i want a cool rider...

I went to a high school graduation on the weekend. They are never riveting unless you are in fact the one graduating BUT it was interesting just to see how the Americans do it.

Let me set the scene.

Total chaos. There were superb black ladies in white hats dressed for New Orleans Sundays and men so crisp in their red, oversized, jazz clubs suits. Shiny shoes an' all. And the rest it seemed had only just remembered to lace their sneakers. Some credit though for the whiteness of their shoes.

And a procession of bag pipes. They love to think that they are Scottish and Irish over here. I understand that they can lay claim but it amazes me how we turned out. And how they turned out. And a ripple of whispers, 'Do we stand up?' So the room resembled a graveyard. Some tombstones toppled, others half up, half down - 'Oh I just don't know', some standing tall because they knew the national anthem was coming soon.

The most amazing aspect of Americans to me is the fact that - rite of passage or not - most occasions are an open invitation to talk amongst yourselves.

And 1500 people involved in a low murmur is kinda like living inside a substation. Excellent atmosphere for a graduation. And even greater fodder was the fact that the family behind us had brought their two year old. Don't know how to entertain your two year old during a graduation? Bring a portable television! Cartoons are great for keeping them quiet! I am not kidding. Then the kid vomited. Motion sickness?

The talk worked both ways. We had speeches after speeches. And this is not particular to America but high school speeches love a good metaphor. We had the growth of independence and experience from K-12 compared to the evolution of school lunches. We had the importance of failure in success as exemplified by Thomas Edison. We also had Richard Rogers of Rogers and Hammerstein fame thrown in as the graduation was being held on his birthday. This was a good giggle as we had had positive affirmation after 'live your dreams' after 'reach for the stars' and yet this particular speaker decided to conclude with 'Now, none of you will turn out to be Richard Rogers but...'

And then for diploma time. Parents ran to the front of the stage so as to make sure they got the best shots. We were now at a concert with the mosh pit and the whoops and the woo hoos and the screaming and the 'right on, Tahnee' and 'we love you, Kelsi'. American names are excellent. Storm, Shawn, Kiara, Kayleigh. I have been introduced to a Chantelle and then heard, 'Ooo, it is so French.'

So that is about it. We did have one pin-up for a drug overdose at 25. Patrick.
All American baby face.
Captain of the football team.
Head of the Track team.
Outstanding Athlete of the State award.
Top of French, Maths, Science, Social Studies.
Valedictorian. Voice of an angel.
An OD or gay.
But he had so much potential...

bag lady

Excuse me. Do you mind if I ask you a question?
Sure.
Where did you get your handbag?
Oh. Tokyo.
Oh. Ok. Thanks.

Each week someone stops me. On the subway. On the street.
And it is not the ladies asking.

It's the boys.

keys cut

Doing anything Thursday night?
I know a little love who would love to see you see his work...

talk

I think a lot about the drama of this city. It is about talk.

I am not someone who has to talk so I find this a little difficult to take.

Often - and I am not sure if this is because I never take public transport in Sydney - I overhear conversations on the subway which are not really conversations but more like arguements. At first I thought this was all about a level of communication not innate to Americans. But I think it is much more than this.

More often than not I hear lovers bickering about someone who was meant to meet someone here or there, or someone who was meant to say something, or someone was meant to call someone at some time..and it goes on. And then not just on the subway but on the street. I guess perhaps I am not used to the publicity of all things that seem like private things to me.

And then the other day I picked up a copy of Evelyn Waugh's The Loved Ones. I am reading it on the subway because no reading gets done in the sauna that is my house, let alone the temptation of 1000 plus cable channels. It is about some Englishmen in Hollywood circa 1940s and quite nicely points this out:

"I've never regretted coming away. The climate suits me. They are a very decent, generous lot of people out here and they don't expect you to listen. Always remember that, dear boy. It's the secret of social ease in his country. They talk entirely for their own pleasure. Nothing they say is designed to be heard."

There is much more to said about this...another day.

you gonna get some?

I have never craved green so much in my life.
And space like I want to stretch out my forty metre long arms.
So this evening, like playtime-after-dinner in the best light of dusk I ventured out to find a park near my house.
And I feel like I hit the jackpot..
Not just space. Not just green. But too a hill. Looking down on the old island across the river..
And a little conversation..

'What you doin' here?'
'I live here.'
'This is Ridgewood.' (Ridgewood is the sorta place where if you are not Polish, Puerto Rican or African American you are few and far between. My whiteness > His disbelief)
'Yep.'
'What you doin' afta dis?'
'Going home.'
'You live here?'
'Yesss.'
'You married?'
'Yep.' (for obvious reasons)
'How long?'
'Couple of years.'
'Three?'
'Two.'
'You have a husband and kids?'
'No kids. A husband.'
'No kids?'
'No.'
'But you been married two years?'
'Yeah.'
'You gonna get some?'
'Some day.'
'How old are you?
'27'
'You're young yet. You still got time.'
'Yeah. Thanks.'
'Ok. Seeya.'
'Bye.'