This Week In Mr Trivia’s Bubble returns. Or to quote William Blake – it’s “back in the ring to take another swing.” Once again the quotidian details of my life fills an entire blog post with minutiae and stuff that will not be on any test. Unless we all get very unlucky and the requirement for passing into the afterlife will be remembering something you read on a blog. If you don’t answer all the questions correctly your spirit is forced to haunt a Rugs A Million store.
I was sitting Miss Pink’s three dachshunds at her place. She was in Melbourne for a few days. If you’ve ever dealt with dachsies, you’ll have an idea of what three together can be like. A vortex of emotion. Miss Pink wondered if I would be overwhelmed. Possibly because the last living being I had to take care of was a small cactus, ten years ago.
In the evening I write. I can’t see a radio anywhere in the house and decide live-streaming music is a bit anti-social when I don’t know Miss Pink’s Internet arrangements re download limits. So I have ABC Jazz playing on the telly and I quickly discover the dogs despise the sound of jazz clarinet. I think I can see them lying flatter on the sofa (yep, they’re couch dogs) with their ears down saying, “Turn it off!” So I put on the James Bond film THUNDERBALL in the background. They seem to enjoy this better. Maybe they’re Connery fans.
I worked with friends on a treatment for a film. It’s nearly done. Despite their sad insistence on taking the piss out of my Mac, we were making progress. Strangely, I have a craving for a post mix coke with ice cubes in it. From MacDonald’s. What are they putting in their drinks? Why does it have a strange hold over me?
That evening, I watched episode 2 of Brideshead Revisited on ABC 2 with the dogs. We make it to Venice, but fall asleep for the part where Charles Rider (Jeremy Irons) meets Sebastian’s (Anthony Andrews) father Lord Marchmain (Laurence Olivier).
Teaching at Joondalup. The above vague art-type photo was taken when I was stuck in traffic on the Canning Bridge. By the time I get home I have to walk the dogs in the Park in the dark. I choose the best lit of what’s on offer locally. Leo, the youngest of the troika, runs off and manages to chow down on something that I can’t see. I attempt to pull it out of his mouth. He takes this as a game and keeps running away, Finally, he came over and I stuck my hand in his mouth and checked around. Nothing. He seemed okay.
I leave extra early in the morning because being at Miss Pink’s adds an extra 15 minutes to my commute. As I leave the dogs they’re looking a little put out as only three dachshunds can do. “Not only is our pack leader missing, but the number 2 pack leader is going…” they seem to be saying. But I know Miss Pink will be reunited with them in about two hours.
Later, while I was teaching, she rang and we discussed where I walked the dogs and what they were fed. Leo was not feeling well. Later in the day, she took him to the vet and it turned out he was having major problems with his stomach and digestion. In the days that followed, after tests and X-rays. He didn’t want to eat. And he had ulcers in his stomach and intestines. After having an x-ray-able dye put into his digestive system, it seemed that there might be some plastic string blocking his gut. So they made the decision to operate and get it out. It transpired there was nothing in his gut.
Miss Pink didn’t blame me for what happened. She said this specifically. She called Leo a garbage guts who could have eaten the wrong thing while she was walking him. However, I am feeling like crap about this whole episode because Leo was under my care and he got hurt. Life-threateningly hurt. I’m not walking him in that park without a leash, again. There is a particular bin area where I think he might have eaten whatever it was that made him sick. And if I have to walk the dogs in the dark, I will have one of those kick arse LED torches with me.
I have coffee with a friend in our new South Perth haunt. Cafeli’s. He says it means Café and Deli and he may be right. Miss Pink MMS’s a photograph of Leo at the vet’s. He looks truly sad and pathetic.
That evening while I was waiting for them to cook my curry at a food hall. At the other end of the table, a man spoke with great vehemence to his female companion who was sitting quite still. Because I couldn’t see her face, I couldn’t tell if she was listening or ignoring the passionate stream of words. Naturally I eavesdropped to work out what he was saying. “And when Spock’s Mother dies, then you realise that this isn’t just a reboot, but an entire new Star trek Universe!” He was triumphant. She was silent for a moment, either overwhelmed with this or incredibly bored. She began making her points about the Trek franchise. So she was into it. And this is how relationships work – common interests.
I am baby-sitting a film festival. Thankfully there was no chance of it eventually needing to go the vet’s and have a major operation. I was involved in setting up the festival years ago. And they needed someone to look after it for five days. Which is how I end up at the cinema at ten in the AM with the head projectionist and the festival’s tech guy discussing the finer points of pixels and aspect ratio. As the most non-technical guy in the room at the time, I facilitate by saying stuff like, “Okay, Tech Guy can have thing X ready for you by tomorrow morning, Head Projectionist. isn’t that right, Tech Guy?” It’s a perfect system.
Another morning trip into the cinema to check on the next part of the program and to see these films uploaded onto their server. I go downstairs into the cinema itself to make sure the uploaded file looks and sounds okay. Everything will be a file on a server soon enough. Film is still being projected in Oz, but I wonder if this will be happening in five years.
Leo returned to Miss Pink’s and the rest of the pack today. He was feeling pretty drab after being cut open. Now she is feeding him an impressive regimen of painkillers and drugs to deal with the damage of the ulceration. Tests indicate he has eaten something caustic rather than the damage being bacterial, but we were pretty certain this was the case already. It is great to see him walking around. He doesn’t like being picked up too much because he is ginger about his stiches. Which is understandable because he was split open like a teddy bear, poor boy.
After tonight’s screening, a gentleman in his 60s, a man with a body builder’s physique and a self-promoting wig, walked up to me with a hand extended. My job is to meet and greet and also hear feedback on the films. I shook his hand. He had a powerful grip. He looked like he could still tear in half the combined Perth Yellow pages. “You’re a very well spoken young man,” he said, “But what you showed there was a collage of crap.” I asked if he was being serious. He was. Lamely, I thanked him for being honest. I was not honest about how I felt about receiving this kind of assessment from a man who clearly thinks his hairpiece – which could be identified as such with peripheral vision from 100 metres away– is working.
Remember sir, if you’re reading this, my real name is Kevin Zampogna and I live in the Mount Richon part of Armadale, if you want to continue this further. You can find me in the yellow pages under ‘chicken liver’ and ‘elocution’.
Elevate the Insignificant,