Anyway, this egg. I first noticed something awry when I took it from the fridge. It was unexpectedly heavy, and I softly murmured “what have we here?” for dramatic effect. I paid it no mind, however, and this egg’s companion was already a-sizzling away in the pan so I shrugged off my trepidations and continued in a neat and orderly fashion.
A few minutes later as I sat down to eat and as I raised a forkful of egg and toast towards my waiting gob, the egg went flying off to hit my chin. This is a really unnerving experience which I won’t dwell on. Suffice to say, egg is a horrible thing to have on your face, although I was wishing someone else was present so I could make a joke about literally having egg on my face. Since that joke wouldn’t have been particularly funny and the image would be a bit gross, I would then figuratively have egg on my face too and I could round out the rest of my days on earth knowing that at least once in my life I had been a human pun.
Anyway, the point about the egg was that it leapt off my fork as if it were a sentient being with no desire to be eaten, just like me or you. Well, assuming you’re not one of those people who goes trolling the internet looking for someone to eat them (or to offer to be eaten by them) in which case: Hi! Why in God’s good name are you reading this site? How do these posts relate to your interests? Really, I’m genuinely interested.
I mean I suppose I should unpin that prejudiced scowl currently affixed to my face and consider the fact that even internet autocannibalism fetishists probably have other interests too and that it’s only my small-mindedness that makes me think that everything they do must somehow relate back to the whole dinner-for-one part of their lives. I suppose it’s common for us to see someone with a marked difference to ourselves and reduce them to that difference, but of course that’s a mean-spirited thing to do.
So some dude enjoys being rolled naked in egg and flour and pelted with breadcrumbs and then dipped in hot oil. There’s no reason why schnitzel-man mightn’t also enjoy mixed tennis, Grey’s Anatomy and the weekly office footy tipping competition.
But I can hear you all clamouring to hear more about the egg, so let’s return to that mysterious yet compelling scene. Not long after finishing the egg, I was outside and noticed a little bit on my jumper that had obviously made a break for it during the egg-on-face moment. It took me a second to work out what it was because it was the most radioactive orange you can image, this thick, bright, iridescent colour. I was a bit shocked because, well, a whole heap more of that stuff had just gone into my stomach. So here I sit, facing an uncertain future of digestion or death or something unimaginably worse.
Also, I bought this huge orchid yesterday.
I’m not sure why. I think I harbour a secret desire to be an old man doddering around his rooftop conservatory in a silk dressing gown, trying to breed the elusive black orchid while entertaining callers with tales of my adventures battling psychic leprechauns and inventing a three-way mirror and the time I infiltrated an insidious occult organisation’s annual fundraiser in a gorilla suit. Since I’ve never managed to keep a plant alive for any measurable length of time, I might be a bit ambitious here.
Well, I think this extended bit of tomfoolery is enough to have supercharged my brain a bit and even as I type this I feel a tiny part of me running around yelling LEVEL UP! Though really, I don't think blogging makes anyone smarter or happier. That's just toxic egg talk.
I caught Toby Sullivan’s new solo show Not Quite Right the other night and it’s really really good.
Toby is the Business Manager (I think) for the Comedy Festival but has been doing his own comedy stuff for years now. He doesn’t perform very often, though, and this is the first extended thing I’ve seen him do on his own. It’s a simple little story about a trip he took to Sydney, but it’s seriously packed with more funnies than most shows you’ll see in the comedy festival itself. It comes across as someone who has been able to study the form for a long time and has learnt a lot. Plus he’s a very skilled performer with a pacy delivery and plenty of smarts. It’s on for a couple of weeks at Trades Hall.
I also saw Mike Leigh’s Happy-Go-Lucky on Sunday and it’s easily my favourite film of the year. Some people will hate it, others will be unmoved either way, but I think it’s a profound and brave film with some unforgettable moments and brilliant characters. In fact, I don’t think that character is even the right word, since Leigh’s process really produces people as much as types. There’s no sense that anyone is ‘acting,’ but equally there’s no earnest attempt at the kind of non-acting that usually makes such films very boring. Whatever. It’s about a primary school teacher with an indefatigably sunny outlook on life and a desire to just make the people around her happy. Of course, that’s put into contrast with various other ways of living, and there’s lots of undercurrents concerning different kinds of teaching and the unnoticed effects we have on others. Plus some irresistibly funny parts – the juggernaut bit, the ‘My Space!’ flamenco, En Ra Ha. You must go see it, and apologies if it’s not your thing.