The beach boys were wrong about me
July 30, 2005Byron Bay, NSW, Australia
7:12pm
Hi. Jason here.
A couple of points about the washroom facilities here in Australia.
Being somewhat of a connoisseur, I notice little things about the availability of washrooms and of the quality of their upkeep. With that in mind, I have to give the whole country a double thumbs up. Maybe thumbs up is not the appropriate rating system, maybe a swirling motion with my hand, or even better, a pushing down motion to represent flushing. Speaking of flushing, Australia, and Fiji for that matter, employ the half flush, full flush option for most of their toilets. There are literally two separate buttons with little full circle, half circle symbols. Half flush is for number one, the full flush is well, you get the point. Funny note, while we were in Melbourne I saw a commercial for water conservation extolling the virtue of the half flush. They even had a little motto,…”sometimes the half flush is enough”. What they are telling you, which I am sure you can conclude, but I am going to say it anyway, is that sometimes the mass of your excrement will flush with a simple half flush, instead of the full bodied full flush. I would love to make a mock commercial about the double flush…”when the full flush just won’t do” Or the flush and a half. Or the post Mexican food two-and-a-halfer.
The joke machine is on overload with this one.
My other point is that public bathrooms are commonplace everywhere. Not like the Parks and Recreation heroin holes in Toronto, nor like the cocaine huffing, hobo using washrooms in the financial district. These are fully functional, never once toilet paper lacking, bearable facilities that are conveniently dappled around major cities and in every small town we have ventured through, or stopped at. Yes there is simple graffiti scattered about. No there isn’t readily available towels or electric blow dryers in every location. But all of them give the impression they have been cleaned within the last decade, nor do they smell like a blind and deaf person’s worst nightmare. Sure they don’t smell like your partner’s neck before a Saturday night date, but your nostrils do remain scar free and not afraid to open. I notice these things because between my active system and Hud needing a bathroom the moment his mouth finishes the sentence, public toilets have been visited all along the eastern coast of Australia.
Today was a simple day. Opposed to the complex ones prior to this. We drove fifteen minutes into the hinterland to attend a small farmer’s market in a town called Bangalow. It was quaint, and we bought vine-ripened tomatoes picked that morning, organic strawberries and vegetable samosas and pumpkin donuts from the out of place Indian stall in the fifteen-stall market.
Bangalow is another one of those towns that combine country flavour with small stores selling chutney for $13 a small jar. The people are urban granola, with lots of brown and dark green clothes, wild dirt on their boots, and sparkling clean Mercedes SUV’s. Of course none of these people would place their organic food in plastic bags, tut tut no way, as the premium unleaded drips from their gas tank. Finally a place for Steph’s Gucci sunglasses to feel at home. And this was a small country town. In the middle of nowhere. I think it’s too close to Byron to escape the runaway ideals mixed with money.
After the market we went to a little oasis of a park that Steph took Hud to earlier in the week. A slow moving river, a small waterfall, a great playground with newly laid mulch, benches and picnic tables for watching parents, big boulders and stumps to climb on, and a wooden bridge spanning the waterfall. All open with no clandestine nooks for kids to disappear or hide in. We sat and read as Hud was roped into a pretend game with three other kids where he was actually assigned the role of captain. Hud was still shy and silent, but played along, and ran with them, his little arms pumping in over exaggerated glee. It was nice to watch.
We came home around 12:30 and had a lay out, the brilliantly named lunch of my youth. I cut carrots and celery, put out hummus, salami, ham, leftover green curry chicken, the fresh tomatoes we just bought, heated Turkish bread and the samosas, big glasses of water for Steph and I, glass of milk for Hud. It was tasty. Picking and choosing the flavours. Our own little deli. No pickles though. I have yet to see or taste a good pickle since being away. That’s it, I coming home.
The rest of the day was spent in lethargy. After the interrupted sleep from last night, we kept on waiting for Hud to nap so we could nap as well.
It did not happen so we went to the pool where Hud and I fought and I ended up flicking him in the chest harder then I wanted and made him cry. I went into the frigid pool as punishment.
Steph made a roast beef with carrots and potatoes for dinner. Another successful meal for Ms. White. We started talking about the future again today. It stopped as quickly as it started.
Tonight we are going to play cards or do a puzzle. We bought wine so it should be nice and relaxed. Opposed to the high tension of other nights. Feh. I have never been so in tune to another person in my life.
If we are not careful we maybe just one person when we come home.
Jasph? Steason?
Love to all,
J.
July 30, 2005
Byron Bay, NSW, Australia
7:54am
My sternum hurts. In my eagerness to be awful at surfing, I kept leaping onto the board and smashing my chest down, hollow thud ignored at the time, suffered right now.
Steph’s tailbone hurts as well. Serves her right for falling off because she could actually ride a wave. I kid. I joke. Even with a full day to think about it I am not bitter because Steph was a thousand times better than me at surfing. Of course I did challenge her to a game of one on one yesterday.
And yes I did beat her. 10-9. Moving on.
We laid low in the apartment yesterday morning, as it seems Hud is going through something right now. Last night was even worse as he woke up at 2am and did not fall back to sleep until after four. Its something emotional or he needs to go to the bathroom. He wanted to fully wake up and watch kids shows, or dad’s shows, he didn’t care. We didn’t want that so he kept moving back and forth between our bed and his, just making excuses to stay up. I played bad cop and eventually he fell back asleep in between us. It was creeping up to a point in the morning where my body was telling me I was waking up. Luckily the wave of sleep is easier to catch than a wave of water and I fell back into slumber until about 20 minutes ago.
Yesterday afternoon we did go for a walk to one of the smaller beaches we saw on a previous drive.
We did the tourist thing and stood on the most easterly point of Australia and snapped a couple of shots.
A pod of about 10 bottlenose dolphins were swimming, just beyond the break, about thirty feet from a number of surfers. It is a normal feeding route for them, as they follow smaller fish into the shallower water. The dolphins and the surfers seem to co-exist quite well here. It is quite spectacular to see these random nature offerings. Living near an ocean is such a treat, and at least here in Byron, with their hippie and earthy ideals, they really seem to recognize it. North of here, in Surfer’s Paradise, it is riddled with high rises, and I would imagine the beaches and ocean is just seen as a way to make money. Although admittedly, Byron’s real estate is becoming the hottest ticket in Australia, and it will be a difficult fight to keep it so serene and laid back.
You do notice the weird mixture of Mercedes and BMW’s with backpacker and surfer vans. My guess is some of the hippie and backpackers from the seventies and eighties have said to themselves, when was I at my happiest? Ah yes, the times I spent in Byron when I was 20. So they come back. Come back with money and purchase land or real estate and plant themselves. Problem is I bet that their ideals have changed a little, and they look at the backpackers and smell the sharp tang of the hippies and complain to each other at dinner parties, or in the playground with their young children. The stores here are a mix of new age crystal shops, travel and tour agents, big bars, and small boutique restaurants and cafes. But I bet as time progresses, the boutiquey stuff becomes more viable, as more and more yuppies from Brisbane choose to make Byron either their primary or secondary residence. It will never fade as spot on the backpacker circuit. It will fade as being a true hippie haven though. Just a guess mind you. A feeling if you will.
Last night I made green chicken curry with corn and broccoli. It was good, but the cooking of green curry smells like a foot after it’s been up someone’s bum. It is horrific and almost not worth the great taste. After Steph and I watched the first season of The Office, the BBC series that ran a couple of years ago, and that has since been replicated on North American television.
It is so funny and the writer/creator/star is so good at playing an asshole that is causes serious discomfort just to watch. I highly recommend it.
I am reading my first James Ellroy book. American Tabloid. He is known as one of the best crime writers ever.
So far.
Love to all,
J.
July 29, 2005
Byron Bay, NSW, Australia
9:17am
Steph and I just woke up. Hud still sleeps. I can honestly say with a big toothy smile and a 1950’s wink, what a life!
I am two days behind my journal mostly because I felt good about writing CMSG (that is Cubes Melted, Scotch Gone for those playing at home, my punky attempt a crime novel, that sits at 37 pages, 16,853 words, one ninth finished, I know, I know, pick up the pace, would you get off my back?) also because I had spoken to all of my parents on the phone and did not feel an urgent necessity to place my activities down on screen. It was nice to hear everyone’s voices, however brief. It was also odd to hear they’re voices and then mentally play back all the sticky drama poured out in this very journal. I felt a little uncomfortable and then really had nothing to say. I have said more about my life in the past 77 days then I ever have before to any of them. Or anyone else for that matter. Even the random who may have clicked here by mistake. Hi. How are you. I am Jason. My soul is on the beanbag on the chair in the corner. Care to see it? Scroll down.
Ah shit…do you want a couple of paragraphs from the novel? I will put it in italics so you know it’s not my life.
I live in a part of the city that is just on the edge of the edge. It’s almost becoming too popular with couples in their mid-twenties, and if I sleep for longer than two days, a new restaurant opens up. A restaurant with waiters with goatees. Fuck I hate goatees.
I keep the flat reasonably clean. Surprisingly clean. The thought of someone dropping by is the motivation, which is odd because in the three years I have lived there, no one has dropped by. I have no pets. The tenant upstairs is a pierced nose lesbian who wears black jeans with a chain hanging from her pocket. She says hi like she doesn’t hate me, but wishes she did. The basement apartment is a thin German immigrant who smells like cheese. He just purses his thin lips when he sees me, thinking he is smiling, but looking like, well, a German. We all rarely see each other, and are all very quiet. Barb, the trashy woman that owns the house, loves us so much she has never raised the rent. We pay her in cash every month. Feeding her horse track slot machine habit. She smokes the really long smokes. The 100’s. Looks like a hockey stick hanging from her grouper mouth. She always touches my forearm for two seconds two long. But then she leaves, polyester ass swaying like a pack mule.
Two days ago, Steph took Hud to an under five playgroup, while I slipped off to post, send a bunch of e-mails out to my friends, and to investigate where to stay in Tasmania. I am now a member of Global Gossip, an Internet, and phone card, traveler’s service that employs pert blonde women to try to sell you minutes on your phone card. The girl working this particularly day was wearing low riders so low, that bum cleavage was visible. There should be a better word for bum cleavage. Bumvage? Cleanal? Help me here.
After I was done online, I met Steph and Hud near the surfing school where we were to confirm yesterday’s lesson. She said Hud had fun, but he just concentrated on the toys and not on any of the other 15 kids. The playgroup is every Wednesday so maybe the slow introduction will help start some needed interaction. He has become so shy that he places his hands over his face at the playground when other kids talk to him. Steph did get the skinny on how much taller he his than other kids, and how advanced he is with his words and talking. He will be fine. He is too smart and beautiful not to be.
We had a quick Thai food (there are some benefits about being near a semi-hip town) lunch and then drove to Brunswick Heads, a small town north of Byron. This was a quiet beach town, with ice cream stores and two small cafés. There was a park by a river so we sat and watched Hud on the playground and then we had a quick wrestle on the grass. We walked over a footbridge that spanned the river and it lead us directly to the beach. Another isolated beach that only dog walkers and slackers like us seem to visit. I sat and read, while Steph and Hud went for a jaunt down the beach. A kind of a mom and son tradition. I always look up every five minutes to see where they are, how far away they have walked, or how close they are to coming back.
We piled back in the car and drove back through town and stopped at “the Pass” an infamous surf break right at the head of Byron Bay. The sun was coming down and the last of its hot heat was keeping us, and a number of other strollers and sitters warm. We climbed to a lookout and watched the surfers ride in. There is always at least 20 of them in each location, some riding the big ones, some riding the little ones. We descended and Hud played in the small pools of water that get filled by high tide. Steph sat cross-legged in the sun while I read my book and watched him with casual interest. A few moments later a man, probably about 10 years younger than me, walked towards Hud and I to climb the stairs to the lookout. He was wearing a floppy golfer hat and sunglasses. He was topless and looked to have a very similar body to my own. I watched the shake and jiggle. I saw the creases of fat underneath his stomach. I admired his brazen attitude towards being sans shirt. But I noticed he clenched and tightened everything the best he could as he quickly jogged back down the steps. He hit the ground and released the hounds. The flying flubber. It was unsettling and familiar.
We drove around after, looking at the various holiday homes that have spectacular views of the smaller beaches east of Byron CBD. And then we were home. I made a really nice salad and baked a store bought cheese pizza. Steph and I tried to watch a movie in bed, but I wanted to read instead. I finished Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane, my seventh book
These are the other six:
• The Street Lawyer and The Testament by John Grisham
• Fire Ice by Clive Cussler
• The Divinci Code by Dan Brown
• To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
• 1984 by George Orwell
I have also read about a third of Guns, Germs and Steel by Jared Diamond. I will finish it as I finish other books. It is a more difficult read than the others.
I fell asleep neither fast nor furious.
So. Here it is. The morning of our surf lesson. We meet Jason, the smallish instructor in front of the store at 9:15am. I think Steph and I are both more nervous about the process of all this, than the actual surfing. Jason as mentioned is about 5’6”, very tanned, 36 years old, and very much the laid back person you would expect him to be. He is teaching people to do what he already loves. He gets paid to do what he loves to do. I wish it were that easy. Anyway, he gives us all wetsuits to put on, even Hud so he can feel just as involved. I have never worn a wetsuit. I made sure to ask when we signed up to ensure there would be a wet suit to accept my girth. There was, but holy moly was it tight. Once the zipper in the back was done up I felt like a big black fleshy tube sausage. I was afraid my head would just suddenly explode like a teenage zit on a mirror. My chest cavity felt like the guy from the beach the previous day was sitting on it. A couple of quick stretches allowed me to at least get a stifled “I’m good” out and offer a thumbs up to let everyone know that just because my head was the colour of a grape tomato, I was going to be ok.
As we were leaving, I did get a quick look at myself in the window of the shop next door to the surfing school. Hello there slim I whispered in my best Burt Reynolds voice. I was so girdled I looked gaunt. Close your eyes and think of me looking gaunt for a second. Yep. There it is. Just like third grade.
We followed Jason in his van up to “the Pass” and unloaded all the gear. He brought Hud a little board as well, again ensuring that he felt involved. We found a little spot about thirty feet from the water, dropped our boards and dumped Hud’s sand toys out in front of him. He was fully enraptured within seconds so our lesson began.
Jason gave us all the terms of the board, and then made us draw a board in the sand and lie down. When he popped to his feet in about half a second, that I knew I was going to be in trouble. Your turn guys he yells, and I struggle to my feet in oh, about six minutes. Steph of course was much much more agile at getting to her feet. This is portent of what’s to come. So a couple of more tries and I was better, nowhere near competent, but better.
Lets get out there, Jason says with a grin and we grab our boards and make our way to the water. The idea is for us to get an appropriate depth, hop on our boards, paddle a little out to a standing Jason, where he sets us up on a wave and pushes us from behind to get us started. Because everyone who as tried surfing before knows, its not the standing that is the most difficult, it is the paddling.
Good plan. If I could stay on the board maybe I could paddle. These boards are much more wobbly than I expected, so I truly had to relax and focus on not rolling off. So Jason quickly left me and moved over to Steph.
Well, well, well, if isn’t a Betty in the midst. Steph on her second try got to her feet and surfed for about 10 metres. It was awesome. She was awesome. Seeing her stand and grab her board after falling and mesmerizing me with that big goofy high voltage smile that I fell in love with nine years ago in Vinnie’s, eating her boyfriend’s pizza, was enough to make my week.
I continued to try, and was almost successful a couple if times in standing, but this is not the sport for me. I will try it again if the opportunity presents itself, but I have to be less cumbersome, and more flexible, which are both at this point only mildly under my control.
But who cares about me. Steph continued to shine and get so much better she surprised even our coach. She stood and rode a wave right into shore, about 80 metres until falling and landing on her tail bone (ouch). She went out with Jason alone and they rode a wave together. It was spectacular. I have never been more proud of her. She took all his instructions perfectly and could easily be a competent, on-her-own surfer within a couple of weeks. It was so much fun to watch. And while feeling a little disappointed in my own laughable attempts, I did not feel bad or bitter at all. I was so impressed at Steph so quickly adept at something that I deemed so hard.
Mother, wife, lover, businesswoman, surf Betty. What a woman.
Jason also pushed Hud out on a board and let him ride a wee one in whilst sitting. He was not too pleased at that, but another experience to put under his belt.
Snorkler, surfer, toilet pooer. What a boy.
In a pretty good space right now. Pretty good indeed.
Love to all,
J.
posted by Jason @ 2:28 AM
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