23 September, 2006
Eatability
Why don't they have a classy restaurant at Sydney Airport? It would be a reprieve from aeroplane food, a good place to stop for people in transit or a hearty last meal before a loved one flew off. It would be popular with exec types who don't want to line up with the plebs in the food court or choose from the plethora of same-same cafes. The food would need to have a quick turnaround time and diners could save money off airport parking (if they drove in). I think a classy restaurant could earn heaps of money. And it would be a nice place to take someone and be assured that they won't miss their flight.
It's Saturday
Dream: Sharing a single bed with my lesbian lover.
Reading: Sydney Morning Herald
Previous: 1984, George Orwell
Listening: If I'm Choking, Make a Scene, The Scare
Previous: Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go, WHAM!
Browsing: n/a
Previous: www.witmol.com
Thinking: about the nature of popularity. Would I consider myself popular? Do I want to be popular?
Previous: I hope my bra strap doesn't snap at tonight's prenuptial gathering of female persons.
To do: update 'witmol.com'. Do tax return. Sort photos for Northern Exposure travel journal.
Reading: Sydney Morning Herald
Previous: 1984, George Orwell
Listening: If I'm Choking, Make a Scene, The Scare
Previous: Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go, WHAM!
Browsing: n/a
Previous: www.witmol.com
Thinking: about the nature of popularity. Would I consider myself popular? Do I want to be popular?
Previous: I hope my bra strap doesn't snap at tonight's prenuptial gathering of female persons.
To do: update 'witmol.com'. Do tax return. Sort photos for Northern Exposure travel journal.
16 September, 2006
Varekai (live show)
Cirque du Soleil
Le Grand Chapiteau, Moore Park (18th August, 2006)
A word of warning about possible bias - ever since Cirque du Soleil toured with 'Saltimbanco' in 1999 I have been fascinated with this troupe but have never managed to scrape together enough money to see a live show. Fortunately, I have a wonderful friend who bought tickets for my birthday, but due to unforeseen circumstances could not attend with me. I took my flatmate Sireesha and we both tiptoed into the tent...
Le Grand Chapiteau (Big Top) is a different world to the evening dark outside. An aura of palpable suspense hangs definitively from the rafters, much like the ropes for the various swings used in the show. From where we sat, a forest of silver-coloured poles populated our left field of vision, while the surprisingly small stage formed most of our right periphery. Unfortunately, there was a balustrade that divided them, unavoidably obstructive, even punctured, as it was, with diamond windows.
The pre-show entertainment ended up being part of the show itself. A comedian and his assistant spent several minutes acting as amusing ushers, using silent, slapstick humour to the laughter of the thickening crowd. Their double act recurred throughout the show to relieve some of the bated breath moments with chuckles, after tension had built during some of the more gasp-worthy scenes (most scenes, actually, but I'll get to that). One of the funniest scenes had the comedian being suave while mouthing the words to 'Ne Me Quitte Pas'. The spotlight moved him around the stage, made him cross the tent, enter the audience, run across the tent, climb a pole and finally, exit the Chapiteau at the end of the song.
The story of Varekai, meaning 'whatever' in gypsy language, is about a winged boy who falls into a forest near the mouth of a volcano, where many strange creatures live. The creatures help the boy recover and scene by scene he explores the community of these colourful characters until he is well enough to return to his homeland. There's isn't so much a plot as a loose story arc around which the scenes and costumes are designed, so I'm not even sure whether I presented that synopsis accurately. Whatever. As they say.
The imagery, however, is stunning. The set, virtually bare to allow the free movement of equipment and performers in and out of the space, flourishes with the teeming acrobats in vivid costumes. Some are comical and expressive, while others are elegant and dynamic. All, impressively, allow the performers to move fluidly side-to-side, around-and-around, upside-down and writhing-on-the-floor, according to their speciality.
The more gasp-worthy acts were airborne, using swings, drapes and ropes in various combinations. My favourite was a pair of acrobats with one rope each that circled and intertwined as they came together in formations that only experienced choreography could ever imagine. The human body is an amazing tool and Cirque du Soleil is a place where the body is expressed as art with the skill of the performer as the artist. The beauty is the dignity and dedication of each individual performer to their art and the manifestation of those traits in front of an appreciative audience.
Another to note was the youth act where three boys, aged about six to eight, each twirled a rope holding a bowl at each end. The instrument was twirled in various ways, thrown up and caught across the stage after each boy had executed a series of somersaults and flips across the floor. The impressive thing was not that each boy could do this, but they could do this simultaneously and not bump into each other.
The only act that made me feel weird rather than amazed was the contortionist, who didn't come on until quite late in the show. Her feats were pretty impressive (e.g. balancing, contorted, on a pole with a surface about the size of a hand) but I couldn't help feeling that it was a little bit wrong and couldn't quite shake the feeling.
Luckily, the final act was also the most exhilarating. The performers wheeled in two grounded swings with canoe-shaped pendulums facing the back of the performance space where they'd placed a stage, about 2.5m off the ground with rigged a canvas sail behind it. The acrobats started doing really cool things like swinging and somersaulting onto the platform and tumbling into the canvas sails. Then, when they got tired of that they started doing even cooler things like making a human pyramid on the stage and somersaulting onto that. As if that wasn't enough, they moved the pendulums so they were facing each other and started moving both of them such that an acrobat could somersault off one and land on the other. For the sit-tight-they're-not-really-going-to-do-it-oh-my-god-they-are moment one acrobat on each swing launched himself into the air and landed on the other swinging pendulum. Simultaneously. Without a mid-air collision. I almost bit my nails. You had to be there to believe it.
Needless to say, the troupe received rip-roaring applause that continued for several minutes. It was only then that I realised that the music that had accompanied the scenes had been playing LIVE at the back of the stage (to our far left, in the pole forest), which brings me to the only gripe about the evening. Price. We were sitting in B-reserve, partially obstructed by a balustrade and with a side view. If you wanted to pay $250 for a Tapis Rouge seat (front view), then the show would have given a depth of field that would have enhanced the acts, with the added stimulation of the backdrop. Unfortunately, most of the show played to the front view, which I found rather unfair. Next time, when I'm rich (or lucky enough to win tickets), I'll be sure to sit where there's a front view to get the most out of the experience. For now I think I'm lucky enough to see a Cirque du Soleil production. Too bad I couldn't afford anything in the gift shop either...
Le Grand Chapiteau, Moore Park (18th August, 2006)
A word of warning about possible bias - ever since Cirque du Soleil toured with 'Saltimbanco' in 1999 I have been fascinated with this troupe but have never managed to scrape together enough money to see a live show. Fortunately, I have a wonderful friend who bought tickets for my birthday, but due to unforeseen circumstances could not attend with me. I took my flatmate Sireesha and we both tiptoed into the tent...
Le Grand Chapiteau (Big Top) is a different world to the evening dark outside. An aura of palpable suspense hangs definitively from the rafters, much like the ropes for the various swings used in the show. From where we sat, a forest of silver-coloured poles populated our left field of vision, while the surprisingly small stage formed most of our right periphery. Unfortunately, there was a balustrade that divided them, unavoidably obstructive, even punctured, as it was, with diamond windows.
The pre-show entertainment ended up being part of the show itself. A comedian and his assistant spent several minutes acting as amusing ushers, using silent, slapstick humour to the laughter of the thickening crowd. Their double act recurred throughout the show to relieve some of the bated breath moments with chuckles, after tension had built during some of the more gasp-worthy scenes (most scenes, actually, but I'll get to that). One of the funniest scenes had the comedian being suave while mouthing the words to 'Ne Me Quitte Pas'. The spotlight moved him around the stage, made him cross the tent, enter the audience, run across the tent, climb a pole and finally, exit the Chapiteau at the end of the song.
The story of Varekai, meaning 'whatever' in gypsy language, is about a winged boy who falls into a forest near the mouth of a volcano, where many strange creatures live. The creatures help the boy recover and scene by scene he explores the community of these colourful characters until he is well enough to return to his homeland. There's isn't so much a plot as a loose story arc around which the scenes and costumes are designed, so I'm not even sure whether I presented that synopsis accurately. Whatever. As they say.
The imagery, however, is stunning. The set, virtually bare to allow the free movement of equipment and performers in and out of the space, flourishes with the teeming acrobats in vivid costumes. Some are comical and expressive, while others are elegant and dynamic. All, impressively, allow the performers to move fluidly side-to-side, around-and-around, upside-down and writhing-on-the-floor, according to their speciality.
The more gasp-worthy acts were airborne, using swings, drapes and ropes in various combinations. My favourite was a pair of acrobats with one rope each that circled and intertwined as they came together in formations that only experienced choreography could ever imagine. The human body is an amazing tool and Cirque du Soleil is a place where the body is expressed as art with the skill of the performer as the artist. The beauty is the dignity and dedication of each individual performer to their art and the manifestation of those traits in front of an appreciative audience.
Another to note was the youth act where three boys, aged about six to eight, each twirled a rope holding a bowl at each end. The instrument was twirled in various ways, thrown up and caught across the stage after each boy had executed a series of somersaults and flips across the floor. The impressive thing was not that each boy could do this, but they could do this simultaneously and not bump into each other.
The only act that made me feel weird rather than amazed was the contortionist, who didn't come on until quite late in the show. Her feats were pretty impressive (e.g. balancing, contorted, on a pole with a surface about the size of a hand) but I couldn't help feeling that it was a little bit wrong and couldn't quite shake the feeling.
Luckily, the final act was also the most exhilarating. The performers wheeled in two grounded swings with canoe-shaped pendulums facing the back of the performance space where they'd placed a stage, about 2.5m off the ground with rigged a canvas sail behind it. The acrobats started doing really cool things like swinging and somersaulting onto the platform and tumbling into the canvas sails. Then, when they got tired of that they started doing even cooler things like making a human pyramid on the stage and somersaulting onto that. As if that wasn't enough, they moved the pendulums so they were facing each other and started moving both of them such that an acrobat could somersault off one and land on the other. For the sit-tight-they're-not-really-going-to-do-it-oh-my-god-they-are moment one acrobat on each swing launched himself into the air and landed on the other swinging pendulum. Simultaneously. Without a mid-air collision. I almost bit my nails. You had to be there to believe it.
Needless to say, the troupe received rip-roaring applause that continued for several minutes. It was only then that I realised that the music that had accompanied the scenes had been playing LIVE at the back of the stage (to our far left, in the pole forest), which brings me to the only gripe about the evening. Price. We were sitting in B-reserve, partially obstructed by a balustrade and with a side view. If you wanted to pay $250 for a Tapis Rouge seat (front view), then the show would have given a depth of field that would have enhanced the acts, with the added stimulation of the backdrop. Unfortunately, most of the show played to the front view, which I found rather unfair. Next time, when I'm rich (or lucky enough to win tickets), I'll be sure to sit where there's a front view to get the most out of the experience. For now I think I'm lucky enough to see a Cirque du Soleil production. Too bad I couldn't afford anything in the gift shop either...
02 July, 2006
Theory on Social Energy
Because I'm only a self-identified social philosopher and also not very quick with concepts that may or may not already be apparent to my brainier counterparts, I apologise in advance that it has taken me so damn long to catch onto this. 'This' being an extension of the extravert-introvert philosophy.
The really extroverted people release social energy, no matter where they are or who they meet. My friend Beq is one such person who simply radiates friendly, approachable vibes - whether she's sitting at a bus stop or out at a party. It never seems to matter to her that she doesn't know anyone, she will readily be the glue that holds conversations, however brief, together. That's why she makes such an awesome nurse.
On the other hand, the really introverted people absorb that energy without giving anything back - they are like social energy black holes. No matter how interesting the company, all the vibes are deadened by this type of introvert. They are often vague and distant, even in lively situations. They seem to pass through the world without absorbing any of its flavour.
Most people can control whether they give or take social energy - like sometimes you meet shy people and you think they're introverted but then you get to know them and they are actually quite extroverted. I have plenty of raucous friends who believe they are 'shy', which they mostly are when they meet new people.
In my own experience, depending on the situation, I can be quite aloof, which is my coping mechanism for when I feel out of my depth (e.g. fashion show). Lately I've been practising outward confidence, taking the initiative in meeting people and never mind the small stuff (i.e. cheek-kissing). This works because it allays my discomfort and it provides a new opening for social contact. At the moment the only thing I have real difficulty with is meeting people when they're all already in conversation with someone else. Because I feel rude.
Anyway, most of us can control the level of energy we give or take from a situation. It varies with the setting - on a train, for example, I've conditioned myself to 'switch off' those vibes because train freaks are attracted to me whereas at the pub I might emit more energy.
But the extremes have a problem with turning on or off their energy levels. Beq gets people coming up to her all the time - in supermarkets, at internet cafes etc - to dump their brain all over her personality. She once complained that she must have a neon sign above her head saying 'tell me all your problems'. That lack of privacy and personal space can be exhausting for the radiating extrovert.
At the other extreme, dull people are introverts who can't control their absorption of social energy because they can't seem to return the same level of energy back to the initiator. It's like playing handball - the energy-giver serves and the energy-taker just stands there. If the energy-giver is lucky, the ball will rebound off the energy-taker and giver can keep going. Eventually, though, the giver gets tired of being the only active player and leaves the taker alone. After all, what's the point of investing time and effort on someone who's inert?
A secondary theory, extrapolated from this, is the theory of silence. Silence is comfortable when both parties understand that there is nothing more to say on a subject at that point in time and that another shareable thought will come along soon. The social energy level in a comfortable silence is neutral.
An uncomfortable silence is one where at least one party feels obliged to devote social energy into the moment, even if there is no guarantee of return. It is this 'obligation' of energy that makes the silence uncomfortable. Their decision to break or continue the silence gives or takes social energy to/from the moment, which until that point is neutral.
Comments welcome.
The really extroverted people release social energy, no matter where they are or who they meet. My friend Beq is one such person who simply radiates friendly, approachable vibes - whether she's sitting at a bus stop or out at a party. It never seems to matter to her that she doesn't know anyone, she will readily be the glue that holds conversations, however brief, together. That's why she makes such an awesome nurse.
On the other hand, the really introverted people absorb that energy without giving anything back - they are like social energy black holes. No matter how interesting the company, all the vibes are deadened by this type of introvert. They are often vague and distant, even in lively situations. They seem to pass through the world without absorbing any of its flavour.
Most people can control whether they give or take social energy - like sometimes you meet shy people and you think they're introverted but then you get to know them and they are actually quite extroverted. I have plenty of raucous friends who believe they are 'shy', which they mostly are when they meet new people.
In my own experience, depending on the situation, I can be quite aloof, which is my coping mechanism for when I feel out of my depth (e.g. fashion show). Lately I've been practising outward confidence, taking the initiative in meeting people and never mind the small stuff (i.e. cheek-kissing). This works because it allays my discomfort and it provides a new opening for social contact. At the moment the only thing I have real difficulty with is meeting people when they're all already in conversation with someone else. Because I feel rude.
Anyway, most of us can control the level of energy we give or take from a situation. It varies with the setting - on a train, for example, I've conditioned myself to 'switch off' those vibes because train freaks are attracted to me whereas at the pub I might emit more energy.
But the extremes have a problem with turning on or off their energy levels. Beq gets people coming up to her all the time - in supermarkets, at internet cafes etc - to dump their brain all over her personality. She once complained that she must have a neon sign above her head saying 'tell me all your problems'. That lack of privacy and personal space can be exhausting for the radiating extrovert.
At the other extreme, dull people are introverts who can't control their absorption of social energy because they can't seem to return the same level of energy back to the initiator. It's like playing handball - the energy-giver serves and the energy-taker just stands there. If the energy-giver is lucky, the ball will rebound off the energy-taker and giver can keep going. Eventually, though, the giver gets tired of being the only active player and leaves the taker alone. After all, what's the point of investing time and effort on someone who's inert?
A secondary theory, extrapolated from this, is the theory of silence. Silence is comfortable when both parties understand that there is nothing more to say on a subject at that point in time and that another shareable thought will come along soon. The social energy level in a comfortable silence is neutral.
An uncomfortable silence is one where at least one party feels obliged to devote social energy into the moment, even if there is no guarantee of return. It is this 'obligation' of energy that makes the silence uncomfortable. Their decision to break or continue the silence gives or takes social energy to/from the moment, which until that point is neutral.
Comments welcome.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)