Spoken word!
(I'm not sure how this will work out, but internet access was scarce whilst hitch-hiking, so dodgy videos are the best I can offer.)
DAY ONE.
DAY TWO.
DAY THREE
Sunday 21 June 2009
Sunday 14 June 2009
Save Joana
Although this post and my last are more like strangers separated by the Pacific than siblings, I feel obliged to share with you this semi-short anecdote, as it proves that most people are genuinely / generally compassionate towards strangers (which could be why this post and my last, which are essentially irrelevant to one another, make consecutive appearances on the same blog). How does every story begin? That's right, not with "Once upon a time", but at the beginning (as a three-year-old yours truly one told a Punch & Judy 'performer'.)
It was a dark and stormy night (thank you, Bulwer-Lytton), or rather a dark and drizzly Friday afternoon. Lost for activities to pass the weekend, I found myself browsing through a free music magazine in the Heaven and Hell restaurant known as McDonald's. My eyes soon stumbled upon an ad for a band called Trial Kennedy, who were to be playing in Melbourne that Sabbath. Like the majority of you scanning through this, I had never heard of them. I thanked the FSM that Facebook hadn't yet pummelled MySpace into a pixelated oblivion, and used it to it's full potential. Impressed by their sounds, I gave PayPal my $13 to forward to them in exchange for a ticket.
Fast forward a few dozen hours to the night of the show. As is common practice in my sect's way of life these days, I took the decision to not eat any solids that Sunday and instead opted to dine on PassionPop™ and beer. Once inside the venue, I set upon enjoying the support acts and setting the world to rights with people I didn't know, and now never will. The reason for this being that on my way to the water closet, I was apprehended by a burly bouncer who decided that he'd had enough of my "pushing and shoving and walking into people". I protested that he had me mistaken for someone else, but my pleas for re-entry fell on big, beefy, deaf ears and he was adamant that the remainder of my evening be spent in bed.
Of course, having paid $13 to see Trial Kennedy, I wasn't going to acquiesce easily. So for the next hour I paced the streets of Melbourne like a 1990 Swayze, trying to figure out how to get what I wanted, which certainly wasn't to watch Demi Moore tonguing what was essentially Whoopi.
I returned to the Ding Dong Lounge and explained to the bouncer that all I wanted was a tshirt, not another drink. He assented to my request under the condition that I was escorted to the merch stand. Handing over a twenty and a ten, I shared my story of ill-timed ejection resulting in my missing of the headline band with the recipient. She happened to be more sympathetic than I could have ever hoped for, and took it upon herself to take my number and promised to assist me in getting to their show in a suburb the otherside of town the next day. She explained that it shouldn't be a problem as she was then singer's sister.
When the blurred sun made the effort to rise behind the moody, grey clouds the next morning, I wasn't expecting the text from Cath reiterating her promise to get me to the show that night. As the day sped from youth to veteran, we decided on an early meet-up so I could bond with some bottled self-esteem beforehand. She took me to her house where talks of trials and side effects ran rampant between us and Tim (from TK) and Shay. I tried to avoid the subject of the band, as I didn't want to come across as over-zealous, but a peppering sufficed.
Too soon came the time of the show (the support were to be missed), but Trial Kennedy on stage came at precisely the right moment. The exchange of drinks between Cath, Shay, Chris (Cath's other brother) were frequent, and cheerful banter poured out of our mouths.
The band finished. The bar closed. the lights came on. Exits opened. People left. Hands shook. Embraces happened. Acknowleding-nods were in surplus. A free album exchanged palms. Rides home were dished out. This may sound like any other night out that anyone can have, like a regular concatenation of events culminating in new friendships. Isn't that just called socialising? Maybe so. But to me this was an uncalled-for act of kindness. A promise that needn't have been kept. In all honesty, I was expecting to be let down; not because I didn't trust Cath, but because these situation arise every weekend. Pledges like "Yeah, man, I'll get you a job!" or "I'll get you on the guestlist next week", almost always come to nothing. This time I was lucky.
As a footnote I would like to add that the weekend following this, I was desperate for somewhere to stay as I was sick of wasting money on hostels, I resorted to almost sleeping at the station. However, I received a response to an ad on Gumtree that I had placed, feebly asking for a garden to pitch a tent. A 40-something woman called and invited me to sleep on her living room couch. This offer was extended to the next two nights and included lasagne and other morsels for me to devour. It just goes to show, all is not lost.
It was a dark and stormy night (thank you, Bulwer-Lytton), or rather a dark and drizzly Friday afternoon. Lost for activities to pass the weekend, I found myself browsing through a free music magazine in the Heaven and Hell restaurant known as McDonald's. My eyes soon stumbled upon an ad for a band called Trial Kennedy, who were to be playing in Melbourne that Sabbath. Like the majority of you scanning through this, I had never heard of them. I thanked the FSM that Facebook hadn't yet pummelled MySpace into a pixelated oblivion, and used it to it's full potential. Impressed by their sounds, I gave PayPal my $13 to forward to them in exchange for a ticket.
Fast forward a few dozen hours to the night of the show. As is common practice in my sect's way of life these days, I took the decision to not eat any solids that Sunday and instead opted to dine on PassionPop™ and beer. Once inside the venue, I set upon enjoying the support acts and setting the world to rights with people I didn't know, and now never will. The reason for this being that on my way to the water closet, I was apprehended by a burly bouncer who decided that he'd had enough of my "pushing and shoving and walking into people". I protested that he had me mistaken for someone else, but my pleas for re-entry fell on big, beefy, deaf ears and he was adamant that the remainder of my evening be spent in bed.
Of course, having paid $13 to see Trial Kennedy, I wasn't going to acquiesce easily. So for the next hour I paced the streets of Melbourne like a 1990 Swayze, trying to figure out how to get what I wanted, which certainly wasn't to watch Demi Moore tonguing what was essentially Whoopi.
I returned to the Ding Dong Lounge and explained to the bouncer that all I wanted was a tshirt, not another drink. He assented to my request under the condition that I was escorted to the merch stand. Handing over a twenty and a ten, I shared my story of ill-timed ejection resulting in my missing of the headline band with the recipient. She happened to be more sympathetic than I could have ever hoped for, and took it upon herself to take my number and promised to assist me in getting to their show in a suburb the otherside of town the next day. She explained that it shouldn't be a problem as she was then singer's sister.
When the blurred sun made the effort to rise behind the moody, grey clouds the next morning, I wasn't expecting the text from Cath reiterating her promise to get me to the show that night. As the day sped from youth to veteran, we decided on an early meet-up so I could bond with some bottled self-esteem beforehand. She took me to her house where talks of trials and side effects ran rampant between us and Tim (from TK) and Shay. I tried to avoid the subject of the band, as I didn't want to come across as over-zealous, but a peppering sufficed.
Too soon came the time of the show (the support were to be missed), but Trial Kennedy on stage came at precisely the right moment. The exchange of drinks between Cath, Shay, Chris (Cath's other brother) were frequent, and cheerful banter poured out of our mouths.
The band finished. The bar closed. the lights came on. Exits opened. People left. Hands shook. Embraces happened. Acknowleding-nods were in surplus. A free album exchanged palms. Rides home were dished out. This may sound like any other night out that anyone can have, like a regular concatenation of events culminating in new friendships. Isn't that just called socialising? Maybe so. But to me this was an uncalled-for act of kindness. A promise that needn't have been kept. In all honesty, I was expecting to be let down; not because I didn't trust Cath, but because these situation arise every weekend. Pledges like "Yeah, man, I'll get you a job!" or "I'll get you on the guestlist next week", almost always come to nothing. This time I was lucky.
As a footnote I would like to add that the weekend following this, I was desperate for somewhere to stay as I was sick of wasting money on hostels, I resorted to almost sleeping at the station. However, I received a response to an ad on Gumtree that I had placed, feebly asking for a garden to pitch a tent. A 40-something woman called and invited me to sleep on her living room couch. This offer was extended to the next two nights and included lasagne and other morsels for me to devour. It just goes to show, all is not lost.
Wednesday 3 June 2009
The Madventure (or: The Misadventure Of A Naive, Misguided Fool)
There comes a time in every man's life when he has to throw all caution to the wind and do something that challenges what little life-experience he may have. Some people might do a sky-dive, others might climb a mountain, I'm going to hitch hike from Melbourne to Cairns. In case you don't realise the scale of what I'm saying, here's an illustration:
That's at least 1800 miles, like going from Blackpool to Bucharest, a little further than San Francisco to Oklahoma City. I know it seems that I'm not cerebally nimble, but at least it'll be a conversation starter.
Fingers-crossed, I'll leave on Sunday, or if the arrival of my iPod is delayed further, then Wednesday morning. I admit that I haven't done a lot planning-wise, my only certain aim is to get onto the Mitchell Highway, wherever that is. I also plan on avoiding a pointless death by carrying a tent, map and knife. Sufficient tools if I do say so myself.
In all honesty though, my safety will be on the back-burner for the majority of the time. This is about experience. This is about doing something different. This isn't about you. Nor me for that matter. I'll try and keep people updated of my whereabouts from time to time, but I urge you not to fret. The chances of me being abducted or otherwise are slim from what I've heard from that blind, deaf man sat in the corner. And if something does happen, then I'll be all the better for it. At this moment I'll refrain from using the worst motto in the world, "Whatever doesn't kill you...". Apt it may be, make sense it does not.
That's at least 1800 miles, like going from Blackpool to Bucharest, a little further than San Francisco to Oklahoma City. I know it seems that I'm not cerebally nimble, but at least it'll be a conversation starter.
Fingers-crossed, I'll leave on Sunday, or if the arrival of my iPod is delayed further, then Wednesday morning. I admit that I haven't done a lot planning-wise, my only certain aim is to get onto the Mitchell Highway, wherever that is. I also plan on avoiding a pointless death by carrying a tent, map and knife. Sufficient tools if I do say so myself.
In all honesty though, my safety will be on the back-burner for the majority of the time. This is about experience. This is about doing something different. This isn't about you. Nor me for that matter. I'll try and keep people updated of my whereabouts from time to time, but I urge you not to fret. The chances of me being abducted or otherwise are slim from what I've heard from that blind, deaf man sat in the corner. And if something does happen, then I'll be all the better for it. At this moment I'll refrain from using the worst motto in the world, "Whatever doesn't kill you...". Apt it may be, make sense it does not.
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