poetry in commotion...

3l1te?

"It's not a cock you faggots, stop stroking it". I was pimping a grey woolen scarf on a very cold saturday night, and like every night I wore that scarf, people were entranced by it.  Every now and then one of the boys would reach out and stroke it ever so gently, or yank on it while I was in mid-sentence. Guys in the bar eyed me with suspicion as I eyed them back with feigned casual indifference, while inside I'm wondering whether we're going to rumble.  Perth is not ready for my sartorial revolution. In truth, I never adjusted to the cold here in Perth despite my long years of residence - I shiver in cool breezes on hot summer nights, and inevitably find excuses to wear long sleeves, rolled up, just in case.

Saturday night found me in the Brisbane yet again, this time for Kel's birthday bash.  Peter and I idly wandered in, looking around for familiar faces.  Brisbane is the new Steve's - everyone seems to be there. I looked at a vaguely familiar girl, subconsciously noticing the two blonde girls at the corner of my eye had stopped suddenly.  I looked around to see Jess staring at me with a somewhat stunned expression.  I choose to believe I took her breath away.  It must've been the scarf.

Jess is a pretty blonde physiotherapist (and serial facebook-ist) I got to know quite serendipitously through circumstances that remain quite unclear to me even to this day.  I find her to be quite engaging, intelligent and charming, despite her propensity to, at times, offend.  Also, she let me check out her rack.  Well, she probably didn't, but I did it anyway. I'd like to think she thinks the same of me, especially the 'pretty blonde' part, but regardless she continues to speak to me, via not-so-carefully-concealed verbal barbs and insults. 

We were discussing things she knows about me, narcissistic person that I am, - who my favourite poet was (Rudyard Kipling!) - when she uttered these devastating words:

"I'd say Browning, but that's probably too mainstream for you".

What? What! What is this perception that I am some sort of hipper-than-thou elitist? I carefully considered this as I sipped my expensive imported green tea (made to smell like strawberries) while listening to indie classics toy-rockers Pianosaurus. 

I'm not so much of an elitist am I? Ok, so I listen to indie bands no one has heard of, but the last time I turned on the radio Pink was singing  words like "Let me tell you 'bout hard work, minimum wage with a baby on the way".  Puh-lease, because Pink of all people would know about hard work, sleeping in her million dollar mansion on sheets of finest Egyptian cotton after two hours dancing around on stage singing cash-in crapola like that song. 

Ok, I also have a deep passion for indie/foreign films.  But I did watch Bourne Ultimatum.  Does that count for naught?  Speaking of which, I'm really looking forward to Rocket Science, and wholeheartedly urge everyone to check it out also.

As for books, admittedly I'm reading Nietzsche and my disdain for Dan Brown and the Da Vinci Code is a matter of public record - but I love Harry Potter.

Fashion wise I wouuldn't call myself elitist - while I hold a disdain for the the "nonsensical tshirt-with-fictional-team-name-followed-by-numbers ("Mossimo Tuckyville Raiders 1985") and jeans with white sneakers in the middle of winter" look, but what I wear isn't so esoteric. Except the scarf.  It's day will come, I assure you.

I also prefer the Financial Review and The Australian over the West Australian (When I buy the paper I expect a certain level of journalistic integrity), despise main station current affairs programs (ACA, Today Tonight, 60 Minutes) and find reality tv vapid and brain cell destroying. But who doesn't?!

So, conclusion? Not elitist.

Here's a photo of the birthday girl and me at the Brisbane! (Kindly provided by her). 

posted by jaseypoo! @ 9:30 PM