March 7 Day 66. Just a little prick

I refuse to get sick this year. Simply refuse. Yes, I am fully aware that refusal counts for nought but it's worth a try. Last year was one thing after another. Bronchitis, the flu and then hepatitis just to top off the year.
As a person who has taken up the employer-paid flu vax option for as many years as it has been offered, I am also aware that the jab in the arm is no guarantee. Still buying a Lotto ticket doesn't mean I'm going to win but I still do it and the odds of a flu shot working are far higher.
Being sick sucks. If a little jab in the arm can prevent that, bring it on.
But where was the sweetener? We always get a sweetener and this year no lollipop. That's really not playing fair

March 6. Day 65. Going with the flow

I've been watching this weird dome thing going up at South Bank for quite some time. It looked kind of cool. The sign said it was part of Flowstate, part of building a better South Bank. Either is wasn't there or I didn't read the fine print but what I didn't realise was that this is a new outdoor performing arts space. Better still, for the first few months everything is free. Not just yay but double yay. Tonight I saw my first show there Aura by Circa. It was an amazing display of the physical possibilities of the human body. Circus performers really are freaks in the best way possible. But it was also a display of the best know performing arts motto: "the show must go on". Although Flowstate is a really intriguing space it is not entirely water tight. Today it bucketed down. One end of the stage was dangerously soaked. That left two options. They could cancel the world premiere performance or re-block the show in the couple of hours before the crowds arrived. They went with plan B. I wouldn't have noticed had I not spoke to one of the performers afterwards. It appeared as though that was the way it was meant to be. All I can guess is that  In Flowstate everything must be fluid and everyone prepared to go with the flow.

March 5. Day 64. Dress sense

I have many rules I try to live by most of which I break on a regular basis.
There is one, however, that I consider an absolute. An appropriate level of dress must be maintained when attending the theatre.
I have argued the toss with people on this point many a time.
Those who (wrongly) reject my position maintain
1. You've paid for the seat, what you wear while sitting in it is surely no-one's business but your own
2. As if the artists are going to know or care
3. Surely comfort is important
Follow that "logic" and we should all walk around in tracky daks or lycra all day every day. Hell, why get dressed at all? My jarmies are super comfortable.
Come on people. Where is your sense of occasion? Dress up and you rise to meet it. Those people on stage are giving their heart and soul. Is it too much to expect you to lace your shoes?

 Fortunately, our young folk are being well trained. When my boy was at school, a strict dress code was demanded for theatre trips. For some in the class this may have been a new discovery. Not Oliver. The then Drama Teen had owned a wardrobe full of suits for the theatre since he was in the early primary school years.
I see this is an established tradition for school groups. My niece Amelia was around this afternoon killing time between school finishing and the theatre curtains opening.
It also gave her time to transform from school girl into audience member.
Dress well, the school had insisted and so she had. She looked adorable, winning the hard earned tick of approval of Susan the Snob. A round of applause please.

March 4. Day 63. Wet, wet, wet

It started storming when I was walking around the duck ponds in the city botanic gardens. I was soaked. Strangely, these two things are unrelated. Before the storm hit, I was probably wetter than afterwards.
Today the level of humidity was about 300%.
It was disgusting.
It's been like this for most of the week. Everyone is getting hot and bothered. Grumpy and disagreeable.
The storm provided blessed relief but it was ever so fleeting.
And then you look at the footage from other parts of the world, where they are shovelling snow.
The weather gods are being very mean at the moment. Please lighten up. Give us just a bit of their cold and we'll give up some heat. Pretty please. We all implore you.

March 3. Day 62. Theatre of the mind

Radio. How quaint and old fashioned.
I mean, just voice. No virtual reality, no augmented reality, no CGI, no multimedia.
BORING.
Except it isn't.
The mind fills those gaps. Radio is in a golden age.
It's a new golden age, reborn in podcasts but living on strongly in the wireless as it always has.
Radio rocks.
This is why I always look forward to Nash Theatre's annual radio play.
This year I was doubly looking forward to it because we were presented with two plays not one. First up Sorry Wrong Number followed by Hollywood Boulevard . What an awesome pairing.
It's theatre but not as we know it. No fancy props, no fancy sets, no gimmicks unless you count the sound effects man in the corner creating the atmosphere. Your mind and the actors' voices do the rest. You can hear the review here. Then go ahead and book tickets.

March 2. Day 61. Take a good look at my face

I have orange hair. Technically not all my hair is orange but there is a bright orange streak at the front. Last haircut it was pink. The one before that it was purple. Honestly I can not explain this new attraction to the colouring box of hair dye.
I'm sure Freud would have something to say except for the fact that he's been dead for 80 or so years.  If I had to guess, I'd go with control and need to change. I can control the colour. Throw a bit of money at the problem, wait and the colour changes. Bingo. I spent the time waiting for my colour bingo card to come up productively. I watched pretty young things turn into even prettier young things. It's school formal season and my hairdresser is one of the formal transformation spots of choice. There was a congo line of young woman between the make-up and blow dry stations. It was transformative. It's also not quite as easy when you reach my age. But hair colour is. So hair colour it was. It will do. Orange suits me.

March 1. Day 60. Opening night

There are many, many things about the theatre I love not least of which it doesn't lie. It may not always be good. It may literally use smoke and mirrors, lighting and make up and other tricks of the trade to create an illusion. But at the end of the day it is face-to-face unedited human interaction. We are drawn honestly into someone else's world. Tonight was opening night of Queensland Theatre's The 39 Steps. It's a play I've seen before but this was a masterful version drawing you in to a boys' own adventure of good triumphing over evil, all in one take.  I say this because the other story I've been drawn into is My Kitchen Rules. Technically this is a show without actors or  a script just real people cooking up real food. But it is every bit as much a story of heroes and villains, good guys and bad cast and edited to create a drama way beyond the rise and fall of any souffle.  This is supposedly reality TV. Hello, that's more farcical than The 39 Steps with no where near the great comic timing. I watch it anyway. I don't mind being taken for a ride. But I do object the the promotions and selective editing promising drama but not delivering it. The episode I caught up on tonight after the theatre was supposed to have high conflict but we got a little squabble. The theatre treats its audience with far more respect, genuinely trying to deliver on its promises. When it does - as it did tonight - it sings. That's a reality TV can't deliver.