In all honesty, I cannot see the point to change dot org petitions. I've made my bafflement and vexation very clear in previous posts, and as a matter of principle I don't sign the fucking things when they appear in my news feed or email inbox. I see those horrid words 'Simone, here is a new petition you might be interested in...' and I think to myself, 'No, Change Dot Org. I won't be interested. These things are pointless and annoying, and fuck off with it, okay?' The latest one I've seen is a call to have Michael Atkins banned from all gay nightclubs. Atkins is the former lover of Matthew Leveson, for whose murder he has been ACQUITTED. Matthew's body has never been found A recent search in bushland achieved nothing. Don't get me wrong; my heart goes out to Matthew's parents who must ache for closure, but to the person who generated this petition: what the hell? I'm not sure what you're trying to achieve from this. Well, I kind of do, but how the fuck do you get someone - that someone being a free man and entitled to the same rights as other free citizens - banned from licenced establishments where he is legally entitled to enter? I have no doubt the management of the establishments have the right to refuse entry, but I cannot see what right they have against someone who, as I have stated, is a free man. It might have to be a business decision because if other patrons won't frequent the club, then I'm sure the establishment won't want to lose income. How do you police every gay club in Australia to ensure he's not entering? I really think this petition is flawed. Don't want anything to do with Atkins? It's very simple: don't engage with him.
Well, it's stinking hot. This of course makes me very irritable. Maybe that's why the aforementioned petition has irked me so. I could of course be in the grip of a motherfucker of a hot flush. On Saturday I attended the birthday party of twin cousins of mine - they turned 50. I stood on the front porch with the birthday girl (they're a male and female) at about 11.30pm, with another relative, and we discussed the hot flushes that occasionally torment us at our age. How things change. These are the people with whom I discussed periods; now it's the symptoms of menopause. Funnily enough, I was with this cousin when I got my first ever period. We've always been very close, and chances are she was my first ever friend. I have lots and lots of first cousins (it's a generational Irish Catholic thing), and we are all great mates. Every guest at this party was a relative of some sort. I caught the train, and got out my notepad to do notes for the speech her younger sister had asked me to prepare: the toast to the female of the twins (another cousin toasted the male). So much rich source material, and I tried to make notes. But there was this kid on the train, probably about two years old. From Muswellbrook to Singleton (which is half an hour), it was a constant robotic, Stephen Hawking type delivery of 'Mummy. Mummy. Mummy. Mummy.' It was like a broken record. Gen Y and millennials, who have long enjoyed CDs and MP3 players and iPods, don't know the torture of a needle stuck in the groove, but take it from me: this kid could be used to extract information from enemy spies. Half an hour of relentless 'Mummy. Mummy. Mummy. Mummy' in total monotone made the top of my skull feel like it was peeling away, and I wanted to shout to her mother to Fer Chrissakes Stop Looking At Facebook And Give The Kid Attention Before I Push Her Under The Wheels Of The Fucking Train!'
Speaking of trains - I caught five of them on Saturday. Muswellbrook to Hamilton, where I had to change. Hamilton to Central, where I had to change. Central to International Airport, where I checked in to the hotel (I'd won a voucher a while ago, and decided to redeem it whilst in Sydney). International Airport to Wynyard, where I changed again. The Wynyard to St Leonards, where I cadged a lift with some of the rellies. Hell, I have flown Sydney to Denpasar in the same amount of travel time and with less hassle!
But the so-called hassle didn't matter. It was wonderful to catch up with my cousins and share laughs and memories. My speech was very well received, particularly when I mentioned going out partying with the birthday girl. Unfortunately, much of our partying was in the Eighties, and this meant going to see Uncanny X-men, Wa Wa Nee, and The Cockroaches - none of those bands appeal to me and I mentioned I quaffed many a West Coast Cooler (the drink du jour) to make the gigs listenable. My cousin's palate matured and she introduced me to Strongbow Apple Cider, and we used to sit on Coogee Beach drinking that prior to going to see a gig at Selinas. But yeah, our first friends are often our cousins, and I said to the assembled throng, 'Aren't we a lucky lot?' There were actually a few tears throughout the speeches, and my cousin gave me a big hug after I had proposed my toast. Oh, some interesting props were produced by the younger siblings - like the old Globite school case with 'INXS' carefully lettered on it in liquid paper. I'm sure the amount of names to denote ownership, or music and/or sporting team allegiances painted on Globite school cases in liquid paper during the Eighties have assured Mike Nesmith a most comfortable retirement.
Anyway, I'm home again and stinking hot. Here's cheers to you all.
No comments:
Post a Comment