Mt Donna Buang
A foggy drive north-east of Melbourne to the town of Warbuton at the base of Mt Donna Buang. We drive passed Richard resting on a park bench. It looked as thought his ride from Lillydale was tougher than usual.
We delay our ride to appreciate our heroes from wars past and present. Our helmets removed we clap as they pass by. My arms get goose bumps as a frail, old digger refuses a chair and a trumpet plays The Last Post.
Our ascent is leisurely but only just. After a while I catch up to Melissa. Cockily I expect her to be out of breath and reluctant to make conversation. She tells me that she likes the ferns that line the road and is pushing a gear 3 higher than I am. She is making a mockery of this ride.
We all have bad days on the bike and after nearly two years of regularly riding with Richard I finally get to see him have one. Haha! Am I unsporting, vindictive or both? Possibly. However most cyclists will understand where I am coming from.
After 20 minutes enjoying the view we descend into the freezing cold air, darting in and out of the indifferent sun. My bike was shaking and for a moment I suspected brake problems only to realise it was me… not my bike.
A couple of meat pies and a kiss from the lukewarm sun moves the numbness from my muscles to my brain. Coffee is needed for the drive home. I purchase a round of 3 for $10.50. Has the price of coffee been linked to the price of petroleum?
Now I am sitting in front of this computer. I want to go for another ride.
Watch the weirdo
A good mate of mine is an actor. A very fine actor who I have had the pleasure of seeing on stage and screen.
Here is his latest work. It might make you blush.
What will you give this one David?
This is exceptional work Margaret. I’ll give this one 5 stars.
I agree David. 5 stars from me too. But only cause I could see his cock and balls.
Making up numbers
I don’t actually have anything to say but Ben has beed critical of my lack of posts.
I like spectacular theatre of Autumn, a final colourful act before the curtain falls for Winter and we all shuffle listlessly out of our seats and back to our homes.
Introducing…
Hi. My name is Jerome Moscicki and this is my first contribution to a Blog. I feel wierd because I have spent the last four years excercising marked disdain for the concept and its participants. For reasons unknown, I now feel the urge to express opinions in a public forum that doesn’t lead to the eventual loss of my voice. It was interesting timing then, when Ben told me about this Blog.
I am going to begin with a gripe (undoubtedly the first of many). It’s actually more of a question.
I am a regular commuter on Melbourne’s public transport system. Don’t worry, this isn’t a rant about the inadequacy of the ticketing system or the ignorant and boorish mentality of its enforcers. That will be a drawn out post that I will save for later. The question I wish to ask is the following:
Why are there no bins at tram stops?
I don’t catch buses but I’m pretty sure that bins are scarce there aswell. It seems ludicrous to me that we are pressured into a state of public responsibility about our environment yet we are not provided with the simple convenience that would expediate its practice. This is fundamentally wrong. I can accept no argument about the cost of instalation and maintainance as I’m sure on a yearly basis there are many major expenditures that are useless yet given more priority.
If you are searching for an example you need look no further than the cost of changing the logos on letterhead for Cranbourne when it went from being a council to a city (for the blink of an eye) before being usurped by a larger council.
Nonsense tastes bad.
I am off to TAFE: Thanks Babs
I am still obsessing about a fab artist Barbara Hepworth. And my favourite colour is red.
This is a three-colour registration exercise produced using a paper stencil.
Thanks, Babs.
I am off to TAFE: Making marks
A lot of art is making marks (on canvas, paper, fabric) in different colours, combinations, directions, mediums and with varying effect. We have been playing around with monoprinting at school – inking a plate and placing objects (fly screen, leaves, corrugated cardboard, lace etc) between the block and paper etc.
Here’s what I came up with:
I am off to TAFE: Learning to see
I think I have talked before about adult inhibitions when wielding a pencil/stick of charcoal/drawing implement. I am doing a Drawing class that essentially is about teaching us to see (and try to replicate it reasonably accurately on paper).
Hah! I hear you say, I can see just fine, thanks. Reach out for door handle, open and pass through, admire coat on person infront, shovel coins in ticket machine, pick up takeaway coffee cup, look at watch – see; all done without thinking (every day).
But what are you really seeing – what is the shape of the outline of that cup, what exact shade of red is the coat, what’s the detail on the door, the font face of the numbers on your watch? We are all in autopilot and so familiar with our routine that we don’t see a lot of the detail. And trying to replicate it on paper is quite tricky.
Anyway, here’s one of my attempts at drawing a still life in class. One of the better results - the crappy ones will never see the light of day.
Poor Yorrick
The streets are galleries
The dust has cleared and athletes, gardeners and moto-maddies have handed Melbourne back to the locals. I spent the Commonwealth Games either interstate or wandering around looking at the festival freebies. And feeling glad that the law-makers with their extraordinary measures to make Melbourne as palatable as possible for overseas viewers had not managed to deter guys with spray cans with something to say.
I have started collecting some graffiti art:
High tide
Greener pastures
Cryptic suggestion
Horsin’ around
Uranus has a blue ring
Astronomers have discovered that Uranus has a blue ring - only the second found in the Solar System.
Hell of the north
Tomorrow the most insane bike race in the world is on - The Paris-Roubaix or Hell of the North as it is affectionately known.
Basically around 200 professional road cyclists ride 260kms around Northern France and Belgium. The weather is usually dreadful and a good portion of the ride is over bone jarring cobblestones that are often covered with water and mud. Punctures are frequent and so are stacks.
The men who compete in this race are tough, brave and completely insane.
Will anyone get near Tom Boonen? No! Will anyone get near him in July for the Maillot vert? No!
Australia’s Allan Davis enjoying a cobblstoned section of last years Paris Roubaix.