Old-timey weekend
Ahh, the weekend. The anaesthetists are all over it. I was filled with a long-forgotten euphoria on driving home from work on Friday after my first week in anaesthetics.
Overall a decadent weekend. A couple of night-time bicycle adventures, buying long necks and carrying them in water-bottle holders. At Mel's birthday party on Friday night I managed to tell Sophie Cunningham that I read the first chapter of her book in the bookstore and then didn't buy it. Whoops!! I did like the first chapter.
I watched another episode of my new obsession, 'The Killing'. It is a Danish TV series about the brutal murder of a teenage girl in Copenhagen. Yes, the plot bares a passing resemblance to my favourite TV show, 'Twin Peaks', but in place of Special Agent Dale Cooper is Sarah Lund, CID detective. She is an intriguing character. Clearly the brains of the detective team, she wins the audience's sympathy with her clever sleuthing. However in a side-plot Lund is a terrible parent to her thirteen year old son, who is basically left to fend for himself. This is subversive in that it resembles the the way 'bad fathers' are portrayed on television: understandably distracted from parenting by their important work. Although as Pen pointed out, a father neglecting his son because of work commitments wouldn't feature in a subplot -it wouldn't win screen time at all.
I also discovered Frank Fairfield, an amazing American folk musician who plays old timey music on the banjo and fiddle. He plays his fiddle on his chest (sometimes his stomach!!) and is handsome to boot. Listening to his music reminded me of a year ten school camp in the Victorian high country. At the time I was a bit tired of classical music-I was practising, rehearsing and performing for 15-20 hours a week. On camp we visited a beautiful pub by a creek in the middle of nowhere. Whilst the leaders went in for a beer, we had a hoe-down on the grass by the creek, playing a box-fiddle one of the science teachers had made. Dancing, clapping, taking turns on the fiddle. For the first time in ages I LOVED playing and appreciated my technical facility.
Overall a decadent weekend. A couple of night-time bicycle adventures, buying long necks and carrying them in water-bottle holders. At Mel's birthday party on Friday night I managed to tell Sophie Cunningham that I read the first chapter of her book in the bookstore and then didn't buy it. Whoops!! I did like the first chapter.
I watched another episode of my new obsession, 'The Killing'. It is a Danish TV series about the brutal murder of a teenage girl in Copenhagen. Yes, the plot bares a passing resemblance to my favourite TV show, 'Twin Peaks', but in place of Special Agent Dale Cooper is Sarah Lund, CID detective. She is an intriguing character. Clearly the brains of the detective team, she wins the audience's sympathy with her clever sleuthing. However in a side-plot Lund is a terrible parent to her thirteen year old son, who is basically left to fend for himself. This is subversive in that it resembles the the way 'bad fathers' are portrayed on television: understandably distracted from parenting by their important work. Although as Pen pointed out, a father neglecting his son because of work commitments wouldn't feature in a subplot -it wouldn't win screen time at all.
I also discovered Frank Fairfield, an amazing American folk musician who plays old timey music on the banjo and fiddle. He plays his fiddle on his chest (sometimes his stomach!!) and is handsome to boot. Listening to his music reminded me of a year ten school camp in the Victorian high country. At the time I was a bit tired of classical music-I was practising, rehearsing and performing for 15-20 hours a week. On camp we visited a beautiful pub by a creek in the middle of nowhere. Whilst the leaders went in for a beer, we had a hoe-down on the grass by the creek, playing a box-fiddle one of the science teachers had made. Dancing, clapping, taking turns on the fiddle. For the first time in ages I LOVED playing and appreciated my technical facility.
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