Some pics from walking around

Taken in Melbourne.

Bad magazine covers

‘Inside Moreland‘

Observe the photoshopping of the pool and weep.

A clearly expensive 43-page glossy magazine with a special ‘Emergency and Safety’ section, distributed to all households in Moreland and covering such issues as their customer service going digital, their drive to cut red tape cutting red tape, graffiti and pet ownership. First up in the emergency section is Extreme Heat even though it’s the middle of winter. One can only imagine what it must have cost ratepayers to get this designed, printed and distributed to Moreland’s 130 000 residents. Rare moment of smugness for a renter.

Magazine from work. Hardly any women in it.

Allusions to a sexual ‘down boy’?

Visit to the Eureka Tower and particularly its gift shop

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The conundrum that is Northcote Plaza

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Love or hate? I’m not sure, but this daggy shopping centre holds a strange fascination for me. It’s both utter nothingness and fond nostalgia. Reminiscent of the dystopian moment a time traveller from the future might return to in a movie, perhaps just at the point before hyper-capitalism ran the world into a Cormac McCarthy-type state.

I like how there are lots of old people sitting on benches or in those 90s-style shopping centre lounges, sometimes socialising with their friends, other times without apparent purpose. You just don’t see that in Northcote’s hipster cafes. Is it just that they feel it’s not their turf? Or is there a more concrete reason?

A rant about the cycle stupidway

Last week  we heard about a private consortium’s idea to build a 2km raised veloway between Flinders Street and Spencer Street in Melbourne. You can watch a video stimulation here.

In its most recent budget, the Victorian government gave no new money to cycling. None. Can you believe that? Bicycle Victoria and the Victorian Bicycle User Groups are about to start a year-long campaign to restore the funding.

The Veloway would cost $21 million to join 2km between two stations, with no stop offs in between. That’s almost double Vicroads’ bike budget last financial year  and over 20 times the $2.4 million the City of Melbourne is proposing to spend on a separated bike lane from Exhibition Street all the way to Docklands.

My concern is this: Melbourne’s bike network has missing gaps all over the place, particularly coming from the south into the city. There are already cyclists on the roads, often riding in very hostile conditions. If bike advocates get their act together about the slashing of the bike budget, the state government may see this flashy project as a way of easing the pressure and saying they are doing something for cyclists, without pissing off the car lobby. And they’ll do nothing about the problems on routes cyclists are already using!

I’m also worried that once built, the highway won’t really be used, and then it will be used as a further excuse to avoid investing in bike infrastructure, if the government ever needed one. It seems to only connect to the CBD at two points: Flinders Street and Spencer Street. But I think most cyclists go into the city, not past it. And what if you want to stop off somewhere in between?

Bicycle Victoria are have been pushing for it. Spokesperson Garry Brennan said, ‘It gets them off the road. It removes a lot of bottlenecks, it removes a couple of ugly intersections, it’s much faster, much quicker, much more convenient.’

But I don’t want to be off the road! I want a piece of the road! Why is Bicycle Victoria advocating a super-expensive bike superhighway simply to avoid taking space away from cars in a CBD area, which should work towards minimising motor traffic so it can prioritise safe access by bikes and pedestrians at all points? It’s the kind of compromise that will end up losing us the battle.

The Victorian Government should be spending their money on completing a bike network for the whole city. In fact, it already has one – its Principal Bike Network, which has been under review since it was elected. By the way, the old Principal Bike Network showed an off-road path between along Flinders Street all the way from Hoddle Street to Spencer Street.

Why look at the lolly if you can’t have a suck

It was real…interesting

I went to Hobart for the weekend with two of my girlfriends, primarily to visit Mona but we but had an extra day to kill and planned to spend it going up Mount Wellington.

Unfortunately it was raining, but not too badly.

The hotel staff told us to there was a bus to the base of the mountain, and sent us to the Metro office to find out more.

‘There’s no bus to Mount Wellington!’ crowed the Metro officer. She seemed almost exultant at our stupidity.

‘But isn’t there a bus to Fern Tree?’ we asked (the mountain base?).

‘Yes that’s right. But why would you want to go there on a day like this?’ She banged her chest at this point, for some unknown reason. ‘You won’t be able to see the view!’

‘Well we don’t really mind. We’ll just go for a walk somewhere around Hobart. Do you know anywhere?’

‘Got a vehicle?’

‘No.’

‘Well I don’t know then. Why would you want to go walking on a day like this anyway? You better speak to tourist information – this is just the Metro office.’ She gave us a gappy smile.

The tourist information office was staffed by a guy with fairy floss hair and pebble teeth.

We told him we were thinking about going to Mount Wellington, but asked whether there were any other nice local walks we could do.

‘Not a good day for going up Mount Wellington today! You won’t be able to see the view!’ (We were puzzled by this assumption that we only wanted to go to Mount Wellington to see the view, but maybe that’s what people go for).

‘Got a vehicle?’ he asked.

‘No.’

He paused, thinking, and looked at us.

‘You got an open mind?’

‘Yes.’

‘Heard  of Mona?’

‘Yes, we’re planning to go there tomorrow.’

‘My son’s been there. Some of the stuff there’s pretty…’ – he gave us a conspiratorial grimace.

‘You girls from Melbourne?’

‘Yes.’

‘I been to Melbourne for the Anzac Day celebrations. It was real…interesting.’ He smirked knowingly, waiting for us to enquire further. We didn’t.

‘What about Port Arthur? Can we go there for a day trip?’

‘Not sure. You know about what happened there with Martin Bryant?’

‘Yes’, we said. There was a solemn pause.

‘You interested in the paranormal?’ he asked.

‘Why?’

His face lit up. ‘They run these ghost tours through the old jail in Port Arthur. They start at 10pm and end at 2am. The guy that sold me my mobile phone showed me a picture he’d taken on his phone. Get this. It was just this grey background and – a yellow face. You wouldn’t believe it.’

‘Mmm…’ we said. ‘We really don’t mind where we go; we just want to go for a day walk?’

There was a long pause again.

‘What about Battery Point?’ we prompted.

‘Well there’s lots of historical buildings to see there. But you girls don’t look like you’d be interested in history.’

‘What about the Florentine Valley? Can you get there in a day?’

‘Hmm…not sure. I think I went there about two years ago.’

Then he pulled out a booklet of day walks and gave it to us.

‘Have a look through that, you might see something you like there.’

I just think it’s a sign of respect to look after yourself

That night, we went to Rektango, an outdoor area in Salamanca with a cover band and lots of folky-looking types in woollen jumpers.

We met this middle-aged blonde man.

We were trying to get a photo of all of us, and he offered to help. He inspected the photo afterwards, telling us it was a good one. He complained that he always looks like a serial killer in photo. I could see how that would be the case – his neck looked a bit tense and ropey.

We commenced what I remember as a relatively civil conversation, although the details now elude me. But at some stage in the conversation he started telling us how women lose their attractiveness when they turn 30, whereas men just get more and more attractive as they get older.

‘I don’t believe you; I’ve got male friends who aren’t into girls that are too young for them,’ I exclaimed. ‘Anyway, what about Asher Keddie? She’s 38!’

‘OK, she’s hot. But she’s in good shape.’

‘We’re not so far away from 30,’ I said.

He looked us up and down. ‘Really? Well maybe you guys will be alright, because you’re not fat.’

‘What’s wrong with fat women?’ we asked.

‘Maybe it’s because I’m really into fitness, I just think it’s a sign of respect to look after yourself,’ he said.

I could feel negativity welling within me so decided to wander off, having spotted someone I vaguely knew, leaving my poor friends to continue this conversation. Apparently after I left he started telling them about all the women he’d been out who weren’t ‘typically attractive’, but who were really beautiful to him. He was single.

We all felt slightly disconcerted by the sentiments he had expressed. We weren’t sure whether he was saying something everyone else is too scared to say – after all, there is that thing how women get invisible when they’re older, whereas the older man is like the experienced, silver fox.

Why look at the lolly when you can’t have a suck? 

The following day, we were on the ferry back from Mona. It’s luxurious: inside it’s like a cafe; with tables, coffee, cake and booze. Beside us were a group of girls in skimpy dresses and high heels, obviously there for a hen’s party. The bride-to-be had a bell on her cup and she’d ring it to ask for more booze. Me and my friend were mean about her under our breath.

The ferry stopped and they got off. The waiter came up to us as we stood up.  ’Don’t worry,’ the waiter he said. ‘The hen’s party’s gone now.’

Now just to give you the context for this situation, we’d met this guy on the way there, and had the impression that he was friendly, arty and sensitive, which was our pre-determined stereotype of all Mona staff.

‘I don’t like hen’s parties even when it’s my friend’, I said.

He agreed. ‘Yeah, last time I went to one there was a female stripper there. Not my thing at all.’

‘Well, women’s hen’s parties sometimes have male strippers too. I went to one with a male stripper once. I honestly think most people felt uncomfortable.’

He nudged me with his elbow, ‘Well you know what I reckon. Why look at the lolly if you can’t have a suck?’

My friend and I laughed nervously and looked at each other. ‘Well, see you later!’ we said, and quickly left the ferry.

Questions:  i) did he really think his final rejoinder was acceptable and that we would enjoy the cheeky joke? OR ii) was it a conscious or subconscious way of trying to make us feel uncomfortable? I’m tending toward the latter.

*Not a representation of Hobart. Just a few weird experiences that I wanted to share.*

Work-life balance

Work-life balance is a funny word. Does it imply that when you’re working you’re not living? The concept works particularly well for office workers who clock on at 9 and off at 5 (or thereabouts), spending 5 out of 7 of their day sitting at computers or on phones, doing jobs other people ask them to do. The distinction between work and life is reinforced by the fact that in that time, they’re supposed to be ‘professional’. It’s hard to precisely define what that means, but it amounts to not questioning what you’re doing (even if you’re still doing it well), accepting the hierarchy, and refraining from making the normal lewd or random comments that you would with your friends. You also have to wear special outfits. For high flying women, this is often highly tailored dresses or skirts that are somehow the female equivalent of men’s suits.

I went to see Robert Dessaix at the Wheeler Centre the other night, and he was talking about how every morning he goes into his ‘tower’. I think he got the idea from Montaigne, who is one of his idols. In that time, he writes and thinks. Then he goes out and walks around, meets with friends, looks at things. In the evening he slumps and watches TV. I loved Dessaix so much, what an absolute treasure of a man (another story) that I asked a kind of self help question.

What do you do if for some reason or another, you either can’t or won’t have that time?He was like, oh, well I’m not good at giving other people advice. I kind of knew he would say that. But then he went on to say that he’d been through a lot of very awful things, but one thing he’d always been very lucky with was his time. I guess, he said, people who don’t have the time just have to find an hour here or an hour there. Ultimately, he said, it helps to think about what kind of day you want to have, and try and get as close to that as you can.  I’m not sure if he was talking 5 year plan, or just trying to enjoy the moment.

Do you ever yearn for the kind of flexibility that Dessaix describes? Obviously we need to work a certain amount, to pay our rents and food. And some people also need a certain amount of unthinking, reliable structure. But is 5 days a week necessary if you have a well paid job? I guess if you want to one day get in a position where people aren’t telling you what to do, you have to put in the time to demonstrate your commitment. Is it just a question of seizing the rare moments of freedom, or having  a few months or a year off here and there? Do we have to wait until we retire until we have enough time to write, read, reflect, and sit on park benches.

Possibly this is a very middle-class dilemma. Is it?