Saturday, September 6, 2008

Surfers Paradox ; A Photographic Discourse on Australia; In the Hall of the Widow Irwin

Surfers Paradise is what the place is called. And it was built up in our heads more than even a name as suggestive as that should reasonably expect to be able to live up to. I don't want to open the bag of humbugs and bitterly suck on one as I say it's a completely inappropriate name but just saying that should make my point. I was going to say the surf there isn't even that great but as we left this morning I did see someone carving a 20 foot barrel like a madman so I won't whinge about that especially considering I can't and wouldn't if I could, surf. Anyway it pretty much fell into the category of another anonymous place to park the van and go for a couple of drinks. There were a couple of decent clubs but most of them had their ambience take second place in the after midnight contest of things Paul likes to a couple of very recommendable kebabs. But that's not what we're here for is it? No, so we left. For where Sydney. For what? Ok, hang on, don't get sick.... Work. Yeah, that's it, we decided we'd have to do it. And to be honest after a couple of weeks sleeping in what is a glorfied - though that word suggests some glory, Hiace - I could certainly see myself enjoying life in a big city and a nice apartment albeit programming. And even at that there're are some nice sounding gigs. Even maybe making Flash games. So it's not all doom and gloom. I'm addicted to luxury though, that' it. I need a big bed and a nice power shower and a door I can slam or gently close and know that for a while at least the world will leave me alone and I have a couple of square meters of sanctuary.

Anyway there follows a brief photographic history of the last couple of days by way of apology for what has been, I admit, neglect on my part for my constant - possibly hypothetical - reader.

Me and the 2 dimensional Steve Irwin in the only pose that it's fair dinkum to strike with said gentlemen.

A rack of Steve Irwin shirts with messages from around the globe of sad sad people telling of their sad sad-ness at his sad sad demise. Note: I am being completely genuine here. I think we lost a good man that day. I still remember where I was when I heard the terrible news. I queued on release day at the movies to see The Crocodile Hunter when it came out. I still think he's up there with Magritte and regard that film as one of the watershed works of surrealist cinema of the modern day. I mean he's on the top of a moving train fighting an FBI agent and then starts inexplicably talking to an implied camera man. Genius.

The bronzed Irwins hewn in bronze.

A very hungry but still large and impressive snake eating a totally emaciated pig in a glass case.

More, to give you a sense of scale, of the tribute bearing apparel.

A genuine, Steve captured, dinosaur.

This was an under construction shop, I think I can leave this here without the sniggering jokes I made when I took this puerile picture.

Look at the size of her.

I really wanted to photoshop in a remote control here, he looks like he should be on a couch.

I had a lump in my throat reading these actually, more than I had when I visited the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam. Really. Sad sight.

Note the oblique mario reference in the above. I didn't see any evil reptiles anywhere.

This is here for all the people I know of the above name. Enjoy.

A slightly racist brand of Aussie cheese. They're not even embarassed about it.

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