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| Tuesday, February 28, 2006 |
| Phone Call |
I just had an Odd telephone call.
It rang. I picked it up. I said, "Hello?"
She said, "Hi - Ata Varia?"
I said, "Indeed!"
She said, "Oh, indeed. I'm sorry."
And hung up!
The number was witheld, so I couldn't call her back.
I think I need to practice saying, "Speaking! How may I help you?"
But then I feel like I'm being my own Receptionist.
I don't like being a Receptionist. |
posted by Ata @ 11:20 am  |
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| Monday, February 27, 2006 |
| Alicia |
You should all feel terribly special. Today, you are to be treated to Ata's one and only half-arsed effort at writing anything approaching Science Fiction. Alright, it's not a treat so much as a lazy way out of posting anything that requires immediate creative effort. It's still a post. And there was a good idea behind it, although not much of the good idea has flowed through to the mini-story.
Enough apologising. Read the damn story.
Alicia
The day would be... nice. Sunny, probably. A glowing orb of distant white fire rose lazily in the west. Overhead, the sky revealed itself slowly, the night's dark shading to clear, pale blue. The early morning view from the patio was striking. Seasonal blooms made a varied patchwork of the garden - ruby, sapphire, golden fire, sprawling out to the point where the ground began it's descent from hill to vale. Beyond the cultivated garden was untamed wilderness. Or very nearly untamed wilderness. You could almost forget it had been deliberately cultivated.
Gravelled paths made silvery trails through the riot of colour. As if some kind of great spider had spun a delicate lace through a display of gemstones. A dark spot mooched along one spoke of the web. She smiled, sipped her juice. He'd been thinking. Walking, he said, was the only way to think clearly. And it was easy to think clearly out in the pre-dawn chill, hearing the expectancy in the warbling voice of the odd early bird. Watching the mist lift and melt as day began to break, as the earth began to warm. She knew the attraction, often called the maid so she could rise before dawn to sit on the glassed-in patio. She liked the dew on the flowers, turning everyday colours into precious stones. Liked to see the first butterflies alight on the gems. When the day grew older and warmer, she would move outside to take breakfast. Here she could feel the air, the gentle breath of the planet on her face. Birds would sail in to land near her, sometimes on the rail, once or twice on her arm. She was encouraging them to fearlessness, hoping they would someday be bold enough to perch on her shoulders and share her toast. She loved this place. Her haven, her safety. She never went to town any more. Everything she wanted, needed was here. She and he hosted dinner parties every now and then, elite affairs, sparkling with witty repartee and a fortune in gold and silver settings on graceful fingers. Backless evening gowns. Kitchen staff working overtime to produce masterpieces, impeccably presented, delectable delights. Only the best of everything. But most of the time she preferred solitude, space, quiet talk by an open fire in the evenings. There was nothing she lacked here. She had him, she had peace, she had as much or as little society as she wanted. Nothing to worry or concern her.
The dark spot resolved itself to become a man. There was a downcast air to the set of his shoulders. He came closer, and she could see visible tension in the lines of his face. Sadness? Concern? She wondered placidly at what could be troubling him. Maybe he was puzzling out some technical difficulty in the new irrigation system. Surely the staff could take care of that. She must chide him for taking too much on his own shoulders. Let the world turn without you tonight...
He appeared to slow down even more as he approached the patio, watching his feet with intent. She thought. What was it the conference had been about the previous night? Now that she applied her mind to it, there had been regular meetings over the last six months or so, becoming more frequent over the last two months. She had not taken much notice - her husband, as a person of some prestige in the community, often met with other leaders. Politics was no longer her favourite pastime. Once she had enjoyed it, but now she had grown tired and indifferent. She felt worn down, dulled. By far she would rather sit out here on the patio and enjoy her gentle, peaceful world.
He drew closer, tiredly climbed the steps, lowered himself into the wicker chair beside her. "Alicia..." He looked at her. He had always found peace in the depth of her eyes. He reached out to touch, gently, carefully, the soft skin of her cheek. He remembered her as he often used to see her. Laughing. Standing under an almond tree in full bloom. Her walking arm-in-arm with him, soft and strong at the same time. Barefoot in the garden, picking flowers. Vibrant and vivacious at a neighbours evening soiree, candlight picking out highlights in her hair and eyes, dancing on the outline of her hips under their sheath of shimmering silk. He sighed. That felt so long ago...
"Alicia." She gazed at him, waiting for him to tell her what was on his mind. He was silent. Outside, the day began in earnest. Soon it would be warm enough for her to move out into the sunlight. The maid would be coming with breakfast. Perhaps they could take it together, as used to be their habit, before...
"Penny for your thoughts." He closed his eyes, trying to phrase what he had to say.
"Alicia, you know there's been trouble in the Central Government." She nodded mute assent, a knot of concern beginning to form in her stomach. "Well, there's been trouble here too. Nothing serious, nothing to worry you about... until now." She didn't understand. Confusion, uncertainty reflected in her eyes.
"Independence." She still didn't understand. "We're declaring independence." He wished she didn't look so confused, longed for her to understand the implications without him having to explain. It hurt. She used to be so sharp, once upon a time they would have been undertaking this together... it wasn't that she was stupid, wasn't that she didn't comprehend, just that she couldn't cope anymore, couldn't look at the details and extrapolate to see what they meant. Couldn’t remember much from moment to moment, to tell the truth. Political arguments left her stressed and emotional. She couldn't see the big picture any more.
And she used to be so good at chess, before...
"There will be war. You remember what happened when Titan declared independence." Understanding and fear began to dawn in her eyes. He couldn't bear it. "I will have to go. They need me. I have to direct the campaign." Her throat constricted. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, opened them again. "Alicia, you know what that means..." He knew. He had seen it. She knew. The enhancers they gave you, the cyberconnections, the spinal hookups from person to person...
The procedures that left your wits dulled, your body numb - if you were lucky. But it had to be done, no unenhanced mind could contain and manipulate enough information to conduct military operations in a universe of four dimensions... there was too much to think about, too much to predict, too much to calculate, too much to be done at once. Too little room for error. Too much even for two people to do, if they worked seperately. But if they worked with minds in tandem, enhanced and hooked up through the long nerves of the spinal cord... then they could campaign, wage efficient war that was over within months. Win or lose. No draw. It had been lose at Titan. Earth didn't like to give up her colonies. He and Alicia had fled, far away, to the next system. Here they had hidden in the growing community, constructed a safe haven. He had protected her, watched carefully over her as she recovered. He didn't blame her. She did her best but her partner's body had rejected the implants, the drugs. And the campaign was over almost before it was begun. Leaving her what she could not escape. He felt - knew - it was a waste of a brilliant mind, knew that he would be giving his own mind to the same waste...
He hoped he could keep her safe. If he lost, they would both be political prisoners, never mind that they no longer had the capability to lead any sort of rebellion. He hoped he would be one of the lucky ones, as she was - in a way. She was still a companion, rather than a simple decoration. But her mind had lost its edge. He wondered what it would be like. Wondered if he would wake screaming - as she did - with nightmares immediately forgotten. She seemed happy, during the day. She enjoyed life, on the whole. He hoped that, after the war, they could live together, like this, in this place, enjoying the sun. He swallowed. There was nothing left to say to her. Nothing more to be explained. He went inside.
She gazed at the carpet of flowers. The dew had evaporated, the gemstones had become simple flat colours. The spider's web had aged to grey threads. The maid placed breakfast beside her. She ignored it. Eventually she sighed, cast one look back over her shoulder at the thin strip of dark clouds gathering on the horizon. Laid her hands on the rims of the large wheels on each side, and wheeled herself listlessly inside.
Perhaps it would rain today, after all. |
| posted by Ata @ 7:03 pm |
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| Thursday, February 23, 2006 |
| Ata and the Buffalo |
Once upon a time, when Ata was barely more than a kitten, she lived a long way from where she lives now. The house - made impractically of metal - looked out to sea, and a remnant of rainforest occupied the right-hand corner. Ata and her brothers thought it highly entertaining to take a trip to the beach on occasion. Accessing the beach from the backyard involved climbing down an easy 'cliff', but the beach this brought one to was rocky and unappealing. The preferred route involved a march along a path through the rainforest, clambering down some large, smooth rocks to the beach, and hiking along the sand a way. A relatively short hike would bring the adventurers to a collection of large, rounded, standing stones. These offered shelter from any wind, a little shade, and an ideal spot to build a small fire by which to eat biscuits. After a break, the troupe would often proceed further along and climb up a steep bank, which offered an excellent rolling sand dune.
On this particular day, the merry band consisted of about six children (it was a time ago - Ata cannot be expected to remember precisely), ranging in age from about 5 to about 12 years of age. Ata being the eldest among the group. A base in the shelter of the standing stones had been established, and all group members were happily partaking of sustenance or entertaining themselves with hermit crabs. A rustling in the bush which bordered the sandy beach caused one of the group to look up - and standing there, regarding the group calmly, was a Very Large water buffalo.
Frozen horror promptly gave way to frenzied action. The smallest group members were helped - or rather, shoved - on to the tallest rock. Larger group members followed with haste. All had to stand, as the rock-top was crowded. So stand they did.
Group of children on rock gazed at buffalo on beach. Buffalo on beach gazed at children on rock. While all Ata's experiences with water buffalo indicated that they were generally placid critters, she had also been carefully instructed that they were Unpredictable and Not To Be Trusted. Besides which, they have darn big horns.
Ata began feeling somewhat anxious. The buff did not appear to be in any great hurry, and they could not stand on top of the rock all afternoon. Something had to be done.
Ata was in the habit of taking a long stick with her when she lead this type of expedition. Ostensibly, it was useful in case of Snakes or Thick Vegetation, but in reality Ata just felt it was the right sort of look for an Expedition Leader. In the scramble to be up on the rock, she had fortuitously brought the stick with her.
Feral water buffalo were - and probably still are - a common sight in that part of the world. Frequently, they would visit Ata's backyard during the night, frustrating her parent's tree-planting efforts by rubbing bark from growing saplings with their horns. Ata's father would shoot them with his service rifle. It wasn't big enough to injure a buff, but it does sting, and as such is sufficient inducement to move on.
Ata wondered just how intelligent buffalo were. She raised her stick, and pointed it squarely at the passive and unmoving mountain in front of her. Taking careful aim, she shouted, "Bang!"
There was a pause.
The buffalo lowered its horns, and took one step forward. Ata began to think she'd made a horrible mistake.
Then, abruptly, it turned around and ran off into the bush. Gone.
The journey to the sand dunes was called off in favour of going Home, markedly more quickly than on the way out.
In the years after Ata left that particular community - some four or five years after the story just told - there were a number of goring deaths by buffalo. Unpredictable beasties. See - one should always walk softly in the bush, and carry a Big Stick.
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| posted by Ata @ 1:45 pm |
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| Tuesday, February 21, 2006 |
| Firebug |
Shami's comment on Myo's blog reminded me of this.
Ata knows someone who set a fire in a national park. Ata worked with him for a time, and jokes about firestarting and not letting him play with matches were standard workplace fare. Eventually, he put Ata out of her curiosity by telling the whole story.
This particular chap enjoyed going for hikes. Adelaide has the driest summer climate of all Australian capital cities, and on this particular summer day the grass was brown and crispy. Our protagonist had stopped for a break when he spotted a little skink. Being of the type that can't leave well enough alone (ie - male), he decided to catch the skink. Skinks are tricky little critters, and after a few minutes fruitless chasing, it slipped into a clump of tall grass. Out of reach.
It was at this point our friend made his mistake. How to get skink out of grass-clump?
What would you do at this point? You can't get into the grass, so you take the next logical step.
You decide to smoke it out.
It took only a brief split second for the grass to ignite and the fire to spread. Our unfortunate firebug realised quickly that he was not going to be able to put it out, and hightailed it to the road. Out of immediate harm's way, he called the fire service. It took some time, but the blaze was controlled.
And the firebug? Having turned himself in, he got a fine that took over a year to pay off. There might have been some community service involved as well, I don't remember. And enough ribbing from workmates to make him think twice about playing with matches ever again. |
| posted by Ata @ 12:24 pm |
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| Monday, February 20, 2006 |
| Catwoman |
Having finished my latest assignment, I have to say that one of the best things about temp. work is that you get to say you're "on assignment". However, I did forget to gaze calmly around the workplace and announce, "My work here is done" before leaving. I also forgot to scream, "I'm leaving and I'm never coming back!" So really, my exit today was very un-dramatic. One of the sales staff brought a custard tart for morning tea in honour of it being my last day. It was a very nice custard tart, although I'm still not entirely certain of why he picked a custard tart as a final-day farewell gesture.
Anyway. It was a quiet and civilised day. Fortunately, I had this mildly entertaining story left over from last week with which to keep the ice-cream eating masses mildly entertained.
It was not long after 9am. The day was sunny and bright, with not a cloud to be seen. There was no-one in the office but me and one sales guy and the Xerox repairdude. With the telephone not even ringing, I had no indication that anything out of the ordinary was about to happen. I procrastinated about filing by pretending to concentrate on something on my computer screen.
Then she walked in.
I could tell straight off that something was amiss. This dame was not the cool, calm and collected type we usually get walking into an airconditioning sales office. For a start, she was a dame. That was different. I could tell she was a dame by her long, spiral-curled hair. And the frilly green bra straps peeking out from behind the bright yellow singlet she wore. And, you know, the bosoms were kind of a giveaway.
She was upset. Her hands were shaking, and she struggled to keep her voice under control as she begged me for help.
"Please, can I use your phone? It's an emergency, I'm driving to Whyalla and I've only just left and my cat's sick... and my phone's out of credit." Tears welled in her eyes. "I'm so worried... I don't want to lose him! I've got the number..."
I glanced at the sales guy, but he was deep in conversation with the Xerox repairdude. A broken photocopier is a catastrophe in an office. I was going to have to handle the distraught dame on my own.
I made a judgement call.
"Do you have the number for your vet?" Picking up my receiver, I held out my hand for the phone she was holding.
"No," tears welling and voice cracking, "My brother in law. He works around here, I just don't know where! And my cat, I don't know what's wrong with him!"
I dialled the number, and handed over the receiver.
"It's me - where are you? Yes, we're going today, but the cat's sick, I don't know what's wrong with him... he's really sick, I think he's going to die... he's panting and panting, like this - " she demonstrated, a very good imitation of a car-stressed cat.
"And we gave him heaps of water! He was fine this morning, he just suddenly started panting... He's on Ryan's lap, and Ryan's upset, he's crying because of the cat... where do you work? Where?"
I could have told her what was wrong with the cat. I could have told her my cat reacted the same way on his first car trip. I could have told her that the cat would probably calm down in a few minutes, providing it wasn't provoked. I could have told her she should have taken the cat for a test-drive, secured in a cat-box, a week or so ago so she could decide whether to drive to Whyalla with her cat. I could have told her that her cat shouldn't be travelling on a child's lap on a five or six hour drive. I could have told her that half the reason her cat was stressed was the crying child. And I could just picture the scene in the car - stressed cat, crying child, mother shouting at child to stop crying, cat more stressed, child crying more....
But I didn't tell her anything.
When she had the address, I showed her where to find her brother in law. While the Xerox repairdude finished the neccessary repairs, I walked to the footpath with her and pointed out the building.
And I hoped she left the cat with her brother-in-law before attempting the drive again. |
| posted by Ata @ 5:45 pm |
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| Sunday, February 19, 2006 |
| Where? |
Another Story from Work.
The office I have been working in is located on a major road that leads into the city. It is long and confusing and the numbering is a little strange. The office is in a block of assorted offices, next door to a pub. Ours is the only door that opens directly from the footpath - the rest of the offices are accessed by turning down a small side street. It is also the last block of buildings before the road heads into the city. Adelaide city is surrounded by parklands - planned such that they are exactly the distance a cannon can fire, apparently - so if you're looking for an address on or near our road, our office is the last stop to ask questions at.
This means that we get a reasonable number of lost persons stopping in to ask for directions. Like the gentleman on Tuesday.
"Yeah, gudday love, I'm looking for Crompton St in Bowden." Ata is frowns. She has never heard of Crompton St, Bowden, but something sounds familiar about the address.
"Sorry," says Ata. "I don't know, I'm not too familiar with the area." Ata doesn't have a street directory on hand, either. Lost Man is about to leave, but the Service Manager, having overheard the conversation, comes to the rescue with a shiny new street directory. Meanwhile, Ata has figured out why the address has a familiar ring.
"Are you sure about the street?" she says.
"Yep. Crompton St, Bowden. I'm meeting someone there. It's a carpet place." The Service Manager has begun looking up Crompton St, Bowden. Ata is now sure of her theory.
"Are you sure it's not Coglin St, Brompton?" There is a large discount carpet place in Brompton, on Coglin St.
For some locational perspective - the office is in Hindmarsh. The suburb immediately west is Bowden. The suburb immediately east is Brompton. Ata believes Lost Man has just mashed the street and suburb names together into "Crompton" and then - hearing that the suburb started with B - picked the wrong suburb.
Ata's suggestion on street name is dismissed, even though she points out that there is a large discount carpet place on Coglin St. The Service Manager and Lost Man are too engrossed with looking in the directory to consider that Lost Man might be Really Lost.
Their search is fruitless. There is no Crompton St in Bowden. Lost Man makes a phone call.
"What's that address again? Crompton St? No, there's no Crompton St. What? Crompton? Yeah, we looked for it. C-R-O-M-P... Oh. What? Crompton? Yeah, I told ya we - what? Coglin St.? How'd ya spell it? In where? Bowden? What? Brompton? Oh, okay. See ya soon!"
Ata suspects he would have worked out the address sooner if he had not kept shouting over the person on the other end. But Anyway. They look up Coglin St and Lost Man is on his way. Gone without even a chance for Ata to say "I told thee so". |
| posted by Ata @ 8:56 am |
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| Saturday, February 18, 2006 |
| Weirdos |
The bonus of working is that you get regular opportunities to interact with people who are nonstandard. And not always in a good way.
Like the guy who called on Wednesday.
"Hi!" he said brightly. For increased accuracy, imagine him speaking in a quite camp voice. "I'm Louis from XXXX Recruitment. I'd like to speak to whoever handles your recruitment, induction and training!"
Ata knows a cold-caller when she hears one. Besides which, the Sales Manager is out of the office. Ata herself is a Temp provided by a competing recruitment agency. And the head office is in Sydney, so Ata suspects that this company - a very large corporation - has some fairly set-in-stone arrangements about how to and who does their recruitment. Ata gives the polite response.
"I'm sorry, you'd need to speak to YYY. Unfortunately, he's out of the office. I can take a message."
Louis accepts willingly, and spells his name to be sure Ata takes it correctly.
Fifteen minutes later, he calls back. "Did I just call here? Yes? Oh, sorry, nevermind."
The next day he calls again. "It's Luke from XXX recruitment here, calling for YYY!" Ata is a little confused about the name change. Perhaps he is having an identity crisis. Or perhaps he's found 'Louis' too hard over the phone, and has switched to Luke. Ata does that sometimes.
Ata checks with the Sales Manager, just in case he does happen to want to speak to Louis/Luke. He doesn't. He is flat out with Making Sales, and has no desire to speak to a cold-caller. Ata returns to the held call.
"I'm sorry, YYY is busy at the moment - but he's asked me to let you know that we are quite happy with the people who currently handle our recruitment. So thanks for calling." It is a brush off. A polite brush off. The polite and socially-accepted response at this point is to go away. The more aggressive sales response is to try another way of getting in touch - perhaps suggesting that they mail or fax something, or trying to give a little information to the Receptionist (me!) which might convince her that her Boss could be interested in their services after all. What does Louis/Luke actually say?
"Oh! That sounded like a ventriloquist act!" With just a trace of nasty in his oh-so-bright tones. Ata is startled almost speechless.
"I'm sorry?" Says Ata, in a stunned voice. Louis/Luke laughs, and the nasty is gone.
"No, no, nothing. So, he doesn't want to speak to me, then?" Ata is now pissed off with Louis/Luke for the previous comment. Her response is firm and flat.
"No."
"Well," says Louis/Luke, "I hope he's not relying on sales to make his money, then." And hangs up.
Ata is flabbergasted. (Woo-hoo! I get to use flabbergasted in a sentance!) What the? Could that possibly have been a prank call? Surely he does not speak to all prospective clients like that?
At any rate, Ata suspects that Louis/Luke, whoever he is, is likely to have a Very Short Career with XXX Recruitment. |
| posted by Ata @ 5:01 pm |
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| Monday, February 13, 2006 |
| Full Time |
Full time. Full time. Whatever possessed me to accept a full time position? What was I on? What was I thinking?
Well, I was thinking about the money, of course.
Only five more days to go. Eight down, five left. I'm past the half-way mark. And before you know it, it'll be Friday, and then there's two days off. Then just Monday, and I'm free again!
Before then, though, there is five more days. Five more days of be-in-by-nine, can't-leave-til-five, answer-the-phone, listen-to-complaints, and file, file, file. And one more weekend of no-energy-for-anything, need-a-nap-after-grocery-shopping, dammit-gotta-go-back-on-Monday.
Once upon a time, I worked full time, often overtime, and went to the gym three or four nights a week. And ran a Sunday School. And took bellydancing lessons. Why did I do it? How did I do it? And more to the point - what was I on then, and can I have some more?
Full time. How I hate routine hours. Same every day. Home tired, no time for anything because everywhere's shut by the time I'm home. Except for the supermarket. How does anyone have energy for supermarkets after a whole day at work? Peak hour traffic. Although this is Adelaide, after all, so I can't really complain. But still. After this - back to part time for Ata. |
| posted by Ata @ 5:43 pm |
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| Friday, February 10, 2006 |
| Ata's Blog |
A blog about my blog, how original.
I now have little pop-up comment boxes! Hooray! When I saw them on Keppet's blog, I assumed that they were something specky and terribly difficult and Keppet-specific. When I saw them on Biped's blog, I began to suspect that I, too, could have pop-up comment boxes. And I can. Hooray!
I have now made 43 posts, including this one. Who would have ever thunk it. And I still have stuff to say! Well, maybe not interesting stuff. But stuff nonetheless, and that is what the internet is for, after all.
Mr Ata has been publicising my blog amongst family and friends. While I doubt that anyone will be sufficiently bothered to find and read it, I am still not certain how I feel about this. I always assumed it was possible that someone I know from Real Life might find it, I've never really had to face the frightening possibility. So if anyone who has actually spoken to me face-to-face stumbles across Atarama, be welcome. Make yourselves at home. I probably haven't said anything unkind or embarrassing about you, so peruse past posts at your leisure. Also, if I have said something unkind or embarrassing about you - well, I probably didn't intend it to be unkind or embarrassing, and it is my blog after all.
Coming attractions on Atarama: more Atathink, Atastories, and all the Atanews you ever wanted to hear! And probably a certain amount that you didn't. At some point in the future, I want to have a little diddle with the template and Make It Nice. But don't be holding your breath. |
| posted by Ata @ 6:20 pm |
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| Wednesday, February 08, 2006 |
| Mr Ata's Bad Night |
Ata went out at 6:30PM. She returned home at 10:30PM. In the meantime, Mr Ata had a Very Bad Night.
There was a Terrible Backup Problem, that he was unable to resolve. And, worse than this - Bosco went MISSING.
Mr Ata thought that he may, somehow, have managed to get outside (our front door doesn't latch properly all the time). So after having examined every room, cupboard, and known hiding place, calling and calling (Bosco usually comes a-running to having his name called), Mr Ata searched outside. In the dark. And it's raining.
All up and down the street, in gardens, knocking on doors. No Bosco to be found. On returning home, Mr Ata slumped despondently in the lounge. He had spent three fruitless hours looking for Bosco. At about this point, Bosco sauntered calmly past the loungeroom door.
So Bosco is not permanently lost, which is nice. But it is curious that he did not come when called. Mr Ata did not think to try opening the under-TV cupboard (it makes a little click noise, and it's where Bosco's toys get stored when they're not being played with. Opening this cupboard is guaranteed to cause Bosco to drop what he's doing and come racing into the lounge), so it is still uncertain as to whether he was merely hiding or somehow stuck somewhere. Curiouser and curiouser. |
| posted by Ata @ 10:45 pm |
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| Sunday, February 05, 2006 |
| Additional |
Stuff I forgot to post yesterday about Big Day Out:
Most Nauseating Thing: the recording being played at the entrance of a woman reading the Big Day Out instructions (wear sunscreen, remember to drink lots of water, where to find the First Aid Tent, etc) as if she were giving phone sex. Just Lovely.
Concluding Surprise: Guy Climbs Ferris Wheel! As we exited the grounds, general gasping and pointing caused us to look up. The Big Day Out is held at the Royal Showgrounds, and the Ferris Wheel is located directly in front of the main gates. Directing our attention in the direction of the pointing, we saw a gentleman (well, a male, anyway) clinging to the very highest point on the frame of the Ferris Wheel. He turned around to face the crowd and for one sickening second, as he swung a hand free of the struts to wave, Ata thought he might be going to jump. Fortunately, messy death (or possibly just hideous maiming and permanent head injury) were not on his plans for the evening. There were police waiting for him at the bottom, and security ensuring that no-one else decided to try and join him. As we walked towards the street, four mounted police riding in tight formation were preceding another cop car and a fire truck - presumably called in immediately on noting the wayward climber. One stunned (or more likely stoned) onlooker had his back to the police, looking at the Ferris Wheel looming up over the gates and the tiny figure now cautiously descending. Ata, stepping lightly off the road herself, called out a warning, and he turned to see the four matched greys bearing down on him. His expression grew even more "Woah, dude" as he registered the size of the horses, and scrambled to clear their path.
Ferris Wheel Climber didn't make the news the next night. Probably because the stations had no footage of him. |
| posted by Ata @ 10:20 pm |
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| Saturday, February 04, 2006 |
| The Recovery Rundown |
Big Day Out is a very accurate name. So, Ata's review of the day so named.
Bands seen: who knows. There was a lot, and at that volume they all start to sound the same. All I can hear is the bass line, the guitars are just noise, and the lyrics just someone screaming over the top. We did see Wolfmother - Mr Ata from the front section in front of the stage, Ata from the stands. Well back. Franz Ferdinand were good, Mr Ata was vastly impressed with Sleater Kinney, and The Subways were something of a surprise act in that they're actually quite good. More on the White Stripes later.
Most Impractical Outfit: that would be the chick wearing a torsolette. Black leather in front, black mesh at the back. Despite the fact that she was wearing a fairly solidly laced item of lingerie, she apparently felt the need of extra support, and was wearing a blue bra underneath.
Most Impractical Shoes noted: It was the white platform wedge heels. Then I spotted a couple of girls in stilettos.
Outfit Ata Would Be Least Likely To Be Seen Dead In: Cowboy boots, cowboy hat, completed with a very tight t-shirt reading "I Fancy the Drummer".
Best T-Shirt Slogans Spotted: "668 - the neighbour of the beast" "Guns don't kill people - people with moustaches kill people" "Friends don't let friends snowblade" Ata's personal favourite was handwritten black texta on a white t-shirt: "I F****d My Neck". Worn by an uncomfortable looking bloke also wearing a large, elaborate cervical collar. Ata walked past him hoping for more information on the back of the shirt, but was disappointed.
Ten Points For Effort Outfit: The guy who was stripped to the waist and painted red.
Best Group Outfits: The group dressed as pirates. Or possibly the group dressed as bumblebees. At least it would be easy to find your friends in the crowd.
Most Inexplicable Item of Clothing: a small button badge reading "the pants".
Youngest Person in Attendance: a preschooler. I think he belonged to one of the food stall holders. There was also a couple of girls who looked to be about 11, accompanied by a gentleman who was assumably the father of one of them.
Most Misleading Sign: "$49.95 Available Here". Careful investigation revealed that it should have been accompanied by another sign reading "Big Day Out Book".
Ata's Favourite Giveaway: a bottle of bubble mix. The front of it was printed like a Toohey's label. The back of it read "does not contain beer".
Most Random Event: Ata, being the weary sort, decided a lie-down after lunch would be necessary if she was to make it all the way through to the White Stripes at 9:15. Having located a grassy spot in shade without hoardes of ants to contend with, she settled down with hat over face. There were a few smart remarks. What Ata did not anticipate was the unknown person who reached under the hat brim to tickle the inside of Ata's left nostril, then ran away. Ata pulled the hat down further to prevent repeat attempts.
Headline Act: White Stripes! Mr Ata has been looking forward to them since their presence at Big Day Out was announced. Before further discussion of this experience, I should make it clear that the last live concert I saw was Billy Joel, where everyone sat politely in seats. Alright, I attended a CD launch for a friend's band once, but that was hardly on the same scale.
Ata was convinced to stand in the front section behind the D-ring barriers to see the White Stripes. Earplugs made the noise tolerable, and eventually one does get used to the sensation of ribs vibrating in time with the bass drum - this gives Ata the feeling that she is experiencing some sort of dreadful cardiac event. For those who don't attend Big Day Outs, the two main stages - Blue and Orange - are arranged next to each other. Acts alternate between stages. The first play on the Blue stage, then the second on the Orange stage. Meanwhile, the Blue stage is being set up for the third act. So we went down the front, relinquished our backpack at the security barriers, and staked a spot maybe 15 metres from the stage. All of this a full hour before the White Stripes were due to start. Iggy and the Stooges were playing on the other stage. As starting time for the Stripes grew ever nearer, more and more people crowded into the D-ring to claim a spot close to the stage. Iggy paused between each song to call us all f*****g mother f****rs. We sat down at first, but - tired of getting kicked and fearing imminent trampling - stood up about a half hour before starting time.
By the time there was just ten minutes to go, all Ata could really see were the blue-shirted shoulderblades of the guy in front. A couple of goth-dressed girls were pressed in on the right. One of them wore a dog collar with inch-long spikes, that Ata carefully noted for later avoidance. Over the shoulder of the guy to the left-front, Ata reads his carefully composed text message: "Iggy is poo + crap + piss + girls clown shoes". Ata suspects that she is well behind the times in terms of the language of modern insult, as this last makes no sense.
Jack and Meg take the stage - no introductions, just present themselves at the front of the stage then take their relevant positions and open with "Jolene". Ata stands en pointe, levering herself up on the shoulders of the young males in front to get a view of the performers. The young males don't complain about being used as scaffolding - but then, it's not like they can do anything about it. Some drunken, stubborn fool at the back is determined to get through to the front. Somehow he pushes through. The crowd lurches in one direction as he shoves, then the other. A girl's rump lands unexpectedly on Ata's shoulder. Ata, surprised, flinches to the side in time to avoid collecting a foot in the head. Fortunately, the rest of the girl is attached to the rump, and she sails overhead. Ata begins to understand why crowd-surfing is discouraged. Everytime another person decides to surf, the process of scrambling up on to the crowd causes the solid mass of people to lurch about. Fearing to lose a finger or limb, Ata keeps her arms firmly crossed over her chest with fingers tucked in tight. Around her, most people have taken a similar position. A little later, Ata realises it's actually better to keep hands braced on the back of the person in front. Heels of the palm pressed under the person's shoulderblades or - if things become desperate - into the kidneys helps to keep the lurching dampened, and gives a good solid base to assist balancing. Plus it means that elbows are already bent and ready to discourage any shovers from the back. During a lull in shoving and swaying, Ata is drumming on the shoulder in front with her hands. He does not appear to notice the contact. Ata decides this is probably just as well, given that her left hip is also wedged up his arse.
Becoming increasingly concerned by the difficulty staying upright - and fearing injury if footing is lost - Mr Ata suggests moving back a bit. A few steps backward, the crowd closes and Ata is promptly jammed between several people. She flails one arm out desperately to grab Mr Ata before he vanishes through the press. Having got a grip on him, Ata then sternly removes the hand of a complete stranger from her right breast (surely it was unintentional), and forces her way between the music lovers. Once back a little further, Ata and Mr Ata discover that, just near the exit, there is a relatively uninhabited area of real estate. Of course, Ata has no hope of seeing the stage now, so she takes the advantage of being able to sit on the soft and surprisingly clean grass for the last thirty minutes of the show. An enormous security guard stops a patron entering through the exit with one outstretched meaty arm, then evicts him and another mischief maker back through the exit. Jack and Meg have walloped their way through 75 minutes of singing and playing before the act ends. No stopping to talk or introduce or dedicate between songs, just from one piece to the next, swapping instruments as necessary. Jack sounds a bit rough, but then, he's doing most of the vocals. They get a brief reprieve when they leave the stage - as if in pretence that the show is over - thirty minutes before finishing time. Ata does not begrudge it to them. This is the style of performance Ata likes - straight to business, no mucking about between songs, just from one piece to the next. They duet through "Little Ghost" and Mr Ata helps hoist Ata up high enough to see the pair spotlighted, Jack standing in front of Meg's drum kit. They finale with "Seven Nation Army". Both stand in the front of the stage, and the farewell is simple - "I thank you, my sister thanks you. Goodnight and God bless". Jack carries Meg offstage. Show done.
The front area clears quickly. Ata and Mr Ata go to retrieve their bag, finding it having been thoroughly (and fruitlessly - we're not that stupid) checked for valuables. Collecting a few scattered items from among the litter of flattened beer cans and Coke bottles, the somewhat battered pair go to meet BIL#2 for a lift home.
In summation: White Stripes were brilliant. Ata is not enough of a fan of live outdoor music and crowds to be already planning next year's Big Day Out, but it was a Good Day overall. |
| posted by Ata @ 3:16 pm |
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| Thursday, February 02, 2006 |
| Big Day Out |
Tomorrow is the Big Day Out.
Ata must attend.
It is Required.
Tickets were bought on the day of release. Mr Ata has pored over the schedule, and arranged the day. Ata is not entirely impressed.
"Mudvayne!" whines Ata. "I do not like Mudvayne. And do we HAVE to see Wolfmother? Look, you have not circled Hilltop Hoods!"
Ata suspects she will spend a goodly portion of the day huddled in a quietish spot with a Coke, trying to stay clear of dangerously under-hydrated fans and anyone obviously disappointed that there is no Naked Aerobics this year. Or possibly try to make friends with a sniffer dog to keep her company. Still. It will, no doubt, be an Event to Remember. And Ata is already enjoying the camaraderie of prospective Big Day Out attendees. Who will you see? Did you go last year? Who do you go with? Non-attendees are quickly sorted into two groups: those who want to go, and those who are not involved in the conversation. For those who want to go, there are the inevitable questions. Why are you not going? Do you usually go? Do you think you will change your mind? For all others - well, who knows what they talk about. |
| posted by Ata @ 9:12 pm |
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