Thrill the World

Tonight along with 80 other people in Melbourne, I'll be dressing up as a zombie and dancing to Michael Jackson's Thriller. We are participating in Thrill the World; a global event that has set a couple of world records. Tonight we're hoping to break one of them (Largest performance of Thriller in multiple locations), and raise some money for 24 hour telephone counselling and crisis support service, Lifeline Australia.

Thrill the World has been happening annually since 2006, and has grown each year. Over 22,000 dancers participated last year, in 32 countries.

In Australia, Thrill the World events are occurring in Melbourne, Sydney, Perth, Devonport, Brisbane and Rockhampton.

In Melbourne, dancers from Anna's Go-Go Academy have been preparing for months. We learned the dance in class in stages, spread out over a few weeks. That was months ago. Since then we've been practising most weeks so the steps sink in, and many of us have been practising outside of class aided by Thrill the World instructional videos on the web.

For the last two weeks we've practised several times during class, and have been scouring op shops and rooting through cupboards to find our perfect costumes. Our generous sponsors Costume Factory, Kensington have given us a discount on zombie make up, and guidance on how best to apply it. Our other major sponsor Bella Union, home of Anna's Go-Go Academy Wednesday night classes, are allowing us to use the venue as our pre-show HQ, and are hosting the after-party.

Fundraising efforts are going well, and I have been genuinely touched by the support my friends and colleagues have been willing to provide.

In about four and half hours the months of practise will be put to the test as we get our zombie on and whip out our very best MJ action. Photographers and video camera operators will capture the performance, and then it will be all over. More than one of our number has mused aloud about whether we'll have Thriller withdrawal after tonight.

Already there is a sense of accomplishment. Most of us aren't professional dancers. We work in offices, shops and salons, and spend some of our spare time dancing for fun. But together, we've mastered a fairly complicated routine, we're raising money for a good cause, and the best part about it is the sense of working as a collective. Getting ready to Thrill the World has been so much fun; months of planning to put on a 6 minute show!



Our event manager Anna has put together a great production crew, drawing on the skills and experience within the Go-Go classes, and it's sure to be a fun evening for those who are participating, and those who are coming along to watch.

Zombie dancers all over the world will dance Thriller simultaneously. The dance time for Melbourne is 10pm; perfect for spooky dancing!

I think I speak on behalf of all over the 80+ zombie dancers participating when I say we're thrilled to be part of Thrill the World 2010.

Shamon!

Review: A Fraction Of The Whole by Steve Toltz

This book was recommended to me by dear friends Mistress Anna and Lady Bec, who have not steered me wrong when it comes to literary choices. They've come up trumps again; this is an amazing book.

The audacity of the plot turns made me gasp, and there were more than a few “Oh My God” moments that left me muttering aloud and shaking my head at the surprising twists.

It's almost hard to believe that Toltz's saga, which is in equal parts engaging and disturbing, is his first novel. It is no surprise however that the book was short-listed for the Man Booker Prize in 2008.

A Fraction Of The Whole chronicles the lives of three generations of the Dean family. Set in rural New South Wales, Sydney, Paris, Bangkok and a Thai jungle, through Toltz's tale we bear witness to the loneliness, isolation, depression, humour, ambition, intellect and insanity of the family members and their cohorts.

The characters we nestle closest to in the telling of this tale are father and son, Martin and Jasper. Martin's story, and those of his parents and brother Terry, are told to Jasper after he is teased about his notorious uncle by schoolmates. A philosopher, Martin is forever burdened by his aloneness, and by the devastation of his family as the bizarre consequences of his seemingly innocuous ideas reach their tragic conclusions.

It seems impossible that something as mundane as a suggestion box could be the cause of dire outcomes for the Deans and their community, just as it seems unlikely that a devoted mother would deliberately harm her beloved son. There are shocks a plenty here; many more than those I have mentioned.

It was refreshing to have no idea where the plot was heading, and unsettling to not stick with any one scenario long enough to sit comfortably in it's groove.

I found the contrasts exciting, and at times frustrating. For example, Martin's long-winded, often demented rants, frequently contained brilliant concepts and startling insights. Jasper's internal monologue was at times so completely at odds with his outward behaviour that it was sometimes difficult to reconcile the thoughts and the behaviour as belonging to the same character.

What made it easier to stick with the book despite the frustrations it sometimes caused, was the writing. Toltz's choice of words to convey the array of ideas contained in this story was quite often beautiful, and I particularly enjoyed his use of similes. The sinking sun as a dissolving lozenge, for example.

Setting the story in Australia also gave Toltz the opportunity to use our national obsession with sporting success as a plot device, and I think it's fair to say he parallels one character's tale with our country's bizarre reverence of colonial criminal Ned Kelly.

The other reason to stay the course with this book is the characters; they are definitely worth sticking around for. Despite their failings, and they all have them, I couldn't help liking most of them. They are so damn interesting. The way they rationalise their behaviour is amusing and authentic. Very few of their actions are thoughtless, and I felt privileged to be able to take a peek inside their minds as they thought through their deeds, or analysed them after the event. Through their internal musings I was introduced to interesting notions I hadn't given too much thought to previously, as well as being moved to dwell on some some aspects of my own life, and the direction I want my life to take.

There are some characters we don't get to know well, such as Jasper's mother Astrid, but we spend enough time with her to get more than a sense of her tormented mind.

This story is heavy going. There are moments of love and light and hope flashes in and out tantalisingly, but these are only rarely glimpsed in the mire of bullying, violence, crime, suicide, infidelity, mental illness, birth, death, and evil found on the pages of this book. Joy comes to the characters briefly in the form of sexual contact, and a feeling of connectedness to nature, but the overwhelming mood is of bleak struggle. A Fraction Of The Whole literally reeks with the stink of human existence. Breathe it in. Deeply.

We woke up in the shadow of a hung parliament

Australia has voted. The polls closed eighteen and half hours ago, and we don't know who won the election. We may not know for sure for a week or more, and a hung parliament is looking the most likely outcome at this stage.

I have been surprised this morning at the number of people who I respect and admire that are crying foul over Liberal preferences flowing to the Greens, and helping to secure them one (and possibly two) seats in the lower house, and the balance of power in the Senate.

As far as I know, the Liberals' preferences are a matter for the Liberals, and don't require agreement from the Greens. What are they supposed to do? Say no thank you? It only becomes a concern if there's evidence of dodgy deals to shore up that support.

The only reason the Liberals' preferences came into play is because the Greens primary vote was strong enough to push them into second spot in the count, and those primary votes have drifted, by and large, from Labor.

Labor supporters, and the party itself, would be better served by honestly assessing why that drift has occurred, rather than bleating about how the Libs directed their preferences.

I've also heard, and read, the view that the election result (or non-result) was somehow due to people not paying attention, being distracted, or being tricked. I disagree. I think the will of the electorate, and growing distaste for our two-party system, has been clearly demonstrated. This is no accident. Suck it up folks.

Even the number of informal votes could be seen as a statement, although I'd prefer people frustrated with politics or election campaigns to express it in a way that really counts. It shits me to tears that over half a million votes were wasted, especially following a successful high court case to enable 60,000 additional voters to cast a ballot. I think informal voters are gutless and lazy. It takes courage to make a decision, especially when they're made tougher by not particularly liking any of the choices available.

Decisions will be all the rage in the coming week or two, as final votes are counted, independents are wooed, and the Governor General consulted.

Goodness knows how it will all pan out in the end, but getting there could be one of the most interesting and inspiring journeys our country undertakes.

And as an aside, I couldn't be more pleased that Labor regained the seat of McEwen. It holds a special place in my heart, and it was great to be back there again yesterday. Well done Rob.

Zurich Part 2 - Kunsthaus - 26th June

I am in the cafe courtyard at Kunsthaus in Zurich, Switzerland. I have just visited the gallery and I am enjoying a glass of bitter lemon and listening to loud machinery operating in a nearby street. There are fig trees in the courtyard, a mural, and a sculpture. The ground is covered in loose gravel and the silver metal chairs have blue and white striped cushions on them.

I am not alone in the courtyard. An older man, with white hair and a bald spot, sits at the next table sipping coffee and reading a book. Two women have just entered the courtyard; mother and daughter possibly. One carries a tray with two cups. As they sit, both slip off their shoes and giggle with relief. One, the younger, is putting a fresh corn pad on her left foot.

I know how they feel. My feet and lower legs are also suffering from walking around this large gallery, and standing before it's many fine works.

Kunsthaus is an impressive gallery that strikes a nice balance between works of old masters, and a comprehensive collection of contemporary art.

The first exhibition I viewed featured works by German photographer Thomas Struth. I knew nothing about his work, and to be honest, I entered the exhibition on the basis that his surname is an Australian colloquial exclamation. I found massive prints, rich in colour and detail, on stark white walls in substantial exhibition spaces. His works were grouped by theme; architecture, machinery, landscape, street scenes, family portraits, and interestingly, photos of art gallery visitors reacting to art. I liked the fact that seemingly ordinary subjects became objects of interest and beauty once in the lens of Struth's camera.



From there I entered the wing housing the permanent collection, with something akin to dread. I have realised something about myself recently. The works of the old masters no longer interest me the way they once did. I was initially surprised by this discovery, but I understand it. These ancient works don't have any relevance to my contemporary life and views, and they provoke nothing more than boredom.

As I entered the first room, already mentally rolling my eyes, I heard a voice call out. I couldn't see anyone, although the voice sounded close. I then noticed a piece of carpet had been torn roughly away, to reveal a screen in the floor, smaller than the palm of my hand. A naked woman, being devoured by flames was beseeching, holding her arms up, begging to be rescued. "Get me out of here," I imagined her calling. (She spoke Swiss-German). I could relate. Get me out of here indeed. I scooted through the rooms filled with works by fusty old masters and found the contemporary collection.

Some of it I hated, and some of it I loved. At the very least it provoked a reaction other than boredom. And I broke a rule - despite possessing what I like to think of as a free and easy attitude, I am actually a stickler for rules. The rule I broke? I touched some of the scupltures. There's something about 3d works. They're so textural they're almost begging to be touched. And I really did need to satisfy my curiosity about the work titled "Silent Grey Horse" just to establish if it was made from genuine horse hide. It was.

I did spend some time with the Impressionists too. Monet, Chagall, Van Gogh, and admired the works of Picasso and Dali within the Kunsthaus collection.

The last exhibition I visited was by Albanian video artist Adrian Paci. After the exquisite intensity of discovering the work of French video artist Sylvie Blocher (refer earlier blog) I had high hopes for Paci's exhibition Motion Picture(s). Those hopes were quickly dashed though. Kunsthaus promoted the works as "addressing topics like migration, globalization and cultural identity and uses compelling images to demonstrate the effects of exile, war and social upheaval on the human subject."

Paci is apparently an internationally renowned artist. Maybe so. On the basis of what I saw at Kunsthaus, I'd have to say that I just don't get it. Stop motion scenes of a wedding? Yawn. A giant yarn reel on it's side in the middle of a room? WTF? Only the tawdry, amateurish portrayal of a porn peddler in an Albanian village raised any interest, and that was mild at best.

I guess that's the thing about art - one person's art is another person's great big waste of time. Love it or loathe it, I celebrate the fact that we're free to create it, and people are free (with the exception of admission fees) to see it.

First impressions of Zurich

It's a Friday night, the World Cup is in full swing with countries being eliminated to determine the make up of the finals, and I am in Zurich Switzerland wondering what the hell I'm doing here.

My impressions may be coloured by the fact that I've had very little sleep this week. Not more than 3 hours a night since Monday. Add to that about 30 hours of travelling on various aircraft and waiting in airport lounges around the world. First Melbourne, then Singapore, then London.

So, Zurich seems to be a mix of ancient buildings, shiny fashionable young people (where are all the old people?) and clocks; lots of clocks.

I'm staying at the Zic Zac Rock Hotel in Marktgasse. Each of the rooms is supposedly themed on a famous rock act. I am in the U2 room. The only attmept at a theme is the guitar patterned carpet (which is consistent throughout the building) and three prints of U2 album covers; Under A Blood Red Sky, Rattle and Hum, and Pop. The bed is comfortable (I took a 5 hour nap this evening), and the staff are friendly in a no-nonense kind of way.

I'm in a room overlooking a square, and a number of bars. In the square there is a gay bar, 3 nightclubs (2 catering to gay patrons), a wine bar, a take-away food place, a clothing shop, a retro clothing and accessories shop, and a fantastic place called the "Condomeria" which is actually a shop selling gloriously coloured sex aids, that seems to be run by a dowdy middle aged woman.

The street (or gasse) is cobble-stoned, and it was amusing to watch women in very high heels trying to walk along the street. That's one thing I have noticed - everyone here wears fantastic shoes. I saw a man in shiny silver loafers! And the women's shoes are evenly split between gorgeous decorative ballet flats and sky high stilettos and wedge heeled shoes.

The language is Swiss German (something I'm not familiar with) and not a lot of English. Communication has been fun since I arrived. I have managed to get my message across; albeit with a sleep deprived jetlagged brain.

Upon arrival at Zurich airport I caught an interairport train that appeared to go to "Heidi" and passed through passport control with a smile and a wink. My plan to take the train into the city was abandoned as I suddenly felt my aloneness and general unpreparedness acutely; I took a cab to Marktgasse.

I checked in to Zic Zac, plugged in an adaptor so I could charge my iPhone, and almost electrocuted myself. The plug box fell off the wall, a spark flew from the box, and the adaptor I'd been given was blackened. In the process, I blew all of the fuses in the room so none of the lights or plugs worked. Awesome.

I took a stroll around the place, without the aid of a map. The streets were filled with predominantly young folk, dressed in stylish casual clothing reflecting the warm summer climate.

I had trouble locating a supermarket at first, but found a small one below ground level (Migros) and then a bigger one near the main train station, called Coop.

I bought toothpaste called Candida (It's just wrong, isn't it?), a packet of chips, Evian water and a punnet of blackberries.

Back at the hotel I discovered they do not have Wifi, and was directed to go to either Starbucks for 15 mins internet access, or a bar called Wings that provides unlimited internet access. I chose Wings. An airline themed bar with a substantial cocktail list and retired airplane seats. They also had a big screen TV inside and out of the bar, which was screening World Cup matches. I sank a very strong gin and tonic, exchanged messages on Facebook, and sent long soppy emails home.

I headed back to Zic Zac and lay on the bed, sleeping for about 5 hours, despite the noise outside my open windows; occasionally waking to the sound of vuvazelas. I woke properly at about 11pm and wandered outside in search of sustenance. Food service seemed to be suspended due to the late hour, but I managed to consume enough wine to hopefully ensure a sound night's sleep.

I went to the Barrique Wine Bar, conveniently located underneath my room. I had trouble conveying my order to the staff, and had to stop them pouring red wine rather than white. Not rose, blanc! That piece of confusion appeared to cost me an extra franc when my change arrived, and the first drink was much smaller than the ones that followed. I quickly learned to say "Danke" rather than "Thank you" or "Merci" and was rewarded with ever-increasing amounts in the glass.

It's now just past midnight. I'm back in my room at Zic Zac, eating blackberries and waiting for the noise outside to die down so I can sleep again. The iPod is really coming in handy in that regard, as I can drown out some of the sound with my music - except the vuvazelas. Their sound penetrates everything.

Animal Kingdom

With my tummy full of yummy Tia Amo antipasto, I strolled over to the Nova with a mate to see the hot new Australian film Animal Kingdom. And I say hot, not in a gushy, girly, American celebrity kind of way, I mean red hot in that it's getting great reviews all over the place. So it won't surprise you to find another one here.

The magnificently orchestrated pace of this film keeps your body thrumming with tension from beginning to end. I knew not what to expect when I walked in, having read somewhere it was somehow linked to the story of known underworld figures in Melbourne, but I could tell from the reviews that this was no Underbelly.

There's no glorifying or romantacising criminal life here. This is a brutal, and one suspects realistic, portrayal of the both the bonds that tie families, and the consequences of living outside the law. These characters are not brilliant criminal masterminds, they're all fairly damaged human beings.

Writer/Director David Michod doesn't let the audience relax for a moment, keeping us taut and expecting the worst, and yet still catching us out with surprising plot developments. This is an unpleasant, uncomfortable movie for the viewer, balanced by outstanding performances from a stellar cast. Jacki Weaver's portrayal of matriarch Janine Cody chilled my marrow; in one scene with the equally brilliant Guy Pearce, you can see the character's cold madness distinctly in Weaver's eyes.

Ben Mendelsohn's character Pope seems innocuous at first, although the level of attention paid to him by the police gives you some indication that this is one bad dude. Bad doesn't seem like a strong enough word to apply to Pope, as we watch him casually and dispassionately dispose of those his paranoid mind believes are in his way.

Newcomer James Frecheville is compelling in the role of "J". A pretty non-descript looking fellow, he has surprisingly little dialogue for a lead character, yet still managed to be mesmerising on screen. The changes his character goes through are internally devestating, but externally subtle. But they're there nonetheless; he stands taller, and more open faced in the film's final sequence, no longer the bowed, slack-jawed, mumbling youth we meet in the opening scene. In fact there's a good deal of restraint and subtlety throughout the film; two of its many strengths.

Just like at a live performance, I do like to try and gauge the audience reaction at the cinema. At the afternoon session of Animal Kingdom at the Nova, people around me were tittering in the right places, gasping and shifting uncomfortably in their seats. One woman close to me uttered the word "fucker" contemptuously, during one scene. If that sounds like your kind of film, get along and see Animal Kingdom. But be prepared to be disturbed.

There's been far too much doom and gloom on this blog of late; time to rectify that.

I started this blog by writing about the Labour Day public holiday and the history of its predecessor, the Eight Hour Day.

In Australia we're about to head in to one of my favourite public holidays, the Queen’s Birthday long weekend. We're a week and a half into Winter and the damp air is settling into my bones, and filling my chest and sinus with fluid. Outdoor activities are limited, and we cheer when the sun makes a brief appearance in the middle of the day. It's a time for jackets and jumpers, hot drinks, stodgy food and snuggling. And time for heaters and slippers, hats and gloves, and marathon movie sessions.

The Queen’s Birthday long weekend marks the start of the ski season in the southern states, another reminder that months of bitter cold await us before the warm Spring air touches our skin again.

I, and many others I suspect, treasure this long weekend because it is our last public holiday for five months. The thought of going so long without a paid day off, usually attached to a weekend, is so unappealing that I want every minute of this long weekend to be 120 seconds long. I want to wring every drop of downtime out of it, to sustain me over the coming long, dark winter days. I want to wrap myself in blankets, read books, watch DVDs, eat hot chips and cuddle the dogs. Most importantly, I want more than anything else to sleep. To not be woken by an alarm, to not wake up when it’s still dark, to wake up when my body decides it’s ready to be active (in a lazy kind of way). This will be some kind of bliss.

What ever you decide to do over this long weekend, enjoy it. It’s a long while until the next one rolls around.

At some point over the weekend, I highly recommend you take a look at this article by Michael Leunig, drawing parallels between Winter and ageing. It's a beautifully written piece, titled The Warm Heart in Winter http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/the-warm-heart-in-winter-20100528-wl26.html