G'day folks . . .
Well, after a massive cleaning-up operation in the house, vacuuming, cleaning bathrooms, etc., we boarded a plane for Adelaide on Monday afternoon . . .
We had an hour to kill at Adelaide airport before we got the plane to Kangaroo Island, so we went and had a look at the only thing to amuse a visitor at the airport, a memorial to two Australians who were the first to fly from England to Australia. (They landed in Darwin, actually, so why the memorial is in SA is beyond me . . .)
Anyway, their memorial was the actual plane that they flew in, which was a rickety-looking old thing . . . we don't realise how far we've come, really.
Flew in a small plane to Kangaroo Island, which is really, really an amazing place. After looking around it for a couple of days, I said to Rach, "You know, God is a far better composer than Wagner." That about sums up KI for me.
After meeting Rachel's grandma, her uncle Peter and her hyper-energetic aunt Louise, we went back to get an early night at Grandma's place.
Tuesday morning, we were given the tour around Kingscote, which is the biggest town here. (I'm writing this on the free internet computer, courtesy of Kingscote library.) Getting a tour around would be okay, but with Rachel's grandma to accompany us, it was much, much better. She's lived here so long, she's practically a part of the history. We had a look around Kingscote museum and there's a painting by Joy Davis on one wall, a box she's donated in another room, etc. It's amazing.
Wednesday, was even better . . . Aunt Louise took Rachel and I on a tour, as well as Annette and Claudia, two German girls out here on a bit of a holiday, and we did a lightning tour around the island. Having Germans with us has made it an interesting holiday. It's like the whole fortnight is a big German/Australian holiday.
First off, Seal Bay, which, as Rachel said, is where you pay money to sit on the beach and look at seals. Seals are amazing creatures. The males just eat, mate and sleep. The females do all that, plus stay pregnant for 18 months. That's it. Most of them get eaten by sharks.
Then Bales Bay, which is a quiet, empty beach with no one around . .. . but it looks beautiful. Then Little Sahara, which is a bunch of gigantic sand dunes in the middle of the island. I could hear the Lawrence of Arabia theme music in my head, but sadly no Anthony Quinn around . . .
Then round to Louise's daughter Rebecca's place. Now, it was a little house to start with, but Rebecca's boyfriend Dean extended it out and put a porch on it. This is the most amazing porch I've ever seen and really has to be seen in photos, but the idea is it beats quite a few outback bars . . . Dean himself is a bit of a Bob Marley fan, I take it, because he's got the dreadlocks and colourful shirt down pat. However, apparently, he is a cleaner in town, so that's what he spends most of his time doing.
Anyway, in wandered his neighbour from up the road, who also has an amazing house. Then Rebecca's grandfather (Louise's dad) showed up, with his neighbour. Then Louise's son Ben and his partner Sarah. Then there's me, Rach, and the two German girls. And we're all sitting around this porch eating lunch. I was thinking to myself,
How do all of these people get the time off to come out here to this place at lunchtime and drink beer? I say this place should be put on the tour . . .
And, speaking of tours, we were off again . . . down to the Remarkable Rocks (which really are remarkable . . . if not amazing, stupendous and staggering), the Admiral's Arch (which is also amazing). Also in there, we managed to catch up with Louise's remaining children . . . and take a photo of a koala on the way home!! Does this island have it all, or what??
And today is a quiet last day, as we get ready to fly back to Adelaide tonight. The Ring starts tomorrow. I've tried to avoid all press on the Ring, but when we were having dinner on Tuesday night at Louise's place, she was telling me that apparently there's some old guy who's come to Adelaide for his 70th Ring Cycle. (He just tours around the world going to Rings.) I'd read about him before I came down here, but apparently he's quoted as saying that he did not have a favourite Ring Cycle until Adelaide . . . I'm starting to get excited now. But still, this guy might be a bit of a raving Wagnerian.
So I'll reserve my judgement until a later time . . .
And I'll get off this computer. See you all soon!
Okay...
We arrived on Kangaroo Island
Monday evening and spent a lovely night with Grandma and settled in. The great thing is that G'ma goes to bed really early so we haven't been at all sleep deprived while here!
Tuesday we went touring around Kingscote which is the main "town" on the island (not very big). This is apparently where the first free settlers (ie NO convicts) settled a convict-free settlement. And it is also the first place settled in South Australia! So a lot of history.
Wednesday (y'day) we had a whirlwind tour of the island with my aunt and 2 German girls who were visiting here. It was awesome! We sat on the beach surrounded by Australian Sea-Lions and watched the little butter-ball baby sea-lions swim, chase seagulls and generally have a lot of fun. Then we went to this gorgeous beach, (too cold to swim though!), we climbed sand dunes in the "little sahara" then we visited my cousin Rebecca and her house (gotta see this place to believe it...I took some photos so will share when we get home), had lunch there, checked out the most beauitful beach (officially) in Australia which was 2 min drive from her place, checked out my other cousins new house, caught up with him for a little while, then visited Remarkalbe Rocks and Admirals Arch (natural rock formations on the coast....amazing!), then we came back to Kingscote via Parndana and checked out the log cabin my grandfather built way back when that my other cousin is living in with his girlfriend. AND...on the road back to Kingscote we passed TWO Koalas in trees! I've never seen two koalas so close to the road or so CLOSE! :) It was so much fun.
Today (Thurs) we're just hanging around Kingscote, buying souveniers, spending time with Grandma and picking up some KI honey from my uncle's farm. Then later tonight we fly to Adelaide where we'll be for 8 nights. If any of you ever want a holiday and live here GO TO KANGAROO ISLAND! Don't do a day-tour from Adelaide but come and actually stay. It is an amazing place!!!
Hi everyone,
I can't really argue with B & Q too much regarding the plot of the ring, but they perhaps didn't mention too much about the music . . .
I tried to give Rach a touch of the Ring by playing her the "Siegfried Idyll", which was a piece of orchestral music based on the end of
Siegfried. It was first played by a small chamber orchestra on Christmas Day in 1870 as a surprise present for Wagner's wife, Cosima.
Rach didn't see the Christmas cheer in this. "Did she have a chair?"
"Pardon?"
"You mean, it's Christmas morning and she has to stand up for this whole thing? My legs would have been killing me!"
"She probably had a chair."
"Yeah, but I'm thinking . . . she gets up, hoping to get a Christmas present . . . instead, comes out, and there's all these strange men with instruments standing on her staircase! I mean, was she even dressed properly??"
"I don't know . . . they don't exactly . . ."
"Yeah, I'm
sure she liked it!"
So much for romance and Wagner . . . lol . . . anyway, if I can get to an internet cafe, I shall try to keep a holiday diary. Otherwise, I'm sure you'll hear about it when I get back.
Have fun . . . ('cause we will be . . .)
Bromley: And 'ere we are, back for the last installment of the Ring.
The fourth one's called Gotterdammerung (though with a few of those useless dots over the letters) which is Kraut for "Twilight of the Gods". Which is one of the most stupid titles I've ever heard . . . I mean, why spoil the ending in the title? Nobody would have gone to see "Return of the Jedi" if it was called "Luke's Father Darth", would they?? That's right!
Anyway, enough of that . . . it starts with three old bags playing with a piece of string. They kind of just tell us what happened in the rest of the opera and then their string breaks. . . . I'm not kidding. Read a synopsis of this opera . . . and to think that people pay money for this thing . . .
After the old bags, out pops Siegfried and Brunnhilde. For no unexplained reason, she sends him off to be a hero, etc. etc.
Well, about 10 minutes later, he bumps into a bunch of shifty sorts, drinks a love potion, decides to marry some other chick and then says that he'll go fetch Brunnhilde for the new chick's brother to marry! (Opera, mate . . . and Krauts love it . . .)
So Siegfried goes back to the mountain, disguises himself as someone else, tries to sing lower to fool Brunnhilde and drags her back to marry this new bloke.
Anyway, the reason for all this is that apparently Alberich (shifty fellow from the first opera who stole the gold in the first place) had a son (don't ask how he got him considering he renounced love, etc. etc.) named Hagen and it's Hagen who is organising all this shifty stuff to get the ring.
To cut a really, really, really long story short (it's about 6 and a half hours, I think), Siegfried gets stabbed in the back by Hagen, Brunnhilde shows back up, lights up Siegfried's funeral bonfire (I don't remember them checking with Siegfried to see whether he wanted burial or cremation, though.) And then, she starts singing . . . this is it, ladies and gents . . . this is the fat lady singing. And to finish off . . . how's this for a clever plot twist, eh? . . .
she rides her horse into the bonfire. That's right. She sings, and just when we're all sick to death of her, she roasts herself alive. I betcha you wish that could happen to the singers at the end of a few other operas, eh?
Anyway, she roasts herself and that seems a good enough excuse for Wotan and the rest of the gods to do the same thing. They get Loge, the fire god, to set fire to Valhalla and
the whole lot burns down! If you're lucky, the theatre catches fire as well, but I don't think OH&S allows that anymore.
And that's it . . . that's what all the fuss is about . . .
Q: yeah dusnt it sound stupid?
B: But at least there's a bear in
Siegfried. It's like the best 10 minutes in the whole opera.
Q: are there any doggies?
Q: Nah, mate . . . They just don't have the same stage presence . . .
Bromley: 'Ello, 'ello, 'ello . . . we're back for round 3 . . . Siegfried. Pronouned zeegfreed if you're not a Kraut.
Quark: then why do they spel it siegfried?
Bromley: I'm not going to answer that one . . . Now I got me little furry ears burned last time because I forgot to mention the Ride of the Valkyries. Basically, somewhere in that opera, after the sword fight and before Wotan does his nana at Brunnhilde, she goes to hang out with her sisters, the Valkyries and they all sing the Ride of the Valkyries. (This is without helicopters, for those of you Apocalypse Now fans - didn't ya love that bit where Robert Duvall tells the bloke to go have a surf? No? Maybe it was just me . . . ) Anyway, I didn't bother talking about that bit, because it had nothing to do with the story, so who cares, apart from people with too much time and money on their hands . . . aka everybody who's going to Adelaide.
Anyway, opera 3 starts with . . . oh, yeah, do you remember that chick Sieglinde from the last one, who was going to have babies with her brother, etc?
Q: yeah it made me sik
B: Yeah, well, she had the baby, little mate. Called him Siegfried. Then she carked it.
Q: is that all that peeple do in this show?
B: Mate, that's all people do in opera! So, Siegfried gets picked up by a nasy little dwarf person called Mime, pronouned "Meemuh", in case you were thinking of those scary blighters what pretend to be stuck behind a glass wall. (I'd like to see what happens if you really
did stick 'em in a glass box. I reckon they'd make noise then!) Anyway . . . off topic again.
Mime is the brother of Alberich, who was nasty blighter who made the sword in the first place.
Anyway, to cut a long story short ('cause I'm sick of it, Mime wants Siegfried to kill the dragon from the first opera and get the ring for him). But he can't make a sword to do it. He wants to use the broken bits of the sword that Siegfried's old man used when he was killed in battle, but apparently, you can't be a scaredy-cat and remake the sword.
Q: i woodnt be abel to make it then
B: That's right. But Siegfried isn't scared of anything because he's a mindless German nut who drags wild bears around. So he shows up, gets a bit narky with old Mime, and remakes the sword.
In the second act, Mime drags him off into the forest to kill the dragon, which he does. Then he kills Mime (but this is apparently a good thing because Mime was going to kill him)
Q: he killed the dragon! was there lots of blud?
B: Even better . . . he
licks the blood!
Q: yuk!!!
B: And then guess what happens . . . only in opera . . . once he's taste the blood, he can talk to animals! (Wagner ripped that bit off "Doctor Doolittle".)
Q: thats wierd
B: So a little bird comes along and tells him to climb a mountain and rescue Brunnhilde who's still asleep up there. So in Act 3, he climbs the mountain, bumps into Wotan halfway up. Instead of telling him, "Hey, buddy, I'm your grandpa," which is what any respectable grandparent would do, he dresses up as a bum and says, "Get outta here, ya little punk." (Or words to that effect.)
So he belts Wotan's spear with his sword and breaks it and then trots on past up the mountain. Anyway, comes up there, finds Brunnhilde, realises that she's a chick, not a bloke and . . . gets scared for the first time!!
Q: like matts scared of rachel?
B: Yeah, mate. Being scared of women is probably not a bad move. Anyway, he wakes her up, Snow White style, and then they start singing for ages.
Q: what do they sing about?
B: It's something like: "Oh, no, I'm mortal now," says Brunnhilde. "I'm going to die an old woman." And then they talk more gibberish about how everything's going to come to an end, and they end up singing something like. "Hey, we're going to die. Let's laugh about it. Ha ha ha ha ha ha! Ho ho ho ho ho ho ho! Hey, let's call it laughing death!!! Ha ha ha ha!!! He he he he he!! Ho ho ho ho ho!" And that's the end.
Q: laffing deth? thats a silly ending
B: It is indeed, mate . . . and to think, people pay money for it . . .
You Know You're From Australia When... |
Your next door neighbours can be from Tunisia, Israel, Indonesia, Japan, Zimbabwe, Iraq, Brazil, Spain, Malaysia...
The community is so concerned over the fact that muslim women can't use public swimming pools because there are men present that they have female-only periods.
The Greeks and Mexicans next door ask you over to have a barbeque.
You don't actually use the words 'sheila' or 'shrimp'.
You sleep with Aeroguard on.
You're wearing a cap emblazoned with 'Get A Dog Up Ya.'
You feel obliged to spread salty black stuff that looks like congealed motor oil on bread and actually grow to like it.
You actively dislike Americans, but watch their TV, eat their food and worship their idols.
You think Tall Poppy Syndrome is a national condition.
Democracy means the freedom to draw caricatures of John Howard.
Your idea of a lethal weapon is a slug gun.
The closest you ever got to going overseas was your packet of 5 Days In Rio grundies.
A posh meal = an all-you-can-eat buffet.
The term "musical instrument" also extends to wobbly bits of ply-wood, hand saws, gum leafs and combs.
Your most offensive curse also doubles as an exclamation of awe or amazement, like, "fark orf!"
All of your internationally famous people don't live here.
You think footballers dressing up in drag on TV is funny (but your son being gay isn't).
You relish test cricket - the longest, slowest game in sport (and that's not even counting the replays). After all, what else gives you an excuse to sit on your arse for five days, watch TV and sink piss with your mates?
You don't drink Fosters, but you let the world think you do.
The only thing better than beating the Pohms at ANY sport is giving them shit for it.
You love, adore and admire a particular team/sportstar/actor on a winning streak - until they lose. Then they're just crap and 'past it.'
You can compress several words into one - ie 'g'day', 'd'reckn?' This allows for more space for profanities.
You favour either Holden or Ford - or a souped-up WRX with new kit and a bootful of subwoofer.
Driving down the main street/beach road playing bad techno is your idea of a perfect Saturday night / Sunday arvo.
You make kooky films, sometimes about wayward road trips (across the outback preferably). Quite a few are crap.
You know all the words to Khe Sahn but not the national anthem.
Your nickname ends in 'a' or 'o'.
You have a customised stubby holder.
Your soap stars become pop singers and move to the UK.
You've ever used the words - grouse, tops, ripper, choice, sick, rad, exo, ace, wicked, ballistic - to mean good. And then you place 'bloody' in front of it when you really mean it.
Your cooking apron has plastic breasts on it.
The "Aussie Aussie Aussie! Oi oi oi!" chant has been a religious experience in the past.
The blokes at the local gym think your weight training is an opportunity to ask you out on a date.
The big national sporting events are men-only.
Your politicians believe than sticking the prefix 'un' in front of your nationality is an effective way of making you sit down and shut up.
Our mantras are 'fair go for all', 'mateship' and 'little Aussie battler' - but we still publicly condemn those with different viewpoints to us.
The barbeque is a male-dominated arena. And the women do the salads.
'Fair go for all' excludes indigenous people.
An eight-hour trip to go camping for the weekend isn't out of the question or excessive.
You take pride in living in a tolerant multicultural society but firmly believe that all Poms and Kiwis are fair game.
You insist on asking every celebrity who steps of an aircraft what they think of Australia. If the response is not overwhelmingly positive, they should be subjected to immediate public ridicule.
The private lives of footy and cricket players become more important than local and national news stories.
Slick pick-up lines like 'Wanna shag?' and 'Carn, show us yer tits' can constitute male-to-female conversation.
You say 'no worries' quite often, whether you realise it or not.
You realise you have no Bill of Rights.
The first thing guaranteed to get eaten at parties is fairy bread.
So that's the special ingredients that make up an Aussie - whatever your taste.
You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from Austrailia. |
And to hilight the ones I totally relate to:
- Your next door neighbours can be from Tunisia, Israel, Indonesia, Japan, Zimbabwe, Iraq, Brazil, Spain, Malaysia...
- You don't actually use the words 'sheila' or 'shrimp'.
- You feel obliged to spread salty black stuff that looks like congealed motor oil on bread and actually grow to like it. (love the stuff!)
- All of your internationally famous people don't live here.
- The "Aussie Aussie Aussie! Oi oi oi!" chant has been a religious experience in the past.
- The barbeque is a male-dominated arena. And the women do the salads.
- An eight-hour trip to go camping for the weekend isn't out of the question or excessive.
- You say 'no worries' quite often, whether you realise it or not. (I didn't realise this until I read this line and then remembered saying it at least once or twice today at work.....go figure. )
Bromley: 'Ello again . . . All right, so now we get on the flamin' HUGE operas. The other three.
Quark: YEAH THEY MAKE U SLEEPY AND IM WRITING IN CAPITALS SO THAT PEOPLE DONT PICK ON ME COS OF THE WAY I RITE
B: Crazy, crazy boy . . . Anyway, at the end of the last opera, Wotan was in a bit of trouble because he'd lost the ring.
Q: YEAH THAT WAS FUNNY
B: So while everybody else was recovering from the last opera, Wotan has a plan to get rid of the ring. He goes and has kids. To about three different women. All up, I think he had over 10.
Q: WHAT A NORTY MAN!!!!
B: Yeah, well, it gets worse, little buddy. The second opera is called "Die Walkure" or "The Valkyrie") which is Kraut for "Fat Woman With Viking Horns". It starts with one of Wotan's kids (who doesn't know Wotan is his dad . . . he thought his dad was some old git called "Wolf" who dumped him in the forest when he was a kid). This bloke's name is Siegmund. He breaks into a house which is built around a tree. (I think the guy who built it was a bit of a greenie.)
Anyway, he meet the greenie bloke's wife. Her name's Sieglinde. Anyway, her old man comes home (turns out he's not a greenie - he's a bloke called Hunding - and considering that Hund is Kraut for "dog", what does that tell you?)
Q: HES REELY KOOL?
B: No, mate, it means he's the flippin' bad guy . . . Crikey, we can't do anything with you? Hunding's the bad guy. Siegmund says, "I'm hiding here 'cos some blokes want to bump me off because I killed some of their friends." Hunding says, "Yeah, mate, I'm one of them." Anyway, in true Kraut fashion, they agree not to do anything till the next morning.
In the meantime, Sieglinde knocks her husband out with some sort of sleeping pills and comes out to talk to Siegmund. Siegmund keeps on gibbering about how his Dad (Mr Wolf - not the guy from Pulp Fiction) was going to leave him a sword somewhere. Anybody in the audience thinks Siegmund's a total drip because we spotted a whopping big sword stuck in the tree in the middle of the room in the first five minutes . . . but, hey, this is opera, isn't it?
Anyway, Sieglinde tells Siegmund that this old guy came along and stuck a sword in the tree.
So, what does Siegmund do? Well, you'd think he'd pull the sword out . . . he does, but he says heaps of other things first (just to kill another 20 minutes). Something like: "A) Hey, look, if I open the door, it's spring time outside. Ain't that cool?" B) Hey, Sieglinde, you're my sister. C) Let's get married. D) Let's have babies."
Q: YUCK!! THATS YUCK!!!
B: Mate, what can I say? . . . And people pay money to see this! So, needless to say, Siegmund nicks the sword and the two of them run off into the wood.
Q: THATS PRETTY NORTY.
B: So, then after everyone's had themselves a few drinks in the intermission to recover from all of this, the second act starts up with old Wotan the Pirate, talking to one of his kids, Brunnhilde . . . that's the chick with the Viking horns.
Q: IS SHE FAT??
B: Mostly. So he tells her that Hunding and Siegmund are going to have a big fight and he wants her to rescue Siegmund. Then his wife comes along and rips into him for saving gross people like that. So he tells Brunnhilde that he's changed his mind and that she should save Hunding instead.
Q: SO WHAT DOES SHE DO?
B: Saves Siegmund. Or tries to. (That's 'cause Hunding's the bad guy, remember?) But Wotan comes along, lets Siegmund get it in the gut and die.
Q: ohhh
B: Then he kills Hunding anyway.
Q: THATS WIERD
B: Then he chases down Brunnhilde (we're into the Third Act now), tells her that because she disobeyed him, he's going to turn her into an ordinary woman and leave her sleeping on top of the rock for someone to wake up and take home for a wife. (Wagner ripped that bit off Snow White.) She complains and says, "Oh, but come on, Dad, you really wanted old Siegmund to win anyway, didn't ya?" So he says, "Yes, you're right. So just for that, I'll still turn you into an ordinary woman, but I'll surround the rock by fire so only a really brave bloke can rescue you."
So that's what he does . . . and Wotan wins the Father of the Year Award. And Brunnhilde goes to sleep. Until the next opera . . .
Bromley: Righto, ladies and gents. We're 'ere to explain to you what the big Ring Cycle thingy is that Matt's so keen on and Rach is pretending to be interested in. Well, look, have you ever heard that old sayin', "It ain't over till the fat doggy sings?"
Quark: thats mean! im not a fat doggy and you made it up its fat lady!
B: Just joking there, little buddy . . . Thass right . . . It ain't over till the fat LADY sings. Have you never wondered to yourself, "What fat lady? Why is she singing?" You might even have wondered, "Why is she fat?"
Well, we don't know why she's fat, but she's singin' because somebody has paid her a fair bit of money to appear in Wagner's Ring Cycle. In Kraut, it's called "Der Ring Des Nibelungen". You can see why they started calling it the Ring Cycle after that, can't ya?
Anyway, a Ring Cycle (which we'll call a RiCy for short - pronounced "Ricky" as in Ricky "My Trousers Are Stuck To My Body" Martin) consists of four operas all telling the same story. It's a bit like Lord of the Rings but with no short heroes. In fact, anybody short in the RiCy is usually a bit of a shifty character and shouldn't be trusted.
Q: does that mean were shifty cause we re reely short too?
B: Well, I've always had me doubts about you, Quarky old boy . . .
Anyway, the first RiCy night is the short one. Well, short by . . . well, actually, no it's flippin' long by anyone's standards except Matt's and Wagner', but since when were they the experts on anything? The first RiCy opera is called "Das Rheingold", which means "Bit of Gold That Some Idiot Left On The Bottom of the Rhine River Guarded by Chicks Rather Than In A Bank Guarded By Big Beefy Blokes With Guns".
The curtain opens and there's three ditzy women swimmin' around. Out pops this little dwarfy bloke . . . shifty little critter . . . like Quark here . . .
Q: hey!
B: He tries chattin' them up . . . but not having the old Bromley talent, fails miserably in his efforts to pick up. So instead he steals the big nugget that they're guarding. Having taken half an hour to explain the bleeding obvious, the second scene starts.
We meet the gods up in the sky. We meet Wotan, the chief god, who only has one eye, for some reason that's vaguely explained in the fourth opera (where he doesn't even make an appearance . . . so why bother?). The better theory suggests that he only has one eye because he always wanted to be a pirate and pirates are cool.
Anyway, Wotan has just bought himself a castle by trading off his sister-in-law. Apparently, he didn't consult his wife on this one, because she starts off the scene by having a domestic with him.
Q: what a naughty man wotan is
B: Mate, just you get married, and then we'll talk about trading off sister-in-laws. I can understand where the old devil was comin' from . . .
So, along come the giants who are contracted to build his castle and Wotan decides to hold out on the sister-in-law. What does he offer to pay them for instead? Well, he offers to pay them a whole lot of gold which he has to steal first . . .
Q: its just like a histe movie
B: Nice spelling of "hiest", there, mate
Q: leave me alone your mean bromley
B: Anyway, so Wotan and his lawyer mate the fire god, Loge, head off down to nick the gold. This takes 'em about half an hour and they end up ripping off Puss in Boots to do it. (If you don't believe me, read a synopsis of the story somewhere). They nick the gold and the dwarf. Oh yeah, and part of the treasure is this ring which gives you a lot of power as long as you don't want chicks. And the dwarf puts a curse on it.
So Wotan ends up giving all of this treasure to the giants, except for the ring which he wants to keep for himself. But this earth goddess pops out of the ground and tells him to throw it away or they'll all end up dead. So he does. (And it turns out that they all ended up dead anyway, so this chick was just being a bit of a spoil-sport really.)
The two giants have a bashing contest, where one clubs the other to death, and then the one that's left turns himself into a dragon and heads off into a cave with his treasure. (Sounds a bit like the Hobbit, doesn't it? Tolkien was a bit of an unimaginative git . . . )
The gods then say, "Oh well" and head into their castle. And, oddly enough, some people think this is worth money to see on stage.
I'll be back with RiCy Part 2: The Valkyrie tomorrow . . .
There are a few things going on at the moment in life.
For starters, my Dad and my little brother, Daniel, boarded a plane today for America. Well, actually, it was bound for New Zealand, but after a night in NZ, they will head for America. Dad's got a new job with a group called Business Reform (
http://www.businessreform.com), so he's moving to Ashland, Ohio for that.
Mum and some of my other brothers will then move over in January sometime. It's all a rather big change, really. I'm still not sure exactly what I think of it. But, hey, it's an excuse to visit America, so that's got to be one good thing, surely?
Anyway, word counts . . . after trying to write 4,000 words in one night the other day, I realised that I was probably a bit optimistic about getting this novel written . . .
But, it's been a good month . . . because I've got a feel for what's involved . . . and next year . . . well, next year, I think I'll give it a damn good try and see if I can drag even more people along with me than I have this time around.
And I'm still going to keep writing up until holiday time because something is definitely better than nothing.
Speaking of holidays . . . we have this big calendar at work where you write down when you're going away on holidays.
I marked off the two weeks form 22nd November onwards and labelled it "Matt's Ring Cycle Expedition". I didn't realise that I'd caused such confusion.
Several people have asked me if I'm going away for a bicycle tour.
I think I've finally laid that rumour to rest, but it took a while.
Anyway, I shall blog more of Rings and things on the Art's page . . . (Not today, though . . .)
Goal-setting . . . I sat down and wrote out exactly what I've got to do to get from where I am now on the novel to 50,000 words before I go away on holiday.
I'm on 10,000 words at the moment (well, just short of it, but something like that) and to get to 50,000:
Wednesday, 10 Nov: 4,000 words
Thursday, 11 Nov: 1,000 words (because of Bible study, not much time)
Friday, 12 Nov: 1,000 words (because of Youth Group, not much time)
Saturday, 13 Nov: 8,000 words
Sunday, 14 Nov: 4,000 words
Monday, 15 Nov: 4,000 words
Tuesday, 16 Nov: 4,000 words
Wednesday, 17 Nov: 1,000 words (because I've got Interweave on that night)
Thursday, 18 Nov: 1,000 words (Bible study again)
Friday, 19 Nov: 1,000 words (PY again)
Saturday, 20 Nov: 8,000 words
Sunday, 21 Nov: 3,000 words
Honestly . . . can this be done?? If I get 1,000 words written in a night, it's a good night.
Can this really be done?
And so the great mad spiral begins . . .
How are we all doing out there anyway?
Writing novels makes you tired. I'm only up to 3,000 words (This writing on weeknights is a bit of a killer.) And each morning it's getting harder and harder to get out of bed.
But it's fun, isn't it??
Now . . . guidance . . . we started an interesting Bible study last night. We're looking at "Where To, Lord?", the first Matthias Media Bible Study to have a DVD come with it. (Featuring, Tony "Watch-Me-Swivel-In-My-Chair-As-I-Read-The-Autocue" Payne and possibly the world's most boring bass tune.) Anyway, all that aside, it really has got me thinking.
The study is kind of challenging me to think in terms of making all my decisions in line with the purpose God has created me for. That might not make decision-making any easier, but do you have any idea how many decisions I make without even thinking about God?? Like, I've just automatically divided stuff up into "Big Things That I Should Ask God About" and "Little Things That I'll Do By Myself". However, that little things category takes up the majority of my time.
So I'm having a bit of a re-think.
Interrupting my re-thinking this morning, was a Ya Pear. Have you ever tried these? Rach and I bought some in Woolworths Rockdale the other day to be different. Now, you would think that a pear is a pear. Well, no. They only vaguely look like pears (they're all white/cream on the outside), and they taste . . . well, they taste pretty blah, to tell you the truth.
Have I just got a bad one, or are Ya Pears really just some weird genetic mutation designed to take anything fun out of pairs?
Anyway, back to work . . . I'm trying to stay alert enough to make it through PY tonight.
For those of you who suffer from writer's block take a break and pop some bubble-wrap.
And for those of you who need therapy but can't afford it pop bubble-wrap...it's much more cost effective! ;)
I surprised myself . . . I wrote 2000 words in two days! (Not at all fast enough to win NaNoWriMo, but hey, look, it was a surprise for me.) I haven't written like this since I was 15 . . . different story altogether, though.
I haven't posted my novel up anywhere yet because there's not really enough of it to make a coherent story. Yet. (I'm kind of writing it out of order as well, just to keep the writing going . . . I'll try to put some up soon.)
However, do any of the budding novel-writers from St Giles (you know who you are . . .) want to get together to share author-read drafts on the weekend? No criticsm or feedback (unless asked for), no pressure. Just the fun of having an audience. (If this gets a completely resounding "no", I'll drop the idea . . . but, hey, it would be something different.)
The basic gist of what I'm writing about, anyway, is something to do with Wagner. (See Matt's Arts page, where I'll talk a little about Wagner.) I think I wanted to throw time travel and Chinese martial arts in there, but I'm not sure quite how to do it. We'll see how it goes.
Anyway, keep it up, everyone!
Well, Matt is roaring along with his novel. According to him he is now over the 2,000 word mark...or 4% along the way. Quite impressive start...However, he says he's only just starting which makes sense considering he's going for 50K! Anyway, I'm sure he'll talk about this enough as it is.
On the driving front we are going to have to live with each other. Matt does have an uncanny knack for not giving his passengers the feeling of security that yellow light means he'll stop and so you brace yourself for the feeling of no stomach as he speeds up and goes through or the feeling of getting your stomach back as he's hit the accelerator to start going through only to decide 2 metres before the while line that no he'd better stop and so you get whiplash.... ;) Just teasing. It is such a blessing having a car to drive around in. I'm becoming quite spoiled....and like to avoid public transport!
Lol...
Book recommendation: You all have to go check out a Bill Bryson book from the library and have a read. However, if you don't have a sarcastic sense of humour don't bother you possibly won't like it. Bill Bryson writes travel books in which he basically spends the time bagging out the country/language he's writing about. So, far I've enjoyed
Notes from a Big Country,
Notes from a Small Island and am not far off starting
Down Under So that's America, UK and Australia. He's a well travelled fellow. And he keeps you in stitches in the most inappropriate places....so DON'T take one of his books to a funeral....totally inappropriate place to be stifling giggles.
Now, to finish up this post I would like to inform the viewers of this blog and commenters that should they encounter a certain lady called "Rachel Hodge" posting in the comment areas of this blog it is
NOT me....it is my Sister-In-Law who was born in the same year as me but is actually 9 months older than me, is studying law at university, is un-married (thus the name mix-up) and will post crazy things at the drop of a hat.
IN FACT the only time you know it's me in the comment section is if I've posted as "Rach" or as I will do from now on as "Rach Hodge II" which is the original Rachel Hodge's nickname given to me since June 7th 2003. So, I apologize most profusely to any and all people's confused by this name-muddle but it was rather amusing....
Well, well, well, 15 comments on one post? That's my best effort yet . . .
For those who wanted to know, I DID sign up to NaNoWriMo . . . I think it's the fact that when you tell someone else to sign up, it issues a challenge to you. If the email arrived and said, "Invitation" to write a novel, you'd say, "Nuh! Too busy." But because it's a CHALLENGE . . . that's a different kettle of fish.
It's the equivalent of having someone send you an email that say, "Hey, you loser!! You can't write a novel! You can't do it, because you're a wuss and you've got no ideas! You're too scared to start because you're S-T-U-P-I-D."
So what do you do? You click the button, join up and start writing . . .
Well, I will start writing as soon as I get home from work . . . Rachel, be warned . . .
I also had fun challenging other people to write a novel. So we have Mr Lucas Gillman signed up as well. This could make for a fun month . . .
Now, as for driving . . . let's be honest now . . . who runs into things when you drive? My wife and I . . . actually, hold on a minute . . . Dave Phillips, if you're reading this, this is the bit where you shut down this window, go get yourself a coffee and come back in a month when this post has disappeared . . .
Are you gone yet?
Good.
Yeah, my wife and I keep running into things. And getting into fights over it.
we'll be going round a sharp corner and BUMP . . . Rachel will be banging the kerb on the way round. I'll say something like, "Hey, watch out for the corner. We've got to look after the car." Which doesn't get the best response from Rach, but hey, she's scraping the car, you know what I mean?
This was all well and good for the last couple of months, because she was the one bumping into things, and I was scot-free on that particular column of the checklist. Orange lights and deciding whether or not to brake was a different kettle of fish, but hey, nobody told me in driving school that I had to announce to all passengers in the car whether I was going to stop or keep driving when I saw an orange light. A bit of variety makes life more interesting, I say. I mean, one day, my car might be hijacked by some dude with a gun and I can slam on the brakes suddenly and send him through the front windscreen because of all the practice I've had . . .
But I'm getting off topic.
Anyway, yesterday, I managed to run our car up against this little brick garden thing we've got next to the driveway. Rach just gave me The Look and we've pretty much agreed that we'll live with each other's imperfections when it comes to driving . . .
And we'll both try to watch out for corners . . .
