Taking Care of Business

SO NOW THEN.

(Hey, whatever happened to my copy of Magnolia, anyway? Someone borrowed it and it never came back. Was it you? Or you?)

I'm in a rare almost-reflective mood, having spent the better part of the weekend taking care of business. Pulling together my last-ever arts page for a certain Melbourne streetpress magazine (and it's going out with a whimper, not a bang). Putting the lid on this year's Cheap Eats reviews (ugh, roll me out the door, thanks). Wrapping up another round of theatre reviews for something else. Sending off a critical piece for a Melbourne dance company. Cleaning my house for the better part of five or six hours. Trying to sort out tax. Bills. You know.

I realised not too long ago that I hadn't had a free second for a few years now. Of course, I had lazy moments, but these were always haunted by the work I should be doing, or chores I was neglecting, or whatever. They were stolen moments, if you know what I mean. But now, I think it's time to, well, not relax a bit, but work on some other tasks. Like staring out the window at the vines dripping the same rain which is rat-tat-tatting on the tin roof overhead and bouncing off the cars in the street and causing the birds in the trees at eye-level to let out a chorus of something whose meaning I'm not sure of. They don't sound annoyed, at least.

I've been casually re-reading Murakami's The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle lately, probably as prep-work for the non-business period I'm hoping for as of...well, tomorrow, I think. I can't think of a better calmative than reading about the protagonist's "vague and blameless life, spent cooking, reading, listening to jazz and opera and drinking beer at the kitchen table" (thanks blurb). I loved this book the moment I picked it up and read the first paragraph, and I think it's excellent reading for anyone overwhelmed by rubbish they're going through. You have to make time for it, though, and should be warned that it's pretty terrifying and graphic in a few parts.

But, as I said, I think a vague and blameless life would be good for a little while. We'll see how it goes.

In the meantime, here's Borat.


Anyone with the faintest recollection of the 80s will recognise this as The Running Man, that godawful dance which was spawned by the era (although, perhaps, it was more of an early 90s thing in Oz). I was doing some researching on The Running Man and came across this great site that attempts to list the major dance moves of the 80s. You know, your Lawn-Mower and your New Kids Dance and your Safety Dance. There's even the Roger Rabbit, a Running Man in reverse. But there are way more listed here than I could ever hope to recognise, and it made me anxious and wide-eyed to discover just how few of these moves I'd ever come across. The Cabbage Patch? The Prep? Jerry Lewis? I'm also saddened to say that I do know the Debbie Gibson.

And on that point, why aren't there many "dances" these days? So few "moves" to practice. It's all spontaneous and freestyle and stuff. Actually, looking at the abovementioned site, I suppose it's clear why this is the case.