For as long as I can remember I've had a sore neck and shoulders. I think it's something to do with the way I sleep. My neck is so out of whack that I can touch my head on my right shoulder, but I cannot do likewise on my left. However, I've always just put this down to being another one of God's little obstacles for me. I've never sought of rectify the situation, I'm not really one for taking care of myself. I don't actually believe in it.
However, this morning I was down at the Victoria Gardens shopping centre on the corner of Burnley and Victoria streets (you know the one, where the Ikea is) and walked past this Chinese massage place. 20 coins for a neck and shoulder massage. Feeling reckless I decided to venture in. I slapped a twenty down on the counter and told them to sort me out. Whilst the massage was taking place my mind drifted back, way back, to October 2002. My cousin Lucy and I had decided to go to Morocco. Well, the truth is that Lucy had decided to go to Morocco and I exclaimed in my most paternalistic tone "Well, you're not going by yourself!", forgetting for a moment that Lucy is a vastly experienced traveler, and that I have a comfort zone that barely extends beyond the dimensions of my bedroom. The adventure was a wonderful experience, however there was one specific wonderful experience that I was recalling as I was getting this Chinese massage. A few days before we left Morocco we were in a town called Essaouira and decided to go to a hammam (respective male and female versions of). Now when you go to a hammam you can either just sit around in the corner washing yourself, OR you can do it the traditional way and hire an 11 year-old boy to scrub you down. Not wanting to offend local tradition, I went for the boy. Let me tell you, if there's one thing 11 year-old Moroccan boys know how to do it's clean a man. But not only did this boy clean me, he stretched my body in ways it had never been stretched before. I came out of the hammam not only feeling more shiny and clean than I ever have, but totally loose and flexible. My body felt fantastic! I paid the boy his 30 dirham (about £2) and gleefully gushed "Merci!" almost a dozen times. I think he was sure I was going to slip him a few more dirham to extend the service, but unfortunately that wasn't my scene at the time.
Just as my beautiful recollection was finishing the Chinese massage was doing likewise. I walked out of the place with hope, but I felt nothing. My shoulders and neck were still stiff, I let out a longing sigh and drifted my mind back to Morocco once again as I walked home. Will my body ever feel so good again? It may cost me an expensive airfare, but I hope so.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Splitting Hairs
My hair is a constant source of frustration for me. The hair is pretty much like moss. It just sits there. If I do grow it to a certain length the wind is able to blow through it, however the hair stays where the wind left it, it requires a shower to flatten it again. Further to this, the look of my face is completely dictated by the look of my hair. If I am having a bad hair day (which is frequently) I look mildly retarded. If I am having a reasonable hair day (there are no good hair days), I am able to leave the house.
As previously detailed the last haircut I had was in August. Since then I have been cutting my own hair and surprisingly have been able to leave the house more often. However, for the last few weeks I've had this nagging sensation that I was doing something wrong. Superficially the hair may have seemed alright, but I thought it was possibly time I gave it some professional attention. So I decided to go to Little Buddha, the hairdresser where all the hip young cats go when they need their angles sharpened. My friend Justine informed me that one of the stylists who worked there was extremely hot and I should hope to have her cutting my hair. (Un)fortunately for me I did get the extremely hot hair-stylist and so had to spend the entire time sitting there with my eyes closed for fear of getting over-excited. As a result I was unable to monitor her progress and inform her of how much was too much to cut. So now my hair is back to looking like something you may find on a rock.
As previously detailed the last haircut I had was in August. Since then I have been cutting my own hair and surprisingly have been able to leave the house more often. However, for the last few weeks I've had this nagging sensation that I was doing something wrong. Superficially the hair may have seemed alright, but I thought it was possibly time I gave it some professional attention. So I decided to go to Little Buddha, the hairdresser where all the hip young cats go when they need their angles sharpened. My friend Justine informed me that one of the stylists who worked there was extremely hot and I should hope to have her cutting my hair. (Un)fortunately for me I did get the extremely hot hair-stylist and so had to spend the entire time sitting there with my eyes closed for fear of getting over-excited. As a result I was unable to monitor her progress and inform her of how much was too much to cut. So now my hair is back to looking like something you may find on a rock.
Before the haircut. Apparently I looked like a mushroom.
Post-Haircut - "Next time, Justine, I'm getting someone ugly to cut my hair!"
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
New Ways Of Living
Since returning to the country in December I've been living in various places; initially staying with Amy, then on the floor of an uninhabited flat in Carlton and forced to my parents place in the outer eastern suburbs. However, now I am living in a houseshare in Richmond. I've actually been here over a month now and I'm living with two lovely ladies called Amber and Cathy (hi girls!).
Until now my experience of Richmond has been limited to gigs at the Corner, the odd Vietnamese meal on Victoria Street and this Nepalese place on Bridge Road that does these killer vegetable dumplings. So it's fun discovering the place a bit more.
The area bordered by Victoria, Bridge, Church and Burnley contains a cool network of connecting alley ways that enable you to get around without having to follow the street plan of the neighbourhood. No doubt I'll soon find myself getting buggered by some junked-up crackfiend down one of these alleys when walking home late one night, however for now I'm enjoying negotiating them.
The 109 is now my tram. Box Hill to Port Melbourne: an epic route. Although at present I'm only catching the tram from down near Church Street, along Victoria St, across Hoodle, up Victoria Parade, into MacArthur where I jump off at Parliament Station. Not a long journey, but with Victoria Street's Vietnamese restaurants and grocers, the hospital district of East Melbourne and the grandiose architecture of St Patrick's Cathedral and Parliament itself, it is arguably the most interesting part of the route.
That Hoddle Street divide is a doosie, isn't it? Those early town planners sure knew how to divide rich and poor. Whilst some lucky people on my side of Hoddle are able to afford a car, others still have to get around old school.
I'm still in the process of decorating my new room. The main issue is a lack of blu-tack coupled with the inability to remember to purchase more blu-tack. I managed to score an old bookshelf from my parents place, however as my cds vastly outnumber my books, the bookshelf has primarily become a cd shelf. The onset of Autumn has led me to bring out my beloved panda blanket. Whilst the blanket may give the room a bit of a bad hippie vibe, it is extremely warm and comforting on those cold and lonely winter nights, so don't give me any flack.
So I'd say that I'm reasonably pleased with my new living conditions. Obviously, I'd rather be living in Cranbourne McMansion with a wife, kids and a mortgage, but then what would I be left to dream about?
Until now my experience of Richmond has been limited to gigs at the Corner, the odd Vietnamese meal on Victoria Street and this Nepalese place on Bridge Road that does these killer vegetable dumplings. So it's fun discovering the place a bit more.
The area bordered by Victoria, Bridge, Church and Burnley contains a cool network of connecting alley ways that enable you to get around without having to follow the street plan of the neighbourhood. No doubt I'll soon find myself getting buggered by some junked-up crackfiend down one of these alleys when walking home late one night, however for now I'm enjoying negotiating them.
The 109 is now my tram. Box Hill to Port Melbourne: an epic route. Although at present I'm only catching the tram from down near Church Street, along Victoria St, across Hoodle, up Victoria Parade, into MacArthur where I jump off at Parliament Station. Not a long journey, but with Victoria Street's Vietnamese restaurants and grocers, the hospital district of East Melbourne and the grandiose architecture of St Patrick's Cathedral and Parliament itself, it is arguably the most interesting part of the route.
That Hoddle Street divide is a doosie, isn't it? Those early town planners sure knew how to divide rich and poor. Whilst some lucky people on my side of Hoddle are able to afford a car, others still have to get around old school.
I'm still in the process of decorating my new room. The main issue is a lack of blu-tack coupled with the inability to remember to purchase more blu-tack. I managed to score an old bookshelf from my parents place, however as my cds vastly outnumber my books, the bookshelf has primarily become a cd shelf. The onset of Autumn has led me to bring out my beloved panda blanket. Whilst the blanket may give the room a bit of a bad hippie vibe, it is extremely warm and comforting on those cold and lonely winter nights, so don't give me any flack.
So I'd say that I'm reasonably pleased with my new living conditions. Obviously, I'd rather be living in Cranbourne McMansion with a wife, kids and a mortgage, but then what would I be left to dream about?
Monday, April 09, 2007
The Sporting Life
Physical activity is not something I find myself involved in very often. In fact it would be approaching 10 years since I would have played any sort of sporting game. Just last Thursday I was telling a young lady in the bar Prudence that I don't do anything that involves taking my jeans off. Cricket, however, is a sport that one can play fairly well whilst wearing jeans, so when my friend Dan asked whether I wanted to join a social game with him and his buddies, I didn't really have any excuse to say no.
Ever since leaving my all boys school, I've done my best to avoid groups of males. Any socialising between males without the a female presence to inhibit their more base behaviour was something I had no intention of experiencing again. However, I was quite gratefully surprised at the civilised group of chaps that had assembled for this occasion. There was a lively banter on the field, but it was pleasantly lacking any of the crude misogyny and testosterone fueled bravado that you may have expected from such a gathering.
Back in my youth I used to be an off-spinner. Right arm off-spinners are not usually the glamour boys of the cricketing world. Occasionally you'll get a Muttiah Muralitharan or a Saqlain Mushtaq who'll make the discipline seem vaguely exciting, however I was always very much in the Tim May mould - nothing flashy, never a poster boy, but I kept it tight and was occasionally able to make a handy contribution. Tim May's Wikipedia profile describes him as "habitually 12th Man", which is as good an analogy for me as any.
I'm not shy to admit that I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I took a few wickets, held a couple of crucial catches in the context of the game, played a few well timed shots with the bat - one back-foot cover-drive would have made the highlights on the 6 o'clock news had the game been of a professional level - and most importantly, my team won!
It would be reasonably accurate to state that the last time I participated in a sporting event would have also been the last time I experienced any direct sunlight. As the day was quite warm I had managed to take the necessary precautions to avoid sunburn, however I hadn't counted on the effects of heatstroke and spent the evening nursing an awful headache whilst throwing my guts up into the toilet bowl. I'm of the understanding that these games will be played quite regularly, so I'm hoping that the Autumn will have more of a presence by the time the next game is fixtured.
Ever since leaving my all boys school, I've done my best to avoid groups of males. Any socialising between males without the a female presence to inhibit their more base behaviour was something I had no intention of experiencing again. However, I was quite gratefully surprised at the civilised group of chaps that had assembled for this occasion. There was a lively banter on the field, but it was pleasantly lacking any of the crude misogyny and testosterone fueled bravado that you may have expected from such a gathering.
Back in my youth I used to be an off-spinner. Right arm off-spinners are not usually the glamour boys of the cricketing world. Occasionally you'll get a Muttiah Muralitharan or a Saqlain Mushtaq who'll make the discipline seem vaguely exciting, however I was always very much in the Tim May mould - nothing flashy, never a poster boy, but I kept it tight and was occasionally able to make a handy contribution. Tim May's Wikipedia profile describes him as "habitually 12th Man", which is as good an analogy for me as any.
I'm not shy to admit that I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I took a few wickets, held a couple of crucial catches in the context of the game, played a few well timed shots with the bat - one back-foot cover-drive would have made the highlights on the 6 o'clock news had the game been of a professional level - and most importantly, my team won!
It would be reasonably accurate to state that the last time I participated in a sporting event would have also been the last time I experienced any direct sunlight. As the day was quite warm I had managed to take the necessary precautions to avoid sunburn, however I hadn't counted on the effects of heatstroke and spent the evening nursing an awful headache whilst throwing my guts up into the toilet bowl. I'm of the understanding that these games will be played quite regularly, so I'm hoping that the Autumn will have more of a presence by the time the next game is fixtured.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Home Alone Is Not Enough
Someone once said humans are habitual animals. There's something so pathetically trite about this statement that I'm sure a lot of people have said it. I don't really care who said it, or how many times it's been said, I'm just trying to illustrate a point.
I bite my nails. I always have and it would be a reasonable prediction to state that I always will. I also spend the majority of my time in my room alone. This is also something I have always done and cannot foresee any different. The irony is that during this time alone I wallow in my perpetual loneliness. I motherfucking hate it, yet I lack the impetus to actually open the door and do something about it.
I didn't want to have to write like this, but this blog have become rather neglected of late. Quite frankly, being back in Melbourne my thoughts and actions are a little too real to be published. Although I have a predisposition for self-sabotage, I'm not quite at the stage of committing social-suicide. Which is a bit of shame because there's an absurdity to this existence of mine which would make very amusing reading.
Habitually, when feeling down there's always one album I seem to listen to. Previously I'd made some attempt to document my relationship with the Manic Street Preachers. I'm quite immune to the scoffs nowadays. I realise how uncool the band are, but let me tell you, when one needs to let the hurt out a little there's no better album than The Holy Bible.
So today I was YouTube-ing some old Manics clips, trying to relive the pain of my youth, when I stumbled across the most extraordinary thing - a new single! As I mentioned in my previous post on the band, I've paid very little attention to them since around 2000, so I was completely unaware that there was a new album scheduled to be released shortly. As their last few albums have been completely embarrassing I wasn't expecting much. Now maybe it's my lack of exposure to natural light talking, but the song is actually alright! What's even more surprising is that the band are looking good again as well! James seems to have lost some weight and a few years with it, he's pulled out one of his old Holy Bible-era jackets, got his stomping leg back and is exhibiting his "Springsteen vibe" again. The song also features Nina Persson from the Cardigans who is fairly unrecognisable if you didn't know it was her. She's singing in a more womanly fashion these days compared to early-Cardigans, which is fairly unfortunate, but what are you going to do? She does do a wonderful little tea pot in the clip though.
Seriously, tell me this song isn't reasonably good. Fuck it, I'm even going to say it's pretty good. It's made me feel upbeat about life again, although rather than inspiring me to do something, I'm just sitting in my room watching it repeatedly. Old habits...
I bite my nails. I always have and it would be a reasonable prediction to state that I always will. I also spend the majority of my time in my room alone. This is also something I have always done and cannot foresee any different. The irony is that during this time alone I wallow in my perpetual loneliness. I motherfucking hate it, yet I lack the impetus to actually open the door and do something about it.
I didn't want to have to write like this, but this blog have become rather neglected of late. Quite frankly, being back in Melbourne my thoughts and actions are a little too real to be published. Although I have a predisposition for self-sabotage, I'm not quite at the stage of committing social-suicide. Which is a bit of shame because there's an absurdity to this existence of mine which would make very amusing reading.
Habitually, when feeling down there's always one album I seem to listen to. Previously I'd made some attempt to document my relationship with the Manic Street Preachers. I'm quite immune to the scoffs nowadays. I realise how uncool the band are, but let me tell you, when one needs to let the hurt out a little there's no better album than The Holy Bible.
So today I was YouTube-ing some old Manics clips, trying to relive the pain of my youth, when I stumbled across the most extraordinary thing - a new single! As I mentioned in my previous post on the band, I've paid very little attention to them since around 2000, so I was completely unaware that there was a new album scheduled to be released shortly. As their last few albums have been completely embarrassing I wasn't expecting much. Now maybe it's my lack of exposure to natural light talking, but the song is actually alright! What's even more surprising is that the band are looking good again as well! James seems to have lost some weight and a few years with it, he's pulled out one of his old Holy Bible-era jackets, got his stomping leg back and is exhibiting his "Springsteen vibe" again. The song also features Nina Persson from the Cardigans who is fairly unrecognisable if you didn't know it was her. She's singing in a more womanly fashion these days compared to early-Cardigans, which is fairly unfortunate, but what are you going to do? She does do a wonderful little tea pot in the clip though.
Seriously, tell me this song isn't reasonably good. Fuck it, I'm even going to say it's pretty good. It's made me feel upbeat about life again, although rather than inspiring me to do something, I'm just sitting in my room watching it repeatedly. Old habits...
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