I’m just going to give up apologising. Just assume that each blog post contains an expression of regret for having taken far too long to appear.
The Wedding of Selena and Shane
If Shane and/or Selena are reading this I hope you don’t feel bad that you didn’t get a blog post of your own like Miriam and Paul did – it’s nothing personal, honest. But yours didn’t require a road trip1 and an overnight stay in the country so there’s kind of less to write about.
Some background: like so many people I know, I met Selena doing theatre; specifically, the Burnside production of Much Ado About Nothing2. However, unlike previous-wedding-Miriam, she didn’t get the role I wanted – even with the messing around with gender in that show.
The wedding itself was at the chapel at St Aloysius school in the city – I’m not sure why; it was something I was going to ask about but didn’t. About all I know about the school is that it’s a Catholic girls’ school, a couple of people I know went there, and about half a dozen current students catch the same bus into town as me. I went in with friends Tim and Nora who picked me up from my place.
In what is an excellent illustration of the vagaries of Adelaide weather, this temperature on the day of this wedding was 20 degrees lower than that of the previous one only two weeks ago. The ceremony part was as you’d expect – and far less preachy than the last wedding, though the constant crossing thing took a bit of getting used to. It wasn’t especially long either.
There were a few hours to kill between the ceremony and the reception, which was at the Stamford on North Terrace in the city. I went back to Tim & Nora’s with them and we kicked back for a while and went through the always challenging process of composing something appropriate for the card. Despite my enthusiasm for writing I always struggle with cards, whether they be for weddings, birthdays, anniversaries or Bar Mitzvahs3. But I managed to overcome sentiment-specific writer’s block and come up with something that (I hope) worked.
We caught the bus back into town (no-one wanted to drive) and braved the squally weather to get from the bus stop to the Stamford and found we’d gotten there a bit too early and sat around the bar until 7. Once that rolled around we joined the queue for the tiny lift to the Crystal Room on the fourth floor (which, incidentally, had been the venue for a few work functions when I was with Origin) and joined the party.
Like nearly everyone else there I was surprised to find a jar with my name on it as a placemarker – a jar filled with a whitish powder. But more on that later. We sat and drank and chatted to people; the usual kind of thing where you’ve got groups of strangers linked only by the fact that their social circles overlap by one or two people.
The entrée – a risotto (possibly) with crab and prawns, which I’d normally be dubious about but which turned out to be quite nice – appeared. The main course was going to be a bit more of mystery since it’d been communicated to Selena that I was vehemently anti-pumpkin; I hadn’t, however, noted this in my RSVP because I didn’t think it’d be that big a deal but it would have been because the vile gourd was a major part of both options. So, I was spared the revolting orange muck and got potato with my choice (lamb) instead. Dessert was – I’m struggling to recall it now – a kind of apple crumble cheesecake thing, which. I only barely managed to get through.
Speech time: the usual suspects – best man, father of the bride and the groom. Hilariously, it was the most I’d heard Shane say the entire time I’d known him – even if you added up everything I’d ever heard him say in that two-year period. The mystery of the jar was revealed - it was pancake mix; significant because the first meal the bride & groom had had together was at the Pancake Kitchen.
That’s pretty damn awesome. If I were ever to get married (this isn't likely, for a number of reasons - and certainly not something I'm going to write about now) I’d want to do something that would set it aside from other weddings – though I’d already be halfway there with the choice of music, since I’d be playing a whole bunch of stuff that a lot of people won’t have ever heard, and definitely not playing what gets played at most weddings.
Anyway, the night continued into the dancing to mostly ghastly (to my sensibilities at least) dance-floor standards and I maintained my stance of not bringing myself to submit to the pressure to dance to anything I considered too unpleasant to validate by shaking my skinny white ass to. But some Jackson Five came on; they fall into the ‘acceptable’ category, so I got myself up there to show off my distinct lack of rhythm.
Not long after that I went home; I didn’t feel like making a huge night of it and the last bus going in my direction left at 11.30 or so and I wanted to be on it. All in all a good night. No so good that it’s overcoming my natural inclination to never get married, of course, but it was fun.
1Unless you count driving from Payneham South to the city (a distance of 6.8km) a road trip.
2I hadn’t realised it before but I believe this is the third wedding I’ve been to of people from the cast of that show.
3Technically, I’ve never been to a Bar Mitzvah. But I’m sure that if I had to write in a card for it I’d find it difficult – well, beyond ‘mazel tov’.
Cricket
On Saturday the 5th I went to day two of the test match between Australia and the West Indies. I hadn’t been to the cricket for years, but this time I’d noted when the match was going to be on and it was on a weekend where I knew I had no other commitments; all I had to do was find someone to go with – cricket’s one of those things that is necessary to do in the company of others, unlike most of the things I do.
Serendipitously4, my friend Tracey had recently begun a relationship with a guy named Sam, who plays cricket – meaning that (in my mind at least) it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume that he would also like watching cricket. So, I asked and was met with a resounding ‘yes’. Originally Tracey was also going to come along but she ended up changing her mind, meaning it was just Sam and me.
It’s not all that far from my place to the Adelaide Oval so I decided to ride my bike there rather than drive (also sensible because parking nearby is a) limited and b) not free) or catch the bus and walk. So, laden with equipment (well, a hat and a backpack with a book and a bottle of sunscreen) I made my way from Payneham South to North Adelaide and found my way inside and to a good spot – in the north-east corner in front of the light tower and four rows back from the fence.
Sam was having breakfast with his cricket club at the Kensington hotel beforehand, so we agreed that he’d just come and find me when he got there. I’d gotten there about twenty minutes or before play began so I was ready and waiting when the first ball was bowled – and a good thing that I was; Siddle took a wicket with it. As it was people coming were a bit confused by the number of wickets down on the scoreboard and were a bit shocked to hear that one had fallen first ball.
Not a huge amount happened in the rest of the session, but that’s quite normal for tests so I just sat back and enjoyed the atmosphere – which is really what it’s about as far as I’m concerned; you don’t go to really ‘watch’ the cricket itself since you’re not able to see things all that well from where you sit. It’s better now they’ve got a permanent video screen set up – that way you can see replays – but as far as comprehensive coverage is concerned you’re better off watching it on television.
After a while, Sam showed up and the other essential aspect of live cricket began – the drinking of beer. Some more wickets fell – finally; it was a bit embarrassing that their number eleven, typically the least talented batsmen in the side, was able to make forty runs not-out before our bowlers dispatched his partner. But they were out and we were in.
I’d actually planned on eating more but the only thing I ended up buying was a fairly average hot-dog from a nearby cart. They now sell strawberries at the cricket, which I find quite odd – it’s most notably a Wimbledon thing, at least to my knowledge. Do they do a roaring trade? I couldn’t really say, but at no point did I notice anyone near me with any. The couple in front of us seemed to have invested in a portable hole or perhaps Mary Poppins’s carpetbag because they produced a non-stop supply of food and drink from it.
No Australian wickets fell for the rest of the day so we were treated to a good display of batting from Watson and Katich – though, as the record will show, not quite good enough for Watson to get his hundred before stumps. At the time I remarked that this wasn’t a good thing since being not-out overnight in the nineties seems – for Australian batsmen at least – to lead to getting out the next morning before making it to the century mark.
Which is, of course, exactly what happened. I blame both Watson and Katich, since they could (and certainly should) have played to try and get him to his ton before stumps for that very reason. They took twos when they could have taken singles, threes instead of twos, and even one four all-run when stopping at three would have left Watson on strike for the next over.
The day finished and Sam and I went our separate ways. I was faced with the somewhat interesting task of riding my bike home while being slightly drunk (I’d had six pints of mid-strength beer over the space of maybe six hours; for someone with my low tolerance for alcohol that’s enough to have a noticeable effect). But I managed to make it home without a) falling off or b) getting arrested5.
A damn good day, and something I’d like to make an annual event – preferably with more people next time. Heck, I’ll even volunteer to organise it.
4This might or might not be a word.
5Technically, riding a bike while drunk is an offence. You don’t hear about it as often because, as far as I know, they don’t set up breathalyser stations on bike paths.
Green Day
On Sunday the 6th I went to see Green Day at the Entertainment Centre. I’d never seen them before, mostly because I don’t think I’d have counted myself as that big a fan of theirs the last time they were in Adelaide. But that had changed since I’d gotten my hands on a copy of their 2004 album American Idiot, which I grew to love after a few listens. So, as soon as the tour was announced (without any specific details being released) I decided I was going to see them when they got here – as long as they came to Adelaide, that is. But they came here last time they toured, so chances seemed pretty good they’d include us on their itinerary.
I was not disappointed – dates for Adelaide were included. I signed myself up with whichever mailing list/membership/pre-sale preferential group it was they used and made sure I was not going to miss out. It’s a bit of a song-and-dance: getting a unique user code and using that to log in to the website at the specified time for Adelaide – they stagger the dates and times so the feeding frenzy doesn’t crash their system – and buy tickets. But it worked – I got two tickets about two minutes after it opened.
This, of course, was about six months ago. I’m one of those people who hates not being able to get something I’ve bought straight away so the waiting was kind of annoying, but that’s the way of concert tickets these days – you get in early or you don’t go. But the months rolled by and the day arrived6.
I did a bit of research beforehand and found that the support act was Australian band Jet – which was good ‘cause I don’t mind them. I’m not a huge fan but nor would I be unhappy about standing through a half-hour set of theirs before the main act began. I also looked online for some setlists – people post complete setlists from gigs, which is a great way to get an idea of what kind of songs (and how many) a band might play at a typical show. I was blown away to see they’d played thirty-four songs at a recent appearance in Italy.
Of course, they were (or still are, depending on your definition) a punk band, so some of their songs aren’t all that long – but the official tour website had their playing time listed as from 8.30 – 11.30, which led me to believe that they would be playing for a decent amount of time. I didn’t really expect three hours, but even two full hours would be good.
We (concert/theatre/film-going associate Miriam and I) decided to pre-empt the insanity of competing with people for parks and had dinner at The Gov before wandering over to the entertainment centre. This plan worked quite well; we got a park only about five minutes walk away – and for which we didn’t have to pay.
Doors were due to open at 6.30 (I think) and we headed over and made our way through the doors and down onto the stadium floor (we’d opted for general admission rather than seated) without too much hassle and found ourselves a spot inside the ‘D’7 that was not too far from the stage but not where we anticipated the moshing would take place.
Jet came on at 7.30 and played for their allotted half hour – they played well (I think I’ve seen them before, at a Big Day Out, but I’m not sure which) and were very enthusiastic.
While what seemed to be to be the largest crew of roadies8 I’ve ever seen cleared off the Jet equipment and brought in the Green Day gear; we speculated on what kind of lighting/on-stage set they’d have – since it wasn’t particularly obvious from what we could see. But we watched as they raised two spotlight operators up on a boom behind the stage, which kind of indicated it was going to be somewhat interesting. Not really a job I’d volunteer for, though; they went a long way up and spotlights (as I’ve learned from experience) get hot.
For no reason that I didn’t – and possibly never will – understand, someone (I contend it was a female because (s)he had hands even smaller and more delicate than my own, which is saying something) came on dressed in a pink bunny suit, danced around for a while and – with the exhortation of the crowd – knocked back two Crown Lager stubbies before going off again.
Eventually Green Day took the stage – but what I was blown away by first was the set, which had the entire wall behind them looking like a giant city horizon with huge skyscrapers. It was one of the coolest things I’d ever seen. See a photo of it here.
For the next two hours and twenty (or so) minutes, we were treated to one of the most dynamic and enjoyable rock concerts I’ve experienced – and I’ve seen a lot of bands. Not very many stadium shows, though; the majority of acts I see are either too small or who I saw when they were small but whose music I now don’t enjoy enough to fork out the cash for that big a show.
I won’t bother trying to name the songs; you can see the complete setlist here.
They were ‘on’ the whole time; Billie Joe (lead vocals/guitar) and Mike Dirnt (bass/backing vocals) kept moving almost the entire time, running back and forth and jumping around; drummer Tré Cool, of course, was sitting – but his drumming is of the enthusiastic variety so it wasn’t like he was sitting still.
Pretty much all the stadium-rock standards got used: audience members brought on stage (and thrown back in to crowd surf), t-shirts shot into the stands with an air-gun, water sprayers, and a motorised toilet-paper dispensing device. The audience were encouraged to sing along and were split into two halves and ordered to ‘chant-off’ against each other. As the setlist shows, there were a few covers; the audience went nuts went they played the opening riff to AC/DC’s Highway to Hell.
But it’s not really something I can describe, beyond listing appropriate superlatives: brilliant, excellent, awesome, spectacular, cool. They got a guy up and he ended up singing all of Longview – I can only imagine how happy he was after that. The ticket was $100, but I’d gladly pay that again – tomorrow, if the opportunity arose.
There’s no doubt that I enjoyed it. The only question now is to where this particular gig will get slotted into my list of all-time favourites. It’s a pretty hard decision; the list includes the first gig I ever saw (Hoodoo Gurus at the Dalrymple Hotel in Townsville), the first international bands I saw (Brad9 and Ben Harper), Pearl Jam at Thebarton Oval, Radiohead at the Entertainment Centre, George in the Austral beer garden, Foo Fighters, Nine Inch Nails, The Flaming Lips and about a dozen other bands at assorted Big Days Out, They Might be Giants at Heaven, Regurgitator/Prodigy at Thebarton – the list goes on.
But it’s up there. It’s definitely top 5. Number 1? Possibly. I’ll have to think about it.
6No pun intended.
7For the unitiated: they use a barried shaped roughly like a ‘D’ (with a gap in the middle for people to get through) close to the stage; its purpose is to minimise the number of people who can rush forward and crush people against the front.
8Is there a collective noun for roadies? I’m guessing that, traditionally at least, it’d be ‘crew’, since ‘roadies’ would be an abbreviation of ‘road crew’. But I’m sure someone’s come up with a funnier one – like ‘buttcrack’, ‘bandana’, or ‘black jeans’.
9Brad is the side project of Pearl Jam’s Stone Gossard; somewhat hilariously, I went to that gig more to see Brad because at the time I hadn’t heard that much Ben Harper. Imagine my surprise.
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