(no subject)

I'm at work, and I don't want to be. This is, I suppose, hardly atypical.

It's still warmer than I prefer here, even as the great evil heat has broken. The air is still stagnant and humid though, and 85 is just fine if it doesn't coming with a coating of bus exhaust.

So, I'm drinking a limonata and having another one of those "oh fuck, I wish I were in Sydney moments." Maybe it will be better in the fall and winter as New York is more herself then. Maybe I'll just be pissed off it's cold here. I really need to book a fabulous bit of acting work and then take off down there for a couple of weeks at least. But I suppose that's one of those statements where I'm confusing the nature of "need" and "want" which is one of those things I view as wildly inappropriate.

I have several long things I want to write, but I suspect they will either be boring, redundant or preach to the choir/not convey the point I mean to.

Ah, restless and icky. Although, with any luck I have a BPAL order from months ago coming in today (although possibly Monday, I must admit). And those of you who read The Leaky Cauldron, know what I'm giggling about today.

The Clancy Brothers, my childhood, and Australia

Last night Mirbabai gave me a mix CD she made for me. Aside from being obsessed with what is presumeably some random Norwegian song, and it containing a long-time favourite Pogues song of mine, it also has a song from The Clancy Brothers on it.

Now, that name is probably going to be met with a blank stare by everyone younger than me, and a bit of a groan from most everyone older than me as I think to most Gen-x'ers The Clancy Brothers are embedded somewhere in the back of their minds as the Lawrence Welk of Irish music.

But the fact is, I grew up on things like The Clancy Brothers to such an extent, that when I was eight, my father had to clarify for me that I was not, in fact, Irish, and I was, in fact, disappointed for a long time afterwards.

We went to a lot of Clany Brothers shows, and I remember a free one outside at Lincoln Center particularly well. I was probably about 7, and it was the first time I realized my mother probably hated this music, because I was having such a good time, and she kept telling me how like my father I was, and while her tone was never unkind, it seemed clear this wasn't a very good thing for a very small girl.

The song on mix CD Mirabai made is "And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda," which, before you are inclined to get confused, is _not_ Waltzing Matilda but a song about World War I. I've, of course, heard it a bazillion times, as it lives on vinyl somewhere in my parents' house, but to say the least, it's been a long time; certainly, I'd not heard it since I could understand the content, and certainly I never realized then that Circular Quay was a place and one I would have been and could picture.

One of the things that I suspect is peculiar about Sydney to most Americans, and as far as I can gather Australia in general, is its relationship with WWI. We never really think or talk about it, but there it is so ever-present. There are memorials for it everywhere, and the Anzac biscuits I so love originated out of that conflict. The memorials, I should also note, are small and personal, but have a ubiquity that I found emotionally bludgeoning and on par with, oddly, the missing posters that are now a hallmark of all tradgedy thanks to ink jet printers.

The memorials are in front of high schools and community centers, listing people who died, went missing, and were injured from these places. There are also plaques in the rail stations, in honor of dead members of various trade unions and guilds. It seems quaint, I hate to say. It's personal in a way I'm not used to memorials being, and I remember having an odd, wary, curious relationship with them, never feeling sure if I was supposed to look for some reason.

The point of all of this is multiple and varied. It's about crying to a song about war, and thinking about Australia, sure. But it's also about my childhood, which wasn't a time in my life I particularly enjoyed. I was not a happy child, and things that brought me joy almost always led to unpleasant ridicule, always at school, and often at home. I learned not to speak or to express my passions unless I wanted my intellect ridiculed by those who could not keep up. Even so, I do hold a weird fondness for many things from my childhood that most people I know would only dig with a kitschy, ironic stance. And so one of the reasons I fell in love with Australia is because it let me, because people do dig all sorts of things there without being kitschy or ironic about it -- things that we could never feel that way about here.

Perhaps all this makes sense: America as Tina the Troubled Teen, and Australia still a child, and this song by this ridiculous band about a particularly awful version of innocence lost.