Crouching tiger & the olympic spirit on a Friday night.

Coming back from the cheap movie theatre at the end of the tram line (they make the tickets cheaper in recognition of effort expended in getting there) late on a Friday night.

An impressionable young chap (13ish?), no doubt inspired by the antics of the buff gymnasts on the box at the moment (well, either that or inspired by the urge to be an annoying monkey) decided that the handholds on the tram were perfect for doing flips with. He grabbed one in each hand on either side of the aisle and spent about 5 minutes happily going round and round in circles like the cute olympic boys do, only he was much less cute. His mate who looked much older and more than old enough to know better decided to join in after a short time - and, as we all know when 2 boys play together it is only a matter of time before one sees who can do it faster, higher etc than the other.

On this occasion the only logical progression from going round in circles (not a lot of competition to be had there as the judging panel (themselves) were somewhat less discerning than the olympic judges on matters of technique) was of course to use the handholds to fight each other - Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon style. Cue: 2 boys swinging from one end of the tram to the other, swinging wildly at each other with their feet looking somewhat less serene and graceful than Chow Yun Fat. The highlight was the associated chop sockey noises they made. Television and film have a lot to answer for.

Vestis virum reddit.

Whoever said that clothes maketh the (wo)man - and i'm pretty sure it was some old latin codger by the name of Quintilianus - was full of crap in some respects and on to it in others. If there is an absolute lack of human substance to begin with then not even the 'queer eye' guys can salvage someone.

Was musing on exactly this as I shared my morning train in to the city with some sulky Avril Lavigne wannabe that had mutated into something much more:

White trendy 'rusty' brand hoodie jumper, black calf length tights with a lime green rock and roll 80s style skirt on top (sarah jessica parker ish?) complete with extremely expensive 'vintage' converse boots and a bizarre Wilma Flintstone-size pink and white beaded necklace.

Now this is all very well and good - I was equally guilty of trying to express my personality through clothing as a kid - but this bird was trying to create a personality through her clothing...because she sure as hell didn't have one otherwise. She had an absolutely blank expression and personality deficit that no amount of clothing or anything else could have compensated for. Maybe i'm being bitchy and old-fashioned but a smile or slightest expression of interest in the world around her would have done miles more for her 'image' than any amount of clothing.

If a man already exists then sure, maybe clothes will enhance the man - but clothes cannot make a man if there is nothing to work with in the first place.

Two bananas

Took the tram again for old time's sake. Tram people are more fun than train people. Different times of the day attract different people. After the morning commuting rush where people look grumpy or asleep and read each other's newspapers while they're crushed in like sardines the next shift takes over. Around mid-morning, public transport is the exclusive domain of oldies, single parents, university students and the unemployed (you may as well count the last two as one). There also a few of that rare and happy breed - the 'flexible hours' worker - the corporate bunnies who have earnt the right to turn up to work when they damn well like it.

On this trip, there wasn't anything hugely unusual - just a really nice mix. The young Somalian mother with unfeasibly large pushchair who got helped on to the tram, the usual oldies (who always seem to travel at least in pairs, usually much bigger posses), uni students, a distinctly unemployed couple (sometimes you can just tell) and some blissfully happy corporate-types.

I watched as one of the oldies stared in confused amazement at the fashionable young female uni student wearing knee-high ugg boots (what is with THAT?!!!) and listened in on the inane conversation between the unemployed couple. An especial treat was the young guy in a suit, who seemed to be travelling to work but was carrying only his tram pass and 2 bananas...given the chronic back problems that my bag containing laptop, books, wallet, mobile, gloves, tissues, scarf, music player etc gives me I was extremely tempted to ask what his secret was...who cares what the job is: if you can perform it with only a suit, a tram ticket and 2 bananas then it's GOT to be all good! :-)

Books and mortar.

The central train station is opposite the State Library, a compact but majestic building with the sort of distinguished interior that should have a cameo in all good lawyer movies. At 8.15am this morning I walked out of the station and was a bit disorientated by the sight of more than a hundred men in work clothes and white hard hats mooching around in front of the library. It looked like a scene out of a monty python movie: a gaggle of construction workers. They were standing in approximate groups spread across the lawn and a few of them were wandering around with clipboards.

Sometimes the space is used for political protests but there were no placards to be seen and the men looked quite happy. There is a construction site next door though so I my best guess is that some sort of siren had sounded and the State Library was the agreed meeting place. It made for an interesting juxtaposition - men of action in front of a place of learning, in a funny way it seemed to fit together quite nicely.

Hey, no offence man...

Saturday night: Tram on the way back to the city following dinner at an Italian restaurant with friends.

The tram is waiting at a stop while the light is red. From the adjacent road comes the sort of blood curdling screeching of tyres that can only happen when someone is not only about to run a red light but also take a pedestrian with them.

Everyone rushes to one side of the tram and looks out, including a charming young man with wildly flitting eyes that are beautifully accessorised by the track marks on his arm. A mid-20s guy gets on board (presumably the cause of the screeching tyres) and grins as he says 'it's ok, he missed me'. Everyone chuckles along...except for young Master Track Marks, who says, "hey no offence man but it would have been fucking AWESOME if he hit you!"

Cue: Deafening silence on tram as everyone gapes in disbelief and then shuffles a bit further away from Track Marks.

Track Marks sits down in the seats on the other side of the aisle from us by himself. At the next stop some poor bugger gets on, oblivious to what he is letting himself in for, and sits down opposite him. The bloke must have scratched his head or something because Track Marks picks him as his next target. "Hey man, don't you do no fucking hand signals at me - what's that supposed to mean?!"

He carries on in this manner until we get to the next stop - when anyone within a few seats of him with half a brain either moves or gets off.