Tuesday, February 20, 2007
IN THE WHITE ROOM, WITH BLACK CURTAINS..........
It's taken me this long to get over the Black & White party and actually get my poo sorted enough to post something that's make sense to anyone who's not a gibbering mess.
As anyone knows, gibbering messes can actually communicate using body language and a variety of grunts and whoops that can only be comprehended by beings in a similar state,
I imagine prehistoric cavemen conveyed their thoughts in similar fashion.
In short, there was no point posting until such time as I could put vowels and consonants together in a manner which constructed actual words in the English language.
Saturday arvo was spent cleaning up one of the housemate's ( notable by his absence for the duration of the party ) Friday night mess in order to prepare for the B&W party that night.
Afterwards Gemma's mate Simon turned up in his trusty Subaru wagon, which spewed forth a wonderful array of lighting equipment, power leads, scaffolding, fog machines, etc.
All this set up in 36 degree heat was not a hell of a lot of fun and by the time it was done, Gemma, her sister and I felt the afternoons exertions warranted some downtime in order to recuperate enough for the night's festivities.
The Black room
The White room.
Daylight was fading fast as the soon to be gibbering messes started turning up.
The barbecue produced burnt sausage offerings to the party gods.
The smoke machine produced smoke, which in turn produced many enquiries from guests as to which part of the house was alight.
I spent a fair amount if time explaining to people that there was no emergency, the fire plan did not need to be implemented as it was just the fog machine doing its thing.
Bec, Alicja and some Amazon in white whom I'd never met.
Gemma and I conferring on something I can't remember.
My hospital roomy Mark and my old manager form work Scotty ( now resigned ).
Bones and Geoff L.
The stereo played music until the wee hours of the morning when one of the neighbours arrived to inform us that the police had been contacted, but couldn't attend due to some accident and she would like us to turn off the music all together.
I could not see the sense in turning off the audio entertainment as there were still people partying, so I offered to turn it down dramatically.
She demanded we turn it off, and I insisted that we refuse to, but will reduce the volume level.
She left, we partied on.
Problem solved as far as I was concerned.
I really don't know what her problem was, the chickens offered absolutely no protest and looked quite ok when they ventured out of their coop in the morning.
As with any other soirée at Casa del Pollo Polvoriento ( House of the Dusty Chicken to the Hispanically challenged ) the party ended up on the 'one tree hillock formerly known as two tree hillock'.
This is a strange mound in the backyard, which like the many mounds found in Europe has bewildered scholars and lay folk as to its origins and purpose.
Like those ancient protuberances, the hillock draws people to itself by some mysterious attraction that to this day remains unexplained.
The few gibbering messes left at the end of the festivities clung to this high ground and watched the twilight turn to sunrise over the chicken coop.
I do remember trying to convince people that opening a bottle of untried red wine was a good idea and eventually Simon the Brave and Mimo ( I think that was his name ) the Foetally Shaped but Venturesome joined me in the slow and gradual emptying of the rather cheeky little merlot.
I really don't know if it was any good as my palate was somewhat polluted by that stage, but we did finish the bottle.
One of my mate's ( who shall remain nameless to protect his identity) claimed it was a little too cheeky and refused to continue with the emptying of his vessel, but I don't trust his judgment as his palate is permanently polluted by grape products ( and I use the term very loosely ) emenating from le château de carton.
The hillock, even during the party the attraction was undeniable.
And thus ended the B&W party at Clarence Street.
The cleanup is still going on, although at least all the empties are now residing in 3 large bins and not all around the house and yard. ( it was 38 degrees on Sunday after all )
I dare say Friends of the Earth would probably have kittens if they saw the backyard on Sunday morning.
I nearly rang up physio on Monday morning to say I won't be in, but due to the orthotist being booked for 9 a.m. I felt it would be rather rude.
Was a good thing I went in the end as I was able to float face down in the pool for a while until the need for oxygen disrupted my relaxed and sensory deprived state.
I tried sitting at the bottom for a while, but the lungs kept screaming out for more air.
In the end I floated around on my back, not unlike a Bondi cigar really except less smelly.
.
As anyone knows, gibbering messes can actually communicate using body language and a variety of grunts and whoops that can only be comprehended by beings in a similar state,
I imagine prehistoric cavemen conveyed their thoughts in similar fashion.
In short, there was no point posting until such time as I could put vowels and consonants together in a manner which constructed actual words in the English language.
Saturday arvo was spent cleaning up one of the housemate's ( notable by his absence for the duration of the party ) Friday night mess in order to prepare for the B&W party that night.
Afterwards Gemma's mate Simon turned up in his trusty Subaru wagon, which spewed forth a wonderful array of lighting equipment, power leads, scaffolding, fog machines, etc.
All this set up in 36 degree heat was not a hell of a lot of fun and by the time it was done, Gemma, her sister and I felt the afternoons exertions warranted some downtime in order to recuperate enough for the night's festivities.
The Black room
The White room.The barbecue produced burnt sausage offerings to the party gods.
The smoke machine produced smoke, which in turn produced many enquiries from guests as to which part of the house was alight.
I spent a fair amount if time explaining to people that there was no emergency, the fire plan did not need to be implemented as it was just the fog machine doing its thing.
Bec, Alicja and some Amazon in white whom I'd never met.
Gemma and I conferring on something I can't remember.
My hospital roomy Mark and my old manager form work Scotty ( now resigned ).
Bones and Geoff L.
The stereo played music until the wee hours of the morning when one of the neighbours arrived to inform us that the police had been contacted, but couldn't attend due to some accident and she would like us to turn off the music all together.
I could not see the sense in turning off the audio entertainment as there were still people partying, so I offered to turn it down dramatically.
She demanded we turn it off, and I insisted that we refuse to, but will reduce the volume level.
She left, we partied on.
Problem solved as far as I was concerned.
I really don't know what her problem was, the chickens offered absolutely no protest and looked quite ok when they ventured out of their coop in the morning.
As with any other soirée at Casa del Pollo Polvoriento ( House of the Dusty Chicken to the Hispanically challenged ) the party ended up on the 'one tree hillock formerly known as two tree hillock'.
This is a strange mound in the backyard, which like the many mounds found in Europe has bewildered scholars and lay folk as to its origins and purpose.
Like those ancient protuberances, the hillock draws people to itself by some mysterious attraction that to this day remains unexplained.
The few gibbering messes left at the end of the festivities clung to this high ground and watched the twilight turn to sunrise over the chicken coop.
I do remember trying to convince people that opening a bottle of untried red wine was a good idea and eventually Simon the Brave and Mimo ( I think that was his name ) the Foetally Shaped but Venturesome joined me in the slow and gradual emptying of the rather cheeky little merlot.
I really don't know if it was any good as my palate was somewhat polluted by that stage, but we did finish the bottle.
One of my mate's ( who shall remain nameless to protect his identity) claimed it was a little too cheeky and refused to continue with the emptying of his vessel, but I don't trust his judgment as his palate is permanently polluted by grape products ( and I use the term very loosely ) emenating from le château de carton.
The hillock, even during the party the attraction was undeniable.And thus ended the B&W party at Clarence Street.
The cleanup is still going on, although at least all the empties are now residing in 3 large bins and not all around the house and yard. ( it was 38 degrees on Sunday after all )
I dare say Friends of the Earth would probably have kittens if they saw the backyard on Sunday morning.
I nearly rang up physio on Monday morning to say I won't be in, but due to the orthotist being booked for 9 a.m. I felt it would be rather rude.
Was a good thing I went in the end as I was able to float face down in the pool for a while until the need for oxygen disrupted my relaxed and sensory deprived state.
I tried sitting at the bottom for a while, but the lungs kept screaming out for more air.
In the end I floated around on my back, not unlike a Bondi cigar really except less smelly.
.
