A lot has been happening folks, yes a lot. Do you know what a lot means? A lot means a lot. So much so, that I haven’t had the time to breathe. Or cut my hair. Now that I’m done with most that needs doing, I am writing this sitting at the Brisbane domestic airport waiting to fly to Sydney. I’ve got about 40 minutes or so.
So, anyway here’s a shabby, lazy rundown of the week that was. Hmmm.... so, over a fortnight ago I donated blood to the Australian Red Cross. The mobi-van had come to campus and I was the first donor of the day – not that it means anything. Since I turned 18, I’ve made it a point to donate blood thrice each year. I turn 20 next month. So, that was my sixth donation and the nurse in the van didn’t know. I played along because it feels good being flattered once in a while. Going in the general Australian tradition, she was the sweetest person, her profession only adding to her niceness. She checked every now and then if I was all right and if I needed anything. Trust me folks, apart from the immense satisfaction one gets after giving blood, a good nurse makes all the difference. On that note, please donate, y’all.
That was in October: a nerve racking month of assignments and more assignments. I handed one in the morning of some date I don’t remember, worked through the day on another Film and Television Studies assignment, and went back to University to hand it in. Murphy farted and I reached too late, the office had closed. I had a train to catch the next day at 9 a.m., I was to be off to Stradbroke Island.
This is where narrating this tale gets tricky. I woke up next day early at 6 a.m., caught the bus to University. Once there, I realised I had forgotten to return the rented DVD of the movie on which I did my screen aesthetic analysis for the Film and Television Studies assignment I was about to submit. It had been accumulating a menacing rental of about $2 a day for six days now, and I was about to leave for Stradbroke for the next four days. Murphy’s flatulence was still wafting through the air around me.
News about a giant shark off the coast of Stradbroke had been doing the rounds, and all the lovely people who care for me had used their persuasions to ensure I keep out of the water. Knowing me, I love swimming in the ocean, and I love to share that love (I taught a few folks back in Manipal how to manoeuvre the waves of the Arabian Sea off the Western Konkan coast. They didn’t even know how to swim). A train ride to Cleveland, a bus to the water taxi, the ferry to the Dunwich on the western side of Stradbroke and another bus across the Island to its north eastern tip, Pt. Lookout meant we were here!
Click on any of the pictures for a larger view
Why Stradbroke? Jo had told me, much earlier in the semester, of a reggae festival there called
Island Vibe. The tickets to it were quite the obstacle at $160 for the three-day fest. Thus, upon Jo’s suggestion, we volunteered. I became the assistant stage manager with ‘experience in handing the backline, fallback, feedback, SM57/58s and other stage jazz’ (not exact words). I didn’t know then what all that meant; I was just aping Jo (who incidentally plays four and a half musical instruments). Thus, the day was saved, as were the $160.
Once at Stradbroke, we pitched our tents – yes, we lived in tents pitched about 150 or so yards from the beach. Lunch was crudely barbequed kangaroo stakes. By crudely, I mean without oil or seasoning or salt/pepper. Just the frozen slabs of the meat onto the public BBQ, turned over using a knife and stuffed into wholegrain bread – a Roo-dimentary meal. Kangaroo meat tastes... and I’m not most confident writing this – nice, maybe? Way healthier than red meat, surely. I just had to have it: I mean, where else can you be in a country and eat its National Animal?
The three days of Island Vibe were a breeze. We had easy shifts and I just shuffled around the place and showed up at the stage I was assigned whenever the bands changed. And now I know what backline, feedback, fallback and SMs are! As well as slangs like ‘China’, ‘Snare’, ‘Barry’ (may be spelt as ‘Bari’), ‘Skank’ (no, not the slut), ‘Walking Baseline’ (is that a slang?) Whatever, you get the hang of it.
I know all this is going to be posted only after I reach Sydney tonight and it makes no difference where I write it, but, just for the baseless thrill of thinking that I’m live-blogging I must say, that’s my boarding call. I’ll maybe continue this in the flight or, if the seats are Nazi torture chairs (quite possible, my ticket costs $79) I’ll finish it once I land.
I’m in Sydney, so here’s the account so far.
____
To be continued...
P.S.: Happy Birthday, Kuku!
Posts
.JPG)
