Saturday, January 22, 2005

Last night turned out a little unexpectedly. See, on Wednesday at Clare's party, my friend-and-third-cousin Bridget asked me to accompany her to a gig one of her friends was playing at on Friday. I said I would, because, well, I didn't have plans. And then on Thursday I realised that what I actually wanted to do on Friday was go and see Snap! Crakk! at the Nortchote Social Club. But, oh well. I was locked in to some unknown friend-of-a-friend gig. It happens. So we went to the East Brunswick Hotel and watched as Bridget's friend Bernie played drums for Emma Wall. It was good. And after the set, Bernie came and told us that she had to be off, as they were playing an 11pm slot at Midsumma. And so they went off. And Bridget and I listened to the first few songs of Monique Brumby's set, and then decided to go to Fed Square, in a ooooh, aren't we the hippest straights way. And it turned out very nicely. Because we got into the city and messaged the sure-to-be-there Andrew to make sure he was there. And he was. And so we joined him at the Charmaine's bar. And he had a brand new sleazy moustache, which enhanced the creepiness of all the paedophile jokes he was telling. Oh, Andrew. And then I thought, hang on a tic. Guy is probably here too. And so I messaged him. And he was! And so he and Marty and Camille found their way to us. And then Tim and Catherine joined us too. And then David came, newly returned from Cambodia. So, I was quite unexpectedly surrounded by friends on a Friday night in the city. Nice. And we chatted and drank and went "did you get Scissor Sisters tickets?" and "are you going to Le Tigre?" and "have you seen the Kylie exhibit?" and "are you going to Sandra Bernhard?" and yes yes yes yes and "ohmygod I am so gay. Seriously. I must be" and blah blah blah. And as time went on our numbers dwindled. Actually, the whole of Fed Square just cleared out. And then we were asked to leave the bar as it was closing. And then we went to Andrew's swinging bachelor three-storey apartment on Flinders Lane. His house-warming is five months late so far, so I was eager to see the place. And we had a few drinks in his rooftop courtyard and, when we eventually left, Andrew was crawling on the floor back into his lounge room, still with some strangers upstairs to either boot out or succour.

Anyway, so I got home at 3am and set my alarm for 9am because I had an 11.30 brunch date on Rathdowne with Guy and Laurie and Ben and Megan and Camille and Jock, and Simon A, freshly returned from that bright neon sporting, Celine-spectacular loving burb, Las Vegas. Anyway, I slept through my alarm, and scrambled my way to some poached eggs and hollandaise sauce and bacon and sausages by noon. After brunch, I took myself off to the Nova to see a movie. I decided to see one that nobody else seemed very interested in seeing, but which I really wanted to see anyway. So I saw A Very Long Engagement. And I highly recommend that you do too. Because it is fucking excellent. And heartbreaking. But not in that stupid crap lame-o emotional way. No. In that cool arresting way. I cried quite a bit. Seriously good. Ah, Jean-Pierre Jeunet. He makes good shit. Don't be a snob and diss him because you think Amelie was too mainstream, or whatever. Relax, okay? And, if you need to, tell yourself that he also directed the arthouse classics City Of The Lost Children and Delicatessan, so really, it's perfectly okay for you to get yo ass to this seriously excellent film. DO IT.

Then I went shopping, and broke my month-long CD-buying drought by picking up a Talking Heads best of, Depeche Mode's Songs Of Faith And Devotion, a Kate Bush best of, and some more of The Clash.

Anyway, I'm loving social engagements at the moment. Now I must be off to a dinner thing with Erin. And tomorrow, Amy has organised some YUM CHA. Mmmmmmmm.

No comments: