that. I can give you a beer though.' " Variations on the joke go for 3 blocks.
A block in Melbourne is a fucking eternity. Welcome to Coburg.
0930, Hardware Lane, Melbourne: B'fast @ Jeremy's. Toast & ginger-fig jam. Coffee I can barely taste anymore. I'm going through a pack of tissues/hour. Three stars, for service and cheapness. The Age's story about survivors of Port Arthur getting on w/ their lives is touching also.
I've been asked directions at least once a day since I've been here.
A runny nose means my immune system is defeating the bacterial invasion, right?
1100, Sydney Rd, Brunswick: Oh good. The hipsters have come out. I no longer feel threatened. I forgot how early I awoke & how late they did. Must've been a good Friday night Melbourne.
At OKOK, nice trousers but probably too small. When ask where similar stores are, owner ums & ahs & sends me to SAVERS.
Savers: where hipsters and the desperately poor come for clothes. Most of the stuff seems to have been on the racks of in Target in the mid 90s.
1300: Schnitty @ Retreat Hotel. No rating because how can you rate a pub schnitzel. Schnitzel is God's lunch.
Pages of poetry plastered on the cubicle walls of the unisex toilet (this is a pub w/ a family beer garden, odd).
I'm about to go ask who the poet is when I see one titled 'Desolation Row'. Would've looked a right fool.
MP3: My Chemical Romance - Desolation Row
Dylan playing over the stereo also. Barmaids playing handball.
1615: Pretty sure I just saw Wil Anderson crossing Bourke St wearing track pants with triple speed strips down each leg. Listening to iPod. Hid my recognition. As a famous comedian I know what a bore it is for people to keep recognising me in the street.
1700, Tullamarine Airport: 45 minutes in two queues for check-in. So glad the woman about to complain to Tiger about her miscomprehension of the check-in fees is behind me.
Twenty minutes of solid bitching. Lady. Your children are listening to you complain. You're raising complainers.
I want to ask the check-in lady not to seat these people near me. I don't.
1800: Lovely chat w/ the Irish lady doing the random explosives test. Good to know government employees still have heart.
1830: Just because I'm wearing a flashy jacket and reading a book people seem to think that I have all the info on the boarding times. I don't. I just happen not to look like a stupid tourist.
1835: That's three people who think I have the answers.
Maybe people confuse me with someone who has information b/c I don't have that indignant look of someone left in the dark about their fate. Just I'm not curious about why the plane is half an hour late. My knowing won't make it come quicker.
1845: Angry lady is complaining to the lady scanning boarding passes. She has also pushed in front of me with her mother, aunt, and four children. They are not sitting together. This worries her.
How hard is it to lose your child on a plane. Jodie Foster did it but that plane was enormous. Settle down. Complaining makes the process take longer.
Complaining on the plane.
God damn it they're sitting near me.
2030, Sydney airspace: This lady is a walking crisis. Return to your seat, they're trying to put the plane onto the ground and once again you're holding everything up.
I slept through the flight.
I bet your flight was awful. I hope it was. I hope your children grow up awful.
A small child behind me is crying as a result of the effects of turbulence and decompression on his eardrums.
He needn't. Like an animal, he is spooked easily by unusual, unexplainable phenomena.
2040, Sydney arrivals terminal: I like to dress well when I travel. Travelling is filthy, communal, and lowering. Dressing well is the only way to add dignitas to the process. There is little to distinguish air travel from the transportation of livestock.
Cranky woman's bag is 1st off the carousel. I hope the last is also hers.
MP3: Orba Squara - The Trouble With Flying
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