Naval gazing and heroes amazing

So I went for a long walk in the city this weekend. I was checking out the new neighbourhood. Apparently it is a rarity in that it houses really rich people, very average people and some high falutin’ types. Apparently I am only a few blocks from Russell Crowe’s house, but one block from rent controlled low income folk. There’s also a bunch of areas where homeless people sleep at night. It is neat to see homeless walking step in step down the street with their well heeled neighbours, everyone ignoring each other cordially. So I had a pleasant walk around the wharf, and saw a huge naval frigate docked. Up in the cabins there were people partying, complete with loud screaming and music. On the main deck there was a poor schlub sailor who evidently wasn’t invited to the party. He looked a little glum, and of course had to spend his night watch listening to the sound of revelry from up in the officer’s areas. As I walked, this racing motorcycle came around a tight corner and lost his line, ended up sliding past me on his side. I don’t know what it’s called when your tire slips out from under you, but I know when you’re skiing and you lose your edge, it is pretty unpleasant Anyway, I looked on with horror and got ready to help the guy if his torso had turned into hamburger (actually here, it would be called minced beef), but he just got up and surveyed the damage, brushed himself off and tore away. He didn’t even look up to acknowledge my concern. I kept walking along these swanky looking pubs. I noticed that while the clientele all were wearing tight jeans with pointy white shoes, the bouncers had a little more concern for the functionality of their footwear. They were wearing pretty sensible looking boots and shoes, presumably the better for fighting. I know I have often considered the pickle I would be in if I were to find myself in a compromised situation having to fight my way out of a jam wearing flip flops. I walked past the Romanian consulate and then sat down on a bench intent on considering the bats flying overhead. Bats are so cool, and because they’re black, they are really hard to see well. Any bats that I’ve seen before Sydney have been small and frantic, kind of like sparrows, but the bats here are big and graceful, like hawks. They soar overhead silently and are just generally neat. The shadowy nature of the bat had me thinking about superheroes, and how the creators of Batman really hit the nail on the head having this guy clothed in mystery, able to hide in the shadows and soar through the sky (and when they pass the moon, their silhouette makes that cool shape). Although, I never quite understood how they managed to get the bat signal to show up on the sky as it was being projected onto a screen. It strikes me that without anything to terminate the light beam it would just beam into space and you would never really be able to make it out, and of course it could be stopped by hitting a cloud, but then it would only light up that cloud. And come to think of it, I would guess that diffraction effects would serve to blur the edges of the signal.
Anyway, I think bats are really neat to watch, especially because you can never really get a good image of them, sort of like knowing a person: you may watch them and think you see them; you may see glimpses of beauty and glimpses of ugliness but you’ll never see the whole picture. But I digress. Thinking about superheroes reminds me of when my friend Dave went to Manhattan and said it became clear to him how the creators of Spiderman could conceive of a guy making time by swinging on the skyscrapers overhead. If you don’t have a vast expanse of skyscrapers, it doesn’t make sense, but here of course it does. I don’t really see any easily observable crime though, so Spidey might have to resort to Head and Shoulders to get that tingling feeling.

Gold watch, diamond ring, I ain’t missing a single thing

So I have to wear dress clothes to work for the first time since 2001. The jobs I have had since then have all involved casual attire, and I never felt that my productivity was compromised by the lack of a collar on my shirt. I even had a disagreement with my boss those many years ago about professionalism. It is my contention that my ability to think and be a general computer drone is independent of the crease in my pants, or I suppose the material therein. Anyway, now that I am working downtown it is expected that I wear dress pants, shoes and shirts; though apparently no one wears ties here, because “it’s too hot for ties”. So I dusted off my various dressy items and am wearing them to work.

The fascinating thing that demands cultural adjustment is the subtleties of fashion. I have no idea if I am in fashion or out, or rather, it is clear that I am not at the pinnacle of the aesthete but I don’t know how far down the hill I am. In my life in Saskatoon I have a pretty clear understanding of where I conform to good style and more appropriately, where I don’t; but the point is that I know. The examples that I have before me are my colleagues in the office. They all wear tight pinstriped pants, flashy open necked shirts with French cuffs and long pointy shoes, sometimes in the form of boots. I have been to the shoe store but I still can’t get into the idea of wearing pointy toed shoes. I feel that I would look like the Iron Sheik, and being a Hulkamaniac, I can’t endorse that. Notwithstanding the fact that I would trip on the stairs everywhere I went. When I look at my coworker I can’t help but think he looks like a dandy. Sort of like a business version of Prince in Purple Rain (mostly the boots). Perhaps in time I will come to look at this style favourably, but for now it feels off. When my brother moved to Vancouver he left behind a shiny shirt from his days as a bartender doing the hippy hippy shake at the happening night spot, the Odeon. I once wore it in Saskatoon and felt that it was a little too shiny and took it off. Here though, I have adopted the shiny shirt and feel that most likely it is not unfashionable. My square toed dressy loafers are a little square, I’m sure, but I will stick with them until I feel I know the cultural terrain a little better. I am still on the lookout for a nice Gordon Gartrell though.

Me without my brolly

So as I was getting ready for work yesterday I looked out the window and noticed a terrible downpour. Now in my life in Saskatoon, I have never owned an umbrella, rather settling for the efficiency of a rain jacket, typically of the GoreTex variety. My MEC jacket I have owned for about 8 years and though I like it, it is starting to wear. Also it is heavy and bulky as GoreTex jackets go (3 ply, don’t you know), so I didn’t bring it with me to Australia. As such, I have no rain jacket to wear here. I had to entirely revamp my attire for the walk: I dressed in my normal trekking clothes, with a softshell jacket and my Tilley hat, with my dress up duds in my bag. The entire walk to work turned out to be a mild drizzle at best and when I got to work I was soaked with sweat rather than rain. I changed and the day was fine, but in a hurry to get back I didn’t change back into my trekking togs. Naturally I got soaked on the way home. Now I don’t know if I should bite the bullet and buy an umbrella or if I should buy a new rain slicker. I don’t know the first thing about them: in my memory cheap ones end up looking like a newborn giraffe fairly quickly, and expensive ones can get pretty darn expensive. As such I am in an umbrella dilemma. If only there was some popular song that I could reference to bring this point home. Alas. Luckily my boss walked by and asked if I owned a brolly. Only by context could I figure out that one. I am now the proud user of a loaner “shelta” brand brolly.