Last Monday night I picked up an Asian woman in the City heading for the western suburbs. She requested a fare estimate and after I told her ‘around $40', briefly wondered if she would go to Central Station and catch a train instead.
Given it was midnight and she lugged a large travel bag, I questioned her, ‘You want to catch a train late at night ?’. The implication being such an exercise was unsafe given the dodgy reputation of train travel for women at night. (Aside from some naked self-interest !) ‘No’, she agreed, ‘I better take a taxi'.
An hour later I picked up a middle aged fella outside a suburban railway station. He climbed in and inquired of my night. ‘The usual monthly idiots’, I responded. ‘Aw, it’s full moon time’, he said, ‘I’ve got the same crowd with my job’. He worked as a State Rail transit officer. ‘Welcome to the club’, I laughed, ‘along with nurses and cops, we know what a full moon means when dealing with the public'...
Recently in comments, Dirk of Arm_the_Insane, suggested I 'wake up and smell the roses'. Coupled with last night's defeat of the Blues, I've decided to take the Queensland farmer's advice. However my Port Mac. florist, Flower Fetish, had no roses so I've chosen sunflowers. Which at $4 per stem must seem especially cruel to farmers. Sorry Dirk...
My apologies to readers at work but I couldn't resist posting this moblog. I'm having coffee on the river on a beautiful morning in Port Macquarie. And after endless City cab shifts it feels like another planet. Heaven. Later I'll have lunch with the Angel then get ready for the big game tonight. Go the Blues !
Over the weekend I had a couple of passengers who gave me grief. Well, enough grief to warrant calling for assistance. Experience has taught me to preempt looming trouble by exercising the option at the slightest hint of trouble, rather than hoping for the best.
Early in the evening on Saturday I was cruising through Redfern shopping centre when hailed by a Koori fella. Despite noting the preceding cab has elected not to stop, I was in a carefree mood and pulled up. He jumped in the front with, ‘Just go straight bro !’. I took off and asked, ‘Where you going ?’. Ignoring this he said, ‘It’s my birthday’. ‘Yeah, how old are you ?’, I asked looking across at him. ‘Forty two’, he replied, and he looked it. Often I find Kooris look much older than their age.
A second attempt at establishing the destination was dismissed with a wave of the hand, ‘Straight bro, straight’. ‘So what did you do today’, I inquired. ‘I went down to the Block’, he replied without elaborating. ‘So, a party tonight ?’. ‘Too right bro’, came the reply. Now we were travelling south through Alexandria...
This weekend sees the inagural Blogtalk Downunder 2005 conference being held in Sydney. Organised by the University of Technology, the first day yesterday revealed,
It’s been a great day at Blogtalk DU. Lots of stimulating papers. As I said at the begining of my talk what really struck me was the notion of emerging contiuums of blogging practice and the tensions that emerge at the polar ends of these spectrums: the utopic on the one hand and the pragmatic on the other; the professional and the amateur; the intensely personal to the intensely networked; enthusiasms and disapointments; visionary early adopters moving into the first stream of mainstreamers. This is part of the emergent field. These are the creative tensions that we work with.
Go here for a list of detailed papers on heaps of new blogging stuff - excuse my non-academic language. Here you'll find a paper on moblogging featuring yours truly. Apparently I'm considered an Aussie pioneer of sorts. Sheesh...
Speaking of pioneering, I've just signed up to new blogging venture Pajamas Media. A conglomeration of large and smaller bloggers are seeking to use their combined power to attract advertising and provide a news service. Everyone welcome to join the party.
Given the reach of blogs now matches some Mainstream Media outlets, blog power is finally being recognised for the force it is. Endorsed by new kid on the block, Rupert M.
It's so sad, our Kylie's got cancer. Thereby sending the media into a predictable feeding frenzy. Leading to the Victorian Govt issuing a fatwa against intrusive media coverage.
Question - if perchance her album, concert and lingerie sales increase as a result of the media exposure from this terrible disease, can it thus be claimed Kylie has shamelessly exploited her affliction ?
For that matter, has Belinda Emmet, Oliva Newton-John or Delta Goodrem exploited their cancers ?
If you believe so, please feel free to explain how, using the current media furore enveloping Kylie as a reference point....
UPDATE : Tim Blair reports some idiot New York DJ made a sick comment on Kylie's condition. The punters aren't happy.
Late in the evening last night, I picked up a woman around 50 years old from the Basement nightclub. She was ‘appalled’ at having to stand for two hours to see Madeleine Peyroux, touted as a Billie Holiday. And to add insult to injury, Peyroux kept the punters waiting for over an hour past the scheduled start time. I couldn't help but sarcastically quip, ‘What a star !’.
Just writing ‘50 years old’ reminds me whilst I’m in the same boat, I can’t really relate to the years my passengers face betrayed. Strangely enough. I discussed this with a 57 year old passenger over the weekend. He insisted he still harboured many of the same desires and interests as those he had in his twenties. Much to the embarrassment of his 28 year old son.
Whilst I can partially relate to this, I can’t understand how one can retain the same musical tastes, for example. With any degree of fervour other than pure sentiment. Regarding this I wonder, is it just me...
Last Monday around 6 pm, I picked up a bloke around 30 years old who was a giant. Opening the front door, he first leaned in and adjusted the seat back as far as possible. Then gingerly climbed in. In one hand he carried a bunch of papers in that self-conscious manner some men carry bunches of flowers. The student look was definitely not him.
He was a bouncer who had just spent the day attending a work-safe training program. Though he wasn’t too impressed with the exercise. He’d only done the course on the promise a barmaid he liked had agreed to join him. Yet she failed to show up.
If I'm ever working the door, and I don't like your shoes, you can take a walk, and it doesn't matter to me because there are hundreds of losers in line behind you waiting to fork over their $20 to get in. I don't give a shit if you're Carmine's cousin, or your uncle owns a fleet of garbage trucks, or even if you tell me you're liable to come back and "bust a cap" in my ass. You're not getting in with sneakers, regardless of how much Steve Madden charged you for them. They're ugly, anyway.
This is a well written, informative and humourous blog which is attracting the interest of press and publishers alike. The bouncer Rob, gives a fascinating view into a world and profession which has always intrigued me. Needless to say, Clublife is well worth a visit.