The Rich Live...Better?
Wherein our narrator travels to the most
exclusive beachside community.
It has been a week since I've filed a blog
report. Why? In the early part of this week I was utterly consumed with
preparing the first version of the interim report for AFTRS, staying home on
Tuesday to focus solely on typing up its 3500 words. That made me somewhat
keyboard-weary, and chose to avoid typing up my thoughts thereafter. The report
was presented to the working group in our Thursday meeting, to broad and strong
support. This doesn't necessarily tell me anything, for two reasons: first,
because the people on the interactive WG are already predisposed to like the
report and its radical recommentaions. Second, because Australians are
notoriously lacking in a contentious spirit. Unlike Americans, who might fight
tooth and nail over some point or another, Australians will simply sit back and
go with the flow. Later on, behind your bac, they might be duplicitous, and
sink the work without a trace - but that will come
later.
Today Peter and I will meet with
Malcolm, director of AFTRS and go through this whole goals document and needs
assessment, get his comments and his approval - if approval is to be had. Then
the document will be sent to all the HODs (Heads of Department) at AFTRS, and
that may be when the real fireworks begin. We'll see. If the Australians stay
true to form, there won't be much argument at that point, either. But that lies
in the future.
This weekend I was
finally able to travel up to Palm Beach - the most exclusive and most expensive
of the beach communities along Sydney's northern coast - to visit with my
friend-with-the-brewing-midlife-crisis. He seemed well, actually, ensconced at
home with his children, in an enormous manse that's only a bit more expensive
than my Surry Hills apartment. But then, he's quite the deal-maker, so this is
not as surprising as it sounds. We talked a lot about what I've learned about
Australia and the Australians - he essentially confirmed most of my
observations, and added a number of his own. He doesn't hate Australia, but, on
the whole, he'd rather be somewhere else. Somewhere that people fight and
scratch and are at least a little contentious - which isn't likely to happen
here, at least, no time soon.
It's been
pointed out to me that Australia had no war of revolution - indeed, they shot
down a proposal to break away from the Commonwealth and form a republic back in
2000. They've never had a civil war, nor is one ever likely. They more-or-less
overwhelmed the indigenous residents of the continent (and killed
all
the Tasmanians, with their guns, germs and steel) and set up a fine little
colony, which, like the good son (with America playing the role of rebellious
sibling) grew into a quiet, controlled adulthood, breaking away from the home
only as distance and good sense
demanded.
This is perhaps at least half
the reason why Australians are constantly asking themselves who they are. These
questions are answered - for a period of time, if not definitively - in the heat
of battle, through struggle and labor and toil - against all odds, against
oppression, against an unenlightened parent. But America set the stage for
Australia, and Britain was much more fair with her other English-speaking
colonies (Canada and Australia) over the centuries that followed, allowing them
to form their own confederations. South Africa, with its nasty Boer war, is the
exception which proves this rule.
So I
wonder if the Australians are condemned to their happiness; it may curse them
even more than America's restlessness condemns it to the role of bringer of
light and beacon of freedom. There is no way to break out of this cycle of
happiness, unless, perhaps, someday the Indonesians invade, or the Chinese. But
despite all the xenophobic moments that all Australians must feel from time to
time - I've had a few myself, crowded into a bus full of mainland Chinese on the
way to MacQuarie University in the morning - this seems unlikely. Though
Australia has some natural resources that other nations covet - it's too dry and
barren to be useful to another nation, one which hasn't been quite so throughly
screwed by location and climate.
But
back to Palm Beach. I arrived in mid-afternoon, set to a nice, light lunch with
freely-flowing champagne and pleasant conversation. As the afternoon wore on,
we took the kids down to the beach, down a steep flight of stairs that dropped
perhaps 200 meters to the shore. Palm Beach has a beautiful scallop where the
sea meets the sand - though it's not quite as stunning as Bondi, it's still very
nice - and, further along, rocks and tidal pools and all the beauty that comes
from wave meeting rock. Oh, and rich people. The richest people in Australia -
the Murdochs and the Packers, etc., have or have had houses in Palm Beach.
There's a country club on the beach, the most exclusive in Australia, which only
admits the rich, and only admits Anglos. Probably they'll admit Jews, but
absolutely no Chinese. I figure that policy will last through this generation,
and then some thoroughly Australian-ated soul of Chinese descent will be
admitted as a matter of course. We saw a wedding reception in the country club,
and got treated to the weird and horrific site of rich white people dancing.
Whatever is said about the dance of the white man, it's doubly true for rich
white people, so far from their own rhythms they looked almost like a parody of
the rich.
Then we returned to the house
- after my friend blew out his failing knees on the climb back up the hill - and
watched the Rugby World Cup. I wasn't prepared to enjoy rugby as much as I did.
It's a fast game, seeming to combine the constant action of baskeball with the
rough-and-tumble of football (or "gridiron", as it's known here). We watched
the All Blacks (New Zealand) take on the Springboks (South Africa), the team
everyone loves to hate because they have maybe one African on the team. All the
rest are more-or-less unreconstructed Afrikaaners, with those weird Dutch names
which presumably struck fear into the African populations of South Africa a
generation ago. Fortunately, the Springboks
lost.
***
After
watching the Australians (dreadful uniforms) trounce the Scots (Scotland the
not-quite-as-brave), we sent my friend's oldest child off to bed, and popped in
E Tu Mama
Tambien! (And your mother, too!) , the
groundbreaking Mexican film of 2002, a lurid road-trip tale of a love triangle,
repressed homosexuality, teenage hormones, sex and death. It was brilliant,
beautiful, amazing, and, more than any other film I've ever seen, made me feel
as though I was truly in Mexico.
Which
brings me back to something I forgot to mention. On Saturday morning, before I
headed off to Palm Beach, I went downtown, into Sydney, to Second Skin, which
specializes in custom suits for men. I got fitted, haggled a bit, and picked a
beautiful blue color - near to a sapphire, really - for the suit. It should be
absolutely beautiful when it's finished - I had a DKNY cut ordered. And in some
sweatshop, either here or perhaps in Hong Kong, eager fingers are cutting and
sewing the fabric. Here's the kicker: I spent AUD $1185 for it, just about USD
$900. I've never blown that kind of money on an item of clothing before, and I
hope, when all's said and done, it's worth
it.
We had our meeting with Malcolm
today, and he seems to think we're going in the right direction, so tomorrow,
with a brief cover letter from yours truly, the documents (both the goals and
needs assessment) will sally forth, across the AFTRS email system, into the
unsuspecting hands of all of the HODs and and lecturers. It's a bit like
lobbing a nuclear weapon into a closed room, and it'll be very interesting to
see how it all comes out in the end. Or even, in the
beginning.
Anyway, my friend and I
spent most of our weekend just engaged in pleasant conversation; he reminds me
quite a bit of my mentor, in all the best ways - quick witted, intelligent, able
to hold forth on any number of subjects. But he doesn't drive. He's never had
a license. He can pilot 200-ton tugboats through the most crowded waterways of
the world (he has a license for that) but he can't get behind the wheel of the
car. So, on Sunday afternoon, I trudged down the hill with my bags and fine
parting gifts - some promo materials from
X2,
which he worked on - in the sun and heat. It was finally a beach day (as it is
today, sadly, because it's Monday) and Palm Beach was crowded with folks out
enjoying the day, the surf and the sand. I wanted to go for a swim. But there
was just no way, at least, not with a thousand-dollar computer in tow. I'm just
hoping I'll receive another invitation to visit him, and then I'll spend some of
my time on the beach. Whee!
To change
the subject completely (and abruptly) I think I've decided to give the Atkins'
Diet a try. I've never been a fan of a "fad" diet - I saw my mother try enough
of those in my younger years - but Atkins seems to work, and I am beginning to
suspect that carbohydrates, in the form of grains, cereals and potatoes are an
actual evil, a wrong turn in human cultural evolution. Our diets contained only
very small quantities of these sorts of things until about 10,000 years ago, so
our physiologies aren't evolutionarily adapted to it. And when you consider
that the advent of agriculture led not only to civilization, but to patriarchy
and large-scale warfare (if the William Irwin Thomson view of prehistory is to
be believed) it may be that our diets are due for an archaic revival of sorts.
Plus there was a funny article in Salon last week, "The Hacker's Diet," which
talked of hackers going on Atkins, calling it "Overclocking the Body". Put me
down for that.
Now I just have to get
myself a copy of Dr. Atkins New Diet
Revolution and put myself on the intake
program. We'll see. In a few days I'll know whether or not it works. And from
there, I can decide whether to continue, or put myself on a low-fat diet again.
Though that is not an entirely appealing
prospect.
Oh, and it's been more than
two days since I've had a cigarette. I've been chawing nicorette like it's
going out of style, but who cares! No Smoking!
Swam 400m today. Yay me!
Posted: Mon - November 10, 2003 at 08:35 AM