Sunday, January 04, 2004

Extreme Theorems

Well it's definitely a rarity these days to see anything of value on the telly, especially at obscene hours of the morning as one sits, eating cheese and writing a blog entry.

However, last night I witnessed a man figure skating to Lou Bega's 'Mambo Number Five' with an inflatable doll strapped to the front of his body, so I guess that exceptions to the rule are possible. Actually, it was a pretty impressive performance...not only did the guy dip the little lady (who was quite smashingly clad in a nice Moulin Rouge! type number) and successfully pull off many triple axels, but he also took the time to show his love for her by holding tightly onto her flimsy rubber hands as they flayed about lifelessly during the performance. I particularly liked the close ups of her face, as she was no doubt perpetually shocked that the audience enjoyed the routine - why else would her mouth be gaping open like that?

So you may be asking yourself, "Who the hell is this?" and "Why the hell is she eating cheese in the middle of the night?" Hell, you might even be keen to ask me what a figure skating partnership featuring a man and his sex doll has to do with Brisbane.

Before I get into that I will introduce myself, because no one wants to hear about such sordid topics from a complete stranger - unless you're eager to pick up the phone and call Lavalife or something...in which case, I'll hold fort here until you get back from 'clicking' with other singles and/or friends, acquaintances, chums, mums, dads, brothers, sisters and local members of parliament.

But before you go, I'd like to say "Hello, my name is Anni. I am a Virgo, who likes long walks on the beach and I happen to stress excessively about everything. Do you like extreme sports?" When I cite 'extreme sports' and you think that I am referring to racing shopping trolleys down the hill outside my residence, then yes, the proper authorities have been contacted and I have littered those ball bearings about like promised.

I also like to write in a blog, because it is possibly the second worst form of poisoning the youth of today can expose themselves to (the first would have to be a job at Supre...I can imagine an Orwellian congregation at midday, like 1984's "hate sessions", except they'd be no physical acts of aggression or passion because the pre-teens can't even stand properly in their spike-heeled plugger thongs). And I am confident that there is nowhere better to promote such careless behaviour than Brisbane (especially the Southside).

Ah yes...I remember Brisbane with fond memories as a child. Before I moved up here in the mid-90s, I used to come up to visit every year at Christmas from my hometown of Maitland, NSW (right smack bang in the heart of Hunter Valley wine country). As a country kid, I too was taken in by the promise of the city's excitement. I wanted to live there, to meet interesting people and to have adventures. Little did I know that Brisbane transport is of the highest quality by third world standards, and that I would spend the inauguration of my adult years marooned at various bus stops, or sitting on trains with people who like to practice their pole-dancing manoeuvres (male and female) during peak hour. Yes, the people are certainly interesting here and that's why I love it.

Much can be said (and has been said) about Brisbane's contribution to Australia's creative output as a whole. Many would liken our Brisvegas as Australia's "figure skating sex doll" in relation to our creative capital contribution. We have exceptionally talented people in our fair city, who sometimes penetrate the Perspex ceiling and make in big nationwide, hell, sometimes even world-wide. Yet, despite our determination and obvious ability, we are often put second, or third, or last in the creative food chain. We are strapped to the sweaty, pulsating limbs of 'the machine' ( = collective term for those with the cool, hard wads of cash, i.e. the majority of funding bodies, etc), which controls who makes it, and who remains in their shanty houses writing for the Street Press or 'doing favours' for people who know a good thing when they see it.

But what it all comes down to is that fact that when the rest of nation is watching, the machine is bound to keep up appearances by gracefully placing a hand on our backs and offering an empty smile to its audience. It may provide the resources for one, two or three creative individuals (except for that dickhead who smears himself in honey for 'art') once in a blue moon, but what about the others?

Then again, people who say such things about Brisbane are probably exasperated activists...who fortunately offer free BBQs at the majority of student protests, so I have nothing against them :-)

Personally, I think that Brisbane is chock-a-block with enough of the 'right stuff' to accurately label it as a creative city. And with the obvious presence of its 'two degrees of separation' rule, who is to say that it isn't possible to annihilate the inflatable doll theory via an outburst of creative independence (resulting in a surge of conquests) amongst each and every Cell.

Yes there is strength in our masses...and luckily we are all carrying rubber repair kits.

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