Putting on the best darn school play ever

My friend David used to say as a joke: 'we're going to put on the best darn school play ever!' It was an ironic expression of the extreme saccharine positivity of a certain species of American movie. After all the (most likely farcical) challenges and knock-downs they'd faced, the characters were going to respond in the only way they knew how, by embodying the best traditions of American small-town life, come together as a community, rehearse their plump mono-saturated fat butts off (or if not 'off' exactly then at least 'around') and put on the best darn school play ever!

I was reminded recently of the 1983 film Testament (featuring Kevin Costner naturally) which is about a small American town after a nuclear war.

The things is: at the time the bombs fall, there is actually a school play in rehearsal. As civilisation unravels, the residents decide to keep going with it and actually try to put on the best darn school play ever to keep the community going and hopeful.

In reality, of course, they'd be roaring across desert wastelands in a souped-up Falcon coupe running down petrol-thieving mohawk-sporting neo-primitives. But maybe that's just me.

Rejected openings to a novel-in-progress #1

"Several moments passed after Gavin farted before he realised that the ipod he was listening to may have inhibited his capacity to determine whether his silent release had indeed been as discreet as he had planned it to be. He quickly looked from side to side to see if his interlocutors at the International Nuclear Weapons Disarmament and Counter-Proliferation Conference had noticed."

Apologies for opening this exciting series with a piece of scatology. But you know, whatever, as the kids say.

The following I'm story?

I walked into work this morning fulfilling the promise I made to myself and to the human race that I would start listening to GREAT WORKS OF LITERATURE on audio book on my Ipod rather than random young-person music.

I'm starting with Nabokov's Lolita which is arranged into five minutes chunks of creepy goodness.

The first part was a longish and dullish framing device by the supposed editor of Humbert Humbert's manuscript. Then it leapt to Jeremy Irons as Humbert Humbert describing him and Lolita shifting from squalid hotel to foetid motel in search of a nameless fugitive and an illegal good-time before changing gears again to talk about HH receving the gift of a box to hold his chess pieces.

It was fascinating stuff but I did wonder why the story lurched about so much. I mean, I like taking a chain-saw to traditional narrative structure as much as the next guy but I was surprised at how it slid imperceptibly from one thing to another without any particular logic that I could discern.

That's when I noticed my ipod was on "shuffle album".

On the way home I'm going to slavishly adhere to convention and listen to it in the "correct" "order". Sometimes, the dominant paradigm is dominant for a reason.

I am the last person left on earth with integrity and even I regard myself as fundamentally compromised

It's not like I'm stalking Hazel Blackberry's blog. Or if it is, it's nothing that would stand up in court.

But... I read this post:

http://liedown.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-cant-play-your-interviews-cant-hear.html

which features this exchange:

"Here's some music you probably won't like," I told New Girl.

"Who's this singer?"

"Bob Mould. Formerly of Husker Du."

"Formerly of the Planet Zark! When you talk about music I can't understand a word you're saying."

She listens to a lot of Kanye.

Before I got to the end of that, I had a thought (and yes it must have been a very quick thought): "formerly of the Planet Zark"? The Planet Zark? Is that some ultra-cool pre-Husker Du (I don't know how to do the umlauts, I'm sorry) vehicle for Bob Mould?

Husker Du? Bob Mould totally sold out when he joined those hacks after Planet Zark impoded during their first gig on a Tuesday night at an abandoned High School in western Kentucky. You haven't lived unless you've read the unpublished review of the unpublished cassingle (of which all copies were destroyed when the only copy ever made was accidentally left too close to a four-slice toaster.)

But no. My quick thought was quickly silenced by the brutality of the next lines. The truth is hard and cold. Not unlike an empty thermos flask.

Mosquito Sideboard #1

I had a vague notion (not to be confused with Ken Kesey's great notion)that I should ruthlessly emulate Hazel Blackberry's awesome blog with its light but nutty blanc mange of funny remembered conversations and piercing insights.

So I thought *I* should start remember all the fitfully amusing conversations that *I'm* part of. Like:

Me: Just this, thanks. [Displaying copy of Sydney Morning Herald that I intend to purchase].
Newsagent: That'll be [notional price. This is a fake anecdote. I don't really know how much the Herald (or S-M-H as Jessie Mo insists on calling it) actually costs].
Me: OK [Handing over coins].
Newsagent: Here [handing back a coin when I believed I'd given him the right money]
Me: Oh?
Newsagent: You gave me [notional amount] too much.
Me: Oh, OK, thanks.
Newsagent: No worries. Have a good day. Also I don't think the holocaust really happened.

But seriously (because that was a fake anecdote and the holocaust did really happen. But it's nice to know that a fictional holocaust denier can at least have some integrity when it comes to fictitious money. Fictitious holocaust deniers are bad people to be sure but they may not always be pure evil through and through), I had some bitter old men around for a drink in my back garden. Anyway, a couple of exchanges were fitfully amusing and I swore to remember them to post.

I thought that if I remembered a key word from each exchange I'd be able to piece the conversation back together. I carefully committed to memory: Mosquito Sideboard. Let me repeat that: Mosquito Sideboard.

But several weeks later, I'm buggered if I can remember what they signify. I'm like a police sergeant giving evidence in court.

Judge: Counsel for the defence may examine the witness.
Defence: Thank you, your Honour. Sergeant, can you please take us back to the events of the evening of the 27th of March?
Sergeant: Yes, sir. [Laboriously flips through note book, forwards and backwards, several times.] Ah, um, Mosquito Sideboard.
Prosecution: Objection!
Defence: No further questions, your Honour.

Next time I post, I may try to piece together the mystery that is Mosquito Sideboard.

In any case, Mosquito Sideboard is a perfectly decent band name. Along with my new current faves:

Use of Bees
Airport Emergency Fuel Stop

The day we called it a day

On the plane down to Sydney, the young woman next to me was writing out a long Valentine's Day message. It began: 'Dear Mum...'. Has it come to this? Are we now expected to write Valentine's Day cards to our parents?

"Dear Dad, I know we share a lot in the way of genetic material and that neither of us are gay but you're really becoming distinguished as you get older (those greying temples, mmm!) If I were an older gay man, I would totally go for you. Love, your son."

Should we move on to other festive occasions?

"Dear Mum and Dad. I know we all share republican tendencies but can we just take a moment to wish the Queen 'Happy Birthday'? Yours with affection etc"

I wonder what gift my sister will get me to celebrate Armistice Day!

The best idea since pre-sliced bread

I was at a meeting the other day and someone said: ‘we don’t want to reinvent the wheel.’ Everybody nodded.

Inwardly I recoiled.

Why not re-invent the wheel? Is there any other human invention from 6000 years ago that we still use? If the PC had been invented by Assyrian goat herders, would we be so loathe to interfere with its engineering?

Why are we protecting the wheel from innovation? What are we afraid of? Are we so afraid of the shock of the new that we must swaddle this tired old piece of artifice in stale tradition? Can we not conceive of injecting a little new thinking into its ancient design?

Round is best. Everybody knows round is best. Of course. Of course. The one-sided shape is always the answer to your transportation or rolling needs. One side good, two sides, three, four sides, more sides bad.

I think it's time to challenge this cosy “common sense”. Its time to attack the comfortable perch of the spoked circle and its brainless adherents.

It is time, in short, to reinvent the wheel. Our children and our children’s children demand nothing less than an absolute commitment to relentless scrutiny of conventional wisdom.

I am going outside immediately to replace my car tyres with eggs and soft toys held together with sticky tape. Sure, it may not work. But how will we know until I try?